Page 30 of Eldritch
“King Jeret and his men have left the castle. Prince Dorjan is missing, Sir!”
Zivant’s brows lowered, and he turned slowly toward the cupbearer. “Stay with them. I will send a guard.”
The boy’s eyes damned near flew from their sockets. “Me? I’m happy to fetch a guard for you.”
“They cannot be left alone.” The captain swiped up the fire iron propped against the wall that he’d used to burn Ravezio earlier, and the memory of his fellow Letalisz’s suffering stirred a lethal rage in Kazhimyr. “Do not go near them. And if theyshould try anything, stab them.” He shoved the iron at the boy’s chest. “I’ll send for a guard quickly.”
On those parting words, Captain Zivant hurried out of the inquisition chamber—nothing more than a vast brick alcove with various torture devices—leaving the trembling cupbearer alone with Kazhimyr and Ravezio.
“Can I get some water?” Kazhimyr said in a hoarse voice, and the boy peered to the left of him, likely praying a guard would arrive soon. “Please. I don’t mean you any harm.”
The boy’s throat bobbed with a swallow, and he glanced around, fingers fidgeting when he stared toward a bucket just a few paces away. Perhaps gauging whether, or not, that heavy iron ladle could’ve been used as a weapon. Another second more of contemplation, and he scampered toward it. After scooping the water, he took slow and measured steps toward Kazhimyr, his arm trembling just enough to splash the fluids onto the floor.
Kazhimyr tipped his head back, allowing the boy to pour the water into his mouth. The fluid damned near sizzled as it traveled down his throat. But he was grateful for it. “Perhaps you might fetch some for my friend, as well.”
The boy, undoubtedly more confident with that request, seeing as Ravezio was in far worse shape, gave a nod and dipped the ladle into the bucket for more water. He crossed the room to where the other Letalisz also hung limp against the brick wall, wrists shackled and skin glistening raw where he’d been burned and cut earlier.
“Sir?” the boy said as he lifted the ladle to Ravezio’s face. “Would you like a sip of water?”
Ravezio tipped his head back, and just as the boy was about to pour the water into his mouth, the Letalisz spat blood in his face.
An agonized sound echoed through the ancient brick walls as the boy fell to his knees, dropping the ladle to the floor.
Ravezio acted quickly, toeing the ladle close, its heavy iron surface scraping over the stone floor, then he balanced it on the tip of his bare foot before kicking it up into the air, just high enough that he caught it in his shackled hand.
Kazhimyr snorted. “I see you’ve been practicing your Circ Lunae moves?”
A smile slipped across Ravezio’s face, making him seem far less bothered by his injuries than he first appeared. “Women love a flexible lover. Ask your mother.” Using the handle’s sharp end that ordinarily hooked onto the bucket, he drew his arms together and wedged the pointed end into the lock of his shackles. His muscles shook as he held tight to the bowl of the ladle, until it finally snapped, breaking the locking mechanism.
“I might be insulted by that, if my mother wasn’t a vile sootwench who threw me to a hungry pack of dogs when I was only ten years old. So, if you’re trying to make me retch, you’re doing a damned fine job of it.”
Ravezio chuckled, and both men looked down when the boy let out a quiet whimper. Blood leaked out of his eyes and nose, his body twitching as the venom finished him off.
Kazhimyr clicked his tongue. “Poor bastard. Likely never got his dick wet before you snuffed him. With a ladle, no less. Embarrassing.”
“Better than the candlestick I used to kill the last one.” The sound of heavy footfalls echoed down the corridor, and Ravezio hurried over to Kazhimyr, shoving the ladle into the lock of his shackles, breaking it as easily as he had his own. Once free, both men hustled toward where their clothes had been discarded just before their torture and dressed quickly. They slipped past the boy’s lifeless body toward the corridor.
Kazhimyr peered around the corner, catching flickers of shadows on the wall from guards marching down the adjacent hallway. The two of them exited the bloodstained chamber roominto the shadowy corridor. Without so much as a glance back, they kept on through the winding maze of cell-lined passages that made up the castle’s undercroft.
Shouts erupted from behind—likely from the guards becoming aware of their escape. As they approached the curve in the passageway, the two slinked into the shadows of a small alcove beside an unlit brazier, pressing themselves against the stone wall.
Hushed conversation reached Kazhimyr’s ears, and he listened to what he was certain was Captain Zivant’s voice. The mere sound of it ground his nerves.
“The king has demanded that we send half of our men after King Jeret.”
“Our men are doing their best to tame an angry crowd of spindlings and Nilivir, who could very well breach the castle grounds!” That voice sounded like Zivant’s second in command—one of Kazhimyr’s tormentors.
“As I understand, a number of Solassions were left behind. I want them rounded up and thrown into Bonesguard. As for the mob, you have my authority to employ brute force, if necessary.” There was no mistaking the implication in Zivant’s words—kill anyone who resisted. “I’ll only be taking a few hundred men after King Jeret and the prince. The Solassions are traveling through unfamiliar landscape, which will give us the advantage, until they reach the Primmian Sea.”
“We could call on our vassals in Veneficarys to accompany you.” That voice bore the distinct articulation of King Sagaerin’s closest advisor, Lord Belthane.
“No,” Zivant answered, as if insulted by the suggestion. “I’ll find the prince myself. Jeret doesn’t intend to kill him.”
“What makes you so certain of that?” Lord Belthane asked. “King Jeret is facing a significant threat by mercenaries whosenumbers are growing, and Sagaerin has repeatedlyrefusedto send aid.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of Kael Vexmoor and his band of mercenaries. We lost nearly ten thousand men to him, if you’ll recall.” Bitterness colored Zivant’s tone. “King Sagaerin isn’t interested in sending his men into a bloodbath.”
“Yet, Kael Vexmoor’s army grows and grows through our lack of action. Who’s to say he won’t become a threat to Nyxteros!”
