by Frank Morin
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Connor offered.
Ivor said, “It doesn’t exactly sound good either. High ladies are not known to receive new duties that require new training.”
“There’s one way to find out.” Mariora led the way back to the atrium and across to one of the seven main corridors leading off into the various palaces.
After a moment she asked, “What is with all the eoin feathers?”
Connor had also noticed the feathers. A huge percentage of the people hurrying past wore eoin feathers, predominantly in their hats. Not even Crann had known about that new fashion. Honestly, it was ridiculous.
“I don’t care. Let’s just find Alyth and get out of here,” Ivor hissed.
It took them almost half an hour to traipse through the enormous western palace, up to the second floor, and find the correct location. Every second seemed to hiss through Connor’s mind like the sands of the timing clock in the Rhidorroch and his tension grew until simply walking with an unhurried stride took tremendous effort. They needed to grab Alyth and get out fast.
In her courier costume, it was not unusual for Mariora to seek out a particular person, but Connor also noted how nervous everyone looked when she mentioned Alyth. Luckily people seemed so intent on avoiding notice that no one challenged them.
They eventually ended up in a large, vaulted room, with a sign on the doorway stating that they were entering the “Worthy Servant Training Academy”.
“This did not exist the last time I was here,” Mariora said.
She led the way into the room. Dozens of people stood, sat in wooden chairs, or lay on simple beds along the walls. None of them spoke. They all seemed isolated, despite their proximity to one another. Several men and women wearing tan coats moved among them, but Connor couldn’t tell what they were doing.
A big-boned, no-nonsense, hard-faced woman intercepted them near the entrance. The woman glanced at Ivor and Connor. “Are these new servants?”
Ivor huffed in his best offended noble tone. “Hardly. I require Lady Alyth.”
Mariora added, “I have important documents for her.”
The woman sighed, looking annoyed. “I doubt it. You think you’re the first to come looking for a loved one, hoping the rumors weren’t true? Take my advice, turn around right now, and forget all about her.”
Ivor took one threatening step forward, his expression turning angry, but the woman raised a hand to forestall him. “Fine. Make it hard for yourself.” Her expression softened. “I tried to warn you, but I should know better. Everyone has to see for themselves.”
She gestured toward a small adjoining room. “You can wait in there. I will send her in. Don’t break anything.”
The three of them entered the small, empty anteroom. By the scars on the fine wooden walls and the splinters and bits of wood piled in the corners, Connor suspected the woman had good reason to tell people not to break things. He was starting to fear what they would find when they saw Alyth.
Ten minutes later, the door opened and a lovely young woman entered. Ivor, who had been waiting with growing impatience, rushed to her and swept her into his arms.
She did not react. She just stood there, arms at her side, an empty smile on her lips.
Ivor released her and gripped her shoulders. “Alyth? Don’t you remember me?”
She made a little curtsy and said in a sweet voice, “How may I serve you, my lord?”
Ivor took a step back, but continued to hold her hands. He glanced at Mariora. “What’s wrong with her?”
She switched to Student Eighteen. “Mental blocking, perhaps?”
She stepped forward and placed a hand against Alyth’s temples. The young woman did not flinch, move away, or question the move. After a moment’s concentration, Student Eighteen gasped and retreated, one hand going to her mouth.
“What is it?” Ivor demanded.
She shook her head, looking horrified. “She’s gone.”
“What do you mean?” Ivor was looking panicked, his voice rising in pitch. Connor had never seen him so rattled, not during any of the student battles, not when the elfonnel burst into the Carraig, and not even during the battle of Altkalen.
Student Eighteen gestured at Alyth. “Her mind. Her personality. Everything she was is gone. It’s like her mind has been partitioned, but the part that included everything that used to be her was destroyed. All that’s left is an empty shell, waiting for instruction.”
“No,” Ivor breathed, with tears glinting in his eyes.
“That’s what she’s doing here,” Connor realized, horrified by the thought. “She’s getting re-educated, becoming a ‘worthy servant’.” He gestured back toward the large room and the silent crowds there. “They’re all being . . . rebuilt?”
“No,” Ivor said again in a dazed-looking whisper, shaking his head in denial.
Student Eighteen said gently, “I believe Connor is right.”
“No!” Ivor shouted. “There has to be something left. Maybe the rest of her is hidden away, like what you did with Connor’s memories.”
Student Eighteen shook her head. “I cannot see more. Connor might.”
“But I’m new with chert,” Connor protested. He had no desire to touch Alyth’s mind and see what Student Eighteen had.
“You’ve ascended through the first threshold. Your natural ability already exceeds mine.”
Ivor turned his anguished expression on Connor. “You have to try and see if you can find her.”
He did not want to, but he could not deny Ivor. If Verena was the one with the broken mind, he would try anything and everything to rescue her. Wait, why hadn’t he thought of that before he left Altkalen? Verena’s lingering coma was a problem with her mind. With his new knowledge of chert, could he help her, find her trapped in there?
Could he help Alyth the same way? Was her problem like a waking coma? Suddenly eager, he approached Alyth, gripping his little piece of chert. She turned to him with a blank, friendly smile. It was deeply disturbing. Ivor had mentioned she had a sharp wit and a quick mind, but no sign of that remained. It had all been stripped away.
When he activated chert, his sense of dread deepened. The emotional beat from Alyth was almost non-existent, and her aura was weak and blank, like muddy cream. But Ivor hovered close, looking expectant, so Connor placed a hand on Alyth’s head and tried to make a connection.
There was nothing there. Student Eighteen was right. Alyth’s mind was an empty shell, waiting to be filled. She would take whatever instruction she received and do what she was ordered without question. Connor couldn’t imagine Ivor settling for that. He doubted Ivor could instruct her how to be herself again.
Was that even possible?
Connor frowned and tried to focus deeper, to establish the kind of connection he’d felt with Student Eighteen on the train. Alyth did not resist and his thoughts touched hers with remarkable clarity, but it was like the clarity of a perfectly still loch at dawn. She was empty. He scoured the recesses of her mind, searching for any hidden compartments, any invisible barns full of the junk that used to be Alyth. He found nothing but a barren wasteland.
After a long moment, he dropped his hands, released chert, and simply stared into Alyth’s friendly, empty eyes. What if he touched Verena’s mind and found it broken too? What if her injury had left her a vacant shell like Alyth? The thought horrified him more than thinking she might simply fade away and die before waking up.
“What? Tell me what you felt?” Ivor demanded.
Connor turned to Ivor, at a complete loss for words, wondering how by the Tallan’s name he could ever comfort his friend.
His expression told Ivor enough, and he growled, “No. I refuse to accept it.”
Student Eighteen’s features shivered and softened back to Aifric’s. She gave Ivor a comforting hug.
A woman’s voice spoke from behind them, by the door back to the larger room. “Young people are so full of drama. It is terribly annoying
.”
They spun toward the voice, and Connor’s heart sank.
Queen Dreokt stood in the doorway, regarding them with a curious and annoyed expression.
21
Definitely Not a Good Idea
For a second Connor froze.
Ivor did not.
He launched himself at the queen with a howl of animal rage, white-hot flames erupting from his open mouth. Water exploded out of a barrel on the far side of the room and leaped at her from that side. He had embraced both of his Dawnus tertiary powers in the blink of an eye, and no doubt he could have overwhelmed almost anyone in a couple of heartbeats.
He made it two steps.
Then he simply froze. Connor was just lifting his foot to follow Ivor. When retreat or fear didn’t help, a suicide charge suddenly seemed like a good idea.
He never got the chance.
An invisible weight crashed down over his mind like a landslide. Every muscle suddenly locked up and refused to move. Worse, it crashed through his mind, scattering his thoughts, stealing away his will to fight, and leaving him standing placid and empty-headed.
Before he could even try to fight it, suddenly he could not remember why he wanted to resist. He watched the queen take a step into the room, and he knew he should feel something about her, but he was not sure what.
Ivor remained motionless, but his hands began to quiver just a little. He hissed, “You destroyed Alyth’s mind.”
The queen made a shushing sound. “Softly, my boy. I don’t like the yelling.”
Ivor stilled and spoke again, his voice soft, as if he had fallen half asleep. “I am going to rip out your heart and burn it to ash.”
The queen gave Ivor an approving smile. “That’s much better. We can discuss things like rational adults. I like your spirit, young man. You are one of the few I’ve met who shows real potential.”
When she glanced at Connor, her expression turned disapproving. “I suppose it’s a sign of how low our nation has fallen in my absence that people would look to you as some great treasure.”
The insult sparked a moment of clarity and Connor said, “At least I’m not an old, unburied wreck that really needs to be buried deeper next time.”
An invisible force struck Connor’s mind, buckling his knees and driving him to the floor. He heard himself scream, but felt no pain. Again the heavy weight of her will smothered his conscious thinking, leaving him happily kneeling in front of the magnificent queen.
“That position suits you much better. I should reinstitute mandatory groveling for all of my servants.”
Then she glanced at Aifric and her eyes narrowed in anger. “Did you think to lead this rabble into the heart of my power without any thought that I might assign other servants to watch for new arrivals besides that pack of brainless thugs?” The queen made no gesture, but Aifric simply collapsed at her feet. She fell in a limp pile of limbs.
Dead.
The queen spoke over her motionless body, her tone cold and regal. “No one misrepresents my authority or commits crimes in my domain.”
Aifric was gone, executed in the blink of an eye.
The horror of seeing Aifric die helped Connor throw off the blanket of the queen’s will. He leaped to his feet, tapped granite and lunged, one hand lashing out at her face, hoping to get at least one punch in.
Nope.
She raised one eyebrow in surprise and opened her mouth, but no words came out. Still, his fist stopped a fraction of an inch short of her face. Her will did not blanket his mind again, but his muscles remained frozen. He strained against the invisible bonds, but it was as if his muscles now obeyed a different mind.
Or a different voice.
Student Eighteen had once mentioned that serpentinite could be used as a weapon by ascended Petralists. Connor had a piece of serpentinite in his pocket. He concentrated on it, willing the affinity to open. It came easier when he held the stone in his hand, but desperation helped him make the connection anyway. His senses radiated outward and he became aware of a low-pitched sound emanating from the queen’s partially-opened mouth. It resonated with the muscles of his body, locking them in place.
Connor wrenched at the sounds, hoping to redirect them back against the queen. If he could lock her muscles for a moment, perhaps they could escape.
It worked! The sounds deflected around him for a single glorious heartbeat. His muscles seemed to have built up a lot of energy while they were prevented from moving because his fist lashed out another inch and connected with her jaw.
It was not his best-ever curse punch, but it was driven by so much fear and horror it would have flattened anyone else. Punching the queen felt like punching the side of a mountain. Her jaw moved perhaps the width of one of her graying hairs.
She released serpentinite before he could wrench the sounds back around against her and simply grabbed him by his jacket and lifted him off the floor. Max-tapping granite, Connor beat at her arm to no effect. Her muscles did not swell, she did not transform into a granite-sculpted goddess like Shona or Anika would, but somehow she still completely ignored his futile strikes.
She pulled him a little closer and demanded, “You dare strike the royal person?”
With a negligent flip of her hand, she threw him across the room. He crashed into the wall so hard that he shattered the wooden sheathing. It rained down over him as he staggered to his feet. Behind the wood, the wall was made of solid stone.
Ivor abruptly took a staggering step toward Queen Dreokt, but she stilled him again with a flick of a finger, not even bothering to look at him.
Instead of chasing Connor, the queen gave him an approving nod. “Perhaps you are not a total loss after all. Young and foolish and inexperienced, but yes, there is potential there.”
“Potential to crush your skull,” he shouted, raising his fists, but completely at a loss for how to attack her.
“Why so combative? You’re not the one foolish enough to fall in love with that unworthy servant.” She glanced at Ivor.
The queen’s abrupt changes in demeanor left Connor feeling unsettled, but one glance at the unmoving form of Aifric on the floor rekindled his rage. “You killed my friend,” he shouted.
“You must learn to choose better friends.” Her will touched Connor’s mind again, but did not smother it like last time. Instead it simply slithered across his thoughts, and he realized with horror that she was reading them.
She laughed softly. “Of course I’m reading your mind, boy. The minds of all of my subjects are my property, as are their bodies, their bloodlines, and their lives.” She gestured down at Aifric. “Those who offend me may suffer death. This courier you claim as a friend received a merciful, quick execution.”
So had she killed her before . . . ? Connor cut off the thought before finishing it. He did not want the queen to know about Aifric’s special abilities. It might not matter now that she was gone, but it felt like a final violation for the queen to understand fully the complex life she’d just snuffed out.
The queen gestured toward Alyth. “Others are simply misguided but still retain within them the potential to become worthy servants. Thus, this young woman can still serve me once she is reeducated.”
“Reeducation?” Ivor exclaimed. He managed to take half a step toward the queen, his expression furious. “You wiped out her mind and everything that made her who she was.”
“Of course I did. It was unworthy.” She sounded surprised that he did not understand.
She stepped closer to him and touched his chin with her forefinger. He looked like he wanted to bite it, but she denied him the ability to move. “Then there are the rare individuals with real promise, like yourself, my dear Ivor. You are one who possesses a strong, nimble mind, who needs only to swear fealty to join the highest ranks of my servants,”
“I prefer killing you.”
She chuckled. “You will come around in time, or if that stubborn will of yours proves too intractable, I will simply break it and
use you anyway. Consider well your choices.”
The queen turned back to Connor and considered him for a moment. “Wiping your mind would prove easier, but there are aspects to your affinities that might be dampened as a result. So the question is, how best to prepare you for worthy service?”
Her mind touched his again. Connor hated that she could so easily steal his thoughts. So he tapped chert. The pulse of her mind was like a deep, bass drum, washing over him like a flood tide. Her entire being glowed with a golden hue, like a distant sunrise burning through morning mist. He tried to focus his own thoughts and somehow push hers away. He was not sure what he was doing, or if it would help, but he had to do something.
She made a disgusted sound and stepped close, gripping his chin in her hand and tilting it up so she could look into his eyes. “I suppose it’s a good sign that you’ve at least touched chert, but you are less than useless with it. You have no training whatsoever.”
“Well why don’t you teach me how to do it so you can see how it feels?”
She ignored the comment, but her thoughts again invaded his, brushing aside his weak attempt to protect himself, and churning through his mind like a housewife might whip cream into butter. Thoughts and memories whirled, too fast for him to grasp what she was doing.
She shook her head after a moment. “You have no idea what you’re doing most of the time. You’re like a child with a sword, but all you can think to do with it is slice apples.”
“Sliced apples are great if you turn them into pies,” Connor said. He had to say something, or the terror chilling him to the bone would freeze him solid and immovable.
Then she abruptly laughed. “Kilian, Master of the Arcane? What a foolish outlook you have on life.”
He had to resist. If she was going to read his mind, maybe he could give her something unexpected to read.
Focusing his thoughts was like trying to lift the river barge onto the shore without the aid of granite, but he threw himself into the attempt with all his remaining willpower. It might be a foolish gesture, but it was all he could do, so he gave it everything he had. An image began to form in his mind with agonizing slowness, but he focused on it and willed it to completion.