The Alchemist: Dawn of Destiny

by L. A. Wasielewski

  With a determined smirk, Grildi set his bludgeon against the wall and waited. Jaric had no idea what he was up to, but there was no time to argue about tactics. He had to trust him. The giant man pressed his body as best he could up against the wall and waited for the final guards to round the corner. As their bodies came into view, he threw his arms wide, grabbed both their heads, one in each hand, and slammed their faces together. Gurgling moans came from their rotten mouths as their flesh and bone intermingled in their final moments of “life.”

  “That’s one way to do it!” Jaric smiled broadly in the dim light and punched Grildi’s arm in congratulations.

  Grildi puffed his chest out with pride before retrieving his club. Moving into the cell, he held out a giant hand to the empress, who curled her tiny fingers around his own. He guided her around the carnage, moving one of the soldier’s decaying hands out of the way with his foot to clear her path.

  “Where do we go now, Jaric?”

  The warrior looked both ways down the corridor, trying to decide. He pointed up the stairs the soldiers had come down with his sword. “If we go that way, we’ll be caught for sure.” He looked to the empress. “Do you know anything about this place? We’ve got one more friend down here somewhere and we’re not leaving without him.”

  “There’s no one else with us in this section, I’m afraid. But…” She wracked her brain for a moment, before her face turned sad. “…there is another part to the dungeon. It was used centuries ago…for torture.”

  “Can you show us?”

  “I can try. This is the only time I’ve been down here, but I was fascinated by the history of this palace when I married Artol. I pored over building plans and the like in my free time.” She chuckled in disbelief as she led them the opposite way down the cell block. “Who would have thought a newlywed’s obsession with architecture would someday help break her out of prison?”

  “Nostalgia’s a funny mistress, that’s for sure.” Jaric followed beside her, lighting their way with the pilfered torch. Grildi brought up the rear, looking back over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure there weren’t any more surprises.

  ~~~

  Drip.

  Ryris didn’t even wince as the cold drop splattered on his forehead. He was unable to summon the strength to do so.

  His entire body was freezing, the dampness from the constant sprinkle of water seeping into his very soul. His clothes were soggy, his skin clammy and gray. No longer able to shiver, he begged for death to quickly find him. He didn’t know how much longer he would last.

  Drip.

  He tried to wiggle his hands, restrained high above his head, to encourage circulation to return. The manacles were rubbing his wrists raw. He knew using his magic to try and melt the metal would be futile, and more than likely get Roann back in the chamber in a heartbeat. Besides, he wasn’t even sure he had the fortitude for such a feat.

  Drip.

  Freezing cold and terrified, he found himself wanting his amulet to flare—even if it was just to keep him warm. There was no light in the cell, no heat source. Just stone walls and the constant splashing of water from Roann’s torture device.

  Drip.

  The water was starting to drive him mad, the anticipation of the next drop almost too much to bear. He didn’t know what was worse: the slow flow of liquid bouncing off of his forehead, or the restraints. The fact that he couldn’t move, that he couldn’t get away from the incessant dripping—that he couldn’t save himself—was wreaking havoc with his mind. Thoughts, random and terrifying, flew through his brain.

  Grildi laying dead at Roann’s feet.

  Lyrax decapitating Jaric, touting his severed head on a pike.

  Kaia in Roann’s embrace, sharing a passionate kiss before he strangled her with his bare hands.

  Knowing next to nothing about torture, Ryris surmised, even in his ever-waning mental capacity, that being emotionally abused was far worse than physical pain. Roann had left to let the water and the solitude work on his prisoner, hopeful he would get the information he sought from the alchemist.

  And now, head soaked to the skull, chilled beyond belief, and questioning his sanity, Ryris felt as if he might just give Roann what he wanted.

  After being alone in his cell for hours the night before, Roann had appeared without his guards. The emperor himself had dragged Ryris into the torture room. Ryris had immediately wondered why Roann hadn’t been affected by contact with him this time. But being manhandled by a maniac didn’t give him much time to ponder. When Ryris had asked about Kaia and his friends, he was greeted with a slap across the face.

  Roann had shed his regal attire, donning a simple, thin, short-sleeved shirt and his ever-present leather pants. His hair pulled tightly behind his head, he looked like a man who was ready to work. Gone was the majestic air, replaced by sheer malice. His gaze cut through Ryris like a knife, peering deep into his soul. He had circled the young man, shackled to a chair, in silence for several moments. Not knowing what was coming, Ryris flinched every time Roann purposely got close.

  And then it began.

  The two men had spent the better part of the evening at odds in a particularly horrifying part of the dungeons. Torture implements, beds of nails, and an iron maiden had made Ryris briefly consider telling Roann anything he wanted to know. He wasn’t brave in the least, and he didn’t really want to find out just how much pain he could endure before cracking. But, the thought of his friends being subjected to whatever Roann had in store should he die without giving him information made his decision for him. He would survive, string the emperor on as long as possible, and maybe—just maybe—his companions would find a way to break him out.

  They had started slow, with Roann promising to be lenient if he just told him about the extent of his magical abilities. Ryris was immediately surprised the man didn’t ask him about the hilt Kaia had hidden. He hoped it was safe—and she hadn’t given it up. They bantered back and forth, Ryris refusing to give in and show Roann what he was capable of. He knew he could summon some pretty spectacular flames, but decided to keep it to himself. Ryris didn’t want to be Lyrax’ puppet, and doubted his powers would be satisfactory to the maniac anyway. Flaunting his own powers, Roann had smirked at his show of force, bragging about his abilities while belittling Ryris’. In the end, he had been called a sorry excuse for a wizard and a coward. Staring up at the powerful emperor in front of him, Ryris was starting to believe him.

  When Roann had grown bored of his interrogation, he turned to physical means, striking Ryris with his fists until his nose bled and his ribs were bruised. Whatever the emperor had hoped to glean from the young man, he had failed on his first attempt. For a good hour—Ryris had lost track of time after the blows ceased to stop—Roann had pummeled him in the hopes he would crack and tell him something. His questioning became erratic as his fury grew, irritated at the alchemist who refused to cooperate. Ryris had been shaken, struck, kicked, and smothered, but in the end refused to tell Roann anything.

  With the emperor growing tired of Ryris’ antics, he had upped the ante. Unlocking Ryris from his chair, he had grabbed him by the arms and threw him onto a rack, with Ryris kicking at him the entire way. Roann was much stronger, however, and it just fueled the manic emperor’s rage even more. When Ryris was secured in place, Roann simply started the water and left, extinguishing the torches as he locked the door.

  Left there in the darkness, he suffered for hours, alone and terrified.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  “Ryris? Where are you, boy?”

  The alchemist snapped back to reality as Grildi’s voice echoed from outside the heavy door. He desperately tried to cry out, but found his voice had left him. The footsteps got closer, the sound of each door being opened in sequence raising his almost-destroyed hopes. Soon, his door began to rattle, the lock holding steadfast. The voices in the corridor were hard to hear, muffled by the surrounding stones and d
ried blood in his ears.

  “I can see him! Boss…I’m comin’!”

  “Better watch out, Your Highness. Our friend here wants to practice his battering-ram skills.”

  The massive grunts and telltale slamming of a body against the door started seconds later. Again and again, Grildi smashed his shoulder into the cell door, the hinges and lock bending with every blow.

  “One…more…should…” Grildi slammed the door with all his might. “…do it!” The barrier crashed inwards and fell to the ground with a giant thud. The noise jolted right through him.

  “Goddess, no! Ryris!”

  His vision foggy, he whimpered as three figures stepped into the room, illuminated by hand torches. One of the people ignited a wall sconce, causing Ryris to screw his eyes shut at the blinding new light. Soon, calming hands were touching his body and face, frantic voices urging him to respond.

  “Ryris, can you hear me?” Jaric’s voice was commanding yet calm as he tried to unlock his shackles. The warrior grumbled when they wouldn’t budge. “Grildi, can you…?”

  Grildi approached, and Ryris could hear him sniffling with pity. Strong hands encompassed his wrists, their warmth a welcome respite from the frigid metal. Grunting as he pried the cuffs apart, the massive man was eventually successful in wrenching the shackles from the alchemist’s hands. Jaric eased his arms down slowly, mindful of his atrophied muscles. The alchemist hissed in pain, an agonized yelp bounding from his lips as his joints protested. Still, he couldn’t muster any words. He tried to lock eyes with whoever was beside him, only to find his vision to be very uncooperative. A soft piece of fabric swiped across his forehead and cheeks, removing the torturous moisture from his skin. Blinking rapidly, he finally brought the smiling face of an unknown woman into focus.

  “You’re safe. We’re going to get you out of here.” Her voice was soothing and reassuring.

  He closed his eyes with a whimper as his other friends helped him to sit up. A strong arm wrapped around his back, enveloping him in a familiar embrace. Ryris melted into what he knew was Grildi’s body and allowed the giant man to comfort him.

  “I gotcha, Boss. Roann ain’t gonna hurt you no more.”

  Ryris’ voice croaked from disuse. “Kaia…where’s Kaia?”

  “Roann still has her.” Jaric helped him to swing his legs over the side of the table. “We’ve got to move. If we linger, they’ll find us. We need to get to her, break her out, and make a run for it.”

  “I don’t know if I can…” Ryris was exhausted, his body burning with pain. Every movement felt like it was threatening to tear him apart.

  “You don’t have a choice.” Jaric helped him stand, Grildi’s support never wavering. After a long moment, Ryris felt somewhat confident on his feet and tried to stand on his own.

  “I need a minute. Please.”

  Jaric blew out a long breath from his nostrils before agreeing to the slight respite. He went to the gaping hole where the door once hung and stood watch. Ryris took a few deep, painful breaths. He tried to flush the awful thoughts the torture had forced into his brain out of his mind, reminding himself this was no time for self-pity. His friends had rescued him and, in turn, he would now rescue Kaia. Ready or not, they needed to move on—even if his battered body screamed at him to stop.

  “Any idea where she is?” Ryris rubbed his aching shoulder.

  “No, but it just so happens we have someone here with us that can help us move through this place with a little more ease.” Jaric looked back at the empress. “Ryris, I’d like to introduce you to Empress Eilith Vrelin.”

  Ryris attempted a feeble bow. “I’m honored, Your Majesty.”

  “Please, I’m unworthy of that title now. Not after what I brought upon this world by letting Roann live.” Her eyes were filled with sadness, her voice meek and defeated.

  Ryris felt pity for the woman. It must have been terrible, knowing that your child was in league with a demon and wreaking havoc on the empire. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Oh yes, it is.” She hung her head. “But this isn’t the time to discuss the matter. If we get out of here alive, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  The party stood silently for a moment before Jaric grabbed Ryris by the arm and placed a shortsword in his hand. “Liberated this from one of those rotting bastards. It might stink a little…” He turned to Eilith. “Lead the way, milady.”

  Ryris prayed his legs wouldn’t give out on him as he stumbled forward.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Consider loss. What will it do to a man? To his very soul? Only he can tell you.

  --Wisdom of Grayden Dloss, prophet of Oleana.

  There was definitely commotion in the halls beyond Roann’s apartments.

  Kaia pressed her ear against the heavy wooden door, trying to get a better angle in which to hear. Raised, muffled voices. Scuffling, crashing, and the clanking of metal against metal. Footsteps—some shuffling and slow, some hurried and heavy—ran up and down the corridors. Roann’s commanding tone, stern and unwilling to falter, barked orders at his troop of undead soldiers. Lyrax’ chilling voice came soon after, although it was unclear to her what had been said. Kaia wanted desperately to be in whatever action was unfolding—either as a combatant, or an escapee. She hoped her friends were behind the fracas. Jiggling the doorknob, even though she knew it to be locked, she hoped that somehow Roann had forgotten to bolt the door.

  He hadn’t.

  She scowled and continued to do the only thing she could—listen through the wood. The ruckus approached at the same pace as before, Kaia hearing vases shattering, tapestries being ripped from the walls. A door slammed shut in the distance, excited voices erupting seconds later. Her hands clenched, and she wished her trusty bow was at her side. That would make quick work of the door. She glanced down to her fingertips, tiny flames beginning to dance on her skin. She smirked at Roann’s ignorance, trusting her enough to never re-enchant her hands before leaving. Her female allure had obviously clouded his judgment. This door is as good as gone, she thought.

  “You think that’ll keep us out?”

  Kaia immediately recognized the taunting voice as Jaric’s. A wave of relief washed over her. Concentrating her mental energy, she brought ice to her palms and grabbed the doorknob. Immediately, the metal crackled and popped as the temperature of the material dropped. Kaia held her hands steady, even when the cold threatened to chill her to the bone. Freezing the lock to the point of shattering seemed like her best option for escape.

  The commotion got closer, and Kaia suddenly smelled the unmistakable odor of Roann’s ghoulish guards. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Suddenly, a great blast of heat blew through the crack under the door and the stench disappeared, replaced by that of charred flesh.

  “That’s the spirit, Ryris! I knew you’d get your strength back!” Jaric’s voice was proud and congratulatory, even over the clanking of swords against armor. “Burn ‘em to a crisp!”

  Kaia blew out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding at the mention of Ryris’ name. Her heart fluttered with relief. The frozen doorknob finally broke in two and fell to the ground, crumbling into hundreds of tiny bits at her feet. She kicked the now-icy lock out of the door and swung it open. Taking a second to peer around the corner of the door, flames readied on her fingertips, she surmised the coast was clear and made a break for it. She dashed through Roann’s sitting room and toward the front door of the apartment—just as Jaric burst through in a frenzy. Right behind him was Ryris, the alchemist red-faced from the frenetic battle, tiny wisps of smoke rising from his sooty fingertips. He stooped slightly, exhaustion beginning to take hold. His face was bruised, dried blood caked under his nose. He had the look of a man who had endured incredible pain and emotional abuse. Kaia’s heart sunk as she realized he had been subjected to Roann’s torturous hand. Grildi followed, an unknown woman hanging on to his massive arm as he led her through the door.

  “Lass!�
�� Grildi’s face lit up at the sight of her, and he immediately dashed forward, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

  Kaia quickly returned the embrace before pushing away and bolting to Ryris’ side. She scrutinized him intensely, taking quick inventory of the numerous cuts and bruises. The smell of blood and magic wafting off of him was incredible. His eyes were tired, yet obviously happy to see her. He sighed audibly, lunged forward, and fell into her embrace in exhausted relief. She selfishly didn’t want the moment to end.

  Their reunion did not last long. Yelling, crashing of weapons, and shuffling feet approached. Roann burst through the remains of the door, flanked by his undead guards.

  “Did you really think you could escape so easily?” Roann’s nostrils flared as he stared Kaia down. She just raised an eyebrow and stared back in defiance. Grabbing her arm forcefully, he pulled her into the center of the room and shook her.

  Ryris didn’t think. He couldn’t control himself. The sight of Kaia being manhandled by Roann made him seethe. He snarled and brought flames to his hands, even in his exhausted state. But before he could even release his volley at the emperor, Roann sighed in irritation and flicked his hand. The fire on Ryris’ palms snuffed out.

  “Look at that. Your friends think they’re about to be heroes.”

  Kaia managed to free herself from Roann’s grasp while he was distracted, only to find her body bumping into something behind her. The stale stench she associated with meeting Lyrax the day before floated on the air currents, and she turned to find herself face-to-face with the menacing necromancer. She held back a gag at the horrid scent wafting out from his body. His nose was caving in on the side, the telltale signs of putrefaction very obvious. Shuddering at the contact with the horrid man, she instinctively moved away and back to Roann to try and get away. She immediately cursed herself for not thinking.