Crescent Inquisition by Fuad Baloch

Author:Fuad Baloch [Baloch, Fuad]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Crescent
Published: 2020-04-16T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Palvar moaned. Something he had been doing a great deal of over the past few days.

When had he attacked Ignar? Yesterday? Two days ago?

A year?

“Blood and onions.” Gritting his teeth, Palvar stood, leaning heavily against the wall, and shambled over to the refuse bucket. He didn’t look at the spot where he had scooped out the brick. Nor did he look at the body heaped against the door. A human body, draped in its finery, its dignity removed. Palvar forced himself to look at the crumbling walls instead. The entire shitting sewer system was collapsing, sinking under its own filth. Even if he found a dozen bricks, he doubted they’d have much of an impact against Ignar.

“Ignar…” he muttered, undoing his breeches, imagining the madman’s face in the refuse bucket, and taking morbid delight in pissing at it. “You shouldn’t have left me unbound. I’m… going to kill you!”

The words lifted his spirits some as he did up his breeches and turned around. But as he shuffled back, the pain throbbing in his jaw and ribs rose over his desire for revenge.

“Never was pretty to begin with,” Palvar said, running a hand along his bruised jaw, and wincing, “and now I doubt even I’d like seeing my own face.”

He brushed his robes, all dirty and tattered, cringing at the grimy texture against his fingers. These were his favorite robes, something he had picked out personally from Buzdar before setting out for the capital city. They had cost him a small fortune. Now, even a beggar would spit at them.

Palvar rubbed his hands over his face. What blood and sweat and spit had landed on his face had long dried up, but he couldn’t help imagining it against his skin. He had tried washing it off—using what little water Ignar, mumbling and distracted, had brought in yesterday—but still his mind thought himself as filthy.

His eyes drifted up towards the door. “Don’t look!” he told himself firmly. His eyes dropped, taking in the body that Ignar had hauled in along with the tray of stale bread and soup.

A tall boy’s crumpled body, his face turned the other way thankfully.

Palvar pressed his palms together. Was he in anyway responsible for what had happened to the boy? No, he decided. He had done the right thing all along and his intentions had remained noble. Wincing, he touched his tender jaw. Had he not paid the price himself as well?

Not as much as this boy.

The sob that escaped his chest surprised him. Nikhtuni men were proud, mountains no emotion could move, but the combination of pain and shame and regret managed to draw another whimper from him. Palvar blinked hard, resolved not to let weakness take over.

Again, his gaze found the dead boy.

Ignar had just dumped the body. Palvar clenched his fists. That beast had no respect for the dignity of the dead. Or the living, for that matter. Then, the infernal question rose once more. Who was that boy, anyway?

Unable to sate his curiosity any longer, Palvar inched forward.

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