Rathma
Rathma awoke to banging on his iron cage.
“Time to wake up,” came the gruff voice of the guard. He was running his sword back and forth over the metal bars, producing a clatter that made Rathma’s teeth hurt.
“I’m up, I’m up,” Rathma groaned. He had barely slept during the night in the confinement of the cold cage, and was almost glad that he would be let out of it soon despite knowing where it would lead him. He rubbed his eyes, ringed with weariness, and looked around for Kuu.
The light-brown stone that made up the floor and the walls was different than the stone he had seen in Yelto’s throne room. It looked rougher, less refined. He had tried to pay attention when the guards brought him in, but most of the walk had been down a spiraling staircase that led them rather deep underground. It was cooler than the main chamber upstairs, bordering on cold, relative to the desert heat, but there was not much else to it. There was a table and a chair by the wooden door that led upstairs, and a handful of iron cages scattered throughout the underground chamber. Rathma’s own cage was in relatively good condition, but most of the others were rusted and worn. Shackles hung from the walls, and a single cell with ceiling-to-floor metal bars took up the rest of the space. It was clearly intended for short-term holding, and that suited Rathma just fine. He didn’t intend to stay long.
Just as he thought he might be down there alone, a familiar voice came from down the hall.
“Can’t we sleep just a little longer?” Kuu whined.
“Quiet, dog,” the guard answered sharply. Turning back to Rathma, he bent down to unlock his cage. “Soon you’ll have all the rest you can handle.”
“Did you hear that, Rathma?” Kuu piped up. “I think he’s trying to scare us. Ooh, I’m shaking.”
Kuu was almost never serious, Rathma knew, but this morning he was in rare form.
“If you don’t stop yapping,” the guard growled, “I’ll make you wish you had.” He was fastening the chains in place on Rathma’s wrists before letting him out. He looked annoyed, and his movements were quick and abrupt. “Come on,” he said as he gave the chains a jerk. “Over here.”
The front of the cage fell open and Rathma tumbled out. The guard picked him up and walked him over to the wall where a pair of shackles were hanging, fastening the shackles to the chains around Rathma’s wrists.
The last thing Rathma saw was the guard putting a blindfold over him. “Hey,” he said as he struggled against it. “What’s this for?”
“So you can’t see,” the guard answered in a mocking tone. Rathma felt the cloth tighten as the guard wrenched the knot. “No more talking.”
He felt him check the chains one more time by giving them a quick tug. Then the sound of footsteps faded away as Rathma once again found himself alone.
He moved his head around, trying to find some way to disturb the dark cloth that obscured his vision, but it was too thick and well placed. No such luck, he thought.
Since he couldn’t see, he would have to rely on his other senses in order to get a fuller picture of his surroundings. His fingers met the stone of the wall, rough and cold, and he dragged them over its dry surface to find the shackles that held him to the wall. They were cold too, colder than the stone they were attached to, and thick. Most likely made of iron. Kuu was somewhere off to his left, he could hear him giving the guard a hard time, and the door leading upstairs was in front of him to the right. As far as he could tell, there was just the one guard. He strained to listen for any other voices, any other noises—breathing, talking, anything.
Besides the other two souls in the room, it sounded as though they were alone.
Over the sounds of the guard struggling with Kuu, Rathma thought about all the careful planning that had gone into this, but also all the unknowns they had to deal with. Like what was inside Yelto’s chambers? How many guards were posted inside? Were there any exits? Any entrances? All were variables he just couldn’t answer without putting eyes on the inner chamber; Yelto’s men were too loyal and too smart to give away information about it to outsiders.
The two of them had planned for what they could and determined that waiting any longer was too much of a gamble. Yelto had sealed himself away for too long, and, like a dog who is fed by hand, he had grown fat and complacent.
But we hadn’t planned on the priest being there, Rathma thought. And at night, no less. That had certainly changed things. A voice in the back of his mind said that if they had known he would be there that night, they might have abandoned the plan altogether.
Not like it mattered now.
Kuu’s cage slammed shut.
“Let’s go,” Rathma heard from behind him as the clank of a key sounded just above his head, undoing the shackles that held him to the wall. He smelled the leather of the guard’s vest behind him, and the faint odor of perspiration. He felt a hand clasp his shoulder and another in his back, pushing him toward the door that led upstairs. The door whined open on its well-worn hinges, and Rathma felt the heavy, warm air from the stairwell tumble in past him. It would be a long, dark trip to the site of the execution. And, as one braces for a blow from an incoming fist, Rathma tensed under the inevitability of his own death march.
They walked in silence up the stairs, and Rathma could almost feel their twisting ascent up the stone stairwell. The air got warmer and warmer as they reached the top, until it was the temperature he had grown to know in Khulakorum: just heavy enough to make the sweat come burrowing out, and unforgiving enough to make it stick. The door in front of them clicked open.
“Just taking this one out to the front gate,” said the voice behind him. It was lower and sounded different. Strained.
“Right on time,” answered a second voice in front, off to the right. “Where’s the other one?”
“Bringing him up next,” came the grunted reply.
“Is he still in his cage?”
“Sure is.”
“We can send a man down to get him, then.”
Rathma felt the hand on his shoulder tense.
“No need,” the guard behind him said. “I’ll come back for him.”
“It’s no trouble.” Off to the side, Rathma heard, “Yujai, go fetch the Wolfwalker.”
Then he felt himself being pushed again. “Move,” the guard whispered.
Why is he whispering? Rathma wondered. He shrugged it off, suddenly finding himself moving at a hurried pace—not quite a jog, but certainly a brisk walk.
Their two pairs of footsteps echoed through the chamber room, occasionally muffled by walking over one of the many rugs or animal pelts that decorated it.
“Taking this one outside,” the guard behind him said to someone in front of them. “The Wolfwalker should be up shortly.”
“Oh,” came the response. The voice sounded thick and slow, and Rathma thought that his head most likely was, too. “Okay,” he lumbered.
From in front came the sound of shifting armor as the heavy iron door to the courtyard was opened, and sunlight streamed in. Even from under his blindfold, Rathma could see a difference in the darkness, which brightened around him as if Lash’kun Yho himself were brushing away the night. Then Rathma felt the blindfold loosen, and the guard’s hands frantically grabbed at his shackles. A sudden commotion came from behind them, from the stairwell leading to their holding cells, as shouts of confusion filled the air.
“It’s him!” one voice bellowed. “It’s the Wolfwalker!”
By now Rathma had managed to shake loose his blindfold, and he looked down to see Kuu, dressed in the uniform of the guard who had been watching them, working the key to his shackles and dropping them to the ground.
“Go,” Kuu said, his face grave. “Get out of here. This time, I know what to expect.” His face was covered by the shemagh, but Rathma knew his eyes. “My brothers are out there waiting.”
“But—”
“Go!” Kuu demanded. “Find your brother. Find Jinda. Tell him that we need the Vessel.” With that, Kuu pulled down his shemagh, unsheathed his sword, and started to buy Rathma some time. “Don’t make me regret this.”