The 19th Bladesman

by S J Hartland

  Despair consumes me, hollows me with grief,

  It robs me of every hope—a vicious, taunting thief,

  Broken, my heart bleeds sorrow,

  There’s death at least, if no tomorrow.

  Tears pricked his eyelids. Olier was dead. He would never hear him singing, or fighting with Arn again. Oh gods, Arn. So many Mountains men butchered in that foul forest.

  Archanin nodded slowly. “Do not think I cannot understand you Kaell, that I cannot understand your yearning for love; whether it is love lost or love desperately sought.”

  Uncomfortable, Kaell shifted his weight. What was happening here? How could he pity this monster? His enemy. Snatching at coldness, he uttered in a voice sharp with contempt: “I do not want your love.”

  Archanin said nothing. But for a slight spasm in his jaw, he might not have heard.

  Then he shrugged. “The hard way, then.”

  Kaell braced. Just as before, Archanin did not touch him, only drove his palm through air. His lips formed words. But this time the torrent of agony was unbearable. It swallowed Kaell until he no longer existed, only his body jerking, convulsing, shuddering, his mind shattered.

  “Stop!” he screamed. “Stop! Please!”

  As fast as it came, the pain disappeared.

  “So fragile.” Archanin shook his head. “Turn over.”

  Beaten, Kaell crawled onto his belly. He buried his face in a cushion.

  Despair consumes me.

  The words echoed miserably in his skull as if written for him alone.

  Archanin rubbed his back. Kaell’s shoulders shot up.

  “Be still,” the ghoul god soothed. “I liked the story about your lord rubbing balm in your wounds. You felt safe. You can feel safe again, Kaell. Then you’ll tell me other stories.”

  “Don’t touch me.” Beneath the caress, his muscles twitched.

  “Ah, still fight in you.”

  Kaell growled.

  “Just that last flare of defiance, like a cornered dog.” With long, deep strokes, Archanin’s hands tamed and humiliated. “Have you ever done this to a snarling dog? Force him to his belly then stroke his back until he accepts your training?”

  Candles hissed against cool air, their scent heavy in Kaell’s throat, in his lungs. Whatever the smoke did to him, he couldn’t rally the will to fight it.

  His eyelids drooped. His weighted limbs pinned him to the floor, his thoughts tangled. If he snatched at one, tried to focus on who he was, pain flared in his temple. Easier to drift.

  Archanin rolled him onto pillows. “Those defences came down faster this time. No more growl in you.” He reached for his dagger.

  Lethargic, the cloying incense in his nostrils, Kaell only watched.

  “You’re stronger. And the spell holds. I can bring you the first death.”

  Kaell sighed in relief. “You intend to kill me.”

  “For one breath, no more.” Archanin gently touched his hair. “This time when I drain your blood, precious child, I’ll let your heart stop then bring you back with my blood.”

  “Why?” Kaell wasn’t sure he cared.

  “To make you like me, this must happen three times. Then a fourth death, which you must seek willingly. After all, magic is magic and we gods will not be denied its ceremony.”

  Archanin slashed Kaell’s wrist. He gasped in pain. His captor pressed his mouth to the wound. Kaell’s awareness seeped away into a dreamscape of blurring colours and ragged shapes.

  Voices slowly descended into layers of sleep. Quarrelling voices.

  Kaell registered sensations. Stone at his back; its chill clawing through thin cloth into his bones. Cool air laced with citrus and wood moss brushed his clammy forehead. Metal clinked as he moved a foot. Rippling, lambent candle flames still spewed nauseating odours.

  “Do not succumb to needless fear.” Archanin.

  “But the prophecy. Kill him.” Raggamirron, his tone stiff.

  “No.”

  “Already talk spreads. The boy has dark-blond hair. It is written a warrior with the blood of the desert and with the blood of Caelan—”

  “And my blood.”

  “It’s written a warrior with these three bloodlines will kill you, my lord. If you give this boy your blood, he will have two of the three.”

  Kaell forced open heavy eyes. Archanin sprawled in a padded chair, his chin propped on a hand resting upon the armrest. Raggamirron knelt on cushions at his god’s feet.

  “The prophecy is nonsense,” Archanin said. “Impossible. A deception, even. I’ve waited for this child for centuries, fearing the seer’s words might be wrong. Now it begins.”

  “What begins? A thread unravelling to your death?”

  Archanin’s laugh shivered foreboding down Kaell’s spine. “A thread that unravels to my freedom, to my return to power.”

  Raggamirron sighed. “If you will not turn from this path, break him. Completely, absolutely. Destroy his will. Mould him anew.”

  Break? No. Kaell jerked in alarm. Jangling chains jarred the quiet.

  Both ghouls looked his way.

  “I think someone wakes.” Archanin drummed the chair arm with tight fingers.

  “My lord, you know I love you. I do not say this lightly. Kill him.”

  “No.”

  “My lord—”

  “Enough.” Archanin beat a furious rhythm. “Roaran’s magic at long last fades. When this boy kneels to me, I’ll walk free from this prison. I’ll scatter blood and death and take this land. Every ancient doorway to the Enarae will be mine. Even Tide’s End.”

  Raggamirron shuddered. “Tide’s End? But that was Roaran’s stronghold. The last true heir to Caelan himself. No, keep away from Tide’s End, my lord.”

  His god laughed. “Tide’s End will fall. Lastenarron destroyed Roaran’s warding. The seer king sacrificed some poor fool centuries ago in a dismal tower tomb. Can you imagine?”

  “But Roaran Caelan—”

  “What of him? The seer king is long dead, his flesh rotted.”

  “And if he’s not?”

  A silence fogged, heavy and cold. Archanin’s drilling fingers thumped in Kaell’s skull.

  He did not know why he listened for birdsong. None. The absence of the world beyond speared him with hopelessness.

  “You don’t think I’d know?” Archanin’s voice fell empty, stripped of everything. “You don’t think I’d sense the man I hate beyond all others?”

  “Yes,” Raggamirron said. “You would know.”

  Another tense, prickling hush fell. Kaell recognised an argument as timeless as this ruined castle. And between these two a bond like the one he shared with Arn.

  Arn. Sorrow swooped in his gut, loneliness with it.

  “Your fear is needless,” Archanin said. “Roaran is dead. His prophecy impossible. It speaks of a warrior born of two Caelan parents.”

  “True Caelan, they call it.”

  “Such a warrior could never have Seithin blood and my blood. No one can have the three together. Especially our young captive.”

  “If Cathmor had wed Azenor Caelan—”

  Archanin scoffed. “Cathmor is no more Caelan than I. His blood is tainted. No, the Caelan line survived only in the Isles.”

  He swept a hand at Kaell. “Free him on your way to the door. I will win him, Raggamirron. Tonight, he and I begin an intimate acquaintance.”

  Intimate? Unease lifted gooseflesh on Kaell’s arms.

  Raggamirron rose, bowed and walked to him. His look dwelled as though seeking to unlock a mystery. Kaell returned the inspection with a glare.

  The ghoul shook his head and bent to unlock the ankle manacle.

  The door thudded shut after him.

  Archanin sat back. His face fell into shadow but Kaell sensed those jewelled eyes upon him.

  He reeled to his feet, his chin tilted in a small, futile gesture of defiance. The candles spat out their scent, that viscous, suffocating perfume that softened his will.
>
  “You’re not bound. You could run.” Archanin waved a hand at the door.

  “Do you deliberately test me? I might yet.”

  “You might. Or you might come to me.”

  Kaell forced a sneer, his bold front all bluster. A storm of fear tossed within. He badly wanted to turn and flee. To where? Where was this ruin?

  Archanin leaned, hands gripping his knees. “Come to me, Kaell.” His voice thrummed like music, beautiful but fierce. The command forced a staggering step. Just one step.

  With an anguished cry, Kaell clamped down on the assault in his head, an overpowering need to obey. He summoned memories of his lord, of Arn, anything to hold on to who he was.

  “The other one struggled too,” Archanin said. “Until he collapsed, sobbing.”

  Kaell gritted his teeth in a snarl. “I won’t sob. And I will kill you.”

  “Do you hide a host of armed men outside this room?” A snigger of amusement. “No? You are alone, Kaell. No one comes for you. Not your lord. No one. Beyond these walls, you’re dead. The sooner you accept this new life, the better. Now, obey me.”

  The words hammered. Not just in his head, along his backbone. His feet moved against his will. Kaell stumbled to the ghoul god.

  “So it’s true. Something frayed your bond to Khir. I can command you.”

  Kaell dropped his eyes, ashamed. “With magic. That is no victory.”

  “Victory? You think this is a battle between us? No, Kaell, it is a lesson. Now—”

  Archanin’s gaze trailed up and down. His breaths quickened. “Terissada choses well, as always. That tunic highlights the green of your eyes. I want to look at you. Disrobe.”

  No. Kaell jammed his feet into stone.

  “Let me look at you.”

  The words beat at him, pulsing fire through his torso and limbs. The room’s scents choked. His thoughts blurred.

  Angrily Kaell swept a candle to the floor. He shouted, knuckled fists against his breast, shuddered, wailed. Anything but obey.

  “Only resistance hurts, Kaell. Do not fight.”

  “Do your worst. I refuse to obey you.”

  Archanin shook his head. “I don’t wish to hurt you, Kaell. But you are so ridiculously stubborn.” He waved his hand.

  At once a maelstrom of agony, scorching, knifing, throbbing, exploded through Kaell’s body. He slammed to his knees, screaming, “Stop it! Stop it!” With desperate fingers, he clawed his tunic off. If Archanin demanded he rip his skin away too, he’d do it.

  The pain dissolved to a dull ache.

  “Stand.”

  Trembling, Kaell straightened on numb legs. The remaining candles flickered like wing beats. Archanin’s gaze lingered.

  Kaell made a despairing sound. Oh gods, not that.

  “I remember men and women with that hair; those eyes,” Archanin said. “My queen’s eyes.” He sighed, reached for a carafe and pressed a cup upon Kaell. “Drink and tell me who in this land of dark-eyed men and women has eyes like yours.”

  “What sort of question is that?” Kaell folded his arms across his naked breast. “No one.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then.” He hesitated. “Where am I from?”

  “Shall we bargain for the truth? Drink and I may tell you.”

  Kaell took the cup and sniffed. The dark liquid smelt of hot spices. “What is this poison?”

  “Life. I poured it down your throat after I drained you. You brought it back up the first few times but by the third night you took it. It’s why you’re alive. That—and your blood.”

  Kaell hesitated. Then he gulped it down, angry that Archanin manipulated him but desperate for answers. “I drank your poison, so tell me. Who am I?”

  “I said I might tell you, not that I would. Kneel on these cushions. I want to see those green eyes change as you bend to my will.”

  Outrage fired his courage. “No. You will have nothing from me.”

  “I’ll have whatever I want of you. Obey.”

  Again he waved his hand. Pain crushed Kaell’s skull. It didn’t build; it was just there. Screaming, Kaell clutched his head. “It hurts, but I won’t play your twisted games. You’ll have to kill me.”

  “Obey.”

  Kaell fell to all fours. His body pulsed with vicious sensation, killing thought, allowing nowhere to hide. He crawled, but like a beast the pain pursued him.

  “Obey!” Archanin’s voice compelled.

  A lance needled his head, stabbing, stabbing, stabbing. Sobbing in despair, panting, Kaell threw himself on the cushions, frightened he could hurt that much.

  The pain disappeared. Archanin drew Kaell’s head against his knees. “I can be everything to you, Kaell. Everything he cannot. Friend. Father.” He paused. “Lover.”

  As his captor stroked his hair, Kaell muttered a half-hearted protest. A hateful longing whispered; a desire to surrender his fear, to let this god comfort him, consume him.

  “I will teach you more than obedience.” Archanin kissed his mouth. “In my arms, you’ll learn life is not about duty. It is about pleasure. The pursuits of the flesh, without shame.”

  Shame. He should feel ashamed he did not draw away. That he didn’t fight. Instead, he only watched as Archanin fluttered a wet tongue along his arm.

  Thought and time stalled. Sensation splintered into lips kissing damp skin, hands stroking his body, sharp breath, Archanin disrobing, his touch on Kaell’s thigh, his fingers running through his hair, the candles’ scent, the perfumed oil, thick in his throat.

  All the while, Archanin whispered, the words soft and seductive.

  “You belong with me, Kaell. That other life, that other world, it means nothing. Forget it. Forget this man, this lord, who withholds his love from you. Think only of me. Think only of my hands on your skin, of how pleasurable it feels.”

  Beneath Archanin’s caresses, his kisses, Kaell’s mouth softened, lips parting to permit his tongue. The alluring words bewitched like a potion.

  When his body roused, he could not hold it back. The shuddering release was better than the agony Archanin brought him before.

  Then there was silence. An awful silence. Stunned by his submission, Kaell lay very still, his nakedness moulded against the ghoul god’s.

  “You’re everything I hoped,” said Archanin, still holding him, still stroking his hair. “I am more impatient now to bring you to this new life. So tonight, the second death.”

  He grabbed his captive’s wrist. When he bit, Kaell’s every muscle, every tendon and vein inflamed. A relief of pain. Welcome pain that at last plunged him into blissful emptiness.

  He drifted on sleep’s sweet edge, a place free of hurt and shame. Sounds tried to intrude, to push down into his slumber. He thought he heard footsteps, a breath of cloth over stone. It was too hard to open his eyes; his body part of the floor, an unmovable weight. His mind dulled.

  A fragrance danced, rose-petal soft. Kaell made a sound that wasn’t a word, wasn’t a moan.

  “Drink.” A woman’s voice. A memory nagged. Steamy, soap-scented air, warm water unknotting muscles. “Do not fight,” she had said. “Let them think you’re beaten.”

  Whoever she was, she lifted his head slightly, put a cup to his lips, helped him drink. Kaell coughed, the sticky liquid like molasses on his tongue.

  “Finish it.”

  He accepted a little more, hoping she might then leave him alone.

  Instead, she traced his lips with warm fingers. Sighed. “I wish I could see you.”

  Slowly, gently, as if savouring the sensuous touch of skin, she trailed her hand across his breastbone to his shoulders. “I remember Pairas. How he looked after we made love; his hair tousled, those wondrously dark eyes sleepy. Your shoulders feel as muscled as his.”

  Whatever he drank dissolved the haze. Kaell grew aware of the pillow beneath his head, the stone about him. Her hands on his naked body.

  Exhausted from blood loss, he summoned the last of his strength to croak, �
�Cover me, please.” He could hardly lift his arm. “I can’t move or even open my eyes.”

  A coarse, itching blanket fell over his hips. Her fingertips shifted to his gashed wrist. “He did this? And to your neck?”

  “Kill me,” Kaell rasped. “Please. If you have any pity, kill me.”

  “It will be over soon.”

  “What—” Sharp pain ripped his gut. It arched his back, tore breath from his lungs.

  “It hurts.” Kaell gasped through clenched teeth. “What did you give me?”

  “It hurts but it will prevent him enslaving you with magic again. He must give you his blood, but you cannot become his. When it’s done, Kaell, find me.”

  “Who are you?”

  She did not answer. He heard tiptoed steps and a door close.

  The chamber drained of sound. It was like a deep, secret pool enfolding Kaell in its somnolence. There was only him, his loneliness and this new, tormenting pain.

  In disbelief, he curled his knees to his knotted belly. The woman poisoned him. Why?

  At another long shudder of agony, he howled to the empty room: “Make it stop. Please. Make it stop.”

  The pain broke into waves, spasms through his limbs that peaked then fell away into blessed moments of nothing. Except in those moments, memory gnawed and gnawed. Whatever he drank freed his body from its languor but also cleared the haze from his mind.

  With shattering, sickening shame, he remembered Archanin’s seduction. What did he allow? How did his body betray him? Why, why didn’t he fight?

  More pain rolled through his core like fiery thunder. This time Kaell didn’t resent it. It punished his weakness. It punished him for letting himself disappear, for retreating into his mind instead of resisting Archanin’s beguiling words and soft caresses.

  He lurched to his feet. Shoved his torn tunic down over his head and stumbled to the door. Impatiently he scrabbled at the latch. Run. Escape.

  “Kaell?” Archanin filled the doorway, a guardsman at his back.

  Pain built again. Cold sweat tickled his neck. He threw a steadying hand against the wall.