Chapter 7
Gyv massaged her arms that still ached from bearing her weight overnight. Even now, hours after she had been cut down, her arms screamed with pain, their circulation restored but they were not yet fully healed. Beside her, Mekior seemed fine. She did not understand it. He had been hung up for the same amount of time as she had, yet it had taken mere seconds for him to recover and the pain had hardly even shown on his face, though he must have felt the same pain of returning circulation, of muscles and tendons stretched beyond endurance.
"Mekior." Her voice was soft, just loud enough to reach him, yet not loud enough to carry to the guards standing outside their wooden cage.
"Gyv." His voice carried to her, yet she felt uncertain as to whether he had spoken, or if the message had just arrived, carried on a breath of wind that licked gently at her ears..
"What did that bastard, Gerion, mean? What did he mean when he said you were marked?" She turned, staring at him, watching as the dappled light patterned his face, lending him an air of mystery, an effect that highlighted the sharpness of his nose, his deep, dark, sunken eyes.
Mekior stared at her for a while, not talking, then blinked and rolled over. She reached over, touching his shoulder. "Mekior, it's OK. I've been a puppet for a devil, killed my husband by my own hand, destroyed my home, and sent hundreds into slavery. Please, talk if you wish. I can no longer judge, no longer can I sit and hold my head high, proclaim my success. In my betrayal of those I loved, I have destroyed more than I ever saved."
He turned, looking at her, his hands reaching out, his fingers gently wiping away the tears that were beginning to fall. "Never let them see you cry. In all the time they had me, I never cried, never shouted out. Maybe that's why I survived, why they kept me alive, even shoving healing potions down my throat to keep me alive; even when I tried to reject the healing and escape from the pain they were inflicting." He looked at her, at the bewilderment on her face.
"They didn't tell you? How the Outwalkers rescued me from the clutches of the fiends when I was still a child? I suppose I forget that not everyone knows; it is common knowledge amongst the Outwalkers and Fiend Hunters of Weald Hall." He stared into space. "Why we have been cut down, left to recover, I don't know. Maybe they are just hoping to soften us. Just remember, scream and plead if you want to die quickly." He fell silent, listening to the sounds of the camp outside, watching the sky through the gaps in the wall of the cage and wished they had a view of more than a rock wall and the tents of sentries.
Gyv listened, and watched the Fiend Hunter, wondering at what kind of man, what child, could resist torture for so long and show such determination to survive. She wondered what had been done to him, what effects their attentions had taken. Yet for all he had told her she realised that he had not answered her question. He had used the shock effect of his revelations to quiet her and avoid her question.
She gazed out, following his gaze, watching the guards, the comings and goings in the tents beyond. She gazed out, wondering, Why have they taken us down, why dump us here, leave us unchained, unharmed? She turned over, staring at the sky above.
"How sweet, two little, lost travellers relaxing in the sun." Gerion's mocking voice came in through the bars, his massive form outside the cage, staring in. Gyv sat up, shocked. How did he get so close, arrive without them seeing him? How powerful is he? She stared at him, knowing that physical size and might must be a minor part of his arsenal, that he was powerful beyond any in her experience, her past run-ins with fiends were with ones that were mere shadows of his might.
Gerion stepped back, watching as the door was opened, and food was brought in by a small devil, no taller than a small child whose arms strained to bear the weight of the tray, even though it bore only two bowls, each filled with a steaming bowl of stew. The smell was enticing to the two that had not eaten for over a day. Mekior reached out, not for food, but for the childlike devil. Gyv watched, saw what he was about to do and in a panic shouted out "No!"
Mekior paused, his hand stopping just before the small fiend. "Why, one less fiend is always a good thing?"
Gyv hesitated, not wanting to use his name and then realised that the fiend lord had heard, seen everything she had for days. "Mekior, it's a shifter. Touch it and you'll be facing a monster that will pull your arms off before you realise what has happened." She stopped as she heard Gerion chuckling.
"Ahh, you spoiled my fun! It wouldn't have hurt him, much. In case you're wondering, the food is fine and free of poison and taint. You two have one value only, hostages to my son's good behaviour. You'd best hope he behaves himself, you're the whipping boys!" He laughed his voice fading as he walked away. Gyv looked at Mekior, happy she was not facing more torture, but wondering at what the future would hold.
***
Jeria walked through the camp. Behind him, his ever present guard followed, their presence felt only as a shadow, unobtrusive, yet constant. Three weeks of captivity had not softened his resolve. Since the first night, no favours had been accepted, no slave used no matter how willing. He was allowed the freedom of the encampment, even up the hill to the cage beyond the sentries' tents in which Mekior and Gyv were held. He headed up there now, watching the movement of the sentries; their movements predictable, clockwork in motion.
He came to the cage door, his fingers wandering over the lock, wishing he had the key. Mekior came up to him, a small smile twisting up the corners of his mouth.
"Jeria. It's time for you to leave, Jeria; its time for you to go, get out of here, and escape from the fate that is slowly enveloping you." His lips were close to Jeria's ears, his voice too low for any but Jeria to hear. "The word is Sh'kuctu. The word will freeze your guards, let you escape from them."
"How do you know this? What is this word?" Jeria's low voiced whisper reached Mekior who just stepped back, his smile in place, saying nothing more. Jeria looked at him, frustrated. Mekior had not spoken to him mind to mind, since that first time. The Fiend Hunter knew more than he was telling, and Jeria longed to know from where this knowledge came.
He went down the hill, guards trailing, walking to the edge of the encampment, and sat at the verge of the forest and listened to the birds calling, watching as peace descended over the forest, the noises of the day replaced by the sounds of the night insects and the distant howl of some creature that hunted by night. He beckoned his guards forward, waiting for them to come up to him. He turned, faced them his mouth moving, clearly enunciating the word "Sh'kuctu"
He had not known what to expect, but the results were unexpected. The two came to attention, their eyes glazed over, and arms by their sides. He walked over, easily removing their swords and tied a scabbard to his waist. The other sword he strapped to his shoulder. He turned and walked off into the forest, changing direction frequently, doing the best to hide his trail as he had seen Gyv and Gruzz doing.
Jeria walked through the night, adrenalin and his fiendish blood keeping him going. He looked about him, perpetually worried that the pursuit had started, that at any moment he would hear the sounds of pursuit and find fiends coming up from behind. Just after dawn, he rested for an hour, enough time for him to recover before he started moving again.
Behind him, the frozen guards were finally discovered, and executed. General Gerion had no forgiveness or sympathy for those who failed.
***
In the cage, Mekior watched Jeria walk away and turned to Gyv. "We must try to escape tonight; tomorrow our lives will be worthless." He looked over the cage and nodded. "Yes, we can escape."
Gyv looked at him, leaning forward. "How? What, you going to make the guards open the cage and let us out?"
"Actually, yes, that's exactly what we are going to do. You've freed slaves, how much do you know of the command tongue?" Mekior looked at her, contemplating what to say next. "You do know about the command tongue?"
"I've heard of it. Rumours only though, never hard facts. I have heard that there is a language that is known to only a few, the slave lords, the commanders of armies and the like." She looked at him. "Rumour also says it is conditioned into all slaves, they cannot resist it, are forced into obedience by key words." She paused weighing her next words, "Rumour also says that it will control the weakest of fiends and that it has never been taught to a human. So, Mekior, how much of the rumours are right?"
"All of it, except the last, of course. After nightfall, we will leave. Give Jeria time to get away, head towards the city. We will head off west, leaving a hard to find, but follow-able trail. We'll make it enough of a trail for three people." He looked at her, "Jeria can travel almost non-stop without us, and knows enough about the outdoors to survive on his own. Us, we're expendable. We just have to make sure that Jeria gets enough of a head start to get away."
"Why now? Why have you waited? Should we not have done this when we were first captured?"
"No." Mekior's voice was firm. "The first few days they watched Jeria too closely. If he had tried to run he would have been captured and brought back, our advantage lost."
He turned away, not looking at her. Not speaking, leaving her with her questions. How had he learnt the language? What was the mark that Gerion had seen on him? She looked at him, and could see nothing untoward, his short, heavily muscled body unremarkable in anyway beyond the ordinary, save, perhaps, in his nimbleness that seemed uncanny at times. She sat down, waiting for the night, for Mekior to speak in a tongue that there should be no way for him to know.
***
They moved through the forest, Gyv carefully bending and blending their tracks, fixing them just enough that a competent tracker would pick up the trail. She longed to call on the Goddess, use her magic to hide them, let them move like the wind, but she knew that Mekior spoke the truth; Jeria was the only one able to make it all the way- if he was given the chance.
Gyv and Mekior heard the horns behind them, the baying of hounds, their very howls enough to freeze the blood. "They've got Dirian hunting hounds!"
Mekior looked at her, "What are Dirian hunting hounds?" He looked at her; saw the fear on her face, worried that perhaps they had made a mistake that Jeria was not safely on his way to the city.
"They're from the regional capital, Diria; Gerion's fortress is based there, as are his breeding dens. The rumours of what happen in there are stomach turning: fiendish magic used to blend man and animal, devil and animal, or all three. The hunting hounds are one of his successful projects; a blend of fiend and dog, able to follow any trail regardless of the skill of those who make it, even able to ignore the magic that the Earth Mother can cast over a path to hide it from pursuers!" She continued walking, moving faster, not bothering with the useless task of trying to conceal their trail. "There are stories about what they do to their prey, of how they rip the pursued apart, piece by piece, not just their bodies but their very souls."
The two started running, Gyv calling on the Earth Mother to speed their passage, send them fleeing from their pursuers. A thought struck her, and she asked a question, breathlessly. "The command language, will it work on the hunting dogs?"
Beside her, neither breathless nor flagging, Mekior answered without breaking stride, "No. It is specific to each creature, each race. I have no idea what commands would be effective, I could think I was ordering them to stop only to discover that I had ordered them to attack!" He carried on running, heading deeper into the forest, looking for an area they could use for an ambush.
Gyv, running at his side, turned abruptly, heading between two giant trees that stood out from the others. "This way, the trees mark the route through to a supply cache. I've led freedom runs into this area. The cache should have weapons and food."
Mekior followed her, watching as she headed between the trees and stopped a few paces beyond. She knelt down, pulling up a rock, exposing a hole beneath a massive root. From beneath it she pulled out a treasure trove of armaments, enough to arm her normal squad of twenty.
"See anything you like?" She appropriated one of the bows, a quiver full of arrows and a vicious looking sword, its edge serrated and barbed. Mekior looked over the selection, shaking his head at the weapons.
"The House of Souls doesn't know about cold iron?" He picked over the weapons. "You want to hurt one of the lesser fiends, cold iron will do it for you. Unfortunately, for the greater fiends you need something more powerful. Either way I can hurt them, all Fiend Hunters can imbue their weapons with magic to cut the fiends, but you can't. Concentrate on the hounds, only the most powerful of the fiend-tainted share the fiend's immunities. I'll take care of the handlers." He bent over, taking a short stabbing sword, pairing it with a longer duelling sword. He tested their balance and smiled.
Gyv looked at him, speaking bitterly. "Oh yes, we know about cold iron, but the traders are too scared to bring it to us, and the cities hoard it. We keep trying to lure an alchemist away from a city, to come and turn our ordinary iron into cold iron, but none will come. Why should they, the cities fete and treat them like royalty!"
They prepared themselves and waited, listening as the baying came closer. The abrupt silence as the animals fell silent was far more chilling than the approaching howls had been. Gyv leaned over to Mekior. "They're close. The baying stops just before they attack."
Gyv's bow stayed steady, with string drawn back and an arrow ready to be loosed when the beasts finally showed themselves.
The hunting pack came into sight and gave Mekior his first sight of the beasts. They were large, easily the size of a man, their bodies sleek and muscular with large paws striking the ground, pulling them across the intervening space at a frightening pace. Their heads, which had the worst features of the devils combined with those of the dog, sharp fangs along both sides, their ears tiny nubs lost behind their over developed muscular jaws, hung down, the nubs of their glowing eyes coals of hate directed at the two. The first of Gyv's arrows streaked out, felling one of the beasts, piercing it deeply in its side, finding the beasts heart.
Two more went down but there were three more still in the pack to reach the two who stood ready, swords in their hands. Behind the hounds came their handler, a fiend that Gyv, with a shock of recognition, knew from her last raid. It stood there, encouraging the hounds, its guttural language lost to her but not to the hounds. She struck out at the hounds, keeping two of them at bay, seeing only a blur of movement from her side where Mekior had been.
Mekior waited for the hound, spinning aside, sending the stabbing sword into its back, while the longer sword swept underneath, chopped off a leg. It fell, howling in agony, sending pitiful, puppy like yelps into the night. He immediately moved towards the fiend, watching its bone protrusions carefully, wary of their sharp edges.
Gyv hacked out with her sword, cursing the proximity of the beasts, she preferred the distance of her bow. The blade cut across the hound's skull, biting deeply as it pulled away muscle and skin as barbs grabbed hold and ripped out chunks of meat. The hound dropped, one eye hanging loose, blood pumping out onto the cold ground. The other hound had circled round, came in low, biting at her feet. She jumped, landing awkwardly, getting the sword up to block its teeth, feeling the pain as its bit deep into her arm.
Mekior still fought the devil. His twin swords flashed, bouncing off bone protrusions, unable to find a vulnerable target as the devil twisted and turned, using its natural armour and weapons skilfully. The dance had to end at some point. The fiend turned, sending its tail round in an attempt to impale Mekior. But, he wasn't there anymore; he had followed it as it turned, punching forward with both swords, sacrificing defence for offence, both swords piercing fiendish flesh even as he let one of the bone spikes pierce his arm.
He left the fiend, wounded, bleeding. Yet, somehow, his strength was still there and e was able to ignore the bleeding wound. He sent his sword into the juncture between head and spine of the beast that savaged Gyv, killing the beast that had left her arm, and part of her shoulder mashed and bloodied.
Mekior dropped down next to Gyv and saw she was unconscious. He looked at his bleeding arm, held it so that the blood dropped over her wounds and smiled as they knitted closed. He picked her up and headed west; leading pursuers ever further from the trial that Jeria would be following.
Nothing like regular, faithful readers to keep things going. 
