Zacar kept trying to wake himself up. He knew he was in danger. He knew he needed to fight. But every time he came close to waking, horrid, thick syrup was forced between his lips, and then he was compelled back into his restless dreams. Like circling a loop, it always started with him fighting to protect Ara from innumerable Hebocks. But then the Hebocks halted and then Zacar realized why. Torzac was weaving through. His father paused in front of him, his face a mixture of disgust and loathing. Torzac swung at Ara, and Zacar would hesitate for just a moment. That moment always cost him Ara, for Torzac would run her through.
The sight of her delicate body thrusting forward as the blade penetrated her finally jerked him into action. But he reached her too late to stop her fall. He rolled her over, but she was already gone. Tears streaming down his face, he looked up to see Torzac raise his raise his sword upward, Ara's blood racing down his arm, as his domineering laugh spewed forth. Then the dream would start again.
Zacar was vaguely aware of his body's sufferings, but his focus was so intent on either saving Ara or fleeing that he barely noticed. Finally, he felt himself waking and no horrid, sticky syrup was shoved down his throat. After struggling for what felt like hours, his body obeyed his mind and he lunged forward. But instead of escaping, he crashed to the ground, coarse ropes digging into his flesh. Moaning, he brought his legs under him. He opened his eyes and saw the blood-caked cords.
"Zacar." A familiar voice called.
Zacar gritted his teeth to halt his cry of pain. He could fell the syrup in his blood, and it caused his whole body to ache. Ever so carefully, he replaced his well-used mask. Looking up, his face completely devoid of emotion, he saw Torzac with Zehlin by his side. His knee catching and making a popping sound with each step, Zehlin limped over and sloshed a water bladder. The effects of the drug waned suddenly, and the pain returned with a vengeance, and even Zacar, expert of masking his emotions, twitched all over. With ever last ounce of his resolve, he steeled himself not to look at the water in Zehlin's grasp.
Zehlin laughed gleefully, "Thirsty?" Using his good arm, he mockingly unstopped the water and gulped it down. Dripping tauntingly down his face, he smacked his lips and rubbed at the drops with his sleeve. "We've kept you unconscious for weeks now. The only water you've had has been what we've generously poured down you traitor throat."
Zacar sucked at his rough, cracked lips then pressed them together. For a moment, they felt better, but it was short lived. Instantly the spit dried, and the cracks deepened. The grating feeling of his stomach assured him that the sides had been emptily rubbing against each other for quite some time. He studied Zehlin for another moment, gathering the courage to gaze upon his father. He knew the only reason they hadn't tortured him yet was because Torzac wanted to know why.
Torzac returned Zacar's before he spoke. "You've too much of your slave mother in you." Turning to Zehlin, he said. "Give him some water and a bit of bread."
Disappointed and surprised contorted Zehlin's face.
"Now!" Torzac bellowed.
Sneering, Zehlin tipped the water bladder, and Zacar drained it. Opening his mouth for the bit of bread Zehlin held, the cracks in his lips split even more. While he chewed, Torzac spoke. "I thought you drowned. Then I discover you're traipsing around with the Nightstar!" His round face turned purple, and the familiar vein in his forehead stood out.
The painful memory of Ara in his arms flooded back to Zacar. He would never hold her. Never have her. The last of the fogginess faded from Zacar's brain, and he made his choice. "You fools! You ruined months of hard work!"
Torzac seemed taken back, and the smirk disappeared from Zehlin's face.
"Of course I helped her escape, how else would I gain her trust!" His eyes darkened. "How was I to know she'd be capable of destroying our fortress?"
