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I am a vessel ever filled, yet there’s always room for more. More durhang. More men and their seeds. My master found my place of pleasure and removed it. Ever filled, yet never filled up. There is no base to this vessel. This is what he has done.
To all of us .
She tottered upright. Stared down at the guard’s corpse, at the wet stains spreading out beneath him.
A sound behind her. Scillara turned.
‘You murdering bitch.’
She frowned at the second guard as he advanced, drawing a dagger.
‘The fool wanted you alone for a time. This is what he gets for ignoring Febryl’s commands-I warned him-’
She was staring at the hand gripping the dagger, so was caught unawares as the other hand flashed, knuckles cracking hard against her jaw.
Her eyes blinked open to jostling, sickening motion. She was being dragged through rubbish by one arm. From somewhere ahead flowed the stench of the latrine trench, thick as fog, a breath of warm, poisoned air. Her lips were broken and her mouth tasted of blood. The shoulder of the arm the guard gripped was throbbing.
The man was muttering. ‘… pretty thing indeed. Hardly. When she’s drowning in filth. The fool, and now he’s dead. It was a simple task, after all. There’s no shortage of whores in this damned camp. What-who-’
He had stopped.
Head lolling, Scillara caught a blurred glimpse of a squat figure emerging from darkness.
The guard released her wrist and her arm fell with a thump onto damp, foul mud. She saw him reaching for his sword.
Then his head snapped up with a sound of cracked teeth, followed by a hot spray that spattered across Scillara’s thighs. Blood.
She thought she saw a strange emerald glow trailing from one hand of the guard’s killer-a hand taloned like a huge cat’s.
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I am a vessel ever filled, yet there’s always room for more. More durhang. More men and their seeds. My master found my place of pleasure and removed it. Ever filled, yet never filled up. There is no base to this vessel. This is what he has done.
To all of us .
She tottered upright. Stared down at the guard’s corpse, at the wet stains spreading out beneath him.
A sound behind her. Scillara turned.
‘You murdering bitch.’
She frowned at the second guard as he advanced, drawing a dagger.
‘The fool wanted you alone for a time. This is what he gets for ignoring Febryl’s commands-I warned him-’
She was staring at the hand gripping the dagger, so was caught unawares as the other hand flashed, knuckles cracking hard against her jaw.
Her eyes blinked open to jostling, sickening motion. She was being dragged through rubbish by one arm. From somewhere ahead flowed the stench of the latrine trench, thick as fog, a breath of warm, poisoned air. Her lips were broken and her mouth tasted of blood. The shoulder of the arm the guard gripped was throbbing.
The man was muttering. ‘… pretty thing indeed. Hardly. When she’s drowning in filth. The fool, and now he’s dead. It was a simple task, after all. There’s no shortage of whores in this damned camp. What-who-’
He had stopped.
Head lolling, Scillara caught a blurred glimpse of a squat figure emerging from darkness.
The guard released her wrist and her arm fell with a thump onto damp, foul mud. She saw him reaching for his sword.
Then his head snapped up with a sound of cracked teeth, followed by a hot spray that spattered across Scillara’s thighs. Blood.
She thought she saw a strange emerald glow trailing from one hand of the guard’s killer-a hand taloned like a huge cat’s.
The figure stepped over the crumpled form of the guard, who had ceased moving, and slowly crouched down beside Scillara.
‘I’ve been looking for you,’ the man growled. ‘Or so I’ve just realized. Extraordinary, how single lives just fold into the whole mess, over and over again, all caught up in the greater swirl. Spinning round and round, and ever downward, it seems. Ever downward. Fools, all of us, to think we can swim clear of that current.’
The shadows were strange on him. As if he stood beneath palms and tall grasses-but no, there was only the night sky above the squat, broad-shouldered man. He was tattooed, she realized, in the barbs of a tiger.
‘Plenty of killing going on lately,’ he muttered, staring down at her with amber eyes. ‘All those loose threads being knotted, I expect.’
She watched him reach down with that glowing, taloned hand. It settled, palm-downward, warm between her breasts. The tips of the claws pricked her skin and a tremble ran through her.
That spread, coursing hot through her veins. That heat grew suddenly fierce, along her throat, in her lungs, between her legs.
The man grunted. ‘I thought it was consumption, that rattling breath. But no, it’s just too much durhang. As for the rest, well, it’s an odd thing about pleasure. Something Bidithal would have you never know. Its enemy is not pain. No, pain is simply the path taken to indifference. And indifference destroys the soul. Of course, Bidithal likes destroyed souls-to mirror his own.’
If he continued speaking beyond that, she did not hear, as sensations long lost flooded into her, only slightly blunted by the lingering, satisfying haze of the durhang. She felt badly used between her legs, but knew that feeling would pass.
‘Outrage.’
He was gathering her into his arms, but paused. ‘You spoke?’
Outrage. Yes. That . ‘Where are you taking me?’ The question came out between coughs, and she pushed his arms aside to bend over and spit out phlegm while he answered.
‘To my temple. Fear not, it’s safe. Neither Febryl nor Bidithal will find you there. You’ve been force-healed, lass, and will need to sleep.’
‘What do you want with me?’
‘I’m not sure yet. I think I will need your help, and soon. But the choice is yours. Nor will you have to surrender… anything you don’t want to. And, if you choose to simply walk away, that is fine as well. I will give you money and supplies-and maybe even find you a horse. We can discuss that tomorrow. What is your name?’
He reached down once more and lifted her effortlessly.
‘Scillara.’
‘I am Heboric, Destriant to Treach, the Tiger of Summer and the God of War.’
She stared up at him as he began carrying her along the path. ‘I am afraid I am going to disappoint you, Heboric. I think I have had my fill of priests.’
