The White Gryphon

Not the ordinary fears of his six creations, he was certain of that. No, Winterhart must surely fear something fascinating, something he would have to work hard to discover. What could he cut free from inside her? Now there was an interesting image; a hollow woman, emptied out slice by slice, with only a walking shell left for everyone else to see. How could it be done? And how thin could he carve those walls before the sculpture collapsed in on itself? Well. If the wood was good enough, he could scoop out quite enough to satisfy his needs.

These thoughts were on his mind as he lowered his knife down between Telica’s thighs. That, and his craving for her to make some noise for him.

The blade touched the birch-white skin of one thigh.

At that moment, a shadow moved across Telica’s still skin. The lighting in the room shifted as someone—no, several someones—came into the room uninvited. Now this was an outrage! Hadanelith whirled, knife in hand, to confront these presumptuous invaders. Before he could utter more than a snarl, a boot to his face made things quite different than a minute before, when he was the one in control.

Amberdrake’s trepidation had hardened into a dull, tight pain in his gut. It certainly wasn’t because he hadn’t seen horror in his life, or felt himself grow ill from feeling others’ suffering. It wasn’t precisely because he feared a violent confrontation, or the cleaning up that was always needed after such a thing happened. The sensation he had, as the group arrived at Hadanelith’s home—or perhaps it should be called a lair—was dread for its own sake. Amberdrake had the feeling that nothing good was going to come of this arrest. Morally it was the right thing to do, by Law it was the right thing to do, yet still there was that gnawing in his gut that told him they were doing more harm than good.

Aubri, the Eternally Battered, apparently felt it also, although it might have just been a bad breakfast that caused his disgruntled expression. He was a gryphon who never had any good luck, if you believed what he said.

“It’s too quiet in there, Drake,” he wheezed, as they held themselves poised just outside Hadanelith’s door. “We know he’s got someone in there, so why isn’t there any sound?”

“I don’t know,” Amberdrake replied, in an anxious whisper. “I don’t like it, either. Judeth?”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she said shortly. “Let’s get in there—now.”

With a wave of her hand, she led her group of ex-fighters through the door in a rush. Amberdrake trailed behind, warrant still held in his clenched hand, dreading what they would find.

So he didn’t actually see Judeth kick Hadanelith in the jaw and send him sprawling to the floor, but once he saw what had prompted that action, he also saw no need to protest what might be considered an act of brutality.

The young woman was bound only by thread, in one of the most excruciatingly uncomfortable positions Amberdrake had ever seen. Her skin was sheened with sweat, and her muscles trembled with the effort of holding herself in place. There were faint scars in many places on her pale skin. With Hadanelith’s carving knife lying on the floor where Judeth had just kicked it, there wasn’t much doubt in Amberdrake’s mind where those scars had come from.

But most horrible of all—she acted as if she were completely unaware of their presence.

No. She’s not acting. She is unaware of our presence. She will not acknowledge that we are here because he has not told her to.

That was what held him frozen, and what made Judeth’s eyes blaze with black rage; that one presumably human person had done this to another.

The scars are only the least of what he has done to her. This will take months to undo. This is a case for the Healers; my people can’t possibly make this right.

With trembling hands, Amberdrake unrolled the arrest warrant and read it out loud. Hadanelith did not move from the place where he lay sprawled across his own floor, not even to finger the growing bruise on his jaw.

He only glared up at Amberdrake in impotent fury as the kestra’chern read out the charges and the sentence.

“You’ve heard the charges. We’ve seen the evidence before our eyes. You’ve been caught, Hadanelith,” Judeth said fiercely, biting off each word as if she bitterly regretted having to say anything to him at all. “Have you got anything to say in your defense?”

In answer, Hadanelith spat at her. Since he was lying on the ground and she was standing over him, it didn’t get very far. The glob of spittle hit the top of her boot and ran down the side. One of the human Silvers snarled and pulled back a fist; Judeth caught his arm.

“No point in soiling your hands, Tylar,” she said coldly. She looked around, picked up a piece of expensive silk that Hadanelith was using for a couch drape, and deliberately wiped her boot with it, dropping it at her feet in a crumpled heap. Only then did she turn to look at her prisoner.