Unkarra Gate (1st draft)

Chapter 28.1

For days, Ezara had scarcely kept herself alive. She hadn't had much help, either, as the company men who were watching her took little interest in her basic needs. She was banished to a tent which was terribly hot all day, and uncomfortably cold at night. One ankle was tied to a stake with a short rope, but she scarcely cared as she had nowhere to go had she been free to.

The names she was called became commonplace. All she really hoped for was some kind of end to this misery, but she hadn't found a way to bring it about.

These days of misery were finally interrupted by a visit from someone who called her by a name other than 'Demon.'

"Ezara?" came Flavias' concerned voice, shocked by her appearance. She only responded by covering her face with her mother's tattered scarf. "Are you ok?" he tried, but received no different reaction. "Well I just came to see if you were doing alright, which doesn't really seem to be the case. I've been away ferrying supplies from Marpport. Pretty good stuff, too - look," he said as he held out the bottle, but she did not look up from under the scarf.

He tried a change of subject. "The company men have all left. Those thugs from Marpport were tasked with watching you, since they're not good for much else but standing around. But since Bo did away with Garruel, they haven't got much spine left. Still, I had to part with a bottle to get by them and see you. Here, it's good stuff," he offered again.

The swishing of the bottle finally got to her to drop her guard. She reached and snatched the bottle; finding a way to open it, she began imbibing lustfully.

"Whoah, careful. It's got some kick," Flavias warned.

Yet she merely took a pause, grimaced, and continued drinking.

"Hey, I though that would last us as least a couple days. Slow down! You're going to get sick."

She didn't stop.

"Hey!" he persisted. "Are you trying to get kill yourself?"

She looked him with realization and tipped the bottle even higher. At that, he snatched the half empty bottle back away from her. She put up little fight, as she was indeed feeling ill. She kept everything in for the moment.

"When's the last time you ate something?" He asked. She shrugged. "Here," he offered, digging out a dried fruit bar. She took it and chewed on it without any comment. He looked at her with consternation as he struggled for something to say. Ezara broke the silence by becoming suddenly sick and throwing up beside herself. He turned to her, resisting her initial attempts to push him away. In another moment she broke down in tears.

"I just want to die already," she confessed softly between sobs.

"No, no," Flavias said, searching for something better to respond with. He had his arms about her as she leaned into him.

"Look here, I care about you. There's more than just me. Bogrel's going through all this to keep you safe."

"Well he should stop. Just let them kill me."

He took her hands in his, as words were failing him. "Don't say such things. I haven't been here for you and I am sorry. But I am here now. Here," He pulled out a pocket knife and worked at the rope until she was free of it. "Let's get you to Dara. She's in Matias' quarters."

Despite her state, she still twisted her face at the words; thinking of her friend lodging with her worst enemy. She stumbled after Flavias only semi aware of anything.

Hot afternoons at the desert's edge made for drowsy guards. Ezara and Flavias snuck by the sell-sword on duty and into Matias' tents easily. His tents were arranged as a trio of rooms, each opening was the side of a square, forming a courtyard of sorts, with the open side of the square serving as the entrance. It was covered, cool, and private.

Behind one tent entrance was Matias' private tent. A second, his meeting tent. The third was where Dara stayed. Ezara stumbled into this one after some clumsy hints from Flavias; the drink was clouding nearly all her concentration. After the entrance she stood there, staring blankly about, as Flavias waited outside.

"Who's there?" Dara asked, looking directly at Ezara from across the tent, struggling to recognize even her best friend from even a short distance.

"Dara?" Ezara asked, her voice rough and confused. "Is this where you stay?" she asked, which was more like an accusation. Dara was sitting up on a hammock style seat in a bright corner of the tent. Fabrics surrounded her in neat piles; signs of her having been busy. A large rug covered the floor and there was a table with refreshments.

"Ezara?" Dara reacted, jumping to her feet and running over, hugging her friend.

Ezara didn't return the hug save for the scarcest of motions. "You look terrible," Dara said, now able to see her friend, now that she was close enough for her poor sight. "When was the last time you washed? How long have you been wearing these clothes? They're nothing but rags now."

"When was the last time you washed?" Ezara snapped back, angrily.

"Why are you so cross with me? I always asked after you. I had no idea you were being so mistreated."

"And are you his mistress, now? Or his betrothed?"

"No! I'm his prisoner. I can't help that he lusts after me. But I swear, I have kept him away from me."

"How trying it must have been for you."

"Would you stop. Come here." Dara got tough with Ezara and took her to another spot with a stools, basin and bucket. Ezara nearly stumbled disastrously on the way, but found her way somehow to a seated position. Dara then attacked her with a wet cloth, starting in the face. She tied Ezara's hair back, who swatted angrily when Dara fussed over the scar on the side of head, the one that led so close to her eye.

"Take these rags off," Dara ordered her friend. With difficulty and pointed words both ways, Dara got her way. She was dismayed to find blood stains; Ezara admitted her monthly blood had come since she had been locked up, and had no chance to clean since. Dara became angrier and angrier as she got her friend cleaned and dressed in some fresh clothes.

"Ahem," came an all-too-obvious interruption from Flavias, who still stood outside modestly.

"Is someone with you?" Dara asked, but Ezara only responded with a vacant expression, once again succumbed to the liquor. "Who's there?" Dara instead asked in response to the interruption.

"Flavias. Is Ezara alright?"

"Well she's better than she got here. Did you get her so drunk?"

"Hey, I was just being nice. It was good stuff."

"He was being nice," Ezara suddenly chimed in.

"Quiet. Go lie down!" Dara turned back to Flavias, walking up to him at the doorway. "How did you get here past the guards?"

"You mean guard?" he corrected. "It was pretty easy. He's barely watching. Since Matias took most of his own men, camp rules have been quite a bit more relaxed."

"Well, she needs something to eat. Go get it for us."

"Is she staying in there?"

"Yes."

"Can I come in?"

"No, now go get the food," Dara ordered, pointing the way out of the tents.  

"Yes, miss," Flavias acquiesced, and hurried off.

Dara went back to Ezara, who was sprawled on the cot.

"Where's Flavias and his drink?" she asked.

"You don't need that. You need food. Look, I can see you bones right through your skin."

"I hate you."

"I love you too."

They both knew the exact words weren't what mattered. The meaning behind them was the same. They were as close as family could ever be.