The Girl in the Red Cloa

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Chapter 7

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Clara woke to a hand smothering her mouth and a voice whispering in her ear.

"Shh."

Lukas? It had to be Lukas. Was there danger? Why else would he wake her up in such a manner? The warm room was still dark, and her eyes struggled to adjust.

"I'm going to move my hand, but you have to promise not to scream. Do you promise?"

Clara's blood froze in her veins. That was not Lukas's voice. Oh gods, where was he?

"Do you promise?" the voice persisted, rough and gravelly, and with the same accent as Lukas. Maharians. "I have no desire to hurt a Healer, but I will if I have to. Will you be quiet?"

Terrified, she nodded. Her eyes slowly became accustomed to the gloom and she could make out two other forms in her room, aside from the brute currently smothering her. Slowly, he moved his hand away, and she stretched her jaw, flexing her mouth.

"Who are you?" she demanded, faking bravery. Where was Lukas when she needed him?

"Who we are isn't important. We'll ask the questions, Healer." He stood, rising to his full height, and Clara swallowed back a gulp. Even in this dim light, she could see he was a powerful man. The other two men in the room were hardly less imposing, particularly as they both had their Maharian long-knives drawn.

Not again, she thought. She couldn't go through another attack again.

Be brave.

"Where's Wulff?" asked the tall man. "Tell us where to find him, and we'll be on our way, no one hurt."

"I don't know," she replied truthfully, happy that she really didn't.

"Skaret." The tall man beckoned his companion over. "You're sure this is the one? The one that rode by you on the road with Lukas?" Skaret reached over Clara, and she flinched at first, then realized he was only drawing back the sash on the curtains to let in the moonlight. Their faces only became more terrifying in the illumination.

"That's her," confirmed Skaret. "She knows where he is, alright."

"There now, Healer, the jig is up. You stop pretending you don't know what we're talking about, and we'll go," cajoled the leader. "Truly, if you tell us where to find Wulff, we'll leave you be. You'll go back to sleep for a while-" he glanced at the other man, who hadn't yet spoken, and Clara guessed that the sleep wouldn't be an entirely natural one, "-and we'll meet up with our old pal and you'll be fine come morning." He offered her an insincere smile.

"I don't know where he is." It seemed futile to deny knowing him entirely, but even if she wanted, she couldn't tell them his location.

"I find that hard to believe," Skaret stepped forward, bringing his long-knife up.

"Not here," cautioned the leader. "If she won't cooperate, we'll make her talk, but not here."

We'll make her talk

. The words sent a shiver down her spine.

"I'll scream," she threatened. "I'll scream and wake the whole inn. I don't know where he is, so you're wasting your time with me." She sat up straight in bed, the better to expand her lungs and shriek. The men exchanged glances, and the third man began rummaging in a bag, searching for something.

"Last chance." The leader crossed his arms and stared down at her. Clara shoved her shaking hands under the blankets to hide her fear.

"Your last chance, you mean," she lied, and took a deep breath. The third man leaped across the bed and flung a cloth over her face. Startled, she gasped and a familiar scent overwhelmed her. Chamolia! A distilled essence of chamolia would put even a grown man into a sound sleep. Healers used it to relieve a patient's suffering when the damage was great and the healing would take time. The moon's glow blurred, and her breath left her body in a quiet sigh instead of a scream. Her limbs slackened, and she sank back into the blankets.

Lukas. I must... warn Lukas

.

Everything was fuzzy and dim. Her eyes couldn't stay open. Her arms weighed a stone each, at least, and her legs refused to acknowledge they were even part of her.

"Grab her," the tall man ordered his men, and rough hands seized her and flung her over stout shoulders. Clara's blood rushed to her head and she knew no more.

** *

Lukas watched Kaman and his lackeys from the shadows. Curses! They'd taken Clara. He could see her limp form draped over Skaret's shoulder. She'd taken off her red cloak for bed, of course, but he'd recognize her anywhere, even from such an odd angle. He might have known Keifen wouldn't be the last man Otto would send in pursuit.

Kasimira was not silent in her desire to end the war, and Otto was not oblivious. If Kasimira had had a brother, or even a more malleable sister, Otto replacing her birthright might have been a concern, but the queen had birthed only one heir. Otto was too proud a man to put anyone of lesser blood onto his throne, so he let her plan her rule while continuing his own as he wished. Lukas suspected Otto planned on winning the war and tying the kingdoms together under his reign long before it ever passed to Kasimira, who would then have no war to end. The princess kept plots secret from all but her closest and most loyal guard, saving for the king only verbal sparring. He'd foiled her plans before, though none had been on quite so grandiose a scale as this.

Kaman was one of Otto's most trusted, bloodthirsty for the gold he believed Lotharis held. He was not without some integrity - he wasn't inclined to slaughter women and children - but the Lotharisian men he took out by scores when he fought the front. He was skilled with a long-knife, a sword, and bare combat. His cronies Lukas didn't recognize, but they would surely be as loyal to Otto and ruthless as Kaman. And now they had Clara.

Creeping silently to avoid detection, Lukas followed the men. He'd been a fool to believe themselves safe from Maharian forces. Once they'd reached Glenville he'd considered only contending with the Lotharisian guards. The little Healer would pay the price for his oversight if he didn't get her away from them, and fast. His odds of single-handedly taking out three armed, trained guards was slim, even if one of them was encumbered by Clara's slack form. Her presence brought up another issue - if they threatened harm to her to hold off his attack, he knew he'd drop his weapons and give up the fight. Mission or no, the thought of them harming one hair on her head...

He shook his head, chastising himself. Those thoughts weren't helping right now. Clara needed him to focus, and form a plan.

How would Kasimira feel, if she could see him now? A free chance to make for the capitol, while his pursuers were distracted, and he squandered it on a Healer. True, she was no ordinary Healer, she was an agent for the same cause, but that hardly seemed a good enough reason. Kaman stopped ahead and turned, as if he could sense Lukas. Lukas tucked himself against a wall, holding his breath. The men looked around, for signs of followers, but the only sound was a drunken chorus of "Hey, Hey, My Bonny Lass," coming from a tavern up the street. After a minute, Kaman motioned the men down an alley, and they disappeared almost before Lukas could cross the square.

Kaman and the two men were making swift progress under the night shadows, and he hurried to keep pace. If he couldn't follow them, she might be lost to him forever. She wasn't crucial to the mission, but somehow she seemed the most important thing. A world without Clara was not a world worth living in. His heart urged him to examine this thought, this feeling further, but his years of training told him to put it aside and focus only on one thing - how to rescue her.

** **

Clara had no idea where she was. Her head swam thickly, vision blurry and unfocused. Her wrists were throbbing - why? The cottony, dry taste in her mouth seemed to gag her - wait, no. It was a gag of some kind. She was bound to a chair, she realized, as the pain in her wrists became more apparent. Trying to kick her leg out, she found they were tied up as well, one to each of the chair's front legs. Her shoulders ached from the strain on her wrists. Was she alone?

At first glance, she seemed to be in a cave of some kind, but as her vision sharpened, she saw that it was a room, a dark, dirty room, dim and musty. There was no sign of her abductors, other than the packs in one corner. An ancient bed sat across from her, sagging in the middle and as dismal in appearance as she felt herself. There was no window, only a flickering candle on the stand next to the bed. What time of day was it? How long had she been here - minutes? Hours? Days?

Lukas, she had to get back to Lukas. She pulled on her bonds to no avail; the Maharians had left her no room to wiggle out. "Mmmph!" she swore in frustration, her words lost behind the gag. Maybe there was someone else outside the room, someone not Maharian, who might help her.

"MMMPPH!" she screamed. "MMMMPPHMMM!" She rocked the chair back and forth, it legs slamming into the ground loudly, adding to her cry for help. Then, with a startled cry, she leaned it too far to the side, and she slammed into the ground as the chair toppled over. Her shoulder and hip lanced with pain from the impact. Perhaps she'd managed to snap one of the chair legs, and freed a leg! Her attempt at a kick proved otherwise, and she swore again, even more helpless now that she was trapped on the ground, on her side.

A sliver of light appeared around the door, then grew larger and framed the silhouette of a man. Maharian? An ally? She couldn't tell. She gave a call through her gag and hoped for the best.

"Someone," said a voice with a lilting accent, "is making a lot of noise in here." Clara's heart thudded. Lukas? "Guess that must mean you're awake, and ready to tell us where our pal Wulff is." Her stomach shrank as she realized the voice belonged to the tall man, to her kidnapper. The man entered the room, bearing an extra candle, and her surroundings lit up a bit more. The light only served to make them look even more squalid. This was not the kind of place that would ask questions of strange men renting rooms, nor was it the type to check in when those rooms were raucous. No one would be coming to save her, Clara thought, unless Lukas could find her.

"Now then," said the man, "We haven't been properly introduced. You can just call me Kaman. Well, you could if I removed that gag, and I will if you're ready to talk." Clara said nothing, and Kaman sighed and grabbed the back of her chair, turning it upright in one movement. He pulled another chair from against the wall, and turned it so the back was facing her. Sitting astride, he leaned in close to her, his arms crossed and resting on the back. "I think you'll find it's in your best interest to cooperate, or you'll find I can be very...persuasive."

Did he mean torture? Clara gulped, her stomach sinking even further.

"I'm going to take off this gag anyway. You can scream if you like, we've paid well enough that no one will come to investigate. I wouldn't if I were you, though. I'm not a patient man, and the screaming of women is not a noise I enjoy listening to."

Clara nodded, her heart thudding so hard it seemed it might burst out of her chest. She'd have to be brave, no matter what came.

"Good," said Kaman, and rather than untie the gag, he drew his long-knife and slipped the blade between her cheek and the fabric, shearing through it easily. Clara knew the move was meant to frighten her, to show the knife and its sharpness, but knowing the purpose wasn't enough to prevent the response. She was frightened.

"I don't want to hurt a Healer, I truly have a great respect for your kind - Lotharisian or no - but I will do what I have to, to get this information." He leaned back and studied her. "I'm going to give you one more chance right now, to tell me where Lukas Wulff is. I promise, if you cooperate, no harm will come to you."

"You'll let me go?" Clara found it hard to believe they would let her wander free, just like that.

"Yes, in a few days. We'll make arrangements for your stay here, and once we've finished what we came to do, you'll be released. Your gift is rare enough without needlessly destroying it."

"You'll kill him." It wasn't a question, she could tell from the way he spoke of Lukas.

Kaman shrugged. "Kill him, take him back, does it matter? You'll be free to go, and no worse for the wear." He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the chair. His knife glinted in the dim light, held seemingly carelessly in his hand. "So that's the deal. Your turn. Where's Wulff?"

"I don't know." She was grateful that she didn't know the truth, the threat of torture was making her squirm, and she didn't know if she would have been able to withstand it.

Kaman sighed, and looked sincerely regretful. "I thought that might be the case." Before she could blink an eye, his long-knife lashed out, and the bonds on her left arm were slashed apart. He had her wrist in his grasp an instant later. "Let me just demonstrate that I mean business." Flipping her arm over so the pale underside was up, he lifted his knife and caressingly slid it along her forearm, leaving a thin red line in his wake. Clara clenched her teeth, determined not to scream or cry. It bled, but she could tell it was superficial, hardly more than skin deep.

He released her arm and she cradled it to her chest, heedless of the blood stains on her nightdress. Kaman flexed his wet, red hand, and wiped it on the fabric of her shoulder. "Shame you don't have that red cloak now, hmm?" Clara only glared. "Care to change your story yet?"

She shook her head, trying to ignore the constant sting of her forearm. If only Healers had the power to heal themselves! She'd asked Bimi once in school why a Healer could fix everyone but herself. "To avoid temptations," Bimi had said. "If a Healer could fix any ailment with her body, what's to stop her putting those powers to use and cheating death? A Healer trying to be an immortal has lost sight of our true mission, our purpose." Clara had scoffed at her answer at the time, but over the years had come to see the truth of it. A Healer could not stop death, her patients were not immune to it. If it was her own body, if she could feel within, every fiber and pulse of the heart, it might be different.

Feeling

within another person was not the same.

"We're just getting started. If you think you're strong enough not to break, let me disabuse you of that notion right now. I've seen grown men weep and cry for their mothers, beg me to end their lives, anything, anything at all to stop the pain. Do you think you can outlast them?" he cocked an eyebrow at her.

Of course she couldn't. She was going to die here, tortured, bled to death or worse. No one would ever know what had become of her, and the men still might catch and kill Lukas. She should have stayed in the village with Bimi. How simple her life would be right now if she was only tending to convalescent children! The lump in her throat grew, but she pushed the tears back. She would maintain her dignity as long as possible.

"You being a woman," continued Kaman, "Opens up some other interesting possibilities, too." He leaned back and rested his left hand over his groin, hooking his thumb into his belt. Clara blanched. "It's not my first choice," he went on, "But let's not rule out anything just yet, hmm? We have time to get creative. Unless you want to end it right now."

Clara said nothing.

"Let's move on then." His arm darted out like a flash and grabbed her wrist again. He held Clara's gaze as he brought his knife down, lancing deeper this time, and dragging a line perfectly parallel to the first. She couldn't help the little whimper that escaped her lips, nor the futile attempt at snatching her arm back. The cut was already welling over, blood drops pattering softly to the floor. It burned as if his knife had been fire. The bite of the rope into her bound wrist paled in comparison.

Without asking her again, Kaman brought the knife back again, this time directing the tip down into the fresh cut. He wiggled the blade back and forth, and Clara cried out, all hopes of bravery and dignity lost. It was agonizing, it felt as though he were digging his blade through her arm and out the other side! Her eyes filled with tears.

The door burst open with a crash, borne forward on the shoulder of a man. He was upon Kaman like a flash, but the tall man was already up and ready, his bloody long-knife at the ready. Lukas! The candlelight revealed the face of the intruder, who was also bearing a knife. The two men were circling each other, a deadly dance. Lukas, thought Clara, Lukas had come to save her after all!

"Wulff," said Kaman. "Fancy meeting you here, behind enemy lines."

"You're the only enemy I see right now." He feinted left and dodged back for a strike, but Kaman was too quick.

"You always did have the most misguided sense of loyalty. Our loyalty belongs to the ruler, not his heir apparent." Kaman slashed out, and Lukas barely moved his arm in time.

"Our loyalty belongs to Maharia, and what's best for her," countered Lukas, and a quick stroke brought him the first blood: a gash on Kaman's arm, but not serious.

Kaman growled and redoubled his attack efforts, hacking and slashing with a mad ferocity. Lukas was driven backward to fend off the weapon. Kaman's feral viciousness was rewarded - he stabbed forward and only Lukas's quick block saved the knife from plunging into his heart instead of his shoulder, where it found purchase. He grunted on impact, but made no notice of it otherwise, pulling away as soon as Kaman withdrew his knife for another swipe. Clara saw his wound and immediately longed to take his shoulder under her fingers and heal it. She balled her hands into fists, controlling the impulse, and the burning in her arm reminded her that she'd need her own healing.

The men were done with their banter, they were each focused solely on the demise of the other. The clang of their weapons was deafening in the small space. Lukas was favoring his injured shoulder, while the small cut on Kaman's arm had no effect on him. Lukas drew his injured arm in closer, turning it away from Kaman and trying to protect it. Kaman's eyes shone with glee, he saw his chance as his opponent grew weaker. After a final parry, he made his move. He drove his blade down toward Lukas, putting the full force of his strength behind it, and plunging it into Lukas's heart - or rather, where his heart would have been if Lukas hadn't swiftly sidestepped and buried his own blade into Kaman's back, the tip just poking out the other side.

Kaman reared back with a look of surprise. Blood dripped from his mouth; he put up a hand to touch it and seemed shocked to see the red on his hand. His face showed his lack of comprehension as he stared at the blade, still inside of him.

"In the back, Lukas?" he sputtered.

"No better than you deserve."

Kaman stumbled backwards, falling against the wall and sliding down. He came to a sitting position and drew a rattling breath. "This isn't over. You'll get what's coming to you yet."

Lukas responded by shoving Kaman's head forward. Grasping the hilt of his weapon, he pulled it out in one jerk, Kaman coughing blood as the blade left him. "We'll see about that," said Lukas. Kaman's head lolled, and his eyes emptied. He was gone.

"Clara." Lukas rushed to her side, his bloody blade severing her bonds. "Are you hurt? Let me see!" he examined her injured arm tenderly, tearing a strip of fabric off the bottom of her nightdress and binding it. She flinched a little at the tightness pressing in on her wounds.

"Why didn't you shout earlier? I've been looking all over this blasted place for you!"

Her eyes filled up, her chin wobbled. It was all too much. She started to sob, great heaving sobs that shook her ribs. "Oh, there, it's alright now." Lukas wrapped his arms around her, gathering her close. She cried into his shoulder.