Heart of Black Ice

CHAPTER 53

The Norukai celebration for King Grieve and Captain Lars was loud, boisterous, and violent. Bannon found it sickening.

Caked with blood and covered with bruises and scabs from the selka attack, along with the daily abuse they suffered aboard the serpent ships, the new slaves were pressed into service in the Bastion kitchens. Overworked and terrified, old Emmett limped about loading platters with food, including a goat that still sizzled on the spit.

The head slave barked orders to his sullen kitchen crew, occasionally pausing for hurried explanations to the newcomers who didn’t know what to do. “Take the roast goat! There’s a rack behind the king’s throne. He will slice off the meat himself, and I pray he doesn’t complain that it’s too bloody, if he is even willing to eat goat tonight. I don’t dare tell him the banquet isn’t ready.” Emmett sighed, panting hard. “I have seen Grieve eat animals raw, and maybe he’ll be in that sort of mood. I wish I had something other than goat or fish.…”

One of the kitchen slaves, a downcast man with a scar on his cheek, picked up an end of the spit while a new slave was shoved forward to take the other end. They shuffled off with their burden as a Norukai guard marched behind them. Whole fish were scraped from racks in the fiery ovens and placed on platters. Urns of pickled fish were carried off by slaves who staggered under the weight. When one such urn was thrust into Bannon’s arms, he looked down into the hunks of gray meat preserved in salt water, vinegar, and lye. The stench reminded him of the horribly preserved fish that was a food staple during lean years on Chiriya Island. As the fumes roiled up, he held the urn as far out in front of him as possible and followed the roasted goat.

Emmett gave Lila a brass pitcher of wine, and she glared daggers at him. “I have no wish to pander to these vile creatures.” She looked uncomfortable in the formless dress that covered her slender body.

“Neither do I, but my wish to live is stronger than my disgust, and if you want to survive, then you must cooperate.” The old slave’s voice had a pleading tone. “After the banquet is over, I can explain in detail how the Bastion functions and how you may be able to live another day, another month, and another year.”

When the Norukai guards had left the kitchen to escort the servers, Lila slowly and deliberately dripped a mouthful of spit into the open pitcher of wine. The other slaves watched her, shocked but titillated.

Emmett was horrified. “They’ll cut you into pieces and roast you in the fireplace if they find out!”

The morazeth faced him, defiant. “They didn’t see me, and you aren’t going to tell them.”

On his way out the door with his pickled fish, Bannon saw what she had done. Mirroring her rebelliousness, he dredged up a lump of phlegm and spat it into the urn. “Sweet Sea Mother, we have to fight in any way we can.”

The corridor beyond the kitchens led into a loud banquet hall. The walls were black stone, and smoke-stained timbers crossed the ceiling. Desiccated heads hung from hooks on the rafters, probably enemies that King Grieve had slain.

The banquet hall sounded like a battlefield, with boasting Norukai, pounding fists on tables, calls for food, and shouted insults. Six long tables were crowded with Norukai warriors who sported an array of hideous disfigurements on their faces, heads, and shoulders. The women raiders looked just as ugly as the men, and they growled at one another, striking and then being struck back in what Bannon realized was a brutal form of courtship.

At the front table, King Grieve slumped in a blocky throne that looked like a torture device. The bone spurs implanted in his shoulders poked out of his sharkskin vest like upthrust teeth. He hunched, brooding and bristling, deaf to the roar of conversation and the rowdy guests. He rested his clenched fists on the tabletop and just stared ahead. At the empty place beside him, Grieve had upturned a much smaller chair and smashed it on the table surface so that no one would ever sit there again. Bannon realized that must have been Chalk’s seat.

The coarse woman Atta sat on the opposite side of the throne, as if she owned Grieve, but the king paid little attention to her. At the second table, the newly returned raider captain Lars sat like some kind of celebrity. Bannon recognized the man from Ildakar, and hated him. Lars was already half drunk, and Bannon wondered if the disgusting raider would remember him.

King Grieve suddenly sat up and pounded his fist on the table. “I gave you a death sentence, Lars.” The conversation fell swiftly into uneven muttering.

The raider captain paused in midboast, set down his tankard, and turned to his king. “You told me to go out and die in battle, King Grieve. I launched raid after raid and killed at least a hundred weaklings by my own hand. I will die as you commanded, but I don’t intend to die until I’ve killed a lot more.”

The other Norukai cheered at his bravado, but Grieve did not seem amused. “You are still a coward for your failure at Renda Bay. You must atone to the serpent god for being defeated by mere walking meat.”

Lars’s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. “I understand, my king, and I will make them pay. I would not have returned here had I not needed provisions and crew. Countless more serpent ships have been constructed, in preparation. If you want me to leave the entire coast in flames, then I require more ships.” He lifted his tankard in a toast. The Norukai roared.

“We have more ships,” Grieve said. “Chalk’s visions promised we would have more ships.” He stared down at his empty plate.

The servants carrying the steaming goat carcass hurried forward and settled the ends of the spit into the forked branches of the stand. The roasted animal wafted a savory aroma that filled the hall, briefly overwhelming the stench of so many unwashed and bloodstained warriors. Grieve grimaced.

Bannon carried his urn of preserved fish and purposely set it in front of Lars without comment. The Norukai captain leaned forward and inhaled deeply, then belched. “Perfect for the next course.” He looked up at Bannon, met his eyes, and hesitated. The young man waited for him to explode with recognition, but Lars said only, “You are ugly.”

Lars reached into the urn with his hand and scooped out the top gobbets of gelatinous fish. Bannon’s wad of spit was indistinguishable from the mess, and Lars slurped it with a grunt of satisfaction.

Platters of fish were served at the head table, but King Grieve ignored them, apparently without an appetite. Atta hungrily regarded the goat carcass while everyone waited for the king to make the first move. Finally, Atta took the king’s plate and stood. “It is my pleasure to serve you, Grieve. And you can service me with pleasure later.” With her dagger, she stabbed the steaming haunch and carved out a portion of rare meat, which she added to the plate. She set it in front of him before she served herself a similar amount, then sat down and fell to eating beside him.

Grieve finally began eating, although he didn’t seem to taste the meat, didn’t enjoy the celebration. “Soon we go to war,” he said, and by the tone of his voice, that was the only thing he looked forward to.

Lila entered with her pitcher of wine, unrecognizable in her loose wool dress. She walked with confidence, as if she had already defeated every single person in the room. She came stiffly forward and poured wine into Grieve’s goblet. He dully drained half of the wine in a single gulp, ignoring her. As she turned to fill Atta’s goblet, clearly resenting the effort, Grieve lashed out in his angry sorrow, shoving Lila away. He didn’t even seem to know what he was doing in his red misery, but Lila lurched, and half of the wine pitcher poured down on Atta.

The Norukai woman exploded. Like a viper striking, she lurched to her feet, knocking her platter aside and dumping the goat meat on the floor. Lila reacted with morazeth reflexes to defend herself. She dropped the brass pitcher, which clanged on the flagstone floor and spilled the red wine like blood. Atta pulled back her fist, and the muscles in her meaty arm bulged.

Bannon pushed forward to help, frantic to save her, but Lila needed no help.

Her hand flashed up and caught Atta’s fist as it slammed toward her. The Norukai woman strained, her muscles bulging as Lila thwarted her blow. Atta glowered, pressed, while Lila gritted her teeth and pushed back. She whispered through clenched teeth, “It was an accident.” She flashed a glance at Grieve, who remained ignorant of what he had instinctively done. She turned back to Atta. “I am … sorry.” It sounded as if the words were ripped from her throat.

With a heave of effort, Atta snatched her fist away. “An accident!”

Before Lila could move, the anvil-faced woman struck her across the cheek. Lila caught herself, coiled, but forced herself not to hit back. She said in an icy voice, “I am a morazeth. You have my apology, and that is all you will get.”

Grieve finally took notice. He stood up and punched Lila on the side of the head so that she buckled to the floor. Atta loomed over her. “I give you a death sentence too, but just as Grieve did with Lars, I can take a long time to kill you.”

“Do your best,” Lila retorted.

At the entrance to the banquet hall, Emmett and several slaves hurried in with baskets of bread and trays of roasted and smoked fish as well as bowls of pickled saltweed. “Next course!” the old man said, distracting them. “There’s more food to come, and countless desserts.”

Emmett limped to the head table as the gathered raiders anticipated the second round of food. Moving deftly despite his limp, the old man maneuvered among the tables and took the stunned Lila by the elbow. “Come, don’t just rest there! You have work to do in the kitchens.” He also hooked Bannon’s arm and escorted them both away. “Quick! We dare not make King Grieve wait.”

While Atta continued her murderous stare, Emmett ushered the two into the shadowy corridors and whatever small safety the kitchens could offer.

Over the next few days as the slave staff in the Bastion kept their heads down and continued their duties, Atta singled out Lila for torment. The Norukai woman found ways to confront her in the corridors and slam her against the wall in an attempt to provoke her. “Go on, fight me and I will kill you!”

Bannon tried to intercede. “Stop! We’re just doing our tasks.”

“This one’s task is to die.” Atta pressed her face closer to Lila. “Grieve is my lover. I know you want him.”

“I want him dead,” Lila said, “but if I have to kill you first, that would be fine with me.”

Bannon whispered quickly, “If you kill Atta, the king will murder you himself.”

Lila disagreed, and loudly. “If I kill her, then the king will laugh because she is weak.” She challenged Atta directly. “Do you wish me to fight you? Give me a weapon and we’ll see who walks away.”

With a meaty hand Atta slammed her into the wall. “I will give you nothing, not even death. Not yet.” The Norukai woman stalked off, but Lila remained standing. She plucked at her loose woolen garment as if it offended her.

She and Bannon worked together whenever possible. Emmett helped them by giving them similar assignments, but when the Norukai realized the two were close companions, the workmasters forcibly separated them. Still, Lila managed to meet with Bannon often enough, and together they looked for any opportunity to escape the Bastion. But with so many armored and angry Norukai crowding the fortress, they found no possibilities.

“Old Emmett knows every corner of the Bastion,” Bannon said. “He could help us escape.”

Lila was skeptical. “After so much time here, he doesn’t even remember freedom. He only remembers to be afraid for his own life.” She shook her head. “I promised to rescue you, and I will find a way.”

“And I promised to fight at your side. You trained me to face combat bears and sand panthers. I can handle a few Norukai in a fair fight.”

Lila smiled. “You have potential after all, boy.”

The next day, while Lila was tending a cauldron of boiling fish stew, Atta barged into the kitchens, raising her nose to the air. “It is midday. King Grieve is hungry.” She stalked over to Lila at the large soup pot, sniffing loudly. “Something smells bad. I thought it was the cooking.” She sniffed again. “But it’s merely the stench of this vermin.”

She grabbed the iron ladle, pulled up a brimming scoop, and slurped it while Lila glared. Then Atta purposefully poured the scalding liquid on Lila’s shoulder where the bare skin showed from her garment’s ragged neck hole. The morazeth flinched, but let out no sound of pain as the hot soup dripped down her arm. She just glared defiantly, enduring the burn.

Emmett hustled forward with his lurching gait. “Please, Atta! Don’t kill my staff. King Grieve told you not to kill the staff.”

“I didn’t promise not to damage them.” Atta looked at the healing bruises on Lila’s face, the fresh red scald mark on her shoulder. Satisfied for the moment, she left the kitchens.

Bannon ran over to Lila with a washrag soaked in cool water and pressed it against her burned skin. Now that Atta was gone, she let herself wince.

Emmett shuffled his feet, and Bannon rounded on him. “This is why you must help us escape! We’ve got to find a way.”