Captivity's Embrace
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"Where are the rest of your people?”
“I don’t know.”
A mailed fist buried itself in Yesugei’s stomach, driving the air from his burning lungs.
The blood-sorcerer crossed his legs as he sat down on a log, flipping the skirt of his filthy red robe to one side. He held a candlestick in one hand, and steadily drew his palm over the flickering flame as he waited for Yesugei to finish drawing an agonized breath. Then he spoke again.
“How many Khormchaks attacked the capital? How many were mounted?”
“I don’t know!”
The warrior in front of him struck again, harder, and his fist came away speckled with blood. More than anything he wanted to sink to his knees, but the strong arms that held him up on either side kept him barely standing.
The man doing the punching - a tall, stinking Klyazmite dressed in mail and leather - shook his bloodied hand and turned to the Yllahanan.
“Let me finish him. I’ll open his belly and make him watch as I pull out his pagan heart to the gods. Perun demands a sacrifice.”
The sorcerer shifted in his seat as though contemplating the prospect. Then with a sigh, he snuffed out the candle and stood up to dust off the rear of his robes. “Your sacrifice will have to wait until we get back to camp. Stribor promised me two, and my lady still needs her toll.”
At the sorcerer’s waved command, the two warriors holding him up by the arms dragged him along the rough and rocky forest floor and into a clearing. For a brief moment Yesugei spotted the other warriors preparing to break camp, and then he was lying face-down on the cold ground.
In the dim morning light he saw someone else lying next to him - Vasilisa, her hands tied behind her back like his. When she twisted her head around to look in his direction, Yesugei saw the raiders took extra precaution with their captured blood sorcerer - her eyes were covered with a strip of cloth, and a filthy rag was stuffed in her mouth. A large bleeding bump had swollen up on Vasilisa’s brow, just above her right eye where the Yllahanan’s club had struck her. Still, relief washed over him; at least she was alive. It was more than could be said for Vratislav.
In the chaos of the burning town one of the warriors struck the boyar on the chest with a spiked mace as he yielded for mercy. Yesugei saw the warriors pull him from the fires, but Vratislav lingered for only an hour longer before he wheezed his final, agonized breath. As the boyar passed wordlessly in the night, Yesugei thought of Nesha - and wondered whether he could bring himself to look at her if he ever saw her again.
The raiders buried Vratislav off the side of the road, but not before they stripped him naked and fought like dogs over the boyar’s every possession.
Yesugei saw Pervusha, the one who beat him bloody, stride past his face wearing Vratislav’s leather boots, while a bowman seated nearby was busy adjusting the boyar’s golden brooch on his cloak. The others were busy securing the rest of their loot to the small baggage train, filled to bursting with pilfered food, jewelry, and clothes - anything they could not carry, they proudly burned and smashed in their wake.
Dogs…all of them. Wild, starving dogs.
Pervusha and a spearman hoisted them up onto a horse, binding them back-to-back, as the rest of the raiding party began to set off. As they broke free of the woods and back out onto the open road, Yesugei saw the distant plumes from Balai’s burnt carcass trailing into the gray-blue morning skies.
The raiding party moved quickly across the abandoned roads, riding hard and fast in a single column that kicked up a great cloud of dust behind them. All around, all Yesugei saw were the distant, scattered ruins of blackened farmhouses - the land seemed pockmarked with them, and the earth looked as though it were scarred by fire.
They were trampling through a fallow field of barley when Yesugei overheard an argument behind him. From the voices, he recognized it as coming from the three that rode behind them as guards, the worst of the band from the little time Yesugei had been in their company. Pervusha and an archer named Zayats were arguing over who would go first as they galloped, while the lancer Yerch asked when they would get to do the deed.
“At night, once we get back to camp,” huffed Pervusha. “I’ll fuck that sorceress bloody I will, damn whatever the Yllahanan says.”
The archer Zayats laughed, his voice high and cruel. “You’d best let me have the first go. I’ll be tender and make her love me. Let her get something out of it ‘fore you two have your fun.”
Yesugei felt his skin crawl at their words. Vasilisa stiffened and struggled against her bonds, but the warriors’ laughter only deepened.
“I- I won’t let them touch you.” Yesugei whispered feebly, but his voice must have been too loud. The lancer Yerch rode up, and a moment later his world exploded with blood and pain as the warrior’s horse whip opened up a gash over his eyes.
“Save your breath for our questions, Khormchak scum,” snarled Yerch. “The Yllahanan and my lord only need your tongue. Speak again, and I’ll cut off a finger and feed it to you.”
Yesugei fell silent for the rest of the ride. But at his back, he could feel Vasilisa shaking as she sobbed. He prayed silently that the warriors could not see her tears.
By the time the raiding party reached its destination, the light of day was nearly gone. Through blood-crusted eyes, Yesugei saw a small stone temple with smashed windows surrounded by a messy sprawl of tents and lean-tos—the raiders’ camp. In the center of it all, he saw a large wooden pen where a dozen filthy captives languished in the open air, necks roped to the railings like livestock.
As Stribor led the column into the camp, with the Apostle’s stone sword slung across his back, the warriors greeted him with wild cheers. While Stribor headed to the cookfire, Pervusha and Zayats yanked Yesugei and Vasilisa from the saddle, tied ropes around their necks, and shoved them into the muddy pen, still bound together.
Yesugei struggled to rise but was yanked back as the rope tightened, slamming his head against the pen. Laughter rang out behind him, followed by a glob of spit hitting his head. Pervusha tied the rope so tightly it felt like it might strangle him. Nearby, Vasilisa floundered in the stinking mud trying to prop herself up.
Eventually, the warriors lost interest in their Khormchak prisoner and staggered off to the cookfire, leaving them alone. Yesugei blinked away the stars in his vision and noticed the other captives watching him with wary curiosity. Most of them were old enough to remember the Qarakesek raids, and for that they judged him as an enemy despite their shared plight.
But curiosity soon overcame fear, and eventually one of the peasants - a man with a bloody nose and thinning blond hair - crawled over on all fours and spoke with a whisper.
“Who are you people?”
Vasilisa’s greeting came out muffled and incomprehensible through the gag. Yesugei ran his mind through the ways to answer before he spoke, “I’m a merchant from Bayan. We were attacked by bandits on the road, then these animals caught us while seeking shelter in Balai.”
That seemed to be enough for the peasants, whose demeanor softened as he recounted their travels. When he was done speaking, the man pointed at Vasilisa. “Who is she then?”
“A friend,” Yesugei replied after a pause. “The daughter of another merchant—her father traded in silks.”
“Is her father still alive?”
The question hung in the air. Yesugei felt Vasilisa stiffen as she herself wondered. Vratislav’s words crept back into his mind.
They say Belnopyl is gone
Was her father still alive? If he was, then they still had cause to try and reach Belnopyl - where Vasilisa’s name would still command respect and servitude. But if not…
Then her power is lost. A daughter cannot be a prince. And every boyar would rush to claim her hand and the city.
Yesugei swallowed. His throat felt raw and sore, and every breath he took sent a dull throb of pain through his stomach where Pervusha had struck him over and over again. Vasilisa could not answer, and so he replied to the peasant, “I don’t know.”
The peasant sniffed. “Then it’s over for her. They’ll take her like they did Galya, the weaver’s wife.”
He pointed to a scarred young mother clutching her child. The woman stared blankly, as if no longer present in her own body. Yesugei’s stomach turned. He reached behind him to grasp Vasilisa’s hand, and she squeezed his fingers until they went numb.
“When it happens, don’t scream.” said a young man nearby. His eyes were just as empty as those of the weaver’s wife, and his hands were cracked and bleeding from hard labor. “When they beat you, when they make you work, when they do anything - don’t scream or cry. Hide away inside your mind, where they cannot reach you - and let them do what they wish. That’s the only way you can stay alive.”
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“It’s not fair…it’s not!” another man cried as he buried his bruised face in his hands. “We gave good service and tithes to Gatchisk. We never did no treason. Why couldn’t they just leave us alone?”
“Because they needed forage,” said an old wrinkled lady, her words dripping with venom. “That’s all they care about. They need food to fight their mad wars - same as every war I’ve lived through - and it’s easier to pay with steel than silver when justice is gone from the land.”
The old lady looked around to make sure no-one was nearby, then spat three times on the ground and made a sign in the air with three fingers. “I curse them all! All the highborn bastards and their warriors! It’s a sin before the heavens for lords to rape their own lands, but they do it all the same. Demons take them, every one.”
“If the Young Griffon were around, he would not have stood for this,” muttered a man with a twisted nose. “He would have turned these turncoats back and killed them all.”
But the man with the twisted nose spoke too loudly, and one of the warriors sauntered up to the pen. The man received a black eye, and the pen fell silent for the rest of the evening.
***
The moon shone brightly as night fell upon the camp.
Around the campfire, Yesugei saw the warriors drinking and singing strange songs in the old dialect of the Klyazmites - one completely alien to his ears. Silhouetted against the fires he also saw Stribor and the blood-sorcerer - called Hecellon by the raiders - carefully studying a map.
Then they came: Pervusha, Zayats, and Yerch. It could have only been them who stomped out from the campfires and crept towards the pen in the darkness like wolves.
Vasilisa had fallen asleep in her bonds, but Yesugei’s shaking woke her as the men approached. He tried to pull at his bonds again, but the ropes only bit deeper and deeper into his neck and wrists as he strained against them. The footsteps drew closer - and with every step, the sound of jingling rings of mail grew louder and louder.
Vasilisa grunted from behind her gag as she tried to work her hands loose. When that did not work, Yesugei saw her try to kick out the pole that her neck was tied to - but that did not work either. Neither of them had eaten since they were captured, and their feeble thrashing only shed more of their own blood.
Weak. I am weak.
If he had his bow, if he even had a small kitchen knife, he would have been able to set himself free. But he had nothing - no weapons, no friends, no hope. If he tried to stand and fight, the warriors would kill him - or perhaps maim him so the Yllahanan and Stribor would not be completely displeased with the death of their Khormchak captive.
The Yllahanan…Stribor! Stribor!
“You’re one beast of a woman, aren’t you?” said Pervusha as he approached the pen, one hand on his belt buckle. Vasilisa froze against Yesugei’s back as she felt the warrior’s stare upon her. “But don’t think you can fight me like one. One scream out of you, and I’ll knock out every single one of your fucking teeth.”
Yerch gave a low giggle as he opened the door to the pen, dagger in hand to cut her free. Vasilisa threw herself against the rope binding her neck and screamed behind the gag.
“STRIBOR!” Yesugei shouted at the top of his aching lungs.
Zayats cursed and threw a sharp kick into Yesugei’s ribs that sent him falling to his side in the piss-soaked mud. He spat the dirt from his mouth, then screamed again.
“HECELLON!”
That was enough - the sorcerer’s name sent the three rapists into a panic. Yerch hurriedly sheathed his knife and slinked out of the pen as Yesugei heard more footsteps approaching. Soon the orange light of a flame filled the pen.
“What are you three doing?” barked Stribor. “And you, Khormchak. Finally found your tongue?”
“My lord…” Yesugei rolled onto his side, and squinted at the blinding light that shone down on him. Standing over him he counted Stribor, two of his guards, and Hecellon, who held the blinding lantern. Then he saw the light did not come from a lantern, but instead from a dancing flame that rested on the sorcerer’s open hand.
“Your men were planning on having their way with my friend.”
“Men have needs, you know?” laughed Stribor. “Or did your own kin not deflower every maiden from here to Pemil when they attacked? Why should I care what happens to a blood-sorceress who killed my men?”
The boyar spat and turned his back to him. As he made to step away, Yesugei spoke just loud enough for the retreating boyar to hear.
“You should care because this blood-sorceress is Prince Igor’s daughter.”
Stribor froze in his tracks. “What did you say?”
The boyar drew closer to the pen and yanked on Yesugei’s rope, sending him sprawling back into the muck just as he tried to his knees. Stribor looped the rope tighter and tighter around his gauntleted hand, pulling Yesugei closer until his face was directly beneath the boyar's armored fist.
He resisted the urge to gag as the boyar's rotting breath washed over his face. “What did you say?”
Yesugei pointed his bound hands at Vasilisa as he spoke. “This girl is the daughter of Prince Igor - Vasilisa of Belnopyl.”
“The princess is in the capital city. If she's even still alive.”
“That's where you're mistaken!” Yesugei lowered his tone to a whisper as he leaned in closer to Stribor. “Before the attack on the city, the Great Khan had demanded Vasilisa for his wife - to keep Prince Igor in line, you see…”
“And you know this, how?”
“Because I was the one who took her,” hissed Yesugei. “My name is Dagun, of the Qarakesek. The Great Khan sent me as an envoy to collect the girl and the tribute with a host of riders, but we were attacked on our journey back from Belnopyl.”
“By who?”
His scrambled, feverish mind rushed to piece together a story, anything, to convince the boyar. He remembered how his brother Nariman had once said that half-truths were the best of lies. “Quanli raiders, fifty strong, led by a noyan named Börijan. They ambushed us in the Devil Woods, cut my riders down to a man. I fled to Yerkh and then Balai with the girl hoping to find shelter when your own raiders pillaged it.”
Hecellon whispered something into Stribor's ear. The boyar nodded, then gave a crooked smile. “A nice tale. Let's see how the girl tells it.”
Stribor let go of his rope, and Yesugei sank back down to his knees as the boyar muttered a command to Zayats, “Ungag her. If she tries to cast a spell, cut her throat.”
Vasilisa sputtered and spat the moment the archer took the filthy rag out of her mouth, then took a trembling breath of the cool night air. Stribor leaned in closer to examine her before he spoke.
“You are who the Khormchak says you are?”
She nodded. “Vasilisa. Daughter to Igor and Cirina. Princess of Belnopyl.”
The boyar ran his tongue along his crooked teeth as he thought for a moment. “Belnopyl…when I was there last, your father held a great melee to choose a man to serve in his druzhina. Who won?”
Vasilisa answered immediately. “Not one man, two. Stavr won the melee, and Pyotr was raised to the ranks when he stopped one of the warriors from Pemil from attacking the champion when his back was turned.”
Stribor nodded, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. “I forgot about the other boy. The time before then, I was in the city with the rest of the Gatchisk boyars - that was when your father exiled the Young Griffon-”
“He exiled him for good reason,” said Vasilisa confidently, rising slightly to her feet before she was set back down by the archer who hovered behind her, dagger in hand. “Goran had tried to kidnap me for his bride.”
“A youthful folly,” said Stribor bitterly. “For which you scarred the boy’s face with a dagger.”
“Is that what your prince had told you?” Vasilisa gave a light, mocking smile, but Yesugei saw the corners of her lips twitch with fear. “Goran didn’t get that scar from any dagger - he gave it to himself, when he tripped and hit his head against my dresser.”
To that, the boyar gave a loud hoot of laughter. Yesugei felt the tension in the air slowly melt away and sink into the mud as Stribor slapped Hecellon’s shoulder in his chortling.
Then suddenly, the boyar cut his laughter short and fixed Pervusha with a deadly stare that made the warrior look very, very small.
“Pervusha, was it?”
“Yes, milord.”
“Take your friends and go find someplace else to stick your cocks,” Stribor spoke. “I am taking the girl into my own custody.”
The lancer Yerch opened his mouth to speak, but then thought the better of it as Hecellon allowed the dancing flame in his palm to flare momentarily.
“Good. Now, no more of this,” sighed Stribor as he waved off the three warriors. He then motioned to one of his own guards, a sour-faced man in lamellar. “Unbind the princess’s hands. Leave the Khormchak.”
As the ropes binding Vasilisa’s neck and hands were sliced apart, Stribor said, “I beg a thousand times for your forgiveness, my lady. I had no idea Prince Igor’s daughter had escaped the sacking. That your father had schooled you in magic was…unexpected.”
Vasilisa rubbed her raw and bleeding wrists, then threw her blindfold off to the side. “Your men tried to rape me. They also raped the weaver’s wife - one of your prisoners.”
“And they will be punished for that,” said Stribor dismissively. “But now you are under my protection.”
And some protection it is, thought Yesugei darkly. Your man would have split her skull open just last night.
As Stribor led Vasilisa out of the pen with all the courtesy of a noble boyar guiding his liege lady, the same guard who cut Vasilisa loose asked, “Sire, what about the Khormchak?”
Stribor was about to give his reply when Vasilisa spoke up, “This man helped protect me along the roads even when he could have abandoned me.”
She looked at Yesugei, and gave him an appreciative nod. “I would ask you to free him as well, boyar.”
To that, Stribor only gave a laugh. “And risk having my men mutiny? My lady, we are fighting a war against the Qarakesek and all their Khormchak ilk. Half of my men want him hanged, and the other half want him flayed first, and then hanged. The Khormchak stays.”
Yesugei saw Vasilisa bite back a scathing reply. No - don’t press your luck. We are still his prisoners, bound or not.
“At least have someone treat his wounds.”
Stribor shrugged, then turned to Hecellon. “Yllahanan - they trained you in the healing arts in your towers, didn’t they?”
Hecellon bowed his head. “Of course, my lord."
“See to that gash on his face." Stribor grumbled. "Then put him to the question - softly."
“Of course, my lord.”
Vasilisa’s concerned gaze lingered on Yesugei as she was marched off towards the sacked temple - flanked by the boyar’s guards. Yesugei suddenly felt his relief shift to dread as he saw Vasilisa trailing further and further away, leaving him alone with the blood-sorcerer.
Putting me to the question softly? We'll see about that, Yllahanan bastard.
Hecellon stood dutifully by the pen until he saw Vasilisa enter behind the temple doors. Then he closed his flaming hand - drowning the Yesugei's world in darkness once more.