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‘You were right, Analaision,’ Damanacree said thoughtfully. He looked across the pristine rows of black-clad soldiers, standing to attention with their pikes and swords, and tried to keep the excitement from ripping out his chest.
At first, he had refused to listen to her. He was not used to heeding the advice of females and he had no intention of making an exception for his wife. Then, her words began to penetrate his brain and he saw that there was merit in what she suggested.
‘No one goes there, Lord,’ she’d said. ‘No one watches the border or pays it any attention. We would be upon them before they even realised that we’d landed.’
When the landing vessels had been repaired, and all of the saboteurs’ damage rectified, he had ordered the disembarkation of his armies from both ships.
Now, as he stood on Icarrion soil, Damanaclee’s eyes moved to his wife’s face and, for the first time, he thought it quite lovely. ‘You’re clever, for a female,’ he said. ‘I didn’t imagine that I would like a clever wife.’
‘One’s intelligence, my Lord, should not be judged by what is between a creature’s legs.’ She spoke softly but there was a look of defiance in her eyes.
He laughed at that. ‘You’re also far too outspoken, and you really should attempt to disguise what can be so clearly read in your eyes.’
‘You would have me meek and pliable, husband?’
‘By all the Gods, no!’ he returned. ‘I would have you as you are.’
She knew that it was as close to a compliment as she could ever hope for, nevertheless, she was unashamedly pleased with his words. ‘I will do my best to stay exactly as I am,’ she said. ‘If it is agreeable to you.’
‘It is agreeable,’ he admitted, biting back a smile.
Sabre approached and cleared his throat. He then stood silent and still, awaiting his Lord’s acknowledgement of his presence.
Damanacree turned from his wife and looked coolly on his lieutenant. ‘Has he spoken?’
‘No, Lord. He withstood the torture and has refused to identify his accomplice.’
‘You speak of the traitor?’ Analaision enquired.
‘Yes, my lady,’ Sabre replied. ‘He admitted to damaging our craft, but he refused to divulge who sabotaged the landing crafts on your ship.’
Damanacree pressed his lips together and bit back on his rage. He had landed his troops safely, and was poised to move on the capital, and he didn’t want anything to spoil his previous good mood.
‘I fear that we won’t extract the information from him, Lord. I think that I should simply take his head and be done with him.’
Damanacree nodded and Sabre made to move off.
‘You used the proper methods to extract the information?’ Analaision said to his retreating back.
He turned. ‘Yes, lady.’
She squinted up at him and looked thoughtful. ‘I’m surprised, then, that you failed my husband, lieutenant.’
‘He withstood the torture. I don’t see that as meaning I failed.’
Analaision licked her lips. ‘Tell me... what did you do to him?’
‘I... I...’ Sabre looked to Damanaclee for help. Discussing methods of torture with a female was abhorrent to him.
‘Answer her, Sabre.’ Damanaclee was amused by the soldier’s discomfort.
With a pained expression, Sabre asked, ‘What specifically would you know, lady?’
‘Everything,’ she said. ‘I would know everything.’
He nodded, resigned. ‘We started with his eyes. They always think we’re going to rough them up a little and rip out their fingernails, so it’s a shock when they find out that we’re actually going for their eyes.’
‘I’m surprised that he didn’t talk then. I mean... he’d be terrified.’
‘I don’t think he believed that we’d take his eyes. He was still gearing up for something else... his fingernails, most probably.’
Damanaclee laughed at that and didn’t notice Analaision’s growing fury. He thought that she was enjoying it as much as he was. It had been quite some time since he’d been party to someone being tortured and he relished listening to Sabre recount his experience with the saboteur.
Analaision spoke softly. ‘What did you do to his eyes?’
Sabre looked surprised. ‘Well, we plucked them out, of course. A small spoon is best... you just scoop them out.’
‘A spoon?’ She closed her eyes to picture it and a strange quietness came over her. She imagined what it must have felt like to have your eyes gouged out of their sockets and she knew... she knew that Sabre had made an inexcusable mistake.
She opened her eyes and fixed them on the lieutenant. She was going to teach him a lesson he would never forget.
‘I’m surprised that you did something so extreme as your opening gambit,’ she said.
Sabre was beginning to feel uncomfortable. There was something in the Platton female’s expression that disturbed him. She didn’t appear to be horrified. She seemed... disappointed.
Misreading her disappointment, he went on, ‘Then, we began to skin him. We started with the tender parts below his arms and around his genitals and...’
Analaision had heard enough. She held up a hand to stop Sabre’s continued description of the torture and turned to look up at Damanacree.
‘Your lieutenant is a fool,’ she said, her mouth tight.
‘How so?’ He cut his eyes at Sabre.
‘He took his eyes, my Lord. The fool took his eyes.’
Damanaclee shrugged. ‘So?’
She clicked her teeth together and dragged in a breath. Do I really have to explain myself, she thought?
‘Why is he a fool?’ Damanaclee pressed.
‘Because, he took his eyes first.’ She wanted him to grasp her meaning. She didn’t want him to lose face by failing to see what was so blatantly obvious.
Damanaclee searched for her meaning. He had witnessed many people being tortured in his lifetime. He had seen them electrocuted, crushed slowly with stones until their chests caved in and their lungs collapsed, and he’d seen their eyes gouged out. His eyes narrowed as he finally understood. ‘He took the eyes first.’ He frowned, his eyes narrowed beneath his heavy brow and glared at his lieutenant.
Sabre’s jaw worked silently. He had obviously done something to displease the female and, now... now his Lord was displeased.
‘Don’t you see?’ Damanacree asked him.
‘See, my Lord?’
‘What my wife means about you being a fool?’
‘No, Lord.’ He began to perspire and almost shrank beneath the disappointed look of his master.
‘You tell him,’ Damanacree said to his wife. ‘I grow tired of this.’
Analaision smiled and nodded.
Sabre forced himself to look at her.
‘What is the purpose of torture?’ she asked.
Sabre struggled to find the right words to appease her, but the words stuck in his throat. Finally, he said, ‘To... to get information, or a confession, my lady.’
She nodded, as if satisfied. ‘Is the person usually terrified of what may happen to him if he refuses to talk, or confess?’
Sabre nodded, intrigued despite his growing fear.
‘What do you think goes on in the mind of a prisoner who loses his eyes before anything else is done to him?’
‘I...I...’
‘I will tell you,’ she interjected. ‘He thinks to himself... there is nothing worse than losing my eyes. They have done their worst to me. They may cut me, punch me, crush me, but they will be wasting their time because... they have taken my eyes.’
Sabre sucked in a mouthful of noisy air and his face visibly paled. He was beginning to understand.
‘It is no wonder that you gained no information from him,’ Analaision went on. ‘Once a man loses his eyes, he disappears inside himself and is lost beneath the agony.’ She reached beneath her tunic and drew out a curved blade. Sabre’s eyes
fixed on it. ‘Shall I take your eyes, lieutenant?’
He shook his head frantically, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form the words to beg forgiveness.
Damanacree understood that Sabre was moments away from death. He had learned something new about his wife – she didn’t appreciate fools. He was surprised then that, instead of slitting Sabre’s throat, she signalled to the two guards holding the prisoner to bring him forward.
He could barely stand and, where his eyes had been, there was now bloody ruination. His shirt was stained beneath the armpits and his breeches were bloodstained where the skin had been excised. He moaned softly when he was pushed to his knees and, when he recognised the female voice, he panicked and tried to shuffle away.
Analaision spoke to Sabre. She said, ‘You have one last chance to get a name from him. If you fail, I will take your eyes before I kill you.’ She looked to her husband and, seeing him nod, she grabbed Sabre by his sleeve and dragged him over to the prisoner.
Sabre’s voice was thick with terror. ‘He won’t speak to me, my lady. I’ve tried.’
‘Try again or die.’ She dropped his arm and stepped back. ‘I will time you by giving you fifty of my breaths. By the time we reach fifty you will have the name.’
She had to give him his due – he really tried. He kicked the prisoner in the ribs and screamed obscenities into his ears. He threatened to find his family and rape his wife and his daughters if he didn’t give him the name of his fellow saboteur. He ripped his hair from his head in huge clumps, broke his nose with a heavy fist and finally – as the fiftieth breath arrived - he ended up on his knees begging him, beseeching him, for the name.
Two score of soldiers had formed a circle with Analaision,
Damanacree, the prisoner and Sabre in the centre. There was a hush that not even the wind disturbed, and both Sabre and the prisoner were exhausted and silent.
Analaision finally spoke. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, and Damanacree had to lean towards her in order to hear her words.
‘I will be your executioner,’ she said. ‘I will take your eyes and your head, and your spirit will roam the world in torment.’ Her voice rose as she addressed the circle. ‘My Lord will not tolerate stupidity, disloyalty or a disregard for his safety. I will take the eyes and the head of anyone who fails him.’
She stepped forward and yanked Sabre’s head back by his hair. His eyes bulged in their sockets and his lips mouthed wordlessly. He had plummeted from a great height that day – one moment a favoured soldier, and the next nothing more than a condemned creature of no worth and of no consequence. Death was a high price to pay for one stupid mistake and, looking into the eyes of his Lord’s mate, he saw madness and feared that Damanaclee would soon rue the day he climbed into bed with the Platton.
He screamed when his eyes popped and, when he felt them rest on his cheeks, he screamed some more. Mercifully, he didn’t feel his head leave his shoulders.