Page 21 of Father of the Wolf

“So, do you want to go back to sleep?”

“Yeah, but I think I’ll hang around for a while. How are you holding up?” If Dàn was the one being beaten, and surely, he was, then how long had they been at it? Why were they doing it?

“I’m not doing so well,” Dàn said.

“Maybe you could pass out for a while and take a break.”

“Can’t.” Dàn sounded strange. Defeated?

“Why not?” Rath said. “Just take a short nap.”

“Athair.”

“Oh. You’re still helping him. How’s he doing?”

“He just got hit by a driving machine.”

Somehow, Dàn made that sound like a happy event. But compared to their current situation, he supposed it probably was.

All at once, the assholes noticed Rath was awake. Bequlf stepped in front of him. “Glad you decided to rejoin us. Perhaps you could explain to your friend why he should cooperate with us.” And with that, he punched Rath hard in the stomach. A couple of times.

Well, that hurt like hell. Rath gasped through the pain. His vision blurred and he growled at not being able to hide the agony the abuse had caused. What was the guy wearing on his hand, some kind of metal glove? Rath coughed on the meager air he could draw in and looked down at the man’s hand. It was indeed covered in metal. Not so much a glove, but a set of interconnected rings covered in chain with what looked like short metal, blood-covered claws over the knuckles.

When Bequlf saw him studying the weapon, he held it up proudly and pointed at the claws. “Silver tipped, of course. Not enough to kill you, but more than enough to disable your powers and cause lots of pain.”

After a few more blows, Bequlf said, “So, are you ready to talk yet?”

Rath gasped for breath. Normally his magic would begin healing any wounds immediately, but not this time. Bequlf must be telling the truth about using silver. He’d always thought silver was illegal to use, except on criminals. So why was this asshole torturing them with it? He scowled. “I don’t even know the damned question, you worthless bastard.”

His insolence earned him more abuse, which left him unable to offer any more bright comments aloud. At least for a while.

Had Dàn been getting the same? If so, for how long? “Hey Dàn, how do you like my technique? I plan to wear him out.” He only asked so he could hear a friendly voice. Anything to distract himself from the pain.

“I tried that already.”

“Hey, Bequlf. I think they’re talking to each other,” one of the men in front of Rath said. “They shouldn’t be able to do that. Should they?”

“No.” A sadistic grin lit Bequlf’s face. “But if they are, we can use it to our advantage. If they can share thoughts, they’ll also share each other’s pain.” At which point he hit Rath’s face three times. “I think I’ll hurt you until he tells me what I want to know.”

As that was said, two others dragged Dàn to the tree across from Rath. Probably so Dàn could watch as they heaped abuse on him.

But it also allowed Rath his first look at Dàn since their capture. Dàn was a mass of bleeding gouges. His face was bloody and bruised, and both eyes were swelled shut. Blood dribbled from his nose and mouth, and his clothes hung in rags, torn where they had cut him more times than he could count. Dàn’s body must have been trying to heal, because Rath could also see many fine white lines marking recently healed wounds.

“Shit! What have they done to you?” Rath flinched from what he saw more than any of the previous punches. How could he have let this happen to his friend? He was the strong one. He’d swore to protect Dàn. And he’d failed.

“Everything they could think of is my guess.” Dàn sounded exhausted. He certainly looked it. He hadn’t struggled or even raised his head when they had dragged him to the new tree. Once he was retied in place, he sagged against the ropes allowing them to support his weight.

Now that they had their audience in place, Bequlf started in on Rath again. But after the second punch, something blocked the third blow. Quietly, Dàn said, “I can’t let you do that.”

That sent Bequlf into a temper tantrum. He ranted and yelled about the silver bands that were supposed to stop the use of magic. And indeed, both Rath and Dàn were wearing heavy, wide silver bands, with sharp ridges that cut into their forearms. Rath at least could do no magic.

He smiled. So, Dàn had discovered another ability. Yet he had been hurt by silver in the past, making this something to think about later.

“I would ask how you did that, but I’m too grateful to care.” Rath’s pleasure faded when Bequlf changed tactics and started to beat Dàn again. Because now, Rath had to watch. And he could do nothing to help.

“Stop him. Rath said. Protect yourself.”

“I can’t,” Dàn answered. “Not strong enough.”

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