by K.N. Lee
“Be proud of our noble heritage. Together, mages and cavalrymen conquered half the continent marching side by side. Our combined strength was legendary. No foe could ever defeat us . . .” Except ourselves, I thought, as I felt rather than heard the empress rise to her feet.
“Arrest this man. And arrest the mages,” she screeched, waving her arms to encompass the crowd. “Arrest them all. Throw that rebel sympathizer Sir Corbin in with those criminals he adores so much. Band them all together.”
I froze as the room began to move. With a hiss of steam, the giant metal statues sprang to light and life and moved with a hiss of steam. Two blocked the exit while the others helped their black-armored brethren wrangle the panicked crowd. The space around me filled with screaming mage-detectors and shrieking people.
I could hear Drake's voice boom from one of the metal giants. “You heard the empress. Corral anyone wearing a hint of blue cloth.”
I barely noticed as two of the Black Guards grabbed me and shoved me against the podium. My notes scattered everywhere, coasting through the air like delicate, white birds. Thank the five gods. He heard my speech after all. I didn't even mind when they manacled my hands. I grinned at the tile-crushing, man-shaped war machines stomping through the room as the guards led me away. It felt like two old pals playing a game. Aha! I found you, Drake. I found you.
7
CORBIN, YEAR 198
My stupor continued as they marched us through the streets of the capitol. My mind kept insisting it was a parade or a tour. Except all the bureaucrats scurried before the Black Guards like tiny, red-legged beetles. There was nobody left to tell me what anonymous duke once owned which public building, whose great grandmother was hung from the battlements by her thumbs, or that time when the market square collapsed. I had vague memories of hearing the tour a few times in the distant past, but they all jumbled together.
I nodded with approval. Those old stone walls had never looked stonier. The metal statue men could not fit down the tight, narrow streets, so they paused the march to unhitch two of the mage-detectors, carrying them at the head and tail of the procession. Aside from the occasional chirp, the large brass boxes remained silent. My mage friends had given up. I wanted to walk down the line and hug each of them, but some rude gentleman had chained my hands together. In the narrow alleys of the old capitol, all I could smell was sweat armpits, steel uniforms, and excrement. The semi darkness and quick pace erased any details from the buildings. I couldn't even read the graffiti. This was a horrible tour.
Our guided journey continued to the castle and down into the imperial dungeons. The walls dripped with water and some strange, faint green glowing muck. Our rooms for the evening were under heated and sparsely furnished. I didn't inquire about dinner. From the dour looks on all the faces of the people they crammed into my little room, I guessed our hosts would not be feeding us any time soon.
Maven took charge. “All right, everyone remain calm.” She raised her arms. The woman managed to look regal in her tattered purple dress and cloak. “I'm sure this is all a horrible misunderstanding. Tempers are high after the emperor's assassination . . .”
“What do you know, woman?” someone cried.
“This is all your fault.”
I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms. I had already extricated Maven from one mess today. Even a heroic knight has to hang up his cape sometimes. I felt behind my shoulders before I remembered that Maven was wearing it.
A man in powder blue linen scoffed, “It's you and that damn purple dress that got us into this mess.”
I watched as the crowd began closing around her. Maven removed my cape, twisted it into a knout, and proceeded to beat Powder Blue. Everyone watched silently as she proved why she was leader of the Mage Corps, magic or no. “A purple dress? You think the empress threw us in a dungeon because I was wearing a purple dress? I could have been dancing in my small clothes and the woman would have seized another excuse. Might as well blame the hero over there for his speech.” Her colleague was huddled on the floor shielding his face and Maven turned to me, whip in hand. “What do you have to say for yourself, hero?”
“I'd say if you lost a few more scraps of fabric from that dress, Maven, then you really will be dancing in your small clothes.” I held up my hands. “I said nothing in that speech everyone here hadn't thought in the secrecy of their own minds. You all know me. I'm friends with everybody.” I stared around the cell until one by one, people began to nod. “But don't tell me I'm the only cavalryman you've ever shared a mug of ale with or slaughtered enemies with . . .” I glared at Maven . . . “or slept with.”
“What a Corbin thing to say,” Maven muttered, rallying the mages. “We shared battles, beer, and our beds with you wretched pony riders and this is how you repay us? Helping the empress?”
“Did you not listen to my speech?” I asked.
“Did you not notice what happened afterward? Be my scapegoat, Sir Corbin,” Maven crooned. “These people are as much soldiers as your precious cavalrymen. They'll sleep better at night after they blame someone . . . eviscerate someone.” She pointed. “You, in the corner? Think you can defeat the Hero of Jerkum Pass? Two of you together? Five of you?”
People began edging away. Several shook their heads.
She waved her arm. “What if we all gang up on him? Prove with our fists that we're no better than Cordelia's stooges in black armor? No? That's not how we fight, is it?”
They shook their heads like scolded children.
“No, we fight with our magic,” Powder Blue cried, lifting his arms and concentrating as the unseen detectors outside the room shrieked. He lowered his arms and bowed his head as the shrieking defiance ended. Maven walked over and squeezed the man's shoulder.
“Corbin got a few things right in that little speech: magic or swords don't matter. It's a question of who you fight, not how.” Maven pointed towards the door. “The enemy is out there people and don't you forget it. We're all friends in here . . . yes, even Corbin. The day we turn on each other,” she sighed, “then the enemy has won.”
“Are you blind, woman? They already won,” someone said from the safety of the crowd. “The bastards threw us in a dungeon.”
“We're still people,” one of the other mages screamed. “We still have rights . . .”
A low chuckle emerged from behind the door as it opened to reveal Drake, dressed in a black doublet, shaking his finger at us. I blinked. Wasn't Drake supposed to be piloting one of those black metal statue men? “Rights?” he asked. “What are those? They belong to good, imperial citizens. You're all just magic gutter trash. According to the law my empress is drafting as we speak, you people” he drummed his fingers on the wall, “do not exist. Your rights. Ha! I came as a courtesy to two old friends,” he nodded to me and Maven, “who find themselves caught in this mess.”
Maven lifted the remains of her dress and shook them at the sneering Black Guard. “This is what constitutes courtesy toward mages, now?” she snarled.
“Why, yes,” Drake replied, plucking the glowing grime from his fingernails. “You still have your health, don't you? Congratulations, Corbin.” He began clapping. “Just when I thought you couldn't denigrate yourself any further, you align with these people? And so publicly, too. I thought covering the witch with that cloak was a brilliant touch.” He pinched his fingers. “Just the right dash of valor and empathy.” He clapped again. “Bravo, Corbin. Bravo.”
“Didn't do it for you,” I mumbled. I did it to preserve G'fa regiment. For Maven and her mages. Ungrateful lot.
Maven wrapped the cloak back around her shoulders. “No, Corbin's not the man I thought he was. And you, Drake, wearing black. Are you an executioner instead of a soldier, now?” She glanced at the belt knife at his hip. “Going to defend your empress with that wee blade?”
“A new unit was formed in the wake of the assassination,” Drake said, “to clean up the mess you people made of the empire before it gets any w
orse. Ask Corbin, he'll tell you all about it. Farewell.” Drake winked, waved, and left. As the cell door slammed shut, every eye in the room turned to stare at me.
“Why are you here?” Maven asked me. “Not that I'm ungrateful for the band together hurrah speech or stepping in save my dignity with this warm cloak, but why bother? Among other things, you're not a mage.”
“Oh? Like those mages who rushed to your aid after the empress condemned you?” I snorted and gestured around the room. Some of them had the grace to look ashamed. Others, defiant. “Somebody had to do something. Whatever else you think of me, I'm still a knight, Maven.”
“Are you really?” She pursed her lips. “Or is that gallant figure just another role you're playing?”
“I'm in this cell, same as you,” I sighed, leaning against the wall as the wet stench of human misery surrounded and gagged me. The damp wall immediately soaked my back and a cold, icy chill seeped into my shoulders. I hugged myself and shivered. “What does anything else matter, now?”
Over the next several days, they started taking us one by one, then in small groups. Nobody ever returned and our numbers dwindled to a handful by nightfall. We tried to sleep piled against each other amidst snatches of long tortured screaming, the delicate rip of parting skin, and the sharp crack of shattered bones. As I drifted off to a fitful sleep, I imagined a big knight in black armor was chasing me, bloody club in hand. “Where are the rebels?” he asked. “The pain will stop as soon as you tell me where the rebels are hiding. Confess. Confess.”
I dreamed of the large, oval mirror for the last time that night. On the outside, I was Sir Corbin, as it should be, but the image in the mirror was a young woman with perky breasts and long, luxurious hair. The mirror rippled like silver water as though one of us had just stepped through it. I raised my arm and she in turn raised hers. I waved and the woman waved back. I . . . ahem, scratched myself and she did likewise. We grinned at each other across the liquid void.
I stared, not at her breasts, but her face. She looked like someone I used to know, the name on the tip of my tongue, but I could not recall. One of us smiled. One of us reached for the other. Our fingers touched and entwined in the icy, liquid surface of the mirror, one more ripple against a cascade of ripples. The coolness started traveling up, prickling the hairs on my arm. It soaked across my neck, then came creeping across my face . . .
I awoke, gasping. Huddled on the floor, I had rolled over in my sleep into a foul puddle. I spat, wiping my face, the dream forgotten. I glanced around the cell in the wan morning light. Only Maven and I remained. Then they came for me.
A bestial-looking Black Guard opened the door. His hair was wild and his uniform splattered with blood. The cold, damp wall and something more primal sent shivers up my spine. I took a deep breath and found refuge in my new persona. Kelsa was a huddling wreck of a prisoner, but Sir Corbin was a hero, a knight without peer. How would G'fa react in this situation?
I forced myself to stare at my jailer and a mask of haughty serenity slipped over my face. I looked past the blood stains. His black uniform was dirty and rumpled. His hair wasn't wild, it was unkempt. This man dared to call himself a soldier? I read the insignia on his wrinkled sleeves and glared. They sent a lowly private to collect me? Outrageous!
I swallowed and stood to face my torturer squarely. I resisted the urge to spit in his eye and boot the sorry little black crow out on his ass. The man rattled his filthy manacles at me with a dull, bovine look hoof stamped across his face. His default expression, I surmised, as I offered the puling tit my wrists.
I looked him over. So this was a specimen of what they scraped off the streets for their little government pogrom? Every provincial base prejudice and jealous hate personified, distilled into one vile person. Come hunt and torture mages, boys. They don't deserve your pity. They're not really human. You don't need to skulk in the shadows anymore. We're agents of the empress. Here's your armor. Here's you badge. Go slaughter them all officially in the name of Cordelia I, Lady of the Iron Empire and Protector of the Northern Territories, long may she reign.
He shackled me, locked the door between us and Maven's snoring, and walked me down the hall. The Black Guard lingered as we walked past open cells containing scenes of mutilation and bloody ruin of my former mage friends strapped to large, wooden chairs. Some were still gasping and twitching, but their screams had exhausted hours ago. Little gems littered the floor. Some had a red tint. Rubies? Diamonds? I gagged as I recognized one of the closer specimens: fingernails. It was too easy to imagine poor Miranda strapped into one of those awful chairs, her throat raw, her fingers . . . I shook my head. It will not come to that.
The cell door guards all refused to look me in the eye as I sauntered down the corridor, head held high. All except one, who quietly, almost shyly defiant, stared without blinking. A single tear fell down his cheek. He might be depressed, but I was happy to see a familiar face, even one in a black uniform.
“Sir Nortus? Did Drake ensnare you in this mess, too?”” I smiled, radiating genuine good cheer as I raised my clanking manacles to give the man a flippant little wave. He wilted like a sun-parched flower.
“If you must know, I volunteered for my duties.” Sir Nortus swallowed as he stepped out of position and adjusted the new tabs on his collar. Volunteered? Sure you did. I guess that dirty majordom had to go to someone. “We must all do our part for empress and country,” he said stiffly. “I'm not proud of the things I've done, Sir Corbin, but by the five gods, they needed doing.”
Don't invoke the gods to justify your butchery. “I wonder if the temple priests would agree with you on that?” I asked, shrugging. “Not my concern. Farewell, Major Nortus.”
He nodded and stepped back into guard position, eyes front, back against the wall. “It was an honor to have known you, Sir Corbin.” He half raised his arm as though to salute, then glanced at the other Black Guards on either side of him and dropped it back at his side.
Spineless to the end, Nortus. And a traitor. The army is well rid of you.
I got my own room and was strapped into my own chair. “I'll come back for you later, hero,” the guard said, smiling. The Black Crow was missing some teeth. He patted my head and left me there, locking the door behind him. I sat waiting for whatever surprise was coming through that door. The old fear started rising from my gut, but Sir Corbin stamped it down.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew someone was leaning over me and breathing heavily. I glanced around the room through half-lidded eyes. The door was closed. We were alone. A brazier burned quietly in the corner. All sorts of fascinating little knives glowing in those coals.
I blinked. Drake? “Good, you're awake. Sorry for the horrible treatment,” he said, twirling his dark cloak. The bastards gave him a cloak. Damn thing looked impressive. Velvet or some such rich fabric. My granddaughter would know. “With the empress driving us, some of my underlings get a touch . . . overzealous pursuing the rebel mages. Downright rude.”
“Oh, yes,” I nodded, testing the rough, leather restraints against my wrists and ankles. “Quite all right to torture somebody so long as you're polite about it.”
“Well, it's been three days, Corbin. By the five gods, man, what have you learned?”
I blinked. Maybe this was still a dream. “What?”
Drake waved his finger in my face. It smelled of blood and other nasty human fluids. I didn't want to imagine how he'd been soiling his hands and staining his fingers. “I vouched for you after the stunt you pulled with that speech. I told the empress it was a clever ruse concocted between the two of us. A way to get one of our own men on the inside. That woman was ready to have you executed.”
“That woman is making a mockery of imperial law.”
“Did you forget your boyhood civics lessons? Our dear empress,” he gestured from the left to the right, “is the law.” Drake sighed and began unbuckling my straps. “They shouldn't have tied you down, but we must ma
intain appearances, you know?”
“You want my pity after the shit you just put me through?” I sat up, rubbing my wrists. “New job not what you thought it would be, Drake? Is it harder to murder old friends than you were expecting?”
“A friend of magic is no friend of mine,” Drake said. His cloak twitched a he shivered. “Still, torturing people is just senseless violence. The petty revenge of an empress.”
“A crazy empress,” I murmured.
“Well, the policy has certainly not yielded us any amazing wealth of information.”
“Shouldn't have left the army, Drake. Are you chafing under Cordelia's cold, marble thumb?” I chuckled. “I swear that woman doesn't even need to pose for a sculptor. She could just strip and step on a pedestal.”
“Give me something so I can call them off, Corbin, before this chaos spreads from the capitol and ravages the entire country: a name, a hideout, anything. The empress has entrusted us with cracking the conspiracy. They're mages. They must know something, especially the Witch Queen. You've leaned nothing from your time with Maven?”
I crossed my arms and leaned back in the chair. “She's tight-lipped. That woman won't talk to Corbin Destrus. You've poisoned that well with your stupid posturing. She thinks I'm some kind of spy, by the five gods. However . . .”
“What?” he asked, gripping the edge of my chair. “Whatever plan you've got, I'll take it.”
“I have a disguise that might rattle her enough to loosen those lips.”
“A magic disguise?” Drake asked.
I nodded.
“And it will work in this wretched place?” He spread his arms and the cloak fluttered. “Surrounded by mage detectors to dampen all magic?”
“Spell's already been cast, so probably, yeah. Who does she love more than me? Who would shock her enough to break down those defenses?” I removed my necklace and pocketed it. I could feel my flesh, muscle, and bones melting and reforming. “How about her dead sister?” Kelsa's mind sprang to the forefront as the young woman sprang from the chair. The old man's clothes started to fall off, but clung to my frame. Transformation leaves a girl sweaty.