WINDWEEPER (19 page)

He moved as though in slow motion, turning first to look at his father, then to Hern's ravaged face, then to Teal, who gazed with horror-stricken, tear-filled eyes. He watched Chand being held in Grice's arms as the boy cried. Saw Kaileel's smug face stretched in a grin of triumph. His mind cried out in misery though his tongue could not speak.

Brelan heard Hern Arbra's words as clearly as though they had been meant for him even though they were being spoken to the King.

"If you love him, you won't let them do this to him! You have to stop them!"

"That's a death warrant, Papa! One hundred and fifty lashes will be murder!" Legion yelled. "They mean to kill him!"

Brelan flinched.

Conar felt his arms being pulled as the guards drew him from the hall. He watched an angry crowd surging toward him, but he couldn't hear the things they shouted. Not a sound penetrated his fogged brain. He watched in silent confusion as Legion shoved Liza into Brelan's arms, watched in utter soundlessness as Legion brushed past two, three, four Temple guards in his effort to get to him.

His body jerked as Legion thrust aside Tymothy Kullen and the other guard. Conar looked down at the hand Legion managed to grab, saw Legion's mouth opening and closing as he urgently spoke, but he had no idea what the man was saying.

Conar forced his tongue to speak, he said words he never heard himself speak, begging words, pleading words, last words. He told his brother not to allow Liza to see what they would do to him, to keep away his children. He saw the understanding register on Legion's face and realized his brother had understood.. He saw Legion nod, and felt Legion's hand pulled from his own, torn from him, and his way once more blocked.

Thirty, forty lashes, he had expected. Twice that would have been crippling, but he knew he could have survived. Three times that was lethal, four times that would see him in his grave. One hundred and fifty lashes of a steel-barbed whip would tear him apart, leave nothing behind but a mass of bloody pulp.

He looked at his wife. This might be the last time this side of heaven he would ever see her. He took in her beauty, her grace, the gentleness. Tears welled in his eyes and he tried to smile at her as they dragged him into the corridor. She was calling to him, her hands out in pleading, but he couldn't hear her.

Shaking his head, he allowed them to pull him through the doorway. He didn't struggle. He couldn't. He watched her face begin to crumble, saw her head arch back as she screamed, knew the sound must have cut Brelan to the quick, for Saur lost all his coloring.

With his heart breaking, being torn from his chest, with every bit of his courage and strength and determination, Conar forced sound through his trembling lips, up from the depths of his soul and he saw the courtyard go still.

"
I love you, Liza!"

The door began to close, forever shutting out her beautiful face.

"
I will always love you!"

The door closed.

Kaileel Tohre could not remember ever being so angry. He swept his furious gaze from the King to the King's two bastard sons to the bitch who sat beside them to the burly Master-at-Arms who glared back at him with murderous intent. Even the half-gypsy bastard regarded him with contempt and hatred, something the little prick had never before dared to do. Tohre's thin lips quivered; his skull-like face turned a mottled red as his fury mounted. The discolored flesh that hung in folds beneath his chin wobbled as he swung his head to Arch-Prelate Tolkan Coure's amused face.

"It is a reasonable request, Tohre," the Arch-Prelate announced. "Have you no ready answer for these people?"

To keep from screaming, Tohre clamped his teeth together. Tolkan knew better! He knew better!

"Is there some reason why, now, after his trial, we can not see him?" the King asked haughtily.

"You have already condemned him," Commander Legion A'Lex added. "You have his
signed
confession. What are you afraid of, Tohre?"

Kaileel swung his gaze to the King's eldest bastard son and smirked, but he could not, as yet, find the voice that would tell these intruders to go to hell.

"Unless you have something to fear from us seeing him," Sir Hern Arbra put in. The massive man, with his wide shoulders and bulging arms crossed over an equally bulging chest, stood with his legs braced wide apart, his head back.He regarded the High Priest as though he were looking at a mound of excrement.

"Perhaps the fact that we might glean the truth of what happened to my husband before his trial frightens you, Brother Tohre," the bitch said quietly.

"I have no fear, Lady!" Tohre snarled, finding his voice.

"Then what reason do you give for not allowing us to see him?" Teal du Mer asked. The gypsy's dark face was set and hard, totally out of character for the trouble-causing little snit.

"We cannot have the six of you trekking through the Tribunal Hall, young sir," Tolkan said in a reasonable voice. "But I see no reason why one of you can not go in to speak with him if Tohre voices no objection."

"Well, Tohre?" the King demanded.

"Perhaps just one of you," Kaileel grated.

"But we would choose the one," Tolkan said.

The King looked at the man. "If only one of us is allowed in, it should be his wife."

"He has no wife!" Tohre snapped, his body quivering with outrage.

"He has a wife, Brother Tohre, and shall have one for as long as this woman lives!" Liza said, showing the first real fire since being allowed into the Temple receiving room with the others.

Tohre's face turned crimson with rage, but his hard mouth broke into a rare smile. "Even when you are legally wed to another?"

The men who had accompanied Liza turned to her, fearing she would erupt, but her calm, serene face bewildered them. Her words made them look to one another with worry.

"You may have annulled our marriage, Tohre, but before the eyes of Alel and all the deities of our joint pantheons, Conar is still my husband. You may force me into marriage with another, I can not stop you, but in my heart, I will be Conar's wife until the end of time!"

Lord Brelan Saur lowered his head. Liza's words cut into his heart like daggers.

"I admire your loyalty, Your Grace," Tolkan cooed soothingly, "but we can not allow a lady into the cells. It would be unseemly."

"Then, who?" the King shouted, at the end of his rope. They had been in this room for well over an hour and nothing had been accomplished except the swapping of insults.

"I see no reason why Lord Saur may not go in to see his brother," Tolkan said reasonably.

Brelan looked at the Arch-Prelate. Of them all, he was the one Conar would least like to see, and who would least like to see him. "Why me?"

Tolkan shrugged. "You are our choice, Lord Saur. If not you, then no one."

"Go, Brelan," Liza advised. "You know why they have chosen you." She walked to him and put a soft hand on his cheek. "Take our love to Conar. Let him know we will stand behind him, and that our prayers are with him tomorrow."

"Liza, I don't—"

"Do as she says, Brelan," Legion warned. "Show these bastards that the men of this family are loyal to one another."

Saur looked from Legion to Liza. He would have moved the world for this woman. What was a trip into the Tribunal punishment cells?

"How long do I have with him?"

Tolkan grinned. "As long as you can stand, Lord Saur."

* * *

"You know I never do anything without a reason, Tohre," Tolkan told the High Priest as they walked back to the Temple's rectory. "Brelan Saur has no love for Conar and what little comfort his visit will give our prisoner will be of such minuscule capacity, it will be negligible. What are you worried about?"

Tohre was rigid with fury. "If Conar tells Saur what we did in order to get the confessions—"

"Saur can do nothing. Besides, I think Conar's punishment will please Saur."

Kaileel wasn't sure. There had been something alien in the usually stoic man's dark eyes as he sat in on the morning meeting. It may not have been loyalty as A'Lex named it, but it was outside the norm for Brelan Saur. After all, blood was thicker than water.

"But not stronger than lust, Tohre," Tolkan reminded the High Priest, easily reading his thoughts. "And Brelan Saur lusts after his brother's woman."

"A woman he will not get!" Kaileel swore.

* * *

The passageway leading to the punishment cells was dark and damp. A stench, undefinable but prevalent, seemed to ooze from the moist walls. The air was chilled, depressing, and the steady drip of water from some unseen source played on the nerves. Passing door upon door where a faint groan of pain and despair could be heard, any visitor would feel the hair stirring along his arms and neck. It was not a trip men willingly made.

Brelan felt as though a heavy weight had settled on his chest. He could barely breathe in this gloomy atmosphere. The guard walking ahead of him, torch held high, was uncommunicative, surly. He made it plain to Brelan that he thought such a visit to one of the prisoners was a waste of time.

"No comfort should be given these men," the red-haired guard had snorted when told he was to take Brelan Saur to see Conar.

"But that isn't your decision to make, is it?" Saur snarled, shoving the man out of his way.

Tymothy Kullen kept his remarks to himself. Instead, he had grabbed a torch, yanked open the iron-plated door, and gone inside the passageway, not caring if Saur followed or not.

Now, Kullen came to a stop. "He's in there!" He pointed a bony finger at one door.

"Then open it," Saur told him.

With his face burning in dislike, the guard fumbled on the wall for a key, thrust it in the lock, jerked open the door and gave Brelan a mock bow.

"In you go, Lord Saur, but I'll have to lock you in with him."

Brelan almost balked. Being locked in any cell was not to his liking. Being locked in with a man he didn't want to see was especially not to his liking. But he didn't want this grinning jackass to know how much it bothered him. With studied indifference, he raised one shoulder.

"So lock it." Saur ducked under the low opening into the cell. The cavity was so dark he couldn't see, so he held out his hand. "Leave the torch."

Kullen shrugged, extending the bundle of rushes to him. As Saur took it, he slammed the cell door in his face and fitted the key in the lock. "Call when you're ready to leave, Lord Saur," he snapped and strode off.

Brelan heard a far off door bang shut and knew he would be in here for as long as the ill-conceived bastard could keep him. Taking a deep breath against his own stupidity for allowing himself to get into such a predicament, Brelan slipped the torch into an iron bracket to the side of the door, straightened his shoulders and turned to face his brother.

At first they didn't speak. Brown eyes stared into blue; the blue eyes wary, the brown ill at ease. What seemed like an eternity passed in silence until a shriek from one of the other cells made both men jump. Blue gaze and brown leapt away.

"Are you all right?"

"As well as can be expected."

Brelan looked around the cell. There was a stoneware jug of water on the floor; a tray of half-finished food sat beside it, although there were no utensils with which to eat the beans and bread. There was a mattress on the floor. There was no pillow, but a light blanket was folded neatly at the foot. A chamberpot sat in one corner. "All the comforts of home."

"Everything I need."

"Everything they will allow you."

Conar's lips moved in a faint smile. "Same difference."

Brelan really looked at Conar for the first time. His brother sat in the middle of the mattress, his knees pulled up and encompassed in the perimeter of his arms. He looked well enough; his face was shaven, his clothing was clean. But there were shadows lurking in the deepest recesses of those steady eyes that somehow touched Brelan in a way nothing ever had. He had to look away.

"If you didn't want to come, Brelan, why did you?" The question was soft, not said with condemnation, but rather with pity.

Brelan shook his head. "I'm the only one they'd allow in here."

Conar understood. Brelan's visit was meant to hurt him. He stared at the far wall.

When his brother didn't speak, Brelan faced him and saw tears running down Conar's cheeks. Seeing those tears bothered him, cut deep into his soul. When he at last found words, his voice was a mere whisper. "Is there anything I can do?"

Conar had to take a hitching breath to stop his tears from bursting out. "There is nothing anyone can do, now, Bre."

Brelan reacted without thinking. He sat down and gathered Conar in his arms. After all, he was here to represent the family. He had to put aside his own feelings, for someone needed to be here for this man. He pulled Conar's head to his shoulder, laid his cheek against Conar's.

Too much envy and hatred and jealousy had passed under the bridges of their lives for them to deal easily with one another, no matter how trying the circumstances. It simply seemed to be enough for the both of them to sit there, their arms around one another; one surrendering his pain, the other absorbing it. When at last Conar pushed away, there was a firmness in his voice that sounded almost normal. "I'll be all right, now."

"I know you will."

"There is one thing you can do for me."

Brelan stood; he had to. "Name it."

"Tell her…tell her goodbye for me."

"You will be back, and if you aren't, we'll find a way to get her to you."

A fleeting smile touched Conar's trembling lips. "For once in our lives, let's not lie to one another. You know as well as I, I'll never see her again. If I should survive tomorrow, there won't be anything left of me for her to want."

Brelan could stand no more. He turned his back and yelled as loud as he could for the guard. He yelled again and again, his face white with his guilt at having helped put his brother in this cell. He yanked on the bars, pulled with all his strength. "
Guard!"

Conar understood; Brelan had to deal with this on his own.

Brelan heard the far door opening. His breath came out in ragged, shallow, rapid staccato bursts and he turned to face Conar. "She sent her love to you. They all did. No one believes what was said about you. They all know you aren't capable of such things. They know you were probably tortured into signing that damned piece of shit they call a confession!"

Conar saw pure fury on Brelan's face. The man quivered from head to toe.

"They know you couldn't have done anything to hurt Papa, and they know Liza was more than likely threatened in some way and that's why you admitted to such a filthy thing as Tohre accused you of doing!"

The guard was at the door, the key being fitted into the lock.

"And they know you will stand there tomorrow like a man and accept what these sons-of-bitches are going to do to you and not be broken!"

Conar could almost feel his brother's rage lashing out across the cell, but it wasn't directed at him. He had a feeling the anger had all been turned inward.

The door swung outward. Another guard stood in the opening, a torch in his hand.

"And their prayers are with you!" Brelan swiped angrily at the telltale moisture falling freely down his cheeks. "They know you are still one of the family!"

"What about you, Brelan? Do you believe I'm innocent?" He had to ask; he had to know.

Saur stared for a long time at his brother. He couldn't say the words he wanted to say, the words he knew Conar wanted to hear. With his body quivering, his heart thudding wildly, his hands trembling so violently he could hardly bear it, he backed out of the cell, hitting his head on the low hang of the opening. Cursing, he plastered himself on the far wall of the corridor. The door began to close, Conar's face being blotted out before he could bring words from his mouth.

"The Wind be at your back, little brother!" he shouted and turned, running as hard and fast as he could away from that terrible place.

* * *

"He will pay for it!" Tohre shouted at Tolkan. "I will see he pays for every moment of comfort he received!"

Tolkan sat in his chair and regarded Tohre as though he were observing a bug in a specimen bottle. The old man's fingers were clasped lightly in his lap, the long nails curled upward. "I have more bad news for you, Tohre."

"What?" It was a measure of Tohre's full fury that he dared to shout at the Arch-Prelate. As he watched Tolkan's eyebrow lift, he knew he would pay dearly for such a breech of etiquette. "What bad news, Your Holiness," he mumbled.

Tolkan unlaced his fingers and adjusted the sleeves of his robe, flicked a piece of lint from one cuff. "It seems the other two members of my Tribunal panel fear retaliation if the punishment tomorrow should, well, shall we say,
incapacitate
our prisoner? They feel, as do I, that the people might well revolt if such a stringent lashing is applied to their beloved Prince." He glanced up to see Tohre's furious face. "We have reduced the quantity of lashes to seventy-five."