CHAPTER 2
Cassus watched the burly warrior take the heated blade of his axe and burn slash marks across his arm. The sound of sizzling flesh made his stomach turn.
"What are you doing?" asked Cassus.
"Conditioning myself," said Glacar.
"I don't understand."
Glacar snorted. "You wouldn't." He paused. "We haven't been in a fight for a while now. I like to remind myself what it's like to feel pain. That way, when I'm in the heat of things, I don't flinch, even for a second."
Cassus shook his head, wondering why in the name of the One Above Jonrell ever allowed Glacar to stay on with the Hell Patrol. He turned to Kroke who sat across from them. The lithe assassin methodically sharpened the knives he kept about his person. Unlike Cassus, he seemed completely indifferent to Glacar's actions.
"What about you, Kroke? Do you need to remind yourself of pain when in between jobs?"
Kroke stroked his blade across the whetstone. Without disturbing his rhythm, he answered. "No."
"Why not?"
"Anyone who needs to remind themselves what it means to feel pain hasn't really experienced it in my opinion."
* * *
Cassus had been through his fair share of pain-sore muscles, open wounds, and even a heavy heart. But never had he been tortured.
Melchizan's fist rocked Cassus' jaw, sending him and his chair to the floor for the fifth time.
This is getting ridiculous.
Cassus lay there for a moment, his swollen cheek pressed against the wooden decking of the ship, and felt it sway with the rolling waves.
Is he ever going to stop?
He had been asking himself that question for what felt like hours as Melchizan pounded away at him. Cassus tried on three separate occasions to ask the slave trader what he wanted, but his captor stayed silent, answering only with his knuckles.
He's changed. Always had someone else do the dirty work for him before.
Through the cracks in his swollen eyes, Cassus saw a glimpse of the man's knuckles, bruised and swollen. He forced back a smile.
Jonrell used to joke that I had a hard head.
Cassus grimaced. His hard-headedness had caused the deaths of his crew.
Horan told me this one was too risky, but I wouldn't listen.
Cassus had spent the last two years since leaving the Hell Patrol freeing as many Byzernians as possible from slavery. He and his crew had initially done a lot of good, but word had gotten out about them and the risk associated with each mission rose as crew members began to dwindle.
But that didn't stop me. I had to help. They needed me.
He thought of the little girl and boy he and Horan had carried. Then of the old Byzernian's body lying atop the burning pile of his crew. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
No. The Byzernians needed someone else.
"Help him up," said Melchizan.
It had been the first words his captor had spoken since their meeting in the jungle. Footsteps clicked across the floor. The guards lifted him to a sitting position again.
