“Where are they now?” the ekwegul asked.
“The centaurs have been sent to the slave pens. I separated the woman from the buckskin stallion. He is very loyal to her. The lady knight and men are in the cells under the palace.”
The Tarmak nodded. “Good. I’ve seen those cells. A rat could not escape from one.”
The human gave a brief laugh. “Don’t underestimate the talents of that woman. I want a guard on her day and night. Did the owl get away?”
“Mathurra told me it was nicked by an arrow, but it escaped. Into the trees he thinks.”
The man’s mouth and eyes narrowed in displeasure. “Send someone out to scour the grounds under the trees. Be certain. The owl must be undamaged.”
“It will be done.”
They stood for a moment in thoughtful silence, watching the smoke rise into the afternoon sky, before the man said, “The attack is still set for tonight. The 2nd and 4th ekwul will lead the way, but you will be needed to watch the paths and escape routes. Will your warriors be ready?”
The Tarmak did not hesitate. “Of course. We had light casualties. I will see they are fed and rested, and they will be ready to serve.”
“The goddess be with you tonight,” the man replied.
They exchanged salutes, and the man walked back toward the throne room.
Linsha was still awake when the Tarmaks brought down another prisoner. She heard the creak of the door at the top of the stairs and the plod of feet coming down the stone steps into the circular room that had once been an interrogation chamber of sorts. Five stone cells set in the wall opened into the room and could be watched by one man. Several torches in brackets on the walls lit the room and cast some illumination on a bare table, several stools, and the rusted remains of a few chains dangling from the ceiling. Two Tarmaks sat at the table and did nothing but watch the cell doors.
A dim light from the torches lit the cells as well through the barred doors. The bars were in remarkable shape in spite of their age and the dampness in the room, prompting Linsha to test one when the Tarmak guards were not looking her way. As she suspected, the bars had been forged with elven spells and still carried vestiges of that power. There would be no bending or crumbling or snapping of a rusty bar in these cells, even if any of the humans could wield enough magic to try it.
Feigning disinterest, she leaned back against the damp wall of her cell and watched through half-closed lids as two new Tarmaks appeared at the foot of the stairs carrying a litter. The two guards rose to greet them, and one pointed to Linsha’s cell. Linsha tensed. She dropped her pretense of inattention and opened her eyes as the Tarmaks unlocked her cell door.
Linsha made no effort to move. She did not even entertain the notion of rushing these warriors and trying to battle her way out. Besides being skilled warriors, the Tarmaks were all six feet or taller, well muscled, and as graceful in their movements as hunting cats. Up close, without their blue skin paint, they were a handsome people with dark hair usually worn long, fair skin, and eyes of earth colors that often burned with a fanatical zeal. She would have as much luck fighting four Tarmaks barehanded as she would facing four minotaurs.
Her own eyes wary, Linsha watched while the Tarmaks dumped the occupant of the litter to a pallet of straw on the floor and left. One Brute said something to the guards in their guttural language, then the two left. She waited until the door creaked shut at the top of the stairs before she slipped over to the pallet and rolled the man over onto his back. He groaned and opened a pair of vivid blue eyes.
“Lanther.” Linsha couldn’t help but smile. “I thought you were dead.”
He rubbed a hand over his battered face and winced when he hit a large bruise on his temple.
“So did I.” With her help he managed to sit up and prop his back against the stone wall of the cell. “Is there any water in here?”
She brought the small bucket the Tarmaks had left in her cell and gave him a few sips of water. She was bursting with questions, but she waited for him to gather his wits and find the strength to speak. Pale and dirty and splattered with blood, he looked terrible in the half-light of the cell. She could not see any obvious wounds leaking blood onto his clothes, but she could not tell yet if he had any broken bones or internal injuries.
“What happened to your arm?” he asked, staring blearily at the crude wrapping on her upper arm.
“Crossbow. The Tarmaks were kind enough to pull it out. They slathered some of that odd smelling blue paint of theirs on it.” She twisted her arm around to look at it. “When they put it on, the wound started to tingle and the pain eased. I would not be surprised if that paint had some healing properties to it.”
“Maybe that’s why they don’t wear armor.” His eyes crinkled in a slight grimace, and he shifted to get more comfortable. “Where are we?”
“Under the palace. In those prisoner cells Iyesta did not like.”
“Of course not. She couldn’t get to them,” he said with a grunt. “Where are the centaurs?”
Linsha sat down beside him and let her breath out in a long sigh. “I don’t know. They were led away while we were still out in the palace courtyard. There were only four left.”
He took her hand in his and held it, their fingers intertwined. “It’s not your fault,” he said quietly. “Or mine. We acted on good evidence.”
“We were deliberately trapped like wild dogs,” she said forcefully. “They led us in and slammed every door. I wouldn’t be surprised if they watched the pool entrance and timed our capture with the attack on the palace. Neat, efficient, and successful.”
Lanther leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “You may be right.” After awhile he added, “Gods of all, I hate prisoner cells.”
Linsha took several long moments to gather her courage, then asked, “Lanther, what happened to Tanefer?”
“He’s dead. Two arrows to the chest. When he fell, I hit my head on the wall. The Tarmaks took me for dead, too, until later. Now I’m here.” He spoke his short narrative with spare words and little emotion, and when he finished, his words faded into steady breathing.
With gentle hands Linsha laid his shoulders and head down on the pallet and straightened his body. While she moved him, she carefully checked him for broken bones and unseen wounds, and when she was satisfied that he was basically unhurt, she made him as comfortable as possible on the lumpy pallet. She wished she had a cloak or a blanket for him, for the underground cells were chilly and damp, but he would have to be content in his ragged, dirty clothes.
“Lady,” a soft voice hissed from the next cell.
The Tarmak guards watched the two cells with avid eyes, but they did not try to stop the speaker.
Linsha responded quietly, “Yes?”
One of the Legionnaires in the neighboring cell asked, “Is Lanther injured?”
“He seems well enough. He is asleep now.”
A sword blade slammed on the table indicating the Tarmaks had heard enough talk. The prisoners retreated to the back of their cells.
Returning to her own pallet, Linsha lay down and tried to sleep. She didn’t know what time of day it was, but it felt like evening, and her body, deprived of a night’s sleep, was aching with exhaustion. She wanted to sleep, to slip into the forgetfulness of slumber and let her thoughts rest, but her mind wouldn’t let her. Too many worries, concerns, and feelings of guilt and recrimination played through her head.
Where were the centaurs? Had the Tarmaks killed them or just imprisoned them somewhere else?