Drowning at Dusk Ch. 02

Note that this chapter contains a bit of light torture and light knifeplay, and strays into the realm of dubious consent a bit.

**

The sound of dripping water arrived first, followed by a dank, moist scent. Next came the warmth and crackling of a fire. My eyesight finally returned, along with the sensation in my limbs.

I was bound to a sturdy wooden chair in a cavern of some kind. Before me roared a small fire, and beside it laid a pile of furs and blankets. Above me, I could make out a few cracks and gaps in the cave ceiling, none of which were big enough for me to wriggle through, even if I could have somehow gotten up there. Faint sunlight gleamed through those gaps, so I knew at least one night had passed since my capture.

Alone.

As I took in the scene, the events that had led me to that cavern raced by in quick succession. A stealthy descent down a cliff into the bandit camp. A perfect infiltration to get close to my target: the dusk elf Xelari. A few minutes lurking in the shadows, listening with glee as her orcish lieutenant had pleasured her. And then my assassination attempt itself, foiled by Xelari's wariness and a clever illusion. A frantic, bloody escape through the camp, before I'd fallen to Xelari's magic.

Even as I squirmed against my restraints to test them, I went over those events again and again. Had I inspected her tent more thoroughly before advancing inside, I probably could have spotted that illusion and adjusted accordingly. Had I not allowed myself to be distracted by Xelari for that split-second during my escape, I likely could have made it up the cliff.

Every failure was a lesson.

I just had to survive long enough to put those lessons to good use.

After a few deep breaths I took better stock of my surroundings and my predicament: they'd stripped me out of my armor, leaving me barefoot in my sweaty shirt and leather leggings. The leggings had been rolled up to past my knees, and I no longer felt any pain where Terakh had struck me with the flat of his blade. Someone had used magic to tend to those injuries.

Curious. They wanted me alive, but also healthy.

I wasn't sure if that development was promising or worrying.

As a trainee of the White Talon assassin order, I'd been thoroughly trained on all varieties of bindings and knots. Other experience in bondage had come from particularly cruel or creative lovers, so it wasn't long before I'd squirmed and wriggled enough to loosen the rope around my right wrist.

Footsteps echoed through the cavern. I went still, fluttered my eyes, and did my best to act the part of someone who'd just awoken and had not yet started to undo the bindings.

A dusk elf rounded the corner, clad in a breastplate of shimmering dark metal, and carrying a bowl. Upon his hip was a long, curved dagger, and the angry gleam in his eyes told me he wouldn't hesitate to use it. His skin was a pale grey, and he wore his silvery hair in a tight bun. Upon his forehead was a claw-shaped tattoo, in the same style as Xelari's amulet.

He approached slowly, without meeting my eyes.

"Where am I?" I asked, my voice hoarse and weak.

"I suppose I should thank you," he said, ignoring the question and raising the bowl.

To my relief, it was filled with water, which I greedily slurped down as much as I could. Doing so spilled a great deal over my chest and his hands.

"Because your slaying of Elengred allowed me to step in and take his place as Xelari's chosen favorite."

Her 'favorite?' Did that mean he'd been her chosen champion, or had I killed Xelari's favored lover? If it was the latter, I wondered how the man had reacted to the sounds of Terakh licking between his mistress's legs, mere feet away.

"From the sound of her moans, it seems that Terakh was instead her favorite," I said, managing a soft smile. The barb had been deftly calculated, a strike at this dusk elf's ego to assess his relationship with Xelari.

He snorted.

"Our mistress would never allow that dimwitted mercenary inside of her. To please and worship her, yes, but for the true embrace of her touch? Never. Terakh has not earned the right of the richest pleasures she can offer. But thanks to your dispatching of Elengred...I may have earned that right myself."

After slurping down the last of the water, she caught her breath and relaxed a bit.

"Express your gratitude, then, and tell me where I am."

"In a cave."

"You're clever, I can see why Xelari promoted you. Where am I?"

"Not far from where you were captured," he said with a little smile. "That was quite the fight you put up. Though had I been there, you would not have lasted that long, gotten as far, or killed as many of our hirelings."

"Care to put that boast to the test? Loosen these bonds a bit, and we can see how worthy of a champion you really are."

The dusk elf chuckled.

"Were it not for Xelari's orders, I'd have already cut your throat. Or at a minimum, I'd have bent you over in front of the whole camp, so they could all see the clever assassin moaning like a whore."

"Oh, so you know how to show a lady a good time then," I shot back, flashing him my most impudent grin.

"Your japes won't save you."

"Of course not. Just having a bit of fun." I chewed my lip and glanced up at the ceiling. "Though truth be told, I'm not so sure a scrawny elf like you could do much for me. But a big, brawny orc like Terakh...now that's a real lover." His nose twitched, his lips curling into a sneer. Another well-placed barb. Another test. Another opening.

"I bet he'd make me moan and weep as loudly as he did Xelari. You should have heard how loudly she-"

He slapped me across the face. The impact was more than enough to send me rocking back in the chair, which promptly toppled back onto the cave floor. The wood splintered, and since I already mostly freed my wrist before he'd arrived, it was no trouble at all to tear through the remaining bindings.

The shattered chair also gave me a rather convenient weapon in the form of a large, jagged piece of wood.

The dusk elf snarled and lunged for me, clearly thinking me a clumsy fool rather than a threat, and not noticing the improvised weapon I'd managed to grasp.

As his hands gripped my shoulders, I twisted and lunged, driving the massive splinter deep into the meat of his bicep. He howled as dark blue blood spurted forth, and he slammed his forehead against mine. Hissing back in defiance, I twisted the makeshift weapon, left it there, and grasped for the dagger strapped to his waist.

In a flash I unsheathed it and pressed it underneath his chin, while my free hand tore away the remaining bindings.

His pale eyes widened in shock and pain, and I shoved him onto his back.

"Easy, easy. No need for me to kill another of Xelari's pets. First, your name."

"Fuck you," he growled in reply.

"Now, now. I'll need your cooperation if I'm going to get out of here, and you'll need my mercy if you want to survive. Let's get acquainted." I jabbed him with the knife, just barely enough to draw blood. "Name."

"Valrafein."

"And my gear?"

"In Terakh's tent. Outside in the camp."

Shit. Without my gear I'd be at a severe disadvantage.

With a hostage, though, I just might have a chance. I dragged him to his feet and forced him to walk in front of me with my knife poised to the back of his neck. As we walked down the cavern, I slipped the keys from his belt.

Though my feet were bare, I barely noticed the rough surface beneath them, having grown so accustomed to traversing such terrain during my training with the White Talons. One could never count on having serviceable shoes during an assassination contract, after all.

The cavern narrowed into a passageway which ended with a heavy wooden door. As I placed the keys in the lock, I paused and listened. I could barely make out a muffled conversation, but with no idea of the door's thickness or the terrain beyond, I couldn't assess the numbers or proximity of the people beyond.

Gritting my teeth and hoping for the best, I shoved Valrafein's face against the rough stone wall beside the door, then unlocked it and pried it open a few inches.

The door led into a larger cavern. At the far end of it I could see the gleam of sunlight. My faint hopes died at the sight of the cavern's occupants.

Twenty armed and armored brigands were scattered about the cavern. Some sparred with one another, while others sharpened weapons or tended to their armor. With a fury-rune I might have been able to make a break for it, or a shadow-rune could have allowed me to sneak out.

But without either of those arcane tools, I didn't have a bloody chance.

Valrafein let out a harsh chuckle.

"See? No way out. Give up now, and maybe I'll ask Xelari to make it quick for you."

Before I could decide whether to run, surrender, or go down fighting, Xelari and three more brigands entered the other side of the cavern. She wore a hood that obscured her soft features, but her curvaceous figure and silksteel armor were unmistakable.

Her presence erased even the slimmest hopes of escape, or even of going down in a glorious and bloody rampage. All it would take was another conjuration of those paralyzing snakes from her runestone, and then I'd be done for.

"Last chance," he hissed.

I was sorely tempted just to cut the bastard's throat to wipe that smug look off of his face. Instead I snarled under my breath, stepped back, and dropped the knife at his feet.

As he knelt to collect it, a sudden urge took hold of me, and I slammed my knee into his face. Blood sprayed from his broken nose, and he slumped back against the wall.

No more smug grin now. And Xelari might need a new favorite, depending on how badly I'd messed up his face.

With a sigh, I closed the door, resolved myself to my fate and returned to sit down beside the fire.

The sound of the key scraping into the lock sent shivers down my spine.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

Xelari and her escort rounded the corner. Curses flew from the brigands at the sight of the unconscious dusk elf. Axes and swords leapt into their hands, but Xelari raised her fingers.

"Hold," she said in that low, raspy voice.

Her bright green eyes took in the unconscious dusk elf, the fallen dagger, the ruined chair, and the bloody piece of wood on the floor.

"What happened here?"

"What's a trapped wolf to do, hmm? Just sit there and die? I had to make a move. I didn't kill him, though. You're welcome."

She crossed the room, the armed and wary bandits by her side.

"Perhaps I misjudged in elevating him to replace Elengred so quickly."

She looked to one of her escorts.

"Go fetch another chair. A sturdier one. Stronger bindings. And adjust the schedules: ensure that three guards at a minimum come in for every checkup. And get Valrafein out of here. Give him a glass of water and tell him to walk it off, tell him I'll tend to his wounds once he's dwelt on his failings."

The guards marched off, two kneeling down to drag Valrafein.

"Elengred," I said slowly once the guards had gone. "The man you incinerated while trying to kill me: what was he to you? Valrafein called him your favorite."

"If one's definition of favorite is 'comrade I slept with the most,' then Elengred had that distinction, yes. A valued member of our order, but one who failed me."

She cocked her head.

"But this interrogation is all backwards. The questions are mine to ask, not yours."

Cold. Either she was damnably good at masking her emotions, or Elengred had in fact just been another weapon in her arsenal, rather than someone she actually felt anything for.

"Iam cooperating, you know. I could have killed Valrafein, or I could have lurked in the shadows beside the door and struck."

And I'd have died within seconds, overwhelmed by a tide of charging bandits or a pulse of her sorcery.

"Your meek cooperation now is no reason at all for me to trust you. And no reason at all to abandon my curiosity."

She paced around the cavern, examining the drops of blood left from where I'd stabbed Valrafein.

"First," the dusk elf said. "Your name."

"Esharyn," I said, finding little reason to lie at that particular moment. Initial, easy cooperation on certain questions might ease the torture that was likely to follow.

"Esharyn," Xelari repeated, the words flowing forth in a decadent rush.

Voids below, I don't think I'd ever heard someone say my name with that much...luxuriousness. It was as if she was savoring the sound, teasing it over her lips and absorbing the sheer essence of the word.

"Sounds as if it is derived from the ancient elven god Esharyalan." She looked me up and down. "Have you elven blood?"

"Not a drop, far as I can tell. I think my mother just thought it sounded pretty."

I was tempted to tell her more, to spill forth every detail about the Lord-Protector. Considering he'd practically sent me there to die given the lack of solid information, I was not exactly going to be a loyal employee. And tough as I was, I wasn't looking forward to torture at the hands of a dusk elf. Or was I?

Something dark wriggled within me.

I shuddered and nudged that thought aside.

If I was too eager with information, however, she might not trust it. She might think I was leading her astray or playing games. I had to be careful. Precise. Delicate.

A guard returned with a sturdy metal chair, a fresh loop of rope, and a set of iron chains. He stopped at Xelari's side, glancing back and forth between me and the bloodstain left from where I'd stabbed the Valrafein.

"Go on. Get her tied up," Xelari said with a roll of her eyes at the man's apparent fear. She withdrew her runestone, gave me a fierce glare, and tapped the stone to activate a pulse of green light. "Behave, lest I unleash those serpents again."

"I don't think it was the serpents that did me in. I think it was that foot of yours pressing against my throat."

Voids below, that had been a delicious sensation. I could still feel the softness of her sole pressing against my throat, the pressure bearing down on me, the tension in my lungs as I struggled for air.

I blinked at the smirk in her gaze.

What was wrong with me?

The guard approached warily, and patted me down for other hidden weapons before securing me to the chair. He bound my hands and ankles to the chair, then secured me more fully by wrapping the iron chain around my waist, and another around my neck.

"Leave her to me. Post Terakh and three others by the door. Just in case."

"And how is the big boy doing?" I asked as the guard left.

The energy in the room shifted once he was gone. Fear crackled in my heart, followed by something else. Desire, perhaps. Lust tinged with risk and uncertainty.

"His pride was more badly wounded than his leg. Speaking of wounds, though..."

Xelari crossed the room in a slow, measured pace. She gazed imperiously down at me for a few moments, before reaching for her belt and withdrawing a knife.

My knife.

She tapped the tip of the blade just beneath her right eye where I'd slashed her before my capture. The wound had already been tended to, and there was but the faintest discoloration present. If I hadn't known of the injury, I'd have barely even noticed the blemish to that soft, violet-tinged gray skin.

"Vengeance," she said, then raised the knife and slowly dragged it down my cheek, in a perfect echo of the wound I'd given her during my attempt on her life.

During my career as an assassin, I'd been stabbed through the lung. Poisoned by manticore's blood. Shot with crossbow bolts. Burned with eruption-runes. Bitten by guard drakes. And of course, Terakh had nearly shattered my shins with that greatsword of his.

But nothing roared quite like the gentle agony of that knife.

I shuddered as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. After a few moments of examining me, she leaned in close, and ran her soft tongue over the wound.

Gods help me.

I moaned like a fucking whore, squirming in my bonds beneath that cruel, unusual treatment.

Chuckling, Xelari stepped back, licked the knife clean, then twirled it about.

"I am going to be honest with you, Esharyn. You are going to suffer today no matter how cooperative you are. Even if you spill forth every secret, even if this cavern sings with your confessions, you killed many of my hirelings yesterday. Damaged the pride of Terakh and Valrafein. Despite their shortcomings, those two are my most valuable surviving followers. And those warriors out in the cavern will also expect you to be punished."

"I can be a very convincing faker," I said, unsure of how I even managed to find the words after that pathetic moan I'd just left out.

"Oh, really? Was that little moan of yours a fake?"

She tapped her fingers against the knife.

"Answer true, littlemalxiri. Answer true."

Malxiri were hellcats: fiendish, wild, three-eyed beasts that often erupted from the Voids in places of fire and carnage. More mischievous than outright dangerous, I'd tangled with a few in my day. Never had I considered that it might be considered a term of...endearment? Was that why she'd used it?

"No. It was not faked."

I tensed as she raised the knife again, but rather than cut me, Xelari instead gave me a dainty little tap on the chin with the flat of the blade.

"Good. The more truthful you are, the more lenient I can be with the punishment, and the more likely I'll be to allow a charade of torture."

I breathed a sigh of relief, having heard countless rumors of the wicked, sadistic arts of the dusk elves. A fellow assassin claimed to have lost a comrade to their clutches, and the poor soul had been so thoroughly tortured that her entire personality had shifted. She'd forgotten her calling as an assassin, the gods she'd worshiped, and even her own name. Making the grim story worse was that my old associate had said that the dusk elves had not even left a mark upon her.

Whatever they'd done had thoroughly warped her mind and soul, while leaving her body intact.

And that would be my fate, if I didn't play my runes right.

"Next question: who sent you to kill me?"

"Lord-Protector Heroth of Arkostead. Specifically, his steward. A wrinkled little man named Patrigan."

Her green eyes narrowed with something that might have been fear.

No.

Anger? Recognition? The White Talons had trained me to assess the emotions of targets and potential assets, but the woman's cold demeanor baffled my well-honed perception. She tapped my chin once more with the flat of the blade.

"And why did he want me dead?"

"He said you were a bandit. That he was worried about the notoriety of a dusk elf bringing more cutthroats to your band, so he wanted you dealt with quickly before your infamy and strength could grow. He gave me a description, and told me that you were in the Wildwood. That's all."

"And how did you find my camp?"

"You shouldn't need threats of torture to get an answer to that. You have more than a hundred wild, undisciplined men rampaging through an unsettled forest. A group of such size leaves obvious signs. Tracking your foraging parties and lumber crews was an easy task."

"Yes. With each passing day I regret bringing on so many."

"If you lacked those numbers, though, I might have escaped. Those blundering fools did end up slowing me down."

"Have you been tortured before?" Xelari asked, casting her bored eyes down at the knife.

"Yes. Why?"

"Because you aren't acting like it. Usually the prisoner doesn't get to make little quips."

Her hand lashed out, grabbed me by the throat, and tilted my head back. The knife prodded gently at my ear, and raked down over my cheek, across my jawline, and down to my throat. Not once did it actually break the skin.