Cam of Cairnrach, Champion of King Donelan of Isencroft, rolled over in his makeshift cell and threw up. His captors hadn't bothered to bind his ankles or tie his wrists. Leather John and his divisionists had counted on Cam's broken leg to keep him in his cell. It was doing a good job, Cam thought, sprawling onto his back. The food he'd been given was putrid, and the water brackish. His survival was obviously not one of Leather John's top concerns. Think like Jonmarc, Cam challenged himself. Jonmarc wouldn't have gotten himself captured. Not so easily. He would have made it more expensive for them, that's for sure. Cam pulled himself upright, taking care not to jostle his left hand. He'd managed to bind up the stub of his severed finger with a strip of cloth from his shirt, but his hand still left a bloody mark on the floor. No matter how he moved, the pain from his wounded hand or his shattered leg was agonizing. And although only one night had passed since his capture, Cam knew that without treatment, blood poisoning was a likely outcome. Already, his hand felt warm and swollen.
The first duty of a prisoner is to escape. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Cam looked around his cell. From what he'd been able to make out by moonlight the night before, he'd been brought to an abandoned fuller's mill at least a candlemark's wagon ride from the palace city. The mill stank of urine and pig dung, the fuller's tools of the trade. He'd glimpsed the heavy hammers of the fulling stocks by lantern light when his captors had interrogated him. The details were blurry; a consequence of slipping in and out of consciousness.
His "cell" looked like a storage room. The floor was littered with bits of wood and discarded rags, left behind when the mill's owners departed. What light entered filtered through the gaps between the boards in the wall. A continual draft brought cold air from the back of the small, cramped room. It was the only fresh air, barely counterbalancing the stink from the dung pit. Unfortunately, the mills' owners hadn't bothered to lime their pit or dump their urine cistern. Combined, the smells were enough to sting Cam's eyes. Cam saw what he was looking for-a short board and a broken broom handle. Painfully dragging himself across the filthy floor, he gathered up the pieces along with a fistful of rags. Grimacing, Cam stretched out his broken leg as best he could. See if I learned anything after
watching Carina all my life. Cam bit his lip to stifle a cry as he bent forward, stretching to place the wood on either side of his leg and tie it tightly with rags, as good a splint as he could manage.
From the light that slipped between the boards, Cam guessed it was mid-morning. By now, Donelan was sure to have received Leather John's message-a "gift" of Cam's severed ring finger, complete with the signet of the King's Champion. Cam was equally certain that though Donelan's vengeance would eventually catch up with the divisionists, no soldiers would be riding out to parley for his release. If anything's going to happen, I'll have to make it happen.
Cam wriggled close enough to the wall to brace against it with his uninjured leg. He gasped as he pushed up, using his damaged hand for balance as his right hand steadied his broken leg. He turned so that the wall supported his bum leg, and slowly made his way around the room, looking for anything in the refuse he might make into a weapon. It took him nearly half a candlemark to limp around the room's perimeter, and his search netted him a handful of rags, two blocks of wood the size of his fists, and a handful of rusted tenterhooks. Satisfied and exhausted, Cam returned to his original place, making sure to cover his splint with his cloak. He worked until the light failed, twisting the cloth into a rope the length of his arm. Using a few of the tenterhooks, he secured the makeshift rope to each of the blocks, and hammered the hooks into the blocks as best he could by slamming them against the floor. The result was an ugly but serviceable bolo, which Cam fastened around his waist below his shirt.
For a while, Cam thought the divisionists had gone. As the light outside grew dim and the night wind picked up, Cam heard footsteps shuffle beyond the door.
"You're sure Donelan received the package?" It was Ruggs's voice.
"Cohnnar tied a brick to a kerchief with the ring and the finger and pitched it through the guardhouse window. Damn near got him caught. Yeah, I'd say they received it," Leather John replied.
"Good. Did he leave enough of a trail to bring them here?" "I s'pose. Don't make no sense to me-why lead them to us?"
"Donelan's patience is wearing thin. He's sure to send a garrison after us-maybe ride out himself to make a point. Ice's too thin on the river for them to ford it, so they'll have to take the bridge. That'll slow them down, make them cross in pairs. Our archers can attack from the forest at the valley's edge, pick them off as they cross. Pritcher and Kobs weakened the bridge. All that weight, men and horses, will go right into the river. We score a victory, and Donelan looks like a fool. We might even get in a lucky shot if he comes himself."
Leather John did not reply immediately. "The guy in there," and Cam assumed Leather John meant him, "he knows about Curane." "Does he now."
"Are you sure of him, Curane that is?" Leather John's voice lacked the bluster it had held the night before. "I don't trust him. He's not Isencroft. Maybe Curane's using us." "What a fine revolutionary you are!" Ruggs mocked. "Interrogate one prisoner, and you start spouting his lies. I don't dare have you question him again-you'd be signing up for the king's guard."
"You know that's a lie. I just want to know why you're so sure Curane's being straight with us."
There was a long pause, as if Ruggs were considering his next words. "Curane's got the Margolan army-and their king-bottled up in a siege. He thinks his hocuses can magic up a way to kill King Martris, and he's got a solution to your traitor princess and her mixed- blood bastard." "Oh?"
"Curane's got a man on the inside of Drayke's palace. Well-placed. Wouldn't tell me who. While Drayke's off to war, Curane's man's to make sure your princess doesn't live long enough to birth the brat. He's almost gotten her a couple of times, but she's been lucky. Just had a courier from Margolan a few nights back. Said the court is feeling less friendly these days toward their new queen. Imagine," Ruggs said with relish. "Murder the princess, and we solve a host of problems. No heir. No joint kingdom. Donelan will have no choice except to break the alliance."
"Curane gets the Margolan throne for Jared's son and we get what we want. That's what I wanted to hear."
Cam could hear scraping sounds, as if something large and heavy were being moved in the outer room. "Now if you're through with your questions," Ruggs said. "I have some questions of my own for your prisoner."
The light in the storage cell had grown quite dim. Cam took out his bolo and waited for the door to open. I can't run and I can't fight, but I might get in a lucky shot. The door opened, and Cam saw a short, powerfully-built man silhouetted against the light. He let the bolo fly with all his might, swinging his good hand with full force. The unwieldy blocks sailed through the air, smashing into the doorpost as Ruggs ducked out of the way.
"Bring him out."
Two guards hurried into the makeshift cell, each grabbing Cam roughly under the arms. They dragged him out and forced him onto a wooden table, securing his wrists above his head and his legs to the bottom with a rope across his ankles. At Ruggs's signal, the guards threw the table up on one end, so that Cam hung upside down, with his head beneath one of the sluices that once carried water from the river into the mill. "I want to know what Donelan knows about us," Ruggs said, stepping into the light where Cam could see him. He had the look of a man from Southcroft, with a broad face and a shock of dirty red hair. "Go to the Crone."
"Leather John tells me you've been spying on us for a while. Pity about the boy. I don't much like informers." "Go screw the Dark Lady."
Ruggs nodded, and one of the guards stepped forward with a large bundle of rags. He wrapped them around Cam's head and stuffed them into his mouth. Cam heard the groan of old wood being pried free, and heard the distant sound of gears turning. A gush of ice-cold water covered his face, soaking into the rags and filling his nose and mouth. Cam twisted and jerked against the ropes that held him.
"All I want to know is-what does Donelan know about us?"
The icy water knocked the breath from Cam, and the flood across his face made it impossible for him to breathe. Instinct took over and Cam bucked against his bonds, arching and straining. Desperate for air, he sucked in water, gagging from the force of the torrent.
His vision grew red and his head swam.
"Give him a chance to speak."
The water stopped. Cam sputtered and retched, gasping for air.
"Nothing to say? Pity." The water started once more. Cam jerked hard enough he felt his shoulder dislocate. His heart was racing and his lungs burned as if he'd swallowed coals.
Every nerve seemed to be on fire, every sense screaming for air. Ruggs punched him hard in the stomach and Cam lurched forward, taking in a full mouthful of water. He began to shake uncontrollably. The water stopped again.
"What does Donelan know?"
Cam groaned. Someone yanked the sodden gag from his mouth. "Abyss take you," he managed.
The water began again. Cam jerked against the ropes hard enough that blood started down his wrists. The shaking turned to spasms as his body fought for life. The freezing water poured over him, choking and smothering him as it filled his nose and mouth. Ruggs landed another blow to his gut and a second to his side. Cam lifted off the table straining against the ropes, enough that water filled his lungs, squeezing out air. He opened his mouth to gasp for breath and water filled it, too. This time, the water did not stop until light and darkness seemed to blend together, as if consciousness were a flickering candle. Cam's heart hammered, blood pounding in his ears.
Ruggs bent down near his ear. "Give me a number. Just a number. I'll make it stop. Tell me how many of us Donelan thinks there are."
"Four, hundred." Cam's voice was a hoarse whisper. Drops fell from the sluice and Cam flinched.
Ruggs straightened. "There. He can be reasonable." "Should I start the water again?" Cam waited to die. "Not today."
Ruggs jerked away the rags. Soldiers turned the table roughly on its side. Cam puked water and blood, violently expelling both from his nose and mouth. It was another minute until the shaking stopped. The soldiers cut him down, and Cam tumbled to the floor, falling hard on his broken leg. He lay still in a pool of vomit. Ruggs's boots came into view. "You may not be as expendable as I first thought. Funny about the water cure. After the first time, it goes much faster."
Soldiers jerked Cam to his knees, barely managing to drag him across the floor. He lost consciousness as they descended a rough stone staircase into the lower level of the mill. When he awoke, his sodden shirt was stuck to his skin and he was shivering with cold in the darkness. The floor was made of stone, and no light filtered in. The air was colder here, and the stench of pig dung heavy. Cam sucked in great gulps of air despite the stink. I broke. No matter that I lied. They broke me. And if they do it again, I won't be able to hold out.
"Good to know you're alive. It's been a while since they threw you in here," a voice said.
"Thought they tossed in a corpse."
"They nearly did." Cam's voice was rough, strange to his own ears. "Where am I?" "Near as I can tell, we're in what used to be one of the dung pools. It's a round stone room with one door that's locked." "Who are you?"
"I was unlucky enough to be squatting here when the brigands came. They threw me in here and forgot to kill me, I guess. Or perhaps they meant to let me starve. It's been two days and no food. There's a trickle of water comes down that wall-it's probably all we'll get." The voice was quiet. "Caught a glimpse of you when they threw you in here. From the way they worked you over, I'm guessing you're a bit more important than a squatter." "Just a soldier in the wrong place at the wrong time." I wasn't important before I knew their plan. Now, they can't afford to let me go. Donelan's spy in Margolan is a traitor. Kiara's in grave danger. Curane's behind it all. And I'm the only one who knows.