She and the prisoners halted in a group in the center of the courtyard where they were forced to stand and wait. After a long, uncomfortable night in the underground dungeon, they were all exhausted. They had been given no food or water and had been rousted out of their cells and marched outside, no reasons given. Were they to be executed? Tortured? Linsha glanced sideways at the men with her and saw varying degrees of dread in all their faces. She couldn’t fault them. She had to fight to keep her own composure calm and to still the trembling in her hands.
Lifting her eyes, she scanned the roof lines and walls of the ruin around her, looking for a familiar shape or the glint of owlish eyes. But if Varia was in the courtyard, she had carefully hidden herself. There was no sign of her. Linsha sighed and steeled her mind to wait whatever came. She feared that whatever it was, none of them were going to like it.
The wait took longer than she anticipated. The sun rose higher in the clear sky, and the heat in the stone courtyard became stifling. The faint breeze gave a few last fitful gusts and died completely. Soon Linsha felt sweat gather on her forehead and trickle down her face. She would have liked to move to wipe it off, but the Tarmaks watched them closely, and any time one of the prisoners moved, a guard snapped a harsh word and cracked a short whip across the offender’s shoulders.
Yet the Brutes did little else to the captives. They were obviously holding them there in anticipation of something. But what?
Linsha’s head was beginning to pound from an intense headache when loud voices and the tramp of feet alerted the guards. The prisoners shifted imperceptibly closer together and straightened weary backs and legs. Linsha and Lanther shared a quick look.
A group often Tarmaks with swords, daggers, battle axes, and round shields marched into the court through an entrance in the fallen wall and bore down on the small group of alarmed prisoners. Linsha glanced again at the Legion men beside her and felt a faint glow of pride. Not one of them cowered as the tall, powerful warriors halted in front of them and snapped to attention.
By the absent gods, Linsha mused, these Brutes were imposing specimens. Each one was over seven feet, had the muscular shoulders and chest of a trained fighter, and wore little more than bronze studded battle harnesses for their weapons, a lightweight cloak of dark red, and a flap of leather that passed for a loin cloth. Their skin was painted the dark blue they were infamous for, and graceful white feathers were braided into their long, dark hair. In spite of their barbaric appearance, the Tarmaks reminded Linsha of elves somehow. It was not just their pointed ears but something more subtle, an athletic prowess in their movement, a powerful sense of racial pride and dignity, and a self-assurance that equaled that of most dragons.
An eleventh man walked out from behind his honor guards and approached the group of prisoners. Her headache took a turn for the worse and her mouth went dry.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “Not him.”
A golden mask hid his face and marked his status as leader of the Tarmak invaders. Linsha didn’t know what the Tarmaks called their commander, so for lack of a better word, she knew him as the General. She had never seen his face and had no notion of what he looked like or how old he was, but she was all too aware of what he was capable of doing. He wore a pleated kilt of fine linen and golden armbands, and like his followers, his skin was painted blue. His dark eyes pierced through the holes of the mask. He came to a stop in front of her and stared down at her.
“The Rose Knight.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest. “The exiled Solamnic who slays dragons. Once again we are pleased to see you.”
Across his chest hung a necklace Linsha had not seen before. It was made with dragon’s teeth curved like Khurish scimitars. Her eyes narrowed. Which dragon? She dragged her eyes from the teeth to his masked face and bowed her head ever so slightly—a gesture that just bordered on insolence. She said nothing.
The general continued to observe her from the dirty bandage on her arm to her stained clothes and worn boots. “I have not had an opportunity to thank you for ridding us of that troublesome dragon.”
Linsha tried to be casual. She lifted an arched eyebrow and forced the fear out of her voice. “I have not thanked you for leaving that lance lying about so conveniently. Tell me why you wanted us to kill him. He should have been a valuable ally.”
“Should have been. But was not. You knew him. Thunder was too vindictive, greedy, and cruel.”
“Even for you?”
He chuckled, a hollow sound behind the mask. “Even for us. We have our own plans that did not include Thunder.”
“Which are?”
“In good time, Lady Linsha. For today, we have other things to do. There are more prisoners coming in. We have to move all of you out here.”
Linsha felt a chill slide down her spine. More prisoners from where?
The general swiveled away from her and stalked down the line of prisoners, studying each one like a wizard eyes his next experiment, then he turned and came back to stop in front of Lanther.
“Ah, yes. You. You have been a thorn in my foot for some time. You’ll do.”
Two guards came forward at his word and grasped the Legionnaire’s arms.
Lanther’s eyes met Linsha’s, and she thought she saw a flash of something in his bright blue eyes, but before she could understand what it was, he was forced to walk to the wall behind them. Linsha and the Legionnaires turned and saw for the first time a narrow metal cage made of heavy woven wire strips lying on the paving near a tall wooden gibbet.
The Tarmaks opened the cage, shoved Lanther inside, and locked the door. With little effort they lifted the cage upright and hung it about three feet off the ground. It was barely big enough for Lanther to stand upright and too narrow for him to turn around. He couldn’t even lift his arms. He looked as if he had been bound in a metal coffin. Much worse, the cage hung in the full sun.
A few hours in that cage would be misery, Linsha knew. Half a day would leave him badly weakened, and a full day with no water in the hot sun added to the complications of his head injury would probably kill him. She took a step toward him.
A forceful blow from a whip sent a sharp pain across her back and caused her to stagger. Furious, she turned to face her tormentor then caught herself before she leaped to attack him. The Brute guard grinned and lashed her again, this time across the wound on her arm. Linsha cried out in pain and outrage.
She knew better than to attack the guard. He was a head taller, many pounds heavier, and he was goading her. Yet she couldn’t help taking one short step in his direction, her hands raised, her eyes hot as green fire.
The Tarmak general stepped in front of her. His hand gripped her shoulder and jerked her closer. Before she could stop him, he reached beneath her tunic, grasped the gold chain, wrenched the dragon scales off her neck, then clamped his hand to her face, the thumb and middle fingers pressing in on her temples.
Linsha had only a moment to remember that one night in his tent when he had bound her to a tent pole and burst into her mind with a power she could not resist. A scream rose in her throat. Before the sound reached her lips, the general pressed his fingers into her face, and an agony of pain exploded in her head. Her breath failed her; her scream exploded in her chest. The power he used took the pain of her headache, expanded it into a white-hot dagger, and stabbed it into her brain just behind her eyes.