Talamir cleared his throat. "I could guard Subikahn…"
The guard's head shook hastily, in slight motions.
Cued, Talamir added, "But we've already tried that unsuccessfully. I could go…"
The guard cringed, head still shaking.
"I could stay…" Talamir amended. "I could stay here and…"
The guard raised and lowered his head once. Talamir wished he could see the man's expression.
"… and do something that might make a good impression on King Tae."
The guard pantomimed drawing a sword and thrusting.
"I could… kill…"
The guard's head shook faster.
Weile Kahn said, "He's suggesting you offer to train the regular guards." He twisted his head to look at the elite guardsmen behind him. "Right?"
Both men stood utterly still, their expressions hidden behind silver veils.
Weile did not wait for a response but returned his attention to Talamir almost immediately.
More surprised by the suggestion than by Weile's apparent ability to see behind him, Talamir stammered, "Me? Train Eastern guardsmen?" It made no sense. "Tae would never allow that."
"But I would. Right now, and for the foreseeable future, I'm in charge."
Talamir wanted to say more, but words failed him.
Weile did not suffer a similar fate. "You're a teacher, right? A sword instructor."
"Well, yes." Talamir wondered why his brain seemed to refuse to fully function. "A torke. I train Renshai."
"Regular guardsmen would be… easier?"
"Easier,"Talamir repeated."Yes, surely easier. But-" What's wrong with my damned tongue. "I can't teach them Renshai maneuvers."
Weile shrugged. "So don't. Teach them basic things. Things that make them better, more confident warriors.Things that make you… indispensable."
"I…"Talamir started, uncertain where he was going. "… can do that." As the words left his mouth, he realized they were true. "I can do that. But, if you let me out, how do you know I won't just run."
"I don't,"Weile admitted, but he did not seem the least perturbed. "But if you do, I will have learned something important about you."
Talamir knew better than to ask what that lesson might be. "Thank you." The words seemed woefully inadequate. Despite having surrendered the throne to his son, Weile Kahn still held more power than most kings; and Talamir understood that the leader of the underground had no obligation to him. "You've shown me mercy and many kindnesses I don't deserve."
"You will earn them." It was not a show of trust but a clear warning. "If you hurt my grandson, if you break his heart, you will face agony beyond the sensibilities of Tae Kahn to inflict."
Talamir had no idea what Weile meant but felt certain he preferred ignorance. As much as he loved Subikahn, as right as their relationship seemed, he could not help believing his life might have been better had he never traveled to Stalmize, never became a torke, never met Subikahn at all.
Howling curses at his captors, Tae stumbled through the hallways to his cell, his arms pinched and pinioned by a pair of Bearnian guards, each twice his size. His hair hung in a lank filthy snarl, his clothing torn and frayed, his skin already bruised by the roughness of their handling. One released him to unlock the cell door. Still playing, Tae lurched to free himself. The other guard tightened his grip, squeezing until Tae's arm throbbed and the pain nearly incapacitated him. The instant the door jarred open, he felt himself thrown angrily inside. He tumbled, heels over head, slamming his skull against the stone wall that comprised the back of the cell. Pain exploded through his head, scrambling his thoughts. Then, the door slammed shut, and the lock clicked with ominous finality.
Suddenly, Tae wished the Bearnian royals had let a few more people in on the truth. His head hurt so badly he nearly vomited, and returning blood flow made his arms throb. He forced himself to rise, though it severely tested his balance, and tried to look tough and unruffled by their treatment.
Instantly, Tae's mind retreated to his days in Pudar's prison, under sentence of death. Then, he had shared his cell with other prisoners, ones happy to kill or maim a newcomer for his share of the food. Panic assailed him in a sudden rush, scattering his thoughts. He wanted out, he needed out, and no tactic seemed too farfetched to earn his freedom. He ran to the bars and pulled at them, only to find them so solid he could not move them in the slightest. He lowered his head and focused his view, aware he needed his wits wholly about him. The terror receded, replaced by familiar, cold rationality. He was not a prisoner; he was only on a mission.
Assailed by pain but with his heart rate slowing back to normal, Tae slumped against the bars. Next, he did what any prisoner would, surveying the area around him with a feigned composure that suggested he could handle anything that dared to threaten him. The prisoner to his right studied him through harsh, dark eyes beneath a prominent knitted brow. Though no larger than an average Bearnide, he still towered over Tae. Wide shoulders and broad hips spoke of a stoutness he had lost in the Bearnian dungeon, and his nondescript clothing hung from his slowly thinning frame.
Tae locked eyes for only a moment, and the cold of the contact seeped through him. There was hatred in those predatory orbs and also a hint of despair that might make him as dangerous to himself as to Tae.
A smaller and leaner, but no less desperate, man occupied the cell to Tae's left. He wore similar bland clothing, more filthy, with old bloodstains on the sleeves. Though softer, his brown eyes also revealed a deadly loathing, either for Tae or, more generally, for his surroundings. To Tae's surprise, he read fear in this man's expression, unmatched by his fellow, yet strong and clear. Hand gestures, words, tone could vary from culture to culture, but expressions remained the one constant on which he could rely. His left neighbor was terrified of something, and Tae sincerely doubted it had anything to do with himself.
Across the walkway, a Bearnide peeked out from the bars to give Tae the same scrutiny. He seemed harmless despite his size, probably a petty criminal. Yet, Tae had no other choice but to use him as an example. "Yah, ya ugly Bearnide!" he jeered with a hiss. "What're ya lookin' at?"
The Bearnide stiffened but did not return the challenge. He backed away from the bars to disappear into the shadows of his cage.
Tae dismissed him with a wave and a glob of spit that struck the bars of the other man's cell. "Ya're all a buncha cowards, y'are."
A few rumbled challenges followed Tae's proclamation, but as none of those prisoners was clearly visible, he ignored them. Instead he turned his attention to the pirates to either side. He had no way of knowing how to gain their goodwill; their upbringings would likely prove too alien to guess. Tae could only count on his own experience, that to win over tough men, one had to prove himself at least as equally brave and tough.
Without warning, Tae lunged at the larger of the pirates.
Clearly startled, the man retreated with a hiss; then, to Tae's surprise, immediately lurched forward. A swift grab managed to capture a piece of Tae's shirt.
Tae attempted to free himself without appearing to retreat. Trying to maintain composure, rather than following his survival instincts, proved Tae's downfall. With a jerk, the man yanked him closer. The other beefy hand closed over more fabric, and Tae found himself in an abrupt and inescapable chokehold.
Still in control of his faculties, Tae hammered the man's arms from below, once, twice, three times, trying to dislodge them. But he might as well have slammed against solid iron for all the good it did him. The pirate's grip only tightened expertly.
Breath refused to leave or enter Tae's lungs. He gasped spasmodically, suddenly realizing his life was measured in moments. He tried to roll backward, without success. The iron grip held him in place. He threw himself forward, grabbing for any part of his attacker's anatomy and hoping he caught something exquisitely sensitive. His throat locked open, desperately sucking, and his lungs felt as if they would burst through his chest. Stars whirled around his eyes. In a moment, he would lose consciousness and any chance for escape.