by Beam, Brian
Part of me wanted to tell Briscott that everything would be okay, to comfort him. I didn’t like seeing anyone sad, and it was a natural instinct for me to try to make unhappy people feel better. However, everything was not okay. It wasn’t even close to okay. And I don’t even mean just because I’d been captured and tied up. If what Briscott said was true, things in Gualain were much direr than I could’ve ever imagined.
There was also the fact that Briscott was part of the group responsible for my current situation. I was letting myself feel sorry for the man, yet he had shot me with a damned arrow. He could’ve killed me. He was working for the enemy. Why should I have cared if everything would be okay for him?
Briscott returned and pushed his hair from his eyes. They were alert and clear of tears. Maybe he’d just needed a moment to compose himself. “Sorry about that.”
I nodded silently, my mind too jumbled with emotions to speak.
“Where was I? Oh, yes. Kaitlyne was the one who came up with the idea that the blood in the vials linked the rocks to some single source, likely a wizard. She figured that the wizard used the rocks as a conduit to exert his will on those with the blighted things hammered into them.
“We decided to test Kaitlyne’s theory with Jefren’s blood. We cleaned one of the rocks with vinegar and alcohol. They blighting put it in me . . . I can’t describe the pain . . . not just here.” Briscott touched his chest. “But here.” He then touched his temple. “Then Jefren told me to jump . . . and I did. I couldn’t help it.
“Jefren assumed that since a wizard had to behind the use of the rocks, the Wizard Academy must be to blame. It wasn’t until then that I realized what had happened to his mind. He dragged Kaitlyne into his madness as well. They decided to create their own blighted force to fight back. The plan was to escape Gualain with the rocks we’d taken, find the best fighters possible, and use the rocks to make them join us, whether they wanted to or not. We just set out west and kept going.
“I tried to convince them of the insanity of it all, but they wouldn’t listen. Instead, Jefren commanded me to follow his and Kaitlyne’s every blighted order. So here we are. All we have to show for our travels is about a half dozen street-roughs and a near-empty coffer. They planned on robbing that inn back in town, but then, they found you.” Briscott turned his gaze away from me.
“And what does that mean exactly?” I asked, surprised I could even speak through the tangle of emotions knotted in my chest and the lingering effects of the tashave leaf.
“Well, Kaitlyne wants you because of the four men chasing after you. That was enough to make her believe you’d be a valuable asset to our group. After seeing how well you fought last night, I’d say she was right.”
I didn’t like where any of this was going. Most of Kait’s men that I’d seen had the green gems affixed to their chests. If they wanted me to be a part of their group . . .
“Then there’s the Kolarin,” Briscott continued solemnly. “She sees him as our ticket to a well-funded army. Just stick in a green rock, tell him to carve us some wood, and monetary problems are no more. You get me?”
I nodded, feeling sick. As of a week ago, I’d become all too familiar with how monetarily beneficial traveling with a Kolarin could be. “So what now?” I asked, my words coming out clear. Maybe the tashave leaf’s effects had finally passed.
Briscott took in a deep breath to answer, but paused as a shadow fell across the ground between us. I didn’t have to turn my head to know that Kait’ and Jefren had arrived.
“Is he awake?” a hoarse, male voice inquired in a thick accent.
A tall man ducked his way into the tent, his tilted eyes and dark skin identifying him as Jefren, the third of the Gualainian refugees. Long black hair hung straight to his shoulders, framing a square face. His broad nose made his eyes seem to be spaced too far apart. He was clean-shaven except for a long, braided strand hanging from his chin. He looked to be Briscott’s age, just beneath his middle years. He wore simple leather armor with a green shirt underneath. Leather bracers ran the full length of his forearms and covered the backs of his hands. Black boots came up to his knees. His bushy eyebrows were drawn down in displeasure.
“Yes, he just came to not long ago,” Briscott answered dutifully, rising as much as he could in the confines of the tent, again brushing back his hair with one of his hands.
Jefren gave Briscott a suspicious, narrowed-eyed glare. I wondered if he somehow knew about what Briscott had told me. I was pretty sure that Jefren wouldn’t have wanted me to know what I now did. Especially the whole him being crazy part.
Jefren took a couple hunched steps towards me, revealing Kait’ standing outside the tent with her arms crossed under her breasts. Not that I cared, but with the daylight outside, I could tell it was an impressive chest indeed. Just being observant, as always. You need to know your enemy as well as possible, right? To the point, she was staring at me with a half smile, as if gloating for her victory from the night before.
I turned my attention back to Jefren. His eyes scanned over me, shaping me up as if purchasing livestock. His bushy eyebrows drew even lower above dark brown eyes that burned with anger. Maybe they just burned with crazy. All I know is that I was incredibly threatened and could hardly breathe. I feared what he had planned for me. I feared that because of this man, I’d never be able to rescue Max, leaving him to be a permanent laboratory subject. I feared that I’d never see Sal’ again. I feared that Raijom would be left unchecked to bring terror upon Amirand. Therefore, I reacted as I always did in situations like this.
“Be careful, those things above your eyes look ready to bite,” I said without a hint of tashave leaf effects, flashing Jefren a condescending smirk. The only thing I have to say about what happened next is that backhanded strikes hurt, especially when leather bracers are involved. The small bit of pride in insulting my captor was masked by the taste of blood on my tongue.
Jefren snorted. “You do not look like much to me,” he rasped, the hoarseness of his voice making him sound as if he’d smoked a pipe his entire life.
“Trust me, Jefren,” Kait cut in as she stepped forward into the tent. “Korin is worthy of one of the stones—more so than the men we have now. I saw how he fought. This man’s had training. If not for my magic, I doubt we could’ve taken him. Also, we can use him to find the Kolarin.” Her eyes stayed on me the entire time, her full lips frozen in a lofty smile.
Jefren’s eyes narrowed until I couldn’t even tell if they were open. “Are you certain? He is so young.”
“As certain as my hatred for the Rizear-blighted beasts that will soon feel our wrath,” Kait’ answered smoothly.
“I trust you,” Jefren conceded, taking his eyes from me and starting for the tent flap. “Briscott, fetch Oslen and have him take care of Korin, here. If he lives, we’ll see what he knows about the Kolarin and strike camp. I’ll be back to give him orders shortly. I want him ready by this afternoon. Understood?”
“Yes, Jefren,” Briscott answered meekly, his face a mask of gloom.
I took a little pleasure in the fact that Jefren couldn’t make a dignified exit, waddling due to the low ceiling of the tent. Kait’ flashed me a devious, toothy grin before following after him.
“I really don’t like him,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“He really was a good man once,” Briscott countered sullenly.
“Well, that does me no good now.” I exhaled slowly, trying to get my tensed muscles to relax. Relaxing isn’t easy once you’ve discovered that you may not live through the next hour of your life. “So, this might kill me.” It wasn’t a question.
Briscott’s once friendly face held nothing but regretful sorrow. “I should’ve told you about this first . . . I just didn’t want to . . . I’m sorry. Given the results we’ve had so far with the rocks, you have about as much chance of living through the process as not. I’ll do all I can to make sure you make it through.”
Briscott turned, presu
mably to retrieve Oslen per Jefren’s orders. Once this Oslen pounded one of the green gems into my chest, I’d also be subject to Jefren’s whims. The very thought twisted my stomach and threatened to do the same to my sanity.
“Briscott,” I called before he left the tent. “Please tell me you were a physicker back in Gualain.” It was a bit much to hope for with the poor stitching on my shoulder, but I was looking for any possible reassurance that I’d live through the day. That I’d live to find a way to break free. That I’d live to help my friends.
“Sorry, just a simple sawmill operator,” Briscott answered with a ghost of a smile. “I can make sure you get a nice coffin, though.”
Even in such an ominous situation, I couldn’t help but laugh.
****
Slamming the door to my room in a fit of childish anger, I threw myself onto the soft pallet that served as my bed. I couldn’t believe how unfair Mother and Father were being. All the other kids were allowed to play in the hills at the base of the Ravenspire Mountains. I was stuck with parents who were scared I’d be attacked by grazils or hornbears.
My door didn’t have a latch, so Max just pushed his way in and sat on his haunches next to the pallet. His gray fur, striped with black, was, as always, cleaner than any farm cat I’d ever seen. He stared at me with eyes that always made me feel that he understood more than a cat should.
I scratched at his ears with one hand, wiping my eyes with the other. “I bet you’d let me go, Max,” I muttered.
“I am not so sure about that,” Max replied in a raspy voice, his mouth forming the words in a in a very un-feline way.
I gasped and sat up, pushing myself backwards with my feet until my back hit the wall. There was no way that a cat had just spoken to me. Max was just . . . a cat. “You—you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I am just a cat. Now just take a deep breath and listen to me . . .”
****
My head jerked up as Briscott entered the tent with a man dressed in similar dark brown clothing behind him. The man’s black cloak was drawn back over his shoulders. Shaggy brown curls framed his rounded, ruddy face, his beard a patchy mess. Stern green eyes glared at me above a thin line of a nose. He was almost short enough to stand up straight in the tent but had a stoutness that would make it unwise to dismiss his strength due to his height. Two sheathed daggers were strapped to one hip, a heavy-headed hammer with a leather-wrapped handle hanging from a loop on the other.
I couldn’t discern whether I’d only been thinking about the day Max had revealed his ability to talk, or if I’d actually fallen asleep. My head was still a little fuzzy. If I had been asleep, it was a direct result of the tashave leaf. Emotionally, I was too worked up for sleeping. Realizing what the curly-haired man’s hammer was for, I didn’t think I’d ever sleep again.
Briscott crouched before me, giving a rueful shake of his head and letting out a deep sigh. I’d viewed his friendliness as an insult before, but now I found myself missing his easy smile and pleasant voice. “This is Oslen. He’ll be implanting the rock. I’ll be right here holding your legs. It’s best if you don’t struggle.”
Oslen spit something dark to the side as if chewing pipeleaf. “Yeah, those who struggled before got a shallow grave for their efforts,” he added gruffly without a hint of threat. He was simply telling me the truth of it. Unlike Briscott, Oslen showed no sign of friendliness in his voice or expression.
“Oslen!” Briscott scolded. “There’s no blighted cause for that.” Oslen simply shrugged.
Briscott retrieved a bottle and a cloth from the chest. He wadded the cloth into a ball, pressed it over the glass lip of the bottle, and then flipped the bottle, soaking the cloth with whatever was in it.
Briscott gestured with the saturated cloth. “This’ll give your skin a bit of a chill, but it should help ward off infection.”
Briscott rubbed the cloth in concentric circles starting at the center of my chest. A slight odor of alcohol rose from the cloth, but I had no idea what it was. Briscott had been right, though; it was cold to the touch and sent a chill deep into my skin that didn’t go away as it dried. My naked torso was already cold from the fall-day chill, but where he’d applied the solution, it felt as if my skin were covered in frost. I began to shiver.
My brain shouted at me to beg them to release me, to simply untie my limbs and send me away. However, I knew that with the gems in their chests, they had to fulfill the orders they were given. So instead, I dropped my head to the side and closed my eyes.
“Don’t warn me when you do it,” I requested solemnly, fearing the pain and the potential for death.
“We can at least do that for you,” Briscott replied softly, a hint of his affable voice coming through. His hands pressed down on my ankles. What felt to be one of his shins pressed down across my thighs right above my knees. “I’m so blighting sorry.”
I responded with a deep breath through my nose, keeping my eyes shut tight. I heard some movement and then felt a cold pinprick in the center of my chest. I tried not to think of the gem breaking through the bone of my sternum. I tried to not imagine the gem accidentally piercing my heart and spilling my life out in pints of blood on the ground below me.
But I did, and my heart sped and my breathing deepened in response. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cool air. My pulse throbbed at my temples, my bound wrists, and my chest.
Then there was silence. I could only hear my own deep breathing and the thump of each of my rapid heartbeats. A cold tear fell down my cheek. Before it could drip from my chin, there was a rush of air against my chest, the clink of a hammer against stone, pain beyond words, and then, there was nothing.
Chapter 10
Day 12
Day 12
All hope is lost.
Let me explain. This morning we stopped at a roadside inn. Apparently my captors believed I was looking quite haggard and needed the chance to clean up. If I could’ve gotten away with it, I swear I would’ve ensured that they could never produce children by giving them each a swift kick to the . . .
It’s just the audacity of these bastard Third-Rankers. They lock me in a box for well over a week with nothing but a ceramic chamber pot that they empty once a day, and what, they expect me to smell like flowers and radiate sunshine from my skin? No one would ever guess that my father was Nehril Fellway, the Grand Wizard of Amirand, with how they treat me. I may as well be a lowly brigand or murderer.
I can’t help but get a little worked up about it.
Anyway, three of my captors—save Alix—took me into the inn. Boakler, that curly-haired know-it-all, escorted me into a back room, where there was a copper tub of steaming water waiting for me. Stemon and Jisan waited outside the only door into the room, standing guard in case I was able to overtake Boakler in an escape attempt.
My aching muscles yearned for that hot water; a week in a jostling carriage will do that to you. I would’ve truly enjoyed the steaming bath if I’d just been able to relax. Instead, I spent the whole time making sure that Boakler didn’t ogle my naked body as I washed. He kept his back to me, but I wasn’t about to take my eyes off him.
I highly considered drawing magic energy from my own body to bring Boakler down and wipe the insufferable smugness off his face, but I knew no good would come from doing so. There was only one door out of the room, and Boakler was blocking it. Also, with my rare ability to see the magic energy used in spells and imbued in objects, I could identify the glow of a protective wall of concentrated air around him. Behind that wall, Boakler’s body emitted a soft yellow aura, a barely perceptible glow that I can always see around anyone able to use magic.
Most anything I could’ve used to attack Boakler would’ve been halted by his barrier. Fire would’ve broken through it, but I didn’t have the desire to hurt him that bad. Then again . . .
If nothing else, Stemon and Jisan stood right outside the door, likely using magic to listen in on each and every sound coming from the room. They woul
d’ve intervened if I’d tried anything.
After I cleaned up, I changed into a clean, brown wizard robe. Boakler, joined by Stemon and Jisan, shepherded me back outside. As we approached the carriage, I made my first attempt in days to be given access to Max. I’ll describe how it went in detail, while my resultant conversation with Boakler is still fresh on my mind.
~~~~
“Will you please allow me to keep the squirrel with me?” I pleaded. Yes, now that I write that down, it sounds pretty ridiculous. “It’s not as if it can do anything from inside that abelyr box you have it in.
“And let the carriage’s abelyr frame dispel the seal on the box?” Boakler scoffed. “As always, there is not a chance in Rizear’s domain that we will give you access to our recent acquisitions. Now, if you will quit whining and just get in the carriage, we can get moving.”
Have I mentioned how his smug voice makes my head hurt? And for the record, I was in no way whining.
“But why—”
“You will drop the subject, or I will—”
“You’ll what?” I challenged, drawing myself not a half step away from him, pouring every ounce of anger I could into a scornful glare.
Boakler didn’t buckle under my gaze or my taunt, narrowing the distance between us even further. “Let us just say that the Grand Wizard has given us permission to do whatever is necessary to bring you home,” he snipped, grabbing my sleeve and forcefully pulling me towards the carriage.