Mary enters the kitchen a few moments after Immalaine, bringing the rest of the soiled dishes. "What was that about?" she asks as she carries them over to the washbasin.
“It … I … it doesn't matter,” Immalaine replies, trembling from happiness. The relief she felt was overwhelming, knowing now that Sallastin hadn't killed him … but his words about a surprise? She wasn't sure what he meant, but the look in his eye had terrified her. “What, what are we doing next?” she asked Mary, trying to collect her jumbled thoughts.
"Dessert," Cook answers from behind. "And stop chattering, you two. You know he likes these cream tarts, and they're only just ready. Hurry."
Mary takes the platter of tarts from Cook and hands it to Immalaine, then picks up the stack of dessert plates and utensils.
Immalaine carries the custard treats carefully, though still trembling at the thoughts racing in her head. But as they near the end of the passageway, a wave of dizziness hits her. She comes to a sudden stop, and feels the plates push into her back as Mary is brought up short. The impact pushes Immalaine forward… and she loses her grip on the platter. It crashes to the ground, and the tarts fly forward through the doorway to explode across the dining room floor.
A shout of surprise and then rough laughter erupts from the guests at table, beyond the doorway, at this sudden accident. "Is this some local custom?" Urvatch chokes out between grunts of mirth. "Or a special art in which you have trained your servants?"
Sallastin's low, angry reply is unintelligible to the two girls before he calls out, in a dangerously calm voice, "Immalaine. Mary. Come here."
Mary stares at Immalaine, wide-eyed in horror; then she swallows and, face pale, steps obediently out into the dining room.
Immalaine looks down at the floor, shocked at the mess and, taking a deep breath, steps over the tray carefully, ankle chains clanking on its metal, after Mary.
Head bowed, Mary stands a half a pace from the head of the table. Sallastin is regarding her with a cold, fixed expression. He looks up as Immalaine shuffles into view, obviously waiting for her to stand next to Mary. His guests are still laughing behind their hands, one of them pointing to the custard footprints which Mary has left in her passage across the floor.
With a shudder, Immalaine takes a place next to Mary and she trembles under Sallastin's gaze. The laughter ringing out from the table grates against her mind and she knows that whatever the punishment would have been, it will be even worse now.
Sallastin waits a long moment, then finally asks, in that same, calm voice. "Which of you did this thing?"
Immalaine takes a deep breath and briefly closes her eyes, willing the pounding of her heart to slow down. She opens her mouth to answer.
As Immalaine draws a breath, Mary suddenly steps forward and slightly in front of her. "It was me," she says in a small, quavering voice. "I ... I was moving too quickly .. I .. stumbled."
Sallastin 's blow, when it comes, is so swift as to be nearly invisible. There is a crack as his black-gloved hand strikes an open blow against Mary's face; she goes stumbling sideways, slips on the custard-slickened floor, falls, and slides to crash against a polished chest of drawers on the adjoining wall, sending several small ornaments tumbling to shatter on the marble floor. Sallastin turns his chair to face her. "Then you will be punished," he says in the same matter-of-fact tone.
Before Immalaine can even gasp in surprise, Mary was on the floor. 'Oh no!' she thinks, terrified for the young girl. Sallastin is already in a foul mood from the company, now with this accident. She tosses Sallastin a quick, scathing glance before rushing over to kneel at Mary's side.
Mary seems slightly dazed, either by the blow to her face or the impact with the furniture. Her cheek is already flushed and angry, showing the clear outline of Sallastin's hand, and she shakes her head dizzily with small sounds of pain.
Immalaine recalls some of the small healing lessons she'd had from Zandrianna and, careful not to jostle Mary, moves her so she can look at the back of her head. Focused on tending the girl, she forgets about Sallastin, the Angmarim - everything as she makes soothing sounds while she checks Mary over. "Can you hear me?" Immalaine leans in to whisper.
Sallastin raises his voice. "Leave the clumsy bitch; our meal is not done. Go down to the kitchen to fetch more refreshments, then clean up this mess."
Immalaine bristles at the command, and defiantly ignores Sallastin until she's satisfied that Mary isn’t seriously injured – yet. 'I can't let her take the blame for this!' Immalaine thinks. Slowly, she stands up then and, with her head lifted, takes a deep breath.
As Immalaine turns, finding Sallastin's angry gaze fixed on her, motion from the far end of the table catches her attention. Sallastin reads her surprise and turns - but not quickly enough. In the distraction caused by the accident with the tarts, Urvatch has made his move. One of his aides has sprung unexpectedly towards Sallastin's house guard and, catching the man unprepared and fumbling for his weapon, plunges his sword into that guard's chest. Urvatch and his other aide have risen, and now move along either side of the table toward Sallastin.
Shock fills Immalaine’s eyes as she watches the guard go down in a crumpled heap. She crouches back down next to Mary as the men advance on Sallastin.
Sallastin studies the two men approaching him - three, as the one who has just killed his guard pulls out the bloodied sword and moves to join his fellow - then leans back in his chair, twirling his wine glass between his fingers. "Well then, what's this?" he asks, ignoring the two men to his left and focusing on Urvatch.
"What this is," the bearded hill-man replies, "is payback. Do you think I'd forget what your father did to my family? To my brother? That blood’s on your head now, you snake, and I will see him avenged."
A familiar, condescending sneer touches the side of Sallastin's mouth that Immalaine can see. "Really? And what will your master say to this treachery, messenger boy, when you don’t bring him the promised report?"
Urvatch scoffs. "I shall tell him you were found to be planning a double-cross. My men will support that story. Who would doubt it?" His smile broadens and he starts to pull a blade free from a scabbard at his belt.
Sallastin, still relaxed, raises one empty hand. "One suggestion, then, before your little game plays out. If you’re planning on killing me, do it when you have more guards present than I."
Urvatch frowns, then gives a quick glance around, but, other than the girls huddled and forgotten by the side wall, there are only the four men in the room. He snorts. "My men already hold the approaches to this room, and in here you are outnumbered three to one. A quicksilver tongue will not get you out of this one, Sallastin."
Sallastin waves his fingers slightly. "Count again," he says, softly. As he speaks, a sudden choking gurgle comes from his left, where Urvatch’s second aide has just reached up and, in a swift, practiced motion, cut his sword-wielding companion's throat from ear to ear. Red blood spurts across the tablecloth's white linen, some even spraying across to splatter Urvatch's cheek. "I make it that it is you who are outnumbered, two to one."
Urvatch recoils a half-step, briefly dazed by this sudden turn. Sallastin's smile widens.
The sight of the blood splattering everywhere makes Immalaine's stomach turn, and she stares at the unfolding fight. Wrapping her arms around Mary, who has gone pale too, she motions for her to stay quiet when Mary lets out a small moan.
Mary blinks rapidly and starts looking around, her eyes focusing on the nearby confrontation as the traitorous aide moves around the foot of the table, his weapon trained on Urvatch.
"But don't worry," Sallastin says, waving a hand. "I don't intend to kill you. Please, sit." He leans forward and studies the other man. "After all, I imagine your legs must be starting to rather feel rather weak right about now."
Urvatch draws an angry breath to answer, then suddenly throws his right hand out to brace himself against the tabletop as he discovers that his legs are trembing. "How did you... what have you…?"
"How did I know? Why, your man has been working for me for some time. So, you see, I knew all about your plans for this evening. Gathag, help your erstwhile master to his seat, and spare him the weight of those weapons he carries."
As Gathag complies, Sallastin continues, "And what have I done? Why, poisoned you, of course. In that wine you drank before dinner."
Urvatch collapses into his chair, unable to stand up now, or prevent himself from being disarmed. "But … but you drank the wine too! I waited.. until..."
Sallastin cuts him off derisively. "Yes. And, ten minutes earlier, I swallowed the counter agent. Oh, I'll piss blood tonight, but nothing worse. Not like you. You see…"
Gathag straightens from collecting Urvatch’s weapons. "Will that be all, my lord?" he asks.
Sallastin nods. "It will. Our friend here is no threat now. Go see my bailiff for your money." Gathag grunts in affirmation, turns, and starts for the door. Sallastin watches him for a long moment - then, with a lightning flick of his hand, pulls a thin dagger from within his robe and sends it spinning across the room. It buries itself, hilt deep, in the back of Gathag's neck, and he falls forward, dead before even hitting the ground.
"Never trust a traitor," Sallastin observes evenly, returning his attention to Urvatch. In Immalaine's arms, Mary stiffens. "Besides," Sallastin continues; "he interrupted me. Now, where was I? Ah, yes."
As the man hits the floor, Immalaine lets out a strangled sound, much as a trapped animal would. She looks around the room at the three dead bodies, the metallic smell of blood filling her nostrils. Her stomach clenches worse and, without warning, she turns away from Mary and heaves, her breathe coming out in short pants as she tries valiantly not to give in to her terror. Behind her, she can feel Mary tugging on her dress, before reaching up to pull loose strands of Immalaine's hair away from her face. "Quiet," Mary whispers, her own voice thick with pain; "stay quiet."
Sallastin 's attention remains on the hill-man. "A very interesting poison," he continues, pulling a small glass vial from his shirt and holding it up between finger and thumb. It sparkles a deep topaz in the firelight. "You see, you didn't have this antidote in your system." He waggles the vial. "And so now the poison has seeped into your flesh and started eating you from within.
Urvatch holds out a trembling hand, his face already contorted with growing pain. "Give it here," he husks; "I"ll do whatever you ask."
Sallastin chuckles. "Indeed you will. You see, the antidote cannot cure you now. Nothing can. All it can do is buy you time. About a week. And then you'll need another dose, or you die. In agony." He tosses the little vile up into the air. It spins, sparkling, and Urvatch gives a gasp; then it falls back into Sallastin's waiting palm. Sallastin's black gaze moves to pierce his guest. "Which means, you are mine now. And you will do exactly as I command, when you return to Angmar or..." He drops the vial onto the table, and it starts to roll towards the edge, "... or no more antidote." Urvatch gives a groan, trying to lean forward in his chair. Sallastin chuckles. "Oh, the pain gets worse before the end. Much, much worse. So... are we agreed?"
Urvatch lets out a gasp; sweat beading his face now. "Yes," he chokes. "Yes... Just, make it stop!"
Sallastin reaches out and catches the little vial just before it rolls off onto the floor. "Good," he says, standing. "I'm glad you understand." He steps forward and places the antidote into Urvatch's trembling hand. The other man uncorks it with clumsy fingers and downs it in a gulp, wincing at the taste.
“You should feel more like yourself in a few hours," Sallastin says. "I shall give you your instructions then." He calls, and, after a moment, two more of his house guards come out from a side room. “Escort our guest to my interview room, and watch him there until I arrive.” The two nod and hoist the limp hill-man to his feet.
As they drag him away, Sallastin turns and spots the two girls huddling against the wall. "Ah yes, and until then" - he licks his lips and starts toward them - "I believe there is some discipline due."
Two hours later, one of Sallastin's several guards comes down to the kitchen, where Immalaine is just finishing the washing up. Cook has remained thin-lipped and angry over what happened to her dessert, and said little to Immalaine besides curt instructions.
"Come," orders the guard and, without further explanation, leads Immalaine up to a part of the mansion she hasn't seen before. He pauses at a door and pushes it open, revealing a room similar to Immalaine's own. A figure lies huddled on the bed, shaking. "See to her," the guard instructs, then takes up his position outside the door.
Immalaine takes a hesitant step forward, and realizes it's Mary on the bed. Thin lines of blood mark her naked back - the flesh already scored with hundreds of narrow scars from similar wounds - in addition to numerous bruises, contusions, and small burns. Mary rolls toward the door at the sound of Immalaine's gasp, revealing that one eye is swollen nearly shut, and that a trickle of blood is crusting at the corner of her mouth.
Immalaine hurries to Mary's side and sits on the edge of the bed. Carefully she examines the wounds, her heart pounding at the sight of the injuries on the girl's pale skin. Guilt wells up inside her. She spots Mary’s washbasin on an old dresser near the wall. Nearly jumping off the bed, she grabs the basin and a cloth and carries it back to clean Mary's wounds. "Why?" she asks quietly as she works.
Mary licks her dry lips. She has to swallow a few times before she can answer: "I knew it ... would be bad. And I'm ..." One shoulder moves in what might be a shrug. "... I'm used to it."
Tears well up in Immalaine's eyes at the casual statement, her heart breaking for the young girl. Knowing better than to point out that she shouldn't be used to it, Immalaine says, "Still, it wasn't your fault and ... and you took the blame. I can't stay here anymore! I have to ... I need to …"
Immalaine sits back, looking at Mary's now cleaned back, and closes her eyes in an attempt to block out the image. "No," she said, her voice shaky but determined. "Not just I. We have to get out." She stands up and begins pacing the small room as she rubs her head. For a moment, she pauses and looks back at Mary, before resuming her restless movements.
Mary tracks her with her one good eye, shaking her head weakly. "Don't. There's no way out. Just don't make him angry, that's all. You’ll learn." A trace of bitterness enters her voice. "And he's going to marry you. You've got nothing to complain of!"
Immalaine turns and heads back to Mary, kneeling at the side of her bed. "Mary, there has to be a way out for us. And marriage ... no." She springs back to her feet and finds the room spinning. With a yelp of surprise, she sinks back down onto the floor and rests her forehead against the straw mattress, sobs finally coming. "It's no use," she thinks to herself, lifting her head to wipe the tears away. “No use.”
The guard pokes his head through the door frame. "You all done? Good then. Back to yer room with you, an' then I'm off duty." He stumps in, reaches down with one meaty hand, grabs Immalaine's forearm, and pulls her to her feet. "C'mon."
Immalaine struggles up and takes a last look at Mary as the guard drags her towards the door. But, Mary doesn’t meet her eyes and, defeated, Immalaine follows the guard back to her room for the night.
(Credits and love go to Rastellion, who provided the voice of various characters in this story. *Blows kisses to Rastellion and grins widely*)
