The Way of Pain

by Gregory Mattix

  “I don’t either,” Elyas admitted. “Although when they were beating me down in the yard out there, for a moment I hoped that would be the end of it all.”

  “If you give in, that bitch Nesnys wins. I see that now. It’s a game to her. She’s hoping to either break you or forge you into the weapon she wants you to be. You mustn’t let her win.”

  Elyas considered that for a while. “I think our only chance is if we survive long enough to take advantage of her offer.” He held up a hand when Harlan started to protest. “Hear me out first. I’ll play along with her game for now, and next time I see her, I’ll accept her offer. My condition will be that you accompany me as my lieutenant since she wants me to be a champion to lead her army or whatnot.”

  Harlan considered it for a time. “I don’t like the idea, yet it could work, assuming you manage to convince her of your earnestness. And if we survive that long. I’m fresh out of any other ideas and doubt I can survive another beating like that. If we do this, you cannot give her what she wants, though.”

  “I intend to kill her at the first opportunity presented.” The words came out naturally and were true for the most part—at least, as far as the part of him that hated her was concerned. He refused to consider any other sentiments.

  “Then may the gods grant us some good fortune for a change, my friend.” Harlan was silent a long time as though pondering something. He evidently came to some decision, for he said, “I remember you during the raids, you know. It took me a while to recognize who you were, but your war stories made it fall into place.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “We were hopelessly routed after the ambush in the night, just a day out from Ammon Nor. You were one of the volunteers to join my rearguard and buy the army some time to fall back and regroup. I remember how well you fought, along with Sergeant Glin and the others. Fighting comes naturally to you.”

  Elyas remembered how earlier Harlan had seemed familiar to him somehow, and suddenly that made sense. “Prince Dorian?” he asked in an undertone, casting a cautious glance around, but they were alone.

  He’d never gotten a good look at Dorian before, only glimpses from a distance. Later, during their rearguard mission, he always wore a full helm to conceal his identity. Now that he had grown his beard out and his skin was deeply tanned and bearing numerous scars, his physique more muscled than before, his own family would likely have trouble recognizing him at first glance. But his voice was what had seemed most familiar to Elyas.

  “That man is long dead, I’m afraid,” he replied with a distraught look. “Only this broken man, Harlan, remains.”

  “It makes sense now. Your reaction to the story of the army’s defeat… and your father’s death. Gods, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Harlan waved his apology away. “Yes, I should have been there to fight by his side as Jerard did. But we’ve all lost much in this war—I’m no exception.” He sighed and shifted his position, grimacing at the pain. “The welfare of Ketania is left to Mother and sweet Sianna now.”

  “During the ambush… You have my apologies that we didn’t try harder to save you.”

  “To what effect? Everyone was fighting for their lives. And yet we both ended up in this same wretched place in the end. I can’t fault anyone for that—everyone knew our mission was suicide. But I’d like to think we saved many lives… bought men a chance to fight another day. Perhaps they’ve rallied and are still fighting the invaders.”

  Elyas doubted that very much, but he didn’t voice his fears, for Harlan’s sake. The army had been in sad shape, and Nesnys was a canny commander with a superior force.

  “Why didn’t you identify yourself after capture? Perhaps you’d have been spared all of this.” He waved his hand around at their surroundings.

  “And what would that have gained? Being paraded around in front of our men? Offered up as a hostage for Mother to surrender the kingdom? No… I think this turned out for the best, awful as this experience has been. I refuse to be used as a pawn… Best that I die here, anonymously.”

  “We aren’t done yet. We’ll rest up and let our bodies mend. Then, I’ll accept Nesnys’s deal the next time I see her.”

  “Rest… ah, blessed rest sounds grand.” Harlan sighed, and his eyelids drooped as Edara’s potion was taking effect. “I just wanted to get that off my chest. In case I don’t make it and you do someday. Please, Elyas, let my family know I never gave up, that I kept fighting.”

  “I shall, Your Highness.”

  “Just Harlan, Elyas.”

  “Aye. I’ll do so if that day ever comes.”

  Harlan nodded and dozed off. Elyas sat in silence until Edara’s potion took full effect and he too was claimed by a deep sleep.

  Chapter 33

  Creel sat up with a start to find himself in total darkness. His nerves were on edge, his trusted instincts warning him of danger.

  Where in the Abyss am I?

  After taking slow, steady breaths to calm his racing heart, memories came flooding back: Castle Llantry, the betrayal by that whoreson mayor, Sianna with a knife at her ribs, himself being punched and kicked until unconscious. His head hurt, and an ache in his torso indicated the presence of broken ribs, but nothing that wouldn’t be mended in a short time.

  “Gods, I knew that was a bad idea, seeking aid here.” He had tried to convince the young queen, unsuccessfully, to strike out on their own, keeping their identities and presence in the capital secret.

  But he had been overruled as Sianna thought it a good idea to try to muster some of her followers and get aid from the mayor of the city, now regent of Ketania, apparently. Creel had never had any sense for political machinations, nor the patience for it. To him, trust was earned with sweat and steel and blood, not by smooth words and hollow gestures of obeisance.

  I reckon Sianna learned a hard lesson there, but like most trials, she should come out stronger in the end. Now, the question is where am I and where is she?

  With his darkvision, he studied his surroundings, able to pick out the subtle cracks around a door, a slightly lighter shade of gray compared to the blackness all around. The old stench of urine and feces was prevalent, and in the silence, his breathing and heartbeat seemed loud.

  Not quite silent, he realized after a moment. He could make out the faint sound of sobbing somewhere. The castle dungeons, then. I’ve been spending too much bloody time being locked up.

  After stretching cramped muscles, he stood up, promptly smacking his head on the uneven stone of the low ceiling. He cursed and, stooped over, made his way to the door. It was wooden and quite solid—he wouldn’t be able to force it open. Feeling around, he discovered a slotted grate covered with a metal plate, the type the guards could slide aside to observe the prisoners. The plate wasn’t closed completely, and he was able to get his fingertips in the gap and shove it open with a loud rasp in the stillness.

  By the faint light of the corridor, he could see another cell door across the way. To his left, light flickered more brightly—a torch, he guessed. The sound he’d heard earlier had stopped.

  “Sianna,” he hissed.

  “Master Creel, is that you?” a soft voice asked after a moment.

  “Aye, I’m here. Are you well?”

  She gave a mix of a bitter laugh and a sob. “I’m alive, and they spared me the beating they gave you, if that counts as being well.”

  “Aye, that’s a good start. How long have we been here?”

  “I don’t know… A couple hours, I think.” Her voice was louder and clearer—she must have stood at the window of her cell door also, though he couldn’t see which cell she was in. “I-I’m so sorry about all this… I should’ve taken your advice. I’m such a fool.” She sounded as though she was holding onto her self-control by a mere thread.

  “Don’t blame yourself, lass. You had no way of knowing that bastard would stab you in the back. Did he say anything of his plans for you?”

  “He mentioned Nesnys and that
she may allow him to keep the regency now that I was in his possession.”

  Creel cursed quietly. So the bastard will likely turn her over to Nesnys. Once she’s gone, chances of saving her will be much more difficult, and that’s provided the fiend lets her live.

  He examined the door some more, even grasping the bars in the window and shaking with all his might. But that was useless—the only way he would be getting through that door was if his gaolers let him out.

  “Master Creel? I’m frightened… especially at the thought of being turned over to that fiend.”

  I’d be surprised if you weren’t.

  “Just hang in there, lass. We’ll figure something out. The others are sure to miss us afore long, and I wouldn’t put it past Brom to try something daring and foolhardy to aid us.”

  Sianna sighed. “Nothing to do but wait, then.”

  “Aye. Get what rest you can in case an opportunity presents itself to try to get away.”

  But the opportunity never came. Instead, they waited for hours. Sianna said very little, resting as he had recommended, Creel hoped, and he was content to do the same. After some time, likely in the early hours of the next morning by his guess, he heard tramping boots and jingling mail down the hallway. Light bloomed from an approaching torch in the corridor, then he heard a key in a lock followed by the screech of rusty hinges.

  “On your feet, wench,” a rough voice growled. “You have a visitor.”

  Creel pressed his face to the grate and could just make out a couple guards wearing the livery of the mayor’s house guard, along with the gaoler, a portly, unkempt man with a balding head.

  “Master Creel!” Sianna called, panic in her voice.

  He glimpsed a flash of her dyed hair before the two house guards hustled her away down the hall.

  “Oi, what about me?” Creel called loudly. He pounded on his door. “I go where she goes.”

  “Piss on you,” the gaoler growled. “You ain’t going nowhere but the boneyard. Just be glad I don’t put a blade in your gullet and hasten your trip there.” He turned and shuffled after the others.

  “Stay strong, Sianna!” He didn’t know what else to say, and soon they were gone.

  Creel cursed, listening for a long time until he heard nothing but the crackling torch and faint scurrying of distant rats. Eventually, he sat back down and leaned against the wall facing the door, settling himself in for a long wait.

  ***

  The guards dragged Sianna out of the dungeons and up to the castle bailey. Along the way, they picked up half a dozen more guards, and eight of them in total were surrounding her by the time she exited the stairs and stepped into the early morning air.

  She breathed deeply of the clean air, relieved to get the stench of excrement from her nostrils. The sky was dark, just beginning to lighten to gray over the eastern wall.

  Feeling eyes upon her, she turned and flinched at the sight of a demon standing a short distance from her. It was a hunched, withered-looking thing with great bat wings. Its red eyes glinted with malice as it regarded her, its sharp elongated beak snapping closed.

  Mayor Calcote stood near the creature, but not too near, clearly unnerved by its presence as well. “Here’s the princess Atreus, as promised to the warlord.”

  The fiend shuffled a few steps closer, and Sianna recoiled, but the guards were still gripping her arms. She could feel them shift nervously.

  “Greetings, young princess,” the beast rasped. “Scaixal shall take good care of you, deliver you to the mistress.”

  “And then what?” she asked, drawing herself up straight, refusing to cower.

  “Then she will do with you as she will, fleshbag.” Scaixal’s beak opened, giving the impression of a ghastly grin.

  She shuddered in spite of herself.

  Calcote cleared his throat nervously. “About the matter of payment…”

  “Yes, yes. Fat fleshbag wants shiny gold.” The demon tossed the mayor a sack, quite heavy with coin judging from the solid smack it made when it landed in his clutching hands.

  “Ah, yes, this is very generous.” Calcote bowed low. “Please inform the warlord I will be pleased to aid her further, however she requires.”

  Sianna glared at Calcote, wishing her gaze were daggers stabbing into his flabby chest. He avoided meeting her gaze, peering into the sack of coin, and she saw the glint of gold crowns.

  Scaixal ignored the mayor, instead beckoning Sianna forward. The guards released her and stepped away, and for a moment, she was standing by herself, unsecured.

  I should run for it. Perhaps grab a guard’s sword and fight them off. Creel would do so, I have no doubt.

  Yet she was no Dakarai Creel. She was only a scared young woman, barely more than a girl, and this was no bard’s tale. She wouldn’t get three steps before the guards, or worse, Scaixal, were on her. She didn’t even want to think of what the fiend might do to her. Her shoulders slumped as her scant courage deflated.

  “Come, come.” Scaixal beckoned impatiently.

  She stepped forward, and the fiend’s bony hand shot out and snared her wrist. Its leathery skin was shrunken over bone and shifting sinew, and sharp brown talons pinched her skin. Before she could even wonder if the demon meant to bear her aloft and fly away, it was speaking in a language that hurt her ears. The bailey blurred and shifted around her, then she was elsewhere.

  Chapter 34

  Ferret stood at the window in her room, looking out over the wondrous city of Nexus. Night had fallen over the city, and she watched the glittering lights below for a long while. The distance was too great to make out individual features, but she saw a number of people moving about in the streets and squares, many lit with some type of bluish torchlight—magical, she guessed. Down below in the bailey, the guards chatted during what must have been the shift change, their voices occasionally audible as they laughed at some jest.

  Arron had shown her and Mira to their adjoining rooms an hour or two earlier while Taren remained behind to speak privately with his mother. Without any need for sleep, Ferret didn’t bother to lie down on the four-poster bed, decorated with a nicely stitched duvet, several pillows, and silky curtains around it. The bed looked very comfortable and was certainly fancier than anything she’d ever slept on before, but it was wasted on her.

  And watching the city was far more interesting.

  They needn’t have bothered giving me a room—I could just stand there in the hall like the other statues.

  She wondered how long Taren would want to remain in Nexus. He’ll want to get to know his mother and uncle and then do whatever wizard training he came to find. That should be interesting to watch if they let me. She didn’t really care whether she waited in Nexus or back in Llantry as long as she found some sliver of hope for discovering a cure. The thought of being cooped up in this castle for weeks on end wasn’t very appealing, however.

  I’ll need to slip into the city and explore in the meantime. Mayhap Mira will want to tag along.

  The monk probably wouldn’t be the best company, for all her attention was focused on Taren nearly all the time, an arrangement Ferret found most curious. She knew Mira had her duty to guard Taren, yet her devotion went beyond that. Almost as if she’s in love with him. Why that thought popped into her head, she had no clue. After briefly examining that thought, she discarded it.

  Perhaps love in a sense, but not “in love.” Like a sister and brother. Same for me, I reckon. She was still embarrassed at her outburst earlier, when she had gotten emotional and said something about Taren being like a brother after he got irritated with her about her teasing. Yet he was likable, kind, and interesting. His magic was impressive and unpredictable, so being around him wasn’t boring. And he saved me—I’ll owe him forever for that. She sighed and wondered how her thoughts had taken such a tangent from wanting to explore Nexus.

  Mira might not be the best company to explore the city with, but at least she’d be some company—to help stave off the lo
neliness Ferret felt keenly, the isolation of simply no longer being a person, but a thing. She already missed Creel’s presence, for the two had grown close during their nightly chats on the road when the others were asleep.

  A knock at the door was a welcome relief to her rambling thoughts. She didn’t know how much time had passed since she had entered her room. She could have calculated the time based on her internal clockwork but didn’t care enough to bother, for that only served to remind her of her own inhumanity.

  She opened the door to find a peculiar little man standing there. He was quite short, well over a foot shorter than even herself, and wiry of build, wearing a plain brown tunic and breeches. He had a balding head, a scruffy red beard, and a long nose. His eyes were bright with good humor, and he extended a hand.

  “You must be Ferret. I’m Yosrick Sparkspinner—a friend of Nera’s. And of course, by extension, a friend of her son and his friends.” He smiled broadly, and she could sense his barely concealed excitement.

  Ferret found herself liking the little man despite her melancholy mood. She shook his hand, careful not to apply too much pressure, and noted how he studied the mechanism of her hand intently. He then flushed, looking embarrassed and stammered an apology.

  “It’s nothing. Look all you want—I’m a freak, I know.”

  “Nay, lass! You’re not a freak… just something new—and marvelous—which we haven’t seen before. I’ll wager inside you’re still you, am I right?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose in a way. Though I don’t get hungry or thirsty or tired or anything like that.”

  “Well, I’m here to do my best to help you with your… ahem, affliction. I’ve studied much of the literature in the library here at the fortress—the Architect’s own library, I might add—so I reckon I may be able to help.” He obviously expected her to be impressed about the library, but the name meant nothing to her.

  After an awkward silence, Ferret stood aside. “Do you want to come in?”

  “Oh, nay. I was actually going to bring you to speak with my uncle if you have the time. I apologize for the late hour, but Nera summoned me a short time ago, and when she shared the memories of the Hall of Artificers, well, I didn’t want to wait. My uncle may have some idea of how to help. I’m convinced of that.” Yosrick was nearly breathless by the time he finished talking.