Caprion's Wings (17 page)

He entered the deeper tunnels of the
prisons and tried to remember the way to Moss’s cell. He didn’t
know if she would be there, but he had to start somewhere. The
faint glow of his skin illuminated the cracked stone hallway, the
moisture that streaked the stone, and the occasional rat scurrying
underfoot. He turned once or twice, backtracking. Finally he found
an old wooden door that looked right, but when he slid the bolt
open and checked inside, the cell was empty.

His eyes combed the small, dark room.
In the corner, he saw the crack near the floor where the brown
lizard had once appeared. He took a few more steps and found the
rusted chains snapped by his sword. Yes, this was the right cell.
But where was Moss?

His lips turned grim. This didn’t bode
well. He had to find her.

What if she’s dead?
a small, nagging voice whispered. He felt sick at
the thought. No, she couldn’t be dead. Not after all he had gone
through to find his wings. Why become a seraphim if he couldn’t
save her life?

At that moment, a large net of
vibrations passed over his skin. He knew a Harpy soldier
approached, and he decided to wait. He wouldn’t find Moss by
wandering these cells alone; the prisons were vast and maze-like,
almost impossible to navigate. No, he would need to ask the guards,
but he couldn’t let himself be captured.

He thought of the voice-trick he had
used on Sumas’ men. He still wasn’t fully confident it would work,
but he had no other choice. He paused in a shallow alcove of rock
and waited, watching the corridor ahead.

Eventually, a soldier
rounded the corner and came into view. He walked at a swift pace,
his eyes focused straight ahead, hardly scanning the hallway, his
thoughts obviously elsewhere.
He probably
just got off duty,
Caprion thought. The
Harpy looked younger than himself with eight-foot wings, very
humble for a soldier.

Caprion waited until the man was a few
feet away, then said loudly, “Halt!”

The Harpy froze in his tracks. He
blinked his eyes, then glanced down at his feet.

Caprion stepped out of Moss’s cell
into plain view. The soldier relaxed slightly when he saw him, then
frowned, gazing at Caprion’s glowing skin, his strangely absent
wings, and his hovering feet. Caprion didn’t wear any armor and had
no markings of a soldier.

“Who are you?” the young man said.
“Citizens aren’t allowed down here! You need to return to the
surface.”

Caprion raised an eyebrow. “I will,
but first I want you to show me where the girl is.”

The soldier frowned. “What
girl?”

“A slave. The one who
escaped. Sumas and his men captured her a few hours ago.
Where is she?
” He
concentrated, his voice resonating. “Where is she?”

The young soldier wavered
in confusion and alarm. Then he began to speak. He looked surprised
as his lips moved. “The west block,” he said. “In
the blood-chambers.
She’s already been dealt with.”

Caprion’s face darkened ominously.
“What do you mean, dealt with?”

“Punished for her transgressions,” the
young soldier blurted, still alarmed by his own words.

“Take me to her. And keep quiet,”
Caprion snapped.

The soldier turned automatically and
started back the way he came. Caprion followed swiftly.

As they traveled through
the dungeons—deeper underground, in a much different direction than
Caprion’s last excursion—thoughts of Moss consumed his mind.
The blood-chambers.
What
sort of place was that? He thought of her lying on a cold stone
floor, wounded or brutalized, and fury rose within him. If she was
dead, he would never forgive his own people.

* * *

The blood-chambers were located in the
west wing of the dungeons. Caprion could smell their destination
long before they reached it: blood and rust in the air. Salty.
Bittersweet.

They turned a corner. Heavy iron bars
blocked the path forward. The gate spanned impassably from floor to
ceiling, wall to wall. A series of gears rested at its base—a rope
and pulley system activated by a tall lever. Caprion could see
ancient letters ingrained in the iron bars. A sealing
spell.

The Harpy soldier murmured a few words
of power, causing the old runes to glow with yellow light. Then he
pulled twice on the lever. The gate creaked and groaned, then slid
into a crack in the stone floor, disappearing from sight. They
walked forward. A few sunstone baskets hung from the ceiling, dimly
illuminating the mold-stained walls. Here the corridor spanned
three meters wide. Dark, rough-hewn stone made up the floor and
ceiling, low and heavy, claustrophobic. Solid metal doors lined the
walls on either side.

Most of those doors stood open, empty,
but a handful were closed and bolted. Caprion stared at them. Low
sobs and moans echoed from under the cracked frames, chilling him.
He could see old pools of dried blood at the foot of each door,
sunken into creases of stone.

Caprion swallowed the bile in his
throat. “And which cell is hers?”

The Harpy pointed to the last door on
the right. Caprion approached it swiftly. A few old runes marred
the door’s surface, another sealing spell. He chanted softly under
his breath. The runes glowed, then faded. He undid the bolt and
thrust open the door.

The stench struck him first. Mold. Rat
feces. He saw bones; his eyes scanned over them, not daring to look
too long. Dense shadows packed the small room, but as he set foot
inside, several sunstones flared to life on the walls. The floor
was stained black and brown by old blood.

Against the far wall, a small figure
lay curled on the ground.

She looked…dead.

His sucked in a sharp breath. In three
strides, he crossed the room and knelt at Moss’s side. His hands
hovered over her small body, shaking, unsure where to touch. Her
hair was chopped jaggedly short. Her clothes were ripped, covered
in dirt and grime. Her face was turned away from him, but he
glimpsed a large bruise across one cheek, swelling her eye shut. He
could see fresh blood staining the ground around her. It almost
made him retch.

Fury rose within him. Cold rage—he had
to contain it. He needed to move her, but he didn’t know the extent
of her wounds. He knelt next to her on the stone and turned her
gently, searching for broken bones. Nothing obvious that he could
see. Then he lifted her gently into his arms. Her body felt smaller
and lighter than before, like a mangled bird.

She winced and stiffened at his touch.
He turned her in his arms, looking at the scrapes along her chin,
her ravaged neck, the dried blood around the sunstone collar. Her
left eye was swollen shut. A trickle of blood leaked down her chin
from a cut on her parched lips.

He knew what he had to do.
With a simple thought, he summoned the magic of his wings, the
power of Light. He gently touched the sunstone and spoke a single
command: “
Off.
”

The stone dimmed, losing its glow,
then the collar abruptly snapped open. He eased it off of Moss’s
neck and tossed it to one side. The skin beneath looked raw and
bloody. Angry blisters circled her neck where the collar had
rested.

Moss stirred when the collar came off.
Her slight movement made his heart leap. “Caprion?” Her words
sounded painful, spoken through sandpaper.

“I’m here,” he said quietly. Gently,
he tried to wipe the blood from her face. She flinched at his
touch, drawing away, fearful. He hated her fear. She seemed far
from the mischievous, secretive girl of the previous day. “What did
they do to you?” he asked softly.

Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t
reply.

He frowned. “Moss,” he murmured.
“Moss, open your eyes.”

She winced again. “The light
hurts….”

He put his thumb to her brow and tried
to lift one of her eyelids. She tilted her head away, weakly
resisting. His arms grew firm and he continued to open her right
eye; it appeared bloodshot and irritated, her cornea bright green
in contrast. The pupil widened, then dilated, and she winced in the
light.

He checked her other eye,
touching her bruised flesh delicately. She grimaced but kept still.
Her left eye appeared cloudy and dull, its color faded. Her pupil
didn’t respond to the light. He let out a slow breath, allowing her
eye to close.
Blind
, he thought coldly. Permanently damaged by the
sunstone.

He listened to her low, ragged
breathing. She would die in this room if he didn’t get her out. But
in that moment, he was afraid to move her. She might be bleeding
internally. The stress to her body could kill her….

“You glow,” she said, squinting her
good eye open. “I hoped…I hoped you wouldn’t find your wings. Now
you will be like them.”

He shook his head, unable to compose
his thoughts. “Never,” he replied.

“Did you kill the demon?” she asked
softly.

Her words struck him. He felt almost
ashamed. “Yes,” he murmured.

“Then…then we are enemies.”

Her words disturbed him, and he bit
his lip, shaking his head vehemently. “No. That demon was something
else, something evil. I’ll never be your enemy. I’m going to get
you out of here.”

She grimaced. “You can’t,” she
said.

“Yes, I can. I have my wings now. I
made a promise to you. I’ll take you over the ocean, back to the
mainland.”

“And then what?” she whispered. “It’s
over, Caprion. My own race won’t have me now, not if I’m blind.
There’s no future for me. I might as well die.”

He paused. Her words didn’t seem to
fit such a young girl. But she was one of the Unnamed. Death was no
stranger to her race. She no longer seemed afraid. No, she seemed
defeated, and that worried him even more.

“I don’t want to survive this,” she
murmured. She coughed lightly and winced, dragging in a painful
breath. “Put an end to it before they come back.
Please….”

He gripped her shoulders. She wanted
him to kill her? The thought made him sick to his stomach. “No,” he
said fiercely. “I won’t abandon you. I owe you these wings. I’ll
never forget that.”

She gazed at him through one
half-closed eye. “It’s over, Caprion,” she murmured. “They said you
would come…and now you are here…I wanted to see you one last time.
Please, please end this….”

He frowned. “What do you
mean?”

“They got here…before
you….”

A chill went down his spine. “Who?’ he
asked. “Sumas?”

At that moment, a strong
vibration passed over his skin, and he looked up, recognizing the
energy. He couldn’t see his brother yet, but he knew the captain
approached. He noted the soldier from earlier had
disappeared.
Damn!
he thought. He should have ordered the man to stay put, but
he had been too distracted by Moss.
I
thought I had more time!

He didn’t have a choice—he
would have to move her. He eased his arms gently under her and
stood up, gripping her firmly to his chest. Her head lolled against
him; she was losing consciousness. She felt light and small, as
delicate as porcelain.
I have to act
swiftly.
He left the cell, moving swiftly
down the hall. But just as he approached the gate to the
blood-chambers, he heard the rattle of armor. The vague glow of
wings lit the corridor.

Three Harpy soldiers rounded the
corner, dressed in full armor, sunstones embedded on their helmets
and chest plates. They stopped when they saw him. Their eyes fell
to Moss.

“It’s true,” one murmured in disgust.
“Sick bastard.”

Then their leader brandished his
spear. “Halt!” he ordered. “You’re under arrest by the Matriarch’s
decree!”

Caprion glared, angered by the way
they looked at Moss, as though she were too dirty to touch. With a
furious thought, he summoned his wings, thrusting them powerfully
from his back. Light burst through the chamber and the soldiers
stumbled against the wall, shaken by its force. Two wings…four
wings…there, he would have to stop. He couldn’t channel any more
energy.

He flew forward, striking one soldier
with his left wing, bowling him over. The two other men scattered
before him. It took a moment for Caprion to find his balance, then
he glided into the next corridor, trying to remember how to get to
the surface. He didn’t travel far before he was forced to stop. A
squad of soldiers crowded the passage ahead, eight of them, perhaps
more.

No way to go back now. He had to hold
his ground. “Stand aside!” he commanded, resonating his voice. He
hoped it would work.

A few of the guards hesitated, but
their leader came on. “The Matriarch has ordered us to waylay you,”
she said, a tall woman who stood at the front. She held a short
saber in one hand, a dagger in the other, prepared for close
combat. Her lip curled. “Put down the slave. Surrender yourself at
once or we will use force.”