A man's agonized scream cut through the silence at the old fuller's mill. There was a thud as a body hit the wall hard. The wall that separated Cam's prison in an old wool room from the main mill area shuddered.
"We know you're Donelan's spy," Cam heard Ruggs shout through the wall at his captive. "What I want to know is-what have you told Donelan?"
Another thud, and the man screamed again. In his prison, Cam dragged himself painfully toward the wall. His broken leg was swollen to nearly double its size, and he knew he could not stand without the wall's support. But he couldn't sit by while Ruggs tortured someone. Not without trying to help.
"I'm not a patient man," Ruggs said in a deadly tone. "Tell me what you know, and I'll stop the pain. Toy with me and I'll still have my answers. even if I have to drag them out of you along with your guts."
Cam winced at the sound of boots connecting hard with flesh. The prisoner groaned and retched. Cam inched his way along the wall. His injured leg sent flashes of pain streaking through his body. His left arm was worse. The wound where Ruggs had severed his finger had gone bad; Cam knew that by the smell. His left hand was hot and swollen, and as the days passed, the infection had gradually made its way up his arm. Now, his whole body was feverish. A few more days and Ruggs's hope for a captive to use for leverage against Donelan would be dashed. Cam was quite sure the fever or the poison from the festering wound would take him before long. Still, he inched on, until he found a break between boards big enough to see through.
Ruggs's captive wore the bloodied uniform of the Isencroft army. He was young, probably not yet twenty. From what Cam could see, Ruggs and his men had already worked the spy over before they got to the mill. The man's uniform was torn and covered with blood, and his face was swollen and bruised. Blood trickled from the soldier's nose and mouth. Ruggs gave the prisoner a vicious kick. "What does Donelan know?"
The prisoner moaned. Cam had to lean closer to the break in the boards to make out his words. "The men we caught in town sing sweetly," he managed. "Donelan has them all-"
"Liar!" Ruggs bent down and dragged the soldier to his feet. He pinned the prisoner to the wall not far from where Cam watched helplessly and slammed his fist into the soldier's stomach, doubling the young man over. A vicious backhand snapped the prisoner's head back up, slamming it hard enough against the wall that Cam was amazed the soldier didn't lose consciousness.
A bitter smile crept over the young man's split lips. "It's too late. I was the bait. When I don't return, they'll know for sure you're here. You don't have much time left." Ruggs gave a howl of rage and Cam saw a glint of light as a knife turned in Ruggs's hand an instant before he plunged it hilt-deep into the soldier's belly. The point jammed into the wall, and for a moment, Ruggs let the prisoner hang suspended by the dagger beneath his ribs. The soldier groaned in pain and Ruggs could not restrain himself from landing another punch before he pulled his knife free and let the dying soldier slump to the ground. "Throw him in with the other one. We have work to do."
Enraged, Cam shuffled closer to the door. Fighting or escaping was beyond reach, but he could at least use his bulk to attack whoever came through the opening. The door opened, and with a roar, Cam threw himself at the two divisionists who dragged the battered soldier between them. His leg gave out on him, and he missed the first man, but he landed hard on the second and clamped his uninjured hand around the man's thin neck, squeezing with all his strength.
"Whore-spawned bastard!" he shouted as he sank his fingers into the man's neck. The pommel of a sword came down hard on the side of Cam's head, making him see stars. Three men dragged him from the downed rebel and broke his grip on the man's neck. The divisionists gathered their downed comrade and Cam looked up to see Ruggs framed in the doorway.
"The men Donelan's captured won't stop us," Ruggs said as Cam raised his head to glare at him. "The army's on their way. We have some surprises waiting for them. We'll make it clear that some Isencroft men refuse to sell our souls to a foreign king." He gave a cold smile. "Make peace with whatever Aspect you honor. When the king's troops come into sight, I plan to hang both of you from the outer wall as a welcome banner." Ruggs slammed the door shut behind him and Cam heard the bolt slide into place.
Cam dragged himself over to where the battered soldier lay. There was just enough light making its way into the storage room from the late afternoon sun for him to see how bad the
young man's wounds were. Cam had seen enough of battle to recognize a mortal wound, and the jagged tear left by Ruggs's knife would have challenged even so fine a healer as Carina.
The soldier turned his head slightly. "Don't move," Cam said quietly, drawing himself up into a sitting position with his good arm and gritting his teeth against the pain as he jarred his
broken leg. "I'm nothing much to look at anyhow."
"Cam of Cairnrach?" The soldier's voice was muffled through swollen lips.
"Yes."
"The king thanks you for your warning."
Cam looked at him in astonishment. "Rhistiart made it through with my message?"
"And my mission was to tell you that help is on the way."
"Please don't tell me that you meant to let them capture you."
The soldier gave a weak laugh and sputtered blood. "I was to tell you to watch sharp tomorrow night. That's when they're set to attack." He struggled for breath. "I thought they might want to trade us. Seems they're not much for exchanging prisoners. Live ones, anyway."
As the young man spoke, Cam did his best to staunch the bleeding, but the warm blood
drenched his hands. "Lie still."
"Thank you for what you tried to do, there at the door."
"My sister always said I was the size of an ox. Figured falling on someone could do some damage. I'm afraid that's the best I could manage."
"I was proud to serve the king." The young man's voice was faint, and even in the waning light, Cam could see the pallor in the soldier's face.
"You've served well," Cam said, fighting the lump in his throat. With his good hand, he clasped the soldier's hand tightly as the man began to shiver. "Hang on. I won't let go." "Say a prayer for my soul," the soldier murmured. "There's no family to mourn me." "What's your name? "Siarl."
"I promise, Siarl." Cam said. He could feel the other's grip growing slack. The soldier drew a long, ragged breath and was still. Cam bowed his head. He had never been observant about the Lady. Carina had made offerings for the both of them, and Cam guessed that his sister also said whatever prayers he might have overlooked. But any man who soldiered more than a few battles knew the prayer for the dead. The words came to him now, and with them, the faces of so many
friends who lay beneath the battlefields.
"Let the sword be sheathed, and the helm shuttered. Prepare a feast in the hall of your fallen heroes. Siarl of Isencroft died with valor. Make his passage swift and his journey easy, until his soul rests in the arms of the Lady." His voice broke. Gently, Cam let go of Siarl's hand to make the sign of the Lady over his body. He closed the young man's eyes and laid his hands atop his chest, covering the savage wound.
Cam drew a deep breath. He had no illusions about the likelihood of rescue. But he would honor Siarl's sacrifice. His hand went to the flint and steel in his pocket. Donelan would have his warning beacon. Siarl would have a pyre worthy of a hero. And Cam of Cairnrach would have his vengeance.