Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(196)

And before you start thinking tactics you’ve got to get out of these ’Kent-kissing ropes.

The task seemed next to impossible. Yurl and Ut both knew their business. They’d taken down Valyn’s crew by the book, seeing to Talal first. None of them knew the leach’s well, but they didn’t take chances: Yurl put a knife to his throat, and then Hern Emmandrake, his master of demolitions, handed him a cloth soaked with adamanth. Talal tried to jerk away when they pressed the sodden material to his nose and mouth, but within moments he slumped into a limp heap, the cloth draped over his face, while Yurl looked on, grinning smugly.

“Now,” he said, “we can see to making the rest of you comfortable.”

It didn’t take long for his Wing to truss them up like livestock for the slaughter, binding them hand and foot, with an extra loop around the throat to discourage struggling. Gwenna managed to take a chunk out of the ear of one of the Aedolians, but all it gained her was a cuff across the face that split open both lips and half closed one of her eyes. The hurt did nothing to tame her, but once they’d stuffed a dirty rag in her mouth, she could neither curse them nor snap off their faces, and after a few minutes of futile struggle, she sagged back against the ground, green eyes blazing with silent rage. Despite the bleakness of their situation, however, Valyn felt a moment of relief at being shoved to the sharp gravel of the pass rather than killed outright. It’s a mistake. Yurl’s got no reason to keep us alive except to gloat. Then, in a sickening surge of anger and disgust, he realized why they had been spared.

Balendin.

The leach approached, sauntering into the light of the fire as though he were a provincial nobleman strolling into his manicured grounds. He paused in mock surprise when he saw the prisoners, tsked at them disapprovingly while waggling a raised finger, then dropped into a squat a few paces away, satisfaction shining in his eyes. His dogs were nowhere to be seen, but that falcon rode on his shoulder; it cocked its head to one side and fixed Valyn with a hungry glare.

“So flattering,” Balendin began, winking at Valyn as he spoke, “for all of you to care so very much about me.”

“I’m going to kill you, leach,” Annick said. It was an unlikely threat. Valyn’s whole Wing was incapacitated, but Annick looked particularly vulnerable in the flickering firelight. The rough bonds emphasized the slenderness of her arms, her child’s figure; she might have been some lost girl tied for a slaver’s ship, except for her eyes, sharp and malevolent. “I’m going to put two arrows in your gut,” she went on, ignoring the blood seeping from the gash on her forehead, “and another one in that filthy, lying mouth of yours.” The threat shouldn’t have been credible, coming from someone in her position, yet it made Balendin hesitate.

The leach actually seemed to consider the risk, then waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t think so, although you have no idea how much I appreciate the sentiment.” He closed his eyes and tilted back his head, as though letting a warm rain wash over his face. “All that hatred, that rage, that beautiful … feeling!” He licked his lips and smiled. “It’s a gift, you know—this human capacity for feeling. Some animals have it, but only faintly, faintly. The shadow of a shadow. That delicious hatred of yours—” He licked his lips. “—as I said, you have no idea what it means to me.”

We’re helping him, Valyn realized grimly. All our rage just makes him more powerful. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and tried to calm his feelings. Without a well, Balendin was just like them, just another Kettral-trained soldier, and considerably worse with either a bow or a blade than most. If Valyn could just find some sort of calm.…

“She tried not to squeal, you know,” the leach continued, his tone casual, conversational, while the corners of his mouth twisted up in a slight grin as he turned to Valyn. “Your friend Ha Lin, I mean. The one with the whore’s ass.” He whistled a low appreciative whistle and shook his head. “Wish I could have done more with it, that day on the West Bluffs, but I was busy. Besides, you know Yurl,” he added, jerking his head toward where the Wing commander stood, a dozen paces away, engrossed in conversation with Micijah Ut. “He wanted to do most of the beating himself. Spent a good half hour with his knee on her throat, prodding her with the tip of his belt knife. Barely let me get in a few punches.” He shrugged. “Must be something about growing up the child of privilege.”

“You ’Shael-spawned son of a whore,” Valyn ground out, twisting helplessly against his bonds. “You f*cking pig, you’d better hope Annick kills you before I get there.”