By the rise of the sun the next morning, the group had made it back to their barn, and their inn, and their shoddy farmhouses. The old scout had regained consciousness, but the ropes that bound him left him helpless and weak, and any time he tried to struggle Big Axe would tell him about how much he enjoyed lopping off limbs. Thalrick felt sharp surges of pain rush through his back and legs like rapid rivers, but he never said a word. He could not seem weak, not now. Instead he kept his destrier at a trot behind the rest of them, so that he could stretch and wince without anyone noticing. His legs felt like they had been pushed out of place, and his spine felt as though it had bent in half. When they arrived at the barn, Strom and the old man greeted them, smiling happily at the sight of the bound scout. Strom was the fattest of the company, and his chins jingled as he laughed at the squirming captive. ''Caught yourself a nice old fish, aye!'' He laughed as he helped Big Axe pull the man from the horse. Big Axe grunted, and it sounded like a horse. ''Man squirms too much. Big Axe gets furious.'' He said bluntly, and kicked at the ropes, the toe of his boot finding Wallace's ribs. He cried out in pain, and the Myrian laughed and walked away. Strom lifted the man to his feet, and it was then he saw Thalrick dismounting the destrier. The rest of them were already dismounted and walking their horses toward the stable, and it was Thalrick's sore back that kept him behind. ''Tyveth's arse,'' Strom began as he approached Thalrick, completely disregarding the bound man, ''Where'd you get that, lad?'' He patted Racer atop the head. Thalrick gave a half-smile, and clambered down from the horse. His legs felt like butter again, butter melted over a fire. ''It was the old mans, Lolly let me ride him,'' Thalrick said, waving a hand at the woman as she disappeared into the stable, ''Racer, he's called.'' He gave the destrier a stroke on its flank, and began a slow, painful walk toward the stable. Strom followed him, dragging the bound old man along behind him. Damn these weak legs of mine, damn them. ''What happened out there? The man looks beat up, and the lad can hardly walk!'' Strom asked as he caught Lolly leaving the stable. The woman smiled a toothy grin. ''The little one caught him, well n' proper. He caught onto the trap, but the little one chased him down and knocked him right off his saddle. I didn't see it happen m'self, but I bloody well heard it.'' She replied happily. Strom looked surprised, as both brows raised and beady brown eyes opened wide. ''Young lad might be of use after all, then. Mayhap he's not a spy,'' Strom said drily, then helped Thalrick lock the destrier away in the stable. They walked back to the barn together, with Wallace in tow, cursing and muttering beneath his breath. He seemed a wee bit bolder when Big Axe was not around. When they arrived in the barn, Garrion had Strom shut the door. They unbound the old scout, but before he could run, Big Axe hit him so hard with the palm of his hand that it sounded like he'd broken his jaw. He was dazed, and so the huge Myrian pushed him toward a chair, sat him down, and tied his hands and feet to the legs and arm rests. By the time he was bound, the daze had worn off, and his cheek had swelled into a purple bruise. ''Petch you, petch you all. You bastards! I am Wallace Dryden, master scout. . . You think they won't realize I am missing? Har! You're all petching fools then!'' He coughed up phlegm, and spat the rest of it at his feet. Garrion slapped him hard enough to bleed his lip. ''Shut your mouth, old bastard. I have some questions for you, and you will answer. Or you will lose all your fingers.'' His threat was stern and blunt. ''All my fingers? Har! Shyke on my fingers, I don't need them! Cut my bloody toes if you want too! Har! You won't get anything from me, not a word. .'' It seemed captivity had begun to drive the old man insane already. Garrion slapped him again. Thalrick stood a few feet away from the man, between Strom and Badger, who both looked on intently. Big Axe stood beside his leader, his bearded axe clenched tightly in his hand. Lolly and the rest all made a half-circle around him. The barn felt empty, without men sparring and loosing arrows on the scarecrows. It was all too quiet, aside from the shouts of the captive Syliran knight. ''You will tell us what we need to know, or you'll suffer for it.'' Garrion warned, one hand clenched around the man's wrinkled, saggy neck. Wallace only smiled. ''Then I guess you better start the suffering, wretch.'' He spat phlegm, saliva and blood onto Garrion's thigh. If it had offended the outlaw, he did not show it. Garrion tightened his grip, his hand bare and gloveless, his sharp nails digging into the sides of the man's spotted neck. The scouts smile never left his face. ''If you make this difficult, ser, then do not expect me to be kind.'' He released his grip and walked a few paces away, eyes fixated on the ground. ''Big Axe, The Questioner, please.'' He said plainly, and the Myrian handed him a weapon that was too long to be a dirk but too narrow to be a sword. The blade was twisted and curved, made of steel with a plain wooden hilt wrapped in cloth. Garrion swung the weapon about for a moment, then approached the scout again. The man's smile faded when the curved blade was pressed against his temple. ''If I must saw into your brain for those answers, old man, then believe I will do so,'' he moved the blade away, and then pressed the tip against his throat, ''If I must pierce your throat for you to speak, then I will do that, too. It matters not. You will give me what I need to know, and then I will give you whatever you want.'' He moved the blade away, and the scout cackled. ''What if I want you to stick yourself with the pointy end o' that little blade of yours?'' He asked mockingly. Garrion's blank expression did not change, nor his dry, tired tone. He sounded like he had not slept for weeks. ''Well then, we may have a disagreement on our hands.'' The old man cackled again and said, ''Then you won't be getting no answers from me, not a single one. You think I'll betray my order for my own life? Har! I mean nothing, I am nobody. A mere foot note in the scheme of our grand order! I may be a seasoned scout, but there are others. They'll replace me in my quest, and they will find you. I'd like to see how well your pup can knock armoured knights from their horses, har!'' He shot Thalrick a glare, and the boy returned it. Silence, you old petch. Tell him what he needs to know or shut your wretched mouth. . . Wallace licked his crack lips. Garrion walked in a circle. Big Axe beat a fist against an open palm. Everything went quiet then, as if the entire group had lost their tongues, as if all their ears had failed them. There was nothing but pure silence, excluding the chirping of birds from the woods outside. Garrion had his eyes closed as if he were thinking, tossing the dagger back and forth between his hands. When he opened them, reality seemed to wash over them like a waterfall, Garrion's voice the equivalent to the sudden breaking of glass in a quiet room. ''Very well then, I will begin with your thumbs, they are the thickest and most bothersome.'' And so he brought The Questioner down on the old man, and in two swift cuts his severed thumb fell to the straw ground below, a small scarlet puddle forming around the severed flesh. ''You shyke, curse you petchin'. . .'' The old scout began to cry, until the pain overcame him and he fell unconscious. Garrion looked surprised, wiping the blood on an old cloth that hung from his swordbelt. ''Lolly, fetch me a bucket of water. Cold water. We can't have the old fool sleeping through this.'' |