The House of Daggers (#NaNoWriMo 18)

Chapter 5.1

A frayed rope ladder dropped down, followed by a stringy-armed, black-leathered jailer. The whites of his eyes were rusted yellow. His dark long fingers fumbled with his jangling keys. Shuffling through various keys like cards, he found one and stuck it into the irons.

"Can you climb?" came his accented question.

Kara smoothed her chafed wrists. She nodded, and immediately regretted doing so; her vision wavered. Calloused fingers gripped her arm.

"Easy. Up you go." His voice was melodious.

Kara climbed one rung at a time. She was escaping one cell only to be shepherded into another one. Yet a thrilling flight of freedom feathered her heart, breathing life to her limbs--she was going to see her brother again. She paused halfway up.

"Something wrong?" the jailer asked.

Rendall had stopped talking somewhere between sixth and seventh bell. She'd been drowning too deep in thirst to call out to him. Sleep had taken him she'd thought. Now she wondered if it was not death that had visited him.

"Nothing."

The sight of the blade-man's face upon reaching the top of the ladder was one of revulsion and elation. A strange mixture, but it was his harsh words that bridged the gap of silence for a time. His departure had left her wanting human contact. It had reminded her that she was still human herself. Still, he was a hideous thing, hair spindly and matted with oil and sweat, face pock-marked and pimpled, and that nose--broken and tinted red. Kara was especially pleased to see the red nose stand out against his white, clammy skin. No doubt he was still recovering from the wound she'd inflicted on him.

She glanced round. She was in a crypt. Gone were the manicured stone bricks. Replacing them were uneven stone walls and a craggy ceiling. Skulls were melded into the stone, haunting the room with their empty gazes. There were two rows of paired holes hugging the sides of the crypt so that the floor resembled the side of a giant flute. There were no voices here, just silence.

When Kara struggled to rise, surprisingly, it was the blade-man who pulled her(unsurprisingly)none too gently out of the cesspit.

"Crawls like a weasel too," he muttered.

Kara lay on the ground, unable to summon the strength to stand, unable to think of anything save for Rendall's life, unable to, most importantly, stab the blade-man with a response.

"She may need to see the magi," the jailer said from behind.

"Lock, you soppy little sod you. She's alive, ain't she?"

"You're too hard, Jora. Soften a little. She nearly got you. That's something."

Spit lacquered the polished floor. "That's what I think of 'em."

"Is that why we fought? For this?"

"Some men fight for silly ideals, I fight for women and gold. Got neither of 'em. Funny thing is you're here with me. So your silly ideals were shit."

"Take her. I've got other transfers."

"Any new bloods?"

"A few."

" Poor sods." Jora's chuckle was as vile as a squawking crow. "Get your dinky little arse up, weasel. Time for you to visit the magi."

On hearing those words, Kara dragged her elbows back against her sides and shifted her knees. Her back arched. She managed to tip into a squat before falling onto her back. Jora's stubbled jaw cut into her vision.

"Look at you. You smell like an arse hole."

All she could manage was a hiss. Gentle fingers grabbed her underarms, lifting her to her feet. She leaned against the jailer for support.

"Easy," Lock said.

"For the love of Mother's holy men."

Stiffness. "You swear by a cursed figure."

"Only because I know it gets your soft arse close to murder." Jora thumbed his block of a jaw. "Hand me the girl."

"You're not going to hurt her?"

If Kara had her way, it would be Lock who was to take her to the magi. Jora would dispose of her and not a soul except her brother would protest. Even then, Wren had probably already come to terms with her death if he was not dead himself.

"By Father, I won't mince her," he said with his hand on his chest.

"You swear you won't harm her?"

"You can have her first, then, Lock. "

"Jora."

"She won't be harmed. Now give her here."

Jora stepped closer, towering over her. Lock's hold on her faded away. The blade-man snatched her arm. Yanked her towards his armored chest. Kara flailed her legs, recoiling at the sourness of the blade-man's arms as they glided from her torso to her neck. A firm hand squeezed the crown of her head. Muscle gradually crushed her throat. Kara's vision dissolved. Muffled voices.

"Better a dead sack than a wriggling worm," were the last words she heard.