WINDWEEPER (39 page)

"Not your dainty little chamberpots, it is, Your Graces?" The captain smirked. "Shit is shit, though, and that be your shitter!"

Sentian ran the boat up close to a makeshift jetty, trying to make sure it held fast so he could loop the bowline around the steel post nearest him. He had a feeling if he missed his mark, someone would have to climb into that flesh-eating water and it wouldn't be one of the guards. He pushed on the oar with what little remaining strength he possessed and finally sat exhausted over the long oar, his eyes closed and his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Not bad, boy," the captain said in a grudging voice. "You must have been a sailor."

Sentian's eyes, and his pride, rose to the man. "I was a soldier."

"Were you now?" The captain grinned. "And where was that?"

"Serenia." There was fierce loyalty in Sentian's weary voice despite his recent ordeal.

"At Boreas Keep by chance?" The captain turned his head, a strange look on his face.

"I was an Elite." If the captain took it in his mind to beat him for the statement, that was all right. It was the only shred of pride Heil had left.

"The Prince's Elite?"

"Aye." Sentian wondered about the looks that passed between the captain and one of his guards.

"Oh, then, you'll like it here, you will," the captain said. "You'll like it well 'cause we got a passle of Elite!" A belly laugh erupted from the man's broad gut.

It didn't take them long to disembark, but not without incident. Rylan Hesar was bone-tired, so tired he could barely stand. When he crawled out of his boat, he stumbled and fell, the toe of his boot vanishing under the black, lapping water. He heard the deep bite even before he felt it. He yanked back, screaming with pain, frantically trying to kick off his boot. He stared in horror at the hideous creature whose teeth were latched onto his foot.

"
Get it off him!
" Paegan yelled, trying to get to his brother.

A guard struck out with his pike, connecting hard with the flat, triangular head of glistening green scales. The monster lost its grip on Rylan's foot. It flipped backward and dove below the surface. Only a concentric circle of black water marked its presence.

Paegan lurched toward Rylan, but Tyne Brell grabbed the younger man around the waist. "Leave off, Paegan! They might run you through, man!"

Paegan swung around to face the small, effeminate man who held him and briefly wondered at the massive strength in those thin arms. Brell's black hair was ragged, his beard thick and scruffy, his face coated with grime, but that remarkably stern face was staring at him with authority, an authority that denied defiance.

The manacles on Rylan's feet and wrists were unlocked and two guards carried him away, his moans drifting back to the men who stood by helplessly.

"Where are you taking him?" Paegan screamed, trying to get free of Tyne's hold, but the Chalean dragged him to the ground, stilling his movements with brute force.

"
Sit!
" Tyne hissed.

Sentian made a lowering motion with his hands and the men sat, eyeing the swords pointed at them.

"A wise decision," the captain told him. "You're a born leader, it seems. Guess the Prince taught you well, eh?"

Sentian's chin lifted. "He was the best."

The captain grinned. "Was, boy. The telling word here is
was!"

Grice let out a tired breath and looked around. There were still no inhabitants in sight, but that metal to metal hammering continued. It was rumored the penal colony was a mining operation.

He let his attention wander to the men sitting with him. They were all dirty and tired. Hungry and thirsty, too. He was parched with thirst, himself. The overwhelming need for something wet and cool and refreshing was strong in each man's face. It would have, no doubt, helped their morale if something had been given them, but nothing was.

There was not even a stray puff of wind, but the air was grower steadily cooler since the sun had set and the sand was not as blistering as it could have been.

Chand raised his head. He turned toward the highest portion of the bluff to their left and nudged his brother. "Do you hear that?"

The rough sound of shuffling feet drifted across the beach from the direction of the tall bluff. Muted voices floated out of the dark depths of the entranceway. A shout occasionally rang out, or a heavy thud. With each meaty thud, a listless, muffled groan sounded.

A long line of men began to exit the bluff, their ragged clothing dusty and damp with sweat. Their heads were bent with obvious exhaustion and their body odors reached out across the distance to the new arrivals. They appeared shrunken, emaciated.

"The gods help us," Chase Montyne mumbled, watching the tired men flow into their huts.

"Company," Sentian whispered to Grice.

Grice glanced at a man approaching them with weary steps. There was dust on his clothing, on his bearded face, but he didn't look as filthy as the other men. His dark gold beard seemed only a few days' old. The wheat-colored hair was shaggy, but seemed clean enough. He looked tired, concerned, but there was a light in his face that bespoke friendship.

"I know him!" Grice whispered. He couldn't hide the hesitant smile that spread over his face and hoped with all his heart the man would smile back.

He did.

"Well, fancy seeing you here, Griceland!" the man called as he closed the distance between them.

"I heard you were vacationing here, so I thought I would join you."

The man shook his head. "Bad choice of vacation spots. I can think of a few more enticing places." He turned to Tyne Brell. "I would imagine Chale is nice this time of year."

Tyne grinned. "A bit too cool for my tastes. I usually go to Ionary in February."

The man threw laughed. "Maybe next year, eh?"

"You can all come to Virago," Paegan joked. "At my expense!"

"You're on!" The man looked to Sentian and reached down. "I hear you are to be your group's leader."

Sentian took the man's hand and was helped up. "I'm Sentian Heil, late of Serenia."

"Ah, yes! You were in the Elite."

Sentian was amazed at the hardness of the man's callused hand. "You look familiar. Do I know you?"

There was a flash of amusement on the man's bearded face. When he grinned, his teeth were extremely white in his deeply tanned face. "I will be very familiar to you soon, my friend."

"He looks a lot like his half-brother, the gypsy," Grice remarked, smiling.

Sentian frowned. "Teal? Teal du Mer? Your brother? You're Roget du Mer?"

Roget chuckled. "You know Teal?"

"Know him? I've gambled with him!"

"You
do
know him!" Du Mer's smile grew. He plowed a dirty hand through his hair and wagged his heavy brows. "I can see why you were caught, my friend. Gambling with my little brother doesn't make you very intelligent, now, does it?"

Sentian couldn't help but laugh. "I guess not."

Roget nodded at the two nobles from Dahrenia, stared a long time at the hulking, nameless man who refused to look up. He glanced at the soldiers from the third boat, and then settled his gaze on Paegan. "Where's Ry?"

"That…that damned creature attacked him. I think they took him to the medical hut. At least I hope that's where they took him."

A frown etched across Roget du Mer's handsome face. "How badly was he hurt?"

"Took a good bite on his left foot, du Mer," one of the guards answered. "He'll be all right. No bones broken; no toes sheared off."

"He's been sick the entire journey," Paegan said.

"How sick?"

"A fever. He never has been hearty. He shouldn't be here…"

"None of you should." Du Mer swung his gaze to Prince Chase Montyne of Ionary. There was a strange light in both men's faces as they regarded one another. "How'd you manage to get yourself caught?" Roget asked. "What happened to your sorcerer's magic I heard you learned?" There was a tenseness and rigidity to his back that had not been there before.

Chase held up his burned palms. "If I'd had any left, I wouldn't have been caught, would I, du Mer? I want no trouble with you. What happened is over; we can't undo it."

Roget's face clouded for a moment, then he shrugged. "What's in the past, stays in the past."

Grice looked from one man to the other. He knew there was bad blood between the them, yet no one but the two of them knew the reason. "We're all in this together," he reminded them. "If we don't stay together, we'll be lost."

Du Mer swung his face toward Grice. "I forgave him the day I was sent to this hell-hole. They told me the truth of it."

"I don't want to talk about it!" Montyne snarled and turned away.

Roget sighed. Montyne would come around. He glanced toward the long line of men who were still walking wearily from the bluff. He spied one in particular and frowned. The man was standing, head down, eyes raised, watching the group. He was lurking about like a youth wanting to play, but not sure of his welcome. One toe was digging into the ground, his hands were thrust into the pockets of his filthy breeches.

"Why are you standing there gawking at us? Come here!" Roget bellowed.

The thin man, tall and gaunt, smiled and started toward them.

"Sometimes he has to be led like a child," Roget sighed. "But I don't suppose he really had a childhood considering…"

A loud curse rang out from behind the large white clapboard structure. The tall man skidded to a stop, looked in the direction of the shout, and then turned toward Roget. The new arrivals could see the agitation in the man's gaunt frame even though they couldn't see his face.

"Don't just stand there!
Go
!" Roget shouted, flinging his arm at the man.

The man took off at a tired, ungainly lope toward the yelling voices. Men stuck their heads out of the huts into which they had been filing, looked behind the white clapboard building and then turned to Roget.

"You! You and you!" Roget snarled, pointing at men. "Do it!"

Three men hurried for the back of the building; others, upon seeing what the commotion was, shook their heads and moved back into their huts, shutting the doors to close out the world and what was happening.

Another curse rang out. Three more men broke away from the line coming out of the bluff and headed for the back of the building.

"What's going on?" Grice asked, watching hard emotion cross Roget's still face.

The sound of a meaty crack peeled out, then a stifled groan as the snap of leather hit bare flesh. Grice saw Roget flinch, watched as the man's lips pulled back over his teeth.

A command filled with unmistakable fury shot over the still compound. "
Want some more?"

A man stumbled around the side of the building, pushed from behind by a burly guard with whip in hand. The prisoner went sprawling in the dirt. The whip came down on his bare back with a snap like the crack of lightning. He tried desperately to rise, pushing himself to his knees with trembling arms, but the guard kicked him hard in the ribs. The prisoner was lifted off the ground, flipped over and rolled. He lay on his back, spread-eagled.

"Sons-of-bitches!" Roget spat under his breath. "What did he do now?"

Sentian viewed the raging anger on du Mer's face. A feral snarl lined the tight, drawn back lips. The man's fists were clenched and his jaw ground with an audible crunch.

"Do something!" Roget hissed, his voice quiet but deadly. "Get them away from him!"

The guard with the whip put his booted foot on the man's outflung right hand.

The prisoner let out a shriek of unimaginable pain, and his body doubled up. He tried to push the guard's boot off his hand as he gasped and groaned. Another horrible yelp burst from the man as the guard ground his foot against the man's hand.

"What are you waiting for?" Roget spat, his stare going to the men who were milling around the guard and the helpless prisoner.

A weak fist came down on the guard's instep. The big man jumped back, his face contorting with rage. The man on the ground managed to scramble to his knees, cradling his right hand with his left. The guard bellowed, then slammed his foot as hard as he could into the prisoner's side.

Du Mer full attention was on the man struggling feebly to get up. Each time he did, another boot went smashing into his body. Roget cursed and took a step forward, but one of the guards who had accompanied the new arrivals caught him.

"Don't, Roget! You'll only make it worse. Let the others handle it."

The tall man Roget had earlier called to join them threw a rock at the guard kicking the fallen man. Before the guard could turn, another clipped him on the ear from another direction. He spun, his face red, and still another rock was lobbed at his back. It connected with a hard thud and the guard went down on one knee as another missile caught him on that thigh. Still another skipped out his shoulder.

"Leave him!" someone snarled. "He can't defend himself! You've seen to that!"

Unable to ascertain who was throwing rocks, for many men were standing around, the guard glowered at them all, then came unsteadily to his feet. He flicked his hot gaze over the prisoner who was crouched on the ground, then glanced toward Roget. He hitched up his pants and ambled away, casting a final look of revenge at the man on the ground.

Roget let out a ragged sigh and ran a hand over his sweaty face. Satisfied no guards were looking on, he nodded at the man he had sent to help. The gaunt man said something to his fellow rescuers and the men began to drift away. No one spoke to the prisoner who sat on the ground, his right hand clutched against his chest, his head down, his dirty hair hanging over his face.

"Why didn't they help him up?" Sentian asked.

Roget ignored the question. "Commandant Appolyon will interrogate each of you separately. He's a bully and likes nothing better than to get a brave man in his hands." He glanced at the man who had regained his feet and was stumbling away. "He'll turn your bravery to fear, my friends. Grice, you and the other royalty will be his main targets. He's a mad dog at times and seems to have a personal grudge against any member of the nobility. I doubt he'll bother Sentian or the others, but I can never be sure. Do yourselves a favor and don't anger him. He'll cripple you if he can."