CHAPTER 27: Playing Games

The slaves led her out into the hall, and she found herself just four doors from Jarinth's room. The reminder of her teacher made tears leak from her eyes, and Hanno laughed.

"We have new toys for you today," he announced, unlocking the door directly across from the cages. "Your friends will be surprised when they see you—they won't recognize your marks."

Alanna's stomach tied itself into a heavy knot. This man was going to hurt her, and she would not be able to defend herself. She closed her eyes and shuddered. Again, Hanno laughed.

The walls of the new room were painted black. A glowing brazier in the middle of the chamber provided the only light. Around it lay numerous torture devices, many of which she recognized. The rack—where victims were made a certain height either through stretching or having their legs chopped off—and the wheel—beneathe which limbs were smashed completely—were both present, to her horror. She went limp at the sight of the pointed, cruel gadgets lined on the racks against the walls and could only stand numbly as the slaves stripped her of her shift, leaving her in just a breastband and loincloth, and then locked her hands two feet apart above her head in shackles dangling from the ceiling. Then, the slaves left. She watched as Hanno tossed his key up into the air and then set it on the table next to the door before turning to her, grinning evilly.

"Let me explain how things are done here, just to fill you in. First of all, note the open doors of both this room and the cage room. This allows for the sound of your screams to be heard by your friends, but because they are situated in such a way that they can't see you, they have no way to know what's happening. That brings us to our second point: our jobs. My job is to hurt you a lot—either through burning, or shattering of limbs, or poking pointy objects into places you don't want them to be poked, or whatever—" he waved his hand dismissively "—I don't really care, as long as it hurts and humiliates you. Your job is to scream really, really loudly. That's easier than my job. I have to work; you don't. Your job comes naturally."

He glanced at her and smiled. "I should tell you that this is my favorite part. You don't know what's coming, you have no idea how long it's going to last, you can't run, and you can't make it stop. In most torture rooms, the torturer is looking for something—a confession, a piece of information, etcetera. I'm not. I'm just doing this for fun. I won't stop until the show is over.

"Now, I'm really excited for this toy. It was delivered to me just this morning, and I was so excited because I knew I had a new, fresh friend to help me play with it. Isn't it gorgeous?" He held up his device, and when Alanna saw it, she immediately wished she hadn't. It was like a whip, just that in place of the leather strip, three chains of rectangular iron links dangled from a wood handle. Her stomach churned. "These chains are designed to dig deep into your skin and pull out chunks of flesh. Even if you were to see a healer—which, by the way, you won't—you'd still have scars. It's said that, in a normal torture room—where the victim has a valuable piece of information, as I mentioned earlier—the victim is talking after three strikes." He paused, and frowned. "That sounds like I'm promising something, doesn't it? I'm not. We're most definitely not stopping at three strikes." He grinned. "I'm so excited, aren't you?"

Alanna fainted, but woke with a shriek as sharp teeth sank into her back and then tore out again. She felt blood stream from gigantic wounds as her back blazed with pain, and she sobbed. "Oh, Goddess, oh, please, Goddess."

"Your beloved goddess isn't going to help you, dear," Hanno told her sadly. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "Your goddess can't help you."

Alanna tried to brace herself for the next blow she knew was coming, but she hurt so, so, so badly….

Suddenly, a bellow from behind her echoed throughout the room, mingled with a cat's warcry. Alanna jumped. "What the—?" Even as it made her back burn ever more despairingly, Alanna twisted around to see what had happened. To her confusion, Hanno clawed at a black furball of a cat attached to his face. He stumbled backwards, and ran straight into a rack of gadgets, which tumbled forward on top of him. At the same time, his attacker launched from his face and raced to hop up on the table by the door and grab the key. In all its speed, Alanna managed to glimpse purple eyes.

Faithful paused only for a moment at Alanna's feet, where he pondered on how to get the key to her locks. In a moment, however, he had reached his decision. Sorry, Alanna, he growled around his mouth's burden as he reached up and sank his claws into her flesh, earning a yelp from her. Slowly, he climbed to her left shoulder; behind them, Hanno—who had apparently been knocked out for a few seconds—suddenly began thrashing and swearing, chucking small devices in every direction.

Through straining on both their parts, Alanna finally managed to reach her right hand to Faithful's mouth and grab the key. In a second, her left hand was free, then her right. Hanno roared when he saw this, and, immediately, the pounding feet of slaves could be heard on the stairs. Alanna skimmed the room wildly as she searched for some weapon.

There—a stick, Faithful pointed out, bounding from her shoulder and dashing across the floor. Sure enough, a thin, long iron bar leaned on the brazier. Grabbing it, Alanna turned around just in time to face the first slave in the doorway. He stared at her for a moment, and then grabbed the nearest gadget off a rack and flung it at her. She ducked, sprang forward, and walloped him across the head with the bar. He fell. When the other slave appeared, she smacked him, too. Behind her, she heard Hanno free himself from his mess and jump to his feet. In a flash he had drawn his sword.

Oh damn, she thought. He has a real weapon.

Hanno sneered at her. "Did you really think you'd get far without backup? You have a kitty and a stick. I have the strength, the brains, and the sword. Give up, Alanna, and I might let you live."

"Go to Chaos, you son of a bitch," she snapped.

He lunged for her; she blocked him clumsily with old reflexes. It only occurred to her now that she hadn't fenced since leaving Tortall over a month ago. To her surprise, though, she seemed to unnerve him. Apparently she still had some skill.

Then he struck again, and again. Alanna blocked him both times and let him push her back. She remembered to step over the fallen slave, and then she guided herself through the doorway, out of the room, so the torture devices would not get in their way. In the hallway, she felt too cramped to do any real damage, so she continued to back up into the cage room. Dimly she heard her fellow captives screaming and cheering her on. Gradually, however, her mind focused on Hanno and only Hanno.

In the open space, Alanna realized that Hanno was no swordsman. At first, she feared a magical attack, but then realized that he couldn't afford to distract himself with spells—he had to concentrate on her bludgeoning bar. Though strong, he attacked awkwardly, simply slamming his sword wherever. She struggled to dominate the fight solely because of his height. He towered over her like Raoul, and she hadn't fenced anyone that tall for years. Slowly, however, old lessons refreshed themselves in her mind, and she finally managed to pull an old trick that Ali had taught her. After spinning Hanno's head with a torrent of fancy and unnecessary dips and turns, she slashed to the right and simultaneously ducked under his left elbow. From behind, she clubbed him on the head. He fell like a rock.