Chapter Eight

Kyra choked back the tears that threatened to pour down her face. Though tears often built up in her eyes, stinging their soft brown centers and making her almost gag with the force, she had never cried since she had been taken into slavery. No matter how hard it was, no matter how many times the whip dug into the flesh of her back, Kyra Longfletch never cried.

Crying only showed your tormenters that they were having an effect on you. And so, Kyra had sworn never to cry, no matter how bad the pain was. Emotional pain, or physical, Kyra never cried. Even if the pain was enough to knock her unconscious, she never cried. She bit her lip and never let a tear of pain, of sadness, of desperation, or of anger trickle down her furry cheeks.

No matter what she went though, Kyra Longfletch never cried. If you showed that you were weak, it made you more of a target for the cowardly rat guards. It had been years since she really cried, though tears often made her eyes sting for want of escape. She hadn't really cried since Lord Mavarl brought her here.

She knew that even the brave and foolish Skythistle Morningdew wouldn't risk insult now. There was nothing that they could do to change their fate, and insulting Lord Mavarl wasn't going to help in the slightest. Or, at least, Kyra thought she wouldn't. The idiotic attack that the haremaid had started wasn't helping to reassure the ottermaid of the haremaid's ability to control her temper.

Sky had a certain knack for getting into trouble with her mouth. Lord Mavarl smiled a cruel smile, though inside he was a bit disappointed that he hadn't gotten more of a reaction from the pair. He had honestly thought that there wasn't any fight left in his slaves.

But these two were different. Obviously, a mere whipping hadn't taken the life away from them. The two creatures were young and strong, but that made no difference. Many other strongbeasts had been broken under the lash. These two had survived.

It did not take Mavarl long to recognize the otter. Of course, she was a lot older now, but her eyes were still the same. Big, soft, brown colored irises stared out at him, just as they had seasons ago. And, Mavarl noticed, they held the same fire now as they had held on that long ago night when he had tried to raid her Holt.

That brat had spoiled his plans once, and he wasn't about to let her get away with impudence. The hare held a similar look. Mavarl didn't remember capturing Skythistle, nor did he know her name. She was just another slave, captured at some point or another. Perhaps he had even bought her a while ago. But, from that moment on, Mavarl would never forget her.

Troublemaking slaves stayed in his mind forever, in case there was a need to know something of them. Kyra had, of course, been added to the list. Sky had now joined her. The hare seemed similar to the otter in the respect that neither of their eyes held the dead and constantly frightened look that was reflected in the eyes of the other slaves.

For most, the eyes were first filled with anger; anger similar to the fire that was held within the soft brown eyes and the black-brown eyes of Kyra Longfletch and Skythistle Morningdew. Then, the eyes held a fearful and sad look, one that displayed the feelings inside them.

Those slaves knew that they were doomed to a life of torment forever. And then, their eyes and body took on a hollow and dead look. This matched their souls: Dead and no longer able to feel. The eyes of the two companions had not seemed to pass the first stage. Anger still filled them, coursing through every fiber of their beings, the bloodlust for revenge inside both of them, embedded deep after the pain of the lash and the hot sun on their backs.

The memories of pain had wedged the hatred even deeper within their hearts until it had spread, growing larger and larger as it infested the once loving and caring heart, mutating it and turning it into a thing of darkness, tearing up it's fibers and rearranging them into a mass of pain and sorrow gathered from season after season after season.

This look he saw in their eyes, and this look was one he feared. Here were two young and strong beasts with the fire still embedded in their eyes. But, unlike most others, they had suffered under his torment. They were still alive. He almost shuddered.

Mavarl knew that he had created two monsters. Ones whose souls writhed and twisted with hate for him. They had strong bodies too, and determination. This was exactly what he wished most of his rats were like.

He had two options. One, he could kill them through extensive torture, which is what he had done before. Two, he could try and persuade the monsters to join him. Why not? They had the gall, the physical strength, the brains, and the determination. All he had to do was turn their hatred into fearful respect. The fire could be turned against his enemies instead of against him.

Yes, that would work. And if they refused? Torture was easy enough. "Now," he said, making sure to keep his voice level and unemotional. He made sure to let his words echo softly around the room. Mavarl had become more adept at many things since his days as a captain. Good acting skills were one of his newer improvements.

And so, Mavarl knew how to create an image of terror, therefore giving him some power over his enemies. Kept his eyes straight on the pair of wretched slaves, making sure that the twin orbs were as emotionless as his voice.

He knew that if he remained calm, it would be even more unnerving for the slaves. They were used to the loud windbags that he had for soldiers and captains. Being calm, cool, and cruel was even more frightening. Most creatures didn't know how to react, and that gave him the upper paw. Any bit of fear that he could make the two slaves feel would be to his advantage.

Besides, even if it did not work on them, it would work on the surrounding guards, and make them quicker to obey. He spoke without an accent, as well. Mavarl had lost his corsair accent a while ago, and had become civilized. Or, as civilized as a rat horde leader could become. He had gained quite a bit of intellect, reading histories to learn of ancient battle plans.

The old stories of great Warlords were indeed useful to the modern day one, and their strategies could be put to good use. In a sense, Mavarl had given himself an education. It only added to his power, he realized. Knowledge, as said in the old saying, was power.

"I've heard from some of my captains that both of you decided to take your scythes and go gallivanting about the fields killing the guards. Is this true?" Kyra was shocked. Honestly, Lord Mavarl was very different from his captains. No insults or threats from him. He actually sounded; dare she say it, fair? But she wouldn't be fooled by this act.

What kind of rat would keep slaves and give out awful punishments and then be polite? Maybe he suspected them of more than just attacking the guards? Maybe he wanted information about the rebellion! Though how he could have found out was beyond her.

While Kyra thought, Sky answered. Kyra smiled; she had known that Sky couldn't keep her mouth shut for long. That was just like a hare! "Well, M'Lord Mavarl, it's true enough. May I be so bold as to ask why you want t'know since you have so many witnesses, doncha know?"

Kyra winced. Sky was even more of an idiot than she thought! Talking back to Lord Mavarl? Even if it was only a little rude, it could spell death. Didn't she know how unpredictable Warlords could be?

"Can you spell D-E-A-D?" Kyra muttered under her breath to Sky. The haremaid glared back, and the two were only brought out of their seemingly telepathic battle by the sound of Lord Mavarl coughing for their attention. The sound startled the two, and both would have jumped up with a start had not many metal tipped and deadly spears been pointed at their unprotected backs.

Lord Mavarl chuckled slowly. "No, Hare, you may not be so bold. I'm the one asking the questions if you don't mind. I will answer you, because it brings me to my point. I wanted to ask you because I was trying to figure out your motive, and was hoping you would give me a clue. Not many slaves would simply go up and attack a guard without a motive, you know."

Kyra noticed something else strange about Mavarl too. He didn't have a corsair accent like most of the vermin on the island. Could it be that Lord Mavarl had civilized some since he had stopped plundering and had started ruling from his fancy castle?

A few seasons after he had captured Kyra, Lord Mavarl had stopped pillaging the seas and had settled down at Castle Fortguard permanently, sending his captains and crews out to do his plundering and thievery for him.

Sky glared, once again letting her mouth run faster than her brain. "So, you think that being beatin', starved, tortured, whipped, an' regularly bullied and even killed wouldn't give somebeast a motive, wot? Well, you're even more idiotic than I though y'flippin' bloomin' cad! Now, shut your considerably large mouth, y'great loony. Can't y'just leave us alone?"

Mavarl almost laughed at this, but he controlled himself in time. This hare said he had a large mouth? He wondered wryly if she had ever examined her own in a mirror. He decided to ignore her comment.

"Now," said Lord Mavarl cooly, "if I may continue? I haven't had an attack or act of disobedience like this in quite some time. And I can't have all the other slaves following your example. Besides, you've murdered some of my soldiers, which makes your crime worse. I'm actually quite impressed at the numbers you two did kill."

He paused for a moment, appearing to think hard, even though the decision he had made earlier had already been carefully considered and thought out. "You have two options. One, since you've murdered my soldiers and disobeyed me, I will have to think of an interesting and incredibly painful way to kill you." Sky snorted. Mavarl ignored her.

"Two," he paused again, still thinking. "Two, you could join my horde as captains. You two should feel honored. You have both impressed me by killing a good number of my hordebeasts with naught but a blade and stick. You'd each get a ship, crew, and weapons, along with slaves and a good share of the booty you collect. All you have to do is swear complete loyalty to me. You know what the wise choice is."

Kyra was slightly amazed at this; a Captain? She was so disgusted that she didn't even feel the least bit flattered. Without fully realizing what she was doing, the ottermaid twisted on the ground and shoved the spear out of the rat's hands. She grabbed it and broke the stick in two, flinging it at Mavarl's feet. Quickly, all of the guards surrounded her, their spears all pointed at her throat. Sky quickly got to her feet too and stood beside Kyra.

"Lord Mavarl, my grandmother was a warrior, and my father was a warrior after her. They taught me to fight for good, and to help those weaker than yourself. That is the code of the warrior, and Kyra Longfletch is going to be remembered in history as a warrior, not a villain. I am a warrior, like my father, and grandparents before me, and I refuse to be asked to deny what I believe in.

"D'you hear me, rat? I'd rather die than serve a tyrant like you! And I thought that you actually had some brains in your skull! Didn't you guess that nothing would make a Longfletch join your ranks?" Sky nodded, and narrowed her eyes. Both of the maids were infuriated beyond reason. That pompous fool thought that he knew everything!

Did he know nothing of honor and love? Of caring and of truth? Did he know nothing about the warrior's oath? To protect the weak, and to not take advantage of their strength, to be peaceful except in times of need? Of course not. Mavarl did not understand that. He had never understood that, and he never would understand it. That was why he was who he was. Powerful, but corrupt and evil.

"Aye, I agree with Miss Longfletch here." Sky said, her tone neutral, unlike earlier. "You ruined our lives, an' we aren't gonna help you ruin the lives of other creatures, eh wot! A Hare of Salamandastron will never be seen servin' a flippin' bloomin' vermin tyrant! Never, d'you hear?" But the brave haremaid got no further, for Lord Mavarl waved his jewelry bedecked paw, and the rats closed in on the two brave warriors.

"Make sure not to hurt them, now. I want them fresh and healthy for what I have in mind for them. You won't be so cocky soon, you two little would-be warriors! I gave you a chance, and you refused it. Since you won't help me, I must dispose of you and make you into an example for the other slaves. Pity, though. You both would have made fine captains."

Even as the pair were grabbed and dragged forcibly out of the door, Sky still vented her wrath. "Oh, go an' boil your damn head y'great bloody tyrant!" The rest of Sky's curses were cut off as she and Kyra were dragged out of the Throne Room and out of the door. Lord Mavarl smiled. They really would have made fine captains.

But, oh well! Now, at least, he would have the pleasure of devising a way to torture them. Either way, he won. Once they were out of the Throne Room, Sky was quiet. She would only be wasting her breath out here. Lord Mavarl couldn't possibly hear her now, and even if he did, what of it? Kyra looked at her friend, her brown eyes shining.

They had been brave, and had acted like a true warrior. She now felt that she was one. Plotting rebellions was a fine pastime indeed, but it didn't take a lot of courage to speak bravely. What she and Sky had just done. that was brave.

Kyra smiled. At least, if she died, she could say that she was a warrior. Killing people doesn't make you a warrior, but a brave heart does, and she had just proved to Mavarl that a warrior was what she was. Kyra Longfletch at last felt as if she had earned the title of warrior, and she felt a rush of pleasure flowing through her.

Of course, that pleasure was quickly dampened when she realized that she was facing imminent torture and peril, but it did give her a small amount of consolation. The rat guards dragged the maids down many halls, gradually taking them lower and lower. Lord Mavarl didn't need to tell the slaves where they were being taken.

Both already knew.

Every slave knew.

All the treasonous ones, all the ones that refused to submit to the tyrant's whims, they were all taken to the same place, and they were never seen again. Oh, of course, they were seen again, but only after they were dead, or else while they were dying. Kyra could still see the glassy eyes of the dying slaves that she had seen Mavarl torture.

They were going to have to sit and wait in Lord Mavarl's dungeons until the rat warlord felt it was time to have them killed off. Meanwhile, who knew what would happen to them in the dungeons? Kyra vaguely wondered if Lord Mavarl had given orders for them to be starved or tortured. Honestly, she didn't care.

As long as she survived for a night and a day, MacPhearsome or one of the reinforcements would set her and Sky free. Or, at least, she hoped that they would. After a few more minutes of silent dragging and thinking, both Kyra and Sky were thrown into a cell. The walls were solid stone, and the door was made of thick wood with a rusty padlock on the outside.

There were no windows or bars, save one small one on the door. Straw covered the floor, and there was a small slot at the foot of the door for slipping a tray with food into the cell. Kyra wondered if they would get food at all.

Both were silent. Sky sat in one corner, Kyra in the other. By mutual agreement, neither spoke. They just sat and waited for Lord Mavarl's pleasure, or help from MacPhearsome. Kyra fervently hoped for the latter.

Several hours later, Kyra heard the door creak open. Sky had fallen asleep in her corner, but Kyra had stayed awake, her eyes shining in the darkness of their cell, and her brain running through all of the 'what ifs' that anyone could possibly imagine. Light shined through the door, and the ottermaid had to squint because of the sudden change in the murky darkness that had enveloped her only seconds earlier.

She covered her dark eyes with a paw and winced as the blurry silhouette of Lord Mavarl came into view. Lord Mavarl stepped into the cell, four rats following him, all carrying spears. Lord Mavarl, she noted, didn't have a spear in his hand.

His paw was instead curled around the wooden handle of a whip. After a few seconds her eyes had adjusted to the light, and the ottermaid stared up into the tyrants eyes. She remembered a bit of advice a friendly old hedgehog had given her when she had first been imprisoned as a gally slave on Mavarl's ship.

"Always look 'em in th'eye, an' they'll back down. They is bloody cowards, vermin is. They won' bother you iff'n ye look 'em straight in th'eye an' show 'em you ain't 'fraid o' no bullying ragbags. That's all they is, anyway."

Mavarl was slightly shocked, but soon got over the emotion that he so rarely felt. He motioned to his four henchrats with a paw, his face showing neither fear, nor pleasure, nor hatred, nor anger. Mavarl looked truly emotionless. Kyra knew what was going to happen long before the four rats behind Mavarl came forwards and grabbed her wrists.

She didn't protest as they led her out of her cell, locking the door behind her. She didn't know how long they walked, minutes, hours, moments, but eventually the six arrived at a door. One of the rats hurried forwards and opened it, while Lord Mavarl, the other three guards, and Kyra walked in. The room that they entered was small, with no windows, and nothing in it except for a table.

There was only the one door out.

Kyra knew all too well what was about to happen. Two of the rats left the room immediately, while two others dragged her towards the table. She didn't even object when they slipped her back paws into shackles at one end of the table, and then shackled her front paws in the same manner. Her back was now exposed to the rat tyrant. Kyra took a deep breath, and waited.

"Bare back," Lord Mavarl hissed. One of the rats took his knife and slit Kyra's tunic open until his knife reached her waist, neatly cutting the thin fabric of the garments that had once been a tunic. He then drew his knife along her waistline, creating a sort of skirt and top. Lastly, the rat yanked the top apart on the slit he had made, so that her back was exposed to Mavarl. She now wore a sort of backward vest.

Kyra bit her lip, and waited for the pain to start.

She heard both of the rat's leave and heard the door slam and lock behind them. She heard Lord Mavarl's whip whistle through the air and heard it crack sickeningly on her naked back. She winced, but did not cry out. She felt her eyes sting and knew that she was about to cry. She gasped slightly, and bit her lip. She would not give in to the tyrant by giving him the satisfaction of knowing she was in pain.

She wouldn't scream or cry.

Never.

Not in front of him.

The whip cracked against her back again and again, and she bit her lip even harder. She couldn't see anything now. Her eyes were foggy, and though tears threatened, they never fell. She tasted the salty, acrid taste of blood in her mouth; She had split her lip by biting on it.

She didn't care.

She continued biting as she felt the searing pain start to take over her senses. Then, she saw a blackness rising before her eyes. She licked the blood from her lips and lapsed slowly into unconsciousness.

She wouldn't scream.

She wouldn't give Lord Mavarl that satisfaction.

She wouldn't.

Wouldn't.