Isabella had memorized the routine of the three guards who rotated their duty on her cell. She knew which was the weaker of them, and knew how she would take him down. She had also mapped out a plan in her head for how she would get to each of the other women. She’d have to wait until nightfall and keep to the edges of the buildings, and then she would use the bird call she and Alise had practiced countless times. When Isabella heard the reply, she would release Alise first and they would go together to find the others.
The outer door groaned open, the rusted hinges protesting the movement. Isabella heard heavy footsteps and knew this was the one she hated above all others. He was the man who’d brought her down there the first time, the one who insisted she would be performing sexual favors on him any minute. He had no idea she’d sooner bite off his hordund.
He’d told her his name was The Butcher. The Behemoth was their leader, and he’d ordered the prisoners removed from their cells to sort into categories of importance. He couldn't figure out which one of them was blessed with an extra talent, and they would not tell him. He informed them all, quite gleefully, they would become thralls for his men. He weaved a tale of how they’d be shared nightly among the group, used as sex slaves until they confessed. Then he’d take the one with the gift and allow the others to be used by one man rather than all of them. It was his idea of mercy.
The Behemoth was a very large man, as his title suggested. He had a wife, The Scar, who looked upon Isabella and her warrior sisters with disgust. It had been a lesson in patience for her to stand under such scrutiny by these people. With names such as The Sadistic, The Pyro, and The Maneater, Isabella didn’t take the seriousness of the situation lightly, but she was fairly confident she could take a handful of them down before they could stop her. It was too bad that wasn’t the wisest plan of action.
“You're to be moved,” The Butcher said to her now.
“To where?”
“Yours is not to ask, beiskaldi. You come.”
She rolled her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and waited for him to take her by the shackles to march her out. They’d been out before, but her plan would need to change if she were no longer to be imprisoned in the dungeon.
As they walked, villagers scurried away from them. It was obvious how they’d been treated from their deadened eyes set in sunken faces. They were hungry, desperate, and barely hanging on. The pallor of their skin was a dull yellow, their limping gaits painful to watch. The Butcher snarled at one woman who didn’t move out of their way fast enough, and she whimpered as she tried to pick up the pace.
Isabella noted the placement of the buildings, where the entrance was located, and how many guards were assigned to the gate—none.
“The Viper wanted you, meyla. He wanted you very much. But, no.”
She didn't know if she should be flattered or disgusted.
“I won. You belong to me now.”
She decided to remain silent until she could determine where they were going. He rarely answered her questions, anyway. Once inside the castle, they came to the large hall The Forsaken used as a general purpose room and walked into the dim interior. Isabella looked around at the animal skins adorning the walls, spotting a few men lounging on pillows strewn around the floor. The wives were interspersed, some in a small group talking with each other. There was one ancient man Isabella had never seen before sitting in a large chair which could almost be mistaken for a throne. He wasn't The Behemoth, which left her confused. Who was so important as to be allowed to sit at the head of the room?
“Jakob,” one of them said as they approached.
“Willem.”
“Khor has news,” Willem said.
Isabella took in every word, every gesture, every absent flick of the fingers. They’d used real names, and Khor must be the tall, gnarled man in the chair. He rose, and Isabella saw bent shoulders, slender limbs, and signs of sickness.
“I have determined which girl is of most use to me,” he whispered in a voice as frail as his bones.
Isabella choked back a gasp as Alise was dragged into the room by one of the females she thought they called The Menace; she was dark-skinned and carried a spear, feathers decorating her clothing. If they’d deduced her sister’s powers, the women could be in more danger than she’d assumed. Didyme and Sulpicia would surely know to fight and escape before succumbing to any of these filthy men.
Alise was brought to the rostrum where the man stood bent over a cane. She was so tall and regal standing ramrod straight in front of the elderly man that Isabella felt tears prick her eyelids.
“This one has magic in her, and magic is what I require.”
Nobody spoke as he paused to hack and cough.
“If I am to be strengthened, I need the sword. I need the magic from this woman.”
Isabella knew that even with the sword and Alise, this man would not live much longer. He couldn't be cured by the sword alone, and they didn't know of Rosalie’s gift. Alise could not help him. Fear shot through Isabella when she thought of them attempting to dispose of her sister when they discovered she was useless to their cause.
A voice from the back of the room called out, "You'll need an extra person for that.”
Isabella did not turn because she was well-trained in not showing her emotions. The man belonging to the voice moved forward out of the shadows, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.
"There is one more with powers, but she is not among us." As he spoke, his face was released from the darkness and bathed in the light. "She is not brunette as you thought, but blonde."
"Why have you waited to tell me?" The Behemoth roared.
The man shrank back. "ʼTis a closely guarded secret, my lord."
Isabella wanted to beat the life out of him, but she remained silent next to Jakob.
"How do I know you tell the truth?" The Behemoth asked. "You have given false information before."
Mikael shifted his feet and pointed at Isabella. "Ask her. She'll tell you."
She wasn't going to tell them shit.
"Shy one, eh?" Jakob nudged her. "Speak, beiskaldi!"
She glared up at his face, his seven-foot frame towering over her. Then she spit. “Do not call me a bitch again.”
He backhanded her, but she remained glaring at him even as her cheek exploded with pain. Perhaps her plan for these people was about to change.
Outraged that she did not cower at his feet, Jakob growled at her, leaning down in her face. "You will pay for that, have no doubt."
When he got no reaction out of her, he pushed her until she fell at Mikael's feet. She sat with her legs under her and her hands bound behind her back, refusing to meet the eyes of the traitor.
"Tell me more of the blonde one, boy," The Behemoth ordered.
"I-I don't know much else. She has magic, and it doesn't always require the sword to work. She has a spell that made it possible to travel the Winter Forest. I followed them at a distance, and I saw her using the magic."
Isabella hissed at his betrayal. "You will spend your eternity in hell, Mikael of Stagbreak. The Death Sentinels will spit on your dead body and you will know everlasting pain."
He looked down at the proud woman kneeling at his feet. "You should have chosen me. Now my reward will be you, bound and available at my beck and call."
She gave an ugly laugh. "You couldn't take me even if I was trussed up like a roast chicken. I'm pretty sure you'll be fighting The Butcher for those delusional images in your head, anyway. That'll be fun to watch."
Mikael looked warily at Jakob, who watched them carefully.
"Enough of this." The Behemoth stood and made his way to Khor. "What do you need?"
"Magic strong enough to heal me. Then I will be as powerful as I once was, and we will rule all of Korsväg."
Alise finally spoke up. "I will help you if you release my sister."
"Alise!"
She ignored Isabella and continued. "I have magic in me. I have talents. Set her free, and I will voluntarily help you."
"By the gods, if you touch one hair on her head—"
"Stop talking," the leader said casually. "Is she sufficient, Khor?"
Khor studied Alise closely. "I feel her magic, but I don't yet know if it's enough."
"Start with her."
"Samuel," Jakob said. "This one is mine."
Samuel looked between Jakob and Isabella, then at Mikael. "I promised her to the winner of the competition. If you wish to fight the winner, boy, we will set up another fight."
Mikael visibly paled. "You said the princess would be my reward if I brought you information!"
Samuel advanced on Mikael, who scrambled backward until he bumped into a table. "Stop talking, or die."
Isabella half wanted to see why Jakob was called The Butcher, and half wanted her mother to have the chance to execute Mikael herself. He glanced down at Isabella, and she silently begged him to make a move which would end his life. In the end, he sank down on a bench and said nothing.
“Coward,” she snarled.
Samuel turned back to Khor. "Do what you need with that one." He faced Jakob. "Take your thrall back to your quarters."
Isabella stood when Jakob yanked on her chains, following him without a word, but turning her head just enough to look directly at her sister. Alise nodded imperceptibly. Plan B would go into effect as soon as they could manage it.
She hadn't seen Didyme or Sulpicia in the castle. She could only hope they were taking care of themselves. The plan after capture always included escape without relying on the rest of the clan. There would be no way to know the outcome of the battle, or if they were able to come back for the hostages.
She feared The Forsaken would set their sights on Rosalie. She wondered if they were already aiming for the citadel in hopes of stealing the sword. She hadn't seen all the men she knew made up The Forsaken clan, and could only deduce the rest were on their way to attack Sandhorne Stronghold.
Jakob pushed her along as they entered a home. It appeared to have been grand once, but now its floors were covered in stinking straw and the stone walls were green with mold.
He continued to push his fist into the small of her back until they entered what was obviously the master’s chamber. Furs were strewn on the floor and tapestries hung on the walls. There was a pallet in the far corner and a fire in the hearth. A steel tub stood in the center of the room, already filled with water.
“Sara will be in to undress you, meyla. My hordund will be waiting for you.”
She glared up at him defiantly, the top of her head barely reaching the middle of his chest. “Die a thousand deaths.”
“Clearly, gagging will be needed.”
He left the room, and she immediately sat on the floor, bringing her bound hands under her legs and to the front of her body. She pulled, but they were too tight. Looking around the room, she found no weapon or tool with which to pry off the chains. Instead, she focused on the window by the bed. It was poorly covered with a wooden shingle, and she shoved it open with ease. Peeking out, she saw nothing but a few townspeople behind the house. She could hear voices, though, so she quickly braced her hands on the sill and hoisted her body up.
It would take more than one try, but she knew she could do it. She was going to make her escape in broad daylight without a clue where they’d taken Alise, but she had to do something or die trying.
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