“Um…” There was obviously an art to speaking with a blade at your throat that I hadn’t grasped. Nor was it something I felt comfortable practising; even that one syllable had brought me dangerously close to gaining a new orifice. “Will… you…?”
“Shut up,” said the Shoanan holding the knife. But he did ease the pressure a fraction.
“Look… can you just…?” I was all ready to explain that Saltlick was harmless as a fly, and only at the last instant did it occur to me how unwise sharing that information might be. “He’ll… he’ll listen to me.”
My guard gave that a little thought. “Then tell him you don’t want to try and learn breathing through your neck,” he said, and eased up ever so slightly more.
I supposed I couldn’t begrudge him his caution; I’d just pointed out that the cart-sized wall of muscle across from us would do exactly what I told him to. “Saltlick,” I said, “I order you to stay still. However much you might want to tear someone’s arm off or rip out their heart and eat it, you won’t do any such thing. Do you hear? Just for once, restrain your inexhaustible lust for blood.”
I accompanied it with a clumsy wink, in the faint hope that the signal would mean the same to giants as men. Saltlick probably imagined I’d gone mad; but since there’d never been a possibility of him doing anything but politely sitting still, it hardly mattered. All that was important was persuading our captors not to waste the entire night in securing him.
To that end, at least, my words seemed to have achieved something. My new friend eased his knife away from my neck and beckoned over a couple of his companions. This time, it didn’t take long for a consensus to be reached. It was hardly the one I’d been expecting, though — for together, the three of them then hurried outside.
It wasn’t long before they were back, however, this time with armfuls of rope and chains. An end was in sight; but even with a dozen men working together and Saltlick crouched still as a statue, it still took them the better part of an hour to secure him to their satisfaction. By the time the Shoanish had finished, hardly a part of him wasn’t criss-crossed with rope, metal, leather or wood — for rather than remove his harness, they’d figured it into their construction — and the whole elaborate web secured to every one of the remaining hoops set in the ground.
Finally, they appeared satisfied with their masterwork, and I felt the time was right to move onto more meaningful concerns. “All right,” I said. “It’s safe to say we’re not going anywhere. Saltlick won’t be eating anyone who doesn’t want to be eaten. Now, can we please speak again with Kalyxis?”
“You’ll speak to Kalyxis when Kalyxis wants to speak to you,” replied the Shoanan who’d threatened me earlier.
“Which will be…?” I asked.
“When she says.”
As helpful an answer as I’d expected. My attempt at ambassadorship was a disaster, and if I didn’t think of something quickly, there was no doubt that I’d have the blood of Estrada, Navare and the others on my hands, not to mention a few thousand Altapasaedans. My slender remaining hope was that these fastidious barbarians would leave us alone now that we were trussed beyond any reasonable hope of escape.
Even that was too much to ask of my miserable luck. Ten of them trooped out but two remained, and, with initiative beyond the average guard, chose to make their vigil not from outside the tent but from within. It was a completely unfair strategy, and of doubtful professionalism; clearly here in the far north they were ignorant even of traditional guarding etiquette.
The minutes dragged by. I was growing close to despair. It was hard to believe that tying your guests to the floor was a preliminary to accepting their heartfelt pleas for help, even in Shoan; more likely, Kalyxis was busy pondering dramatic and amusing ways to execute us.
Then, just as I’d all but given up hope, I noticed our two sentries start and look behind them. A third figure had drawn up the tent flap and, as I watched, spoke briefly to them in hushed tones. I didn’t hear what was said, but the two gave us a last hard glance and followed the new arrival outside, dropping the flap behind them.
I doubted the three of them had gone far. In all likelihood it was just a changing of the guard, or a brief break to share some revolting northern liquor brewed from bits of dead horse. Nevertheless, it was the best and only opportunity I’d had, and I refused to waste it.
“Saltlick,” I hissed, “I know you can break those ropes, so get on with it. We don’t have all night.”
Saltlick eyed me mournfully. It might have been because he was exhausted from his day’s running; it might have been because I was wrong and he was too tightly bound for even his colossal strength to prevail. Knowing him, though, I suspected it had more to do with guilt at the prospect of undoing all of our captors’ hard work.
“Look,” I said, “I have a plan. But I’m going to need your help.”
Truthfully, I had no plan at all, no idea what I’d do if Saltlick could liberate us. It would likely achieve nothing. Yet knowing what hung on my actions and sitting there unable to move was killing me just as surely as our guards would if — or more realistically, when — they caught us. Anyway, I always thought best on my feet. There was a chance something would come to me, if only I could get free.
Because Saltlick still didn’t look convinced, I added, with all the urgency I could muster, “Quickly! Every minute we waste here could cost Estrada and the others dearly.” Another bluff, of course; for all I knew, this was the worst possible thing for Estrada. Maybe Kalyxis was at this very moment preparing to help us and all I was doing was jeopardising that.
But it wasn’t a possibility I was prepared to entertain. I had to be free. I couldn’t just do nothing.
Anyway, it seemed I’d finally gotten through to him. I’d hardly noticed at first how hard he was straining; he was so tightly trussed that his exertions were almost invisible. Now that I concentrated, though, I could see subtle motion: a chain link bulging here, a rope strained to its limits there. Looking back to Saltlick’s face, I understood that his expression showed not his usual dull placidity but the most intense effort, locking his features rigid.
Too late it struck that he really might not have the necessary strength. On his best day, I doubted any measures could hold him; even weakened by torture, I’d seen Saltlick tear through ropes thicker than these outside Moaradrid’s camp. Today, however, he’d run himself half to death, perhaps beyond the point of healing — and that after being almost drowned, battered on rocks and climbing a cliff. There had to be limits even to Saltlick’s vast strength. Maybe today was the day I found them.
A chain link popped, with a delicate ting. One rope rippled like smoke and fell in coils into the dust. The following pause dragged on for so long that I started to wonder if that wasn’t it, if those small achievements hadn’t sapped the last of Saltlick’s vigour. Then a section of rope thinned, unravelled and came apart, all in a moment. A leather strap ripped. Navare’s scratch-built harness, surely the weakest link in the entire arrangement, gave one deep, wailing groan, before the beam over Saltlick’s shoulders snapped clean in two and crashed to the ground.
I glanced nervously towards the door flap, expecting angry northerners and sharpened blades to come flooding in at the sound. Neither one materialised. Even as another chain lashed the ground, as two and then three more ropes split, our privacy remained undisturbed. It was perplexing, and perhaps I’d have questioned it more had it not been so hypnotic watching Saltlick free himself. Once when I was a boy, a band of travelling performers had passed through our village, and one of their number — a giant himself by any normal standards — had performed a similar stunt. Impressive as it had seemed, it was nothing to what Saltlick was doing now. Even battered and fatigued, the power in those muscles of his was phenomenal.