by Phil Tucker
The space around him was so vast that his voice didn't even echo; it simply disappeared into the dark.
"Aedelbert!"
He thought he heard a hissing, as if Aedelbert was afraid, then saw movement as a small shape flitted into the tunnel and away. Audsley blinked, not understanding. Then it hit him: Aedelbert had run away from him. Perhaps the firecat could sense the evil within him now. Perhaps Aedelbert was afraid of him now.
Anguish ran through Audsley. He wanted to call out, to chase his dearest friend. Reason with him, try to make his little mind understand. He took a half dozen steps, prepared to launch himself into flight and pursuit - then stilled. No. He couldn't chase Aedelbert. Not like this. Not as polluted as he had become.
The pain was terrible, an actual spasm in his chest. He placed his hand over his heart, marveling that he should literally be feeling heart ache. Audsley knew that if he dwelt on his new condition, he might lose his weakening grip on his self-control, perhaps even his sanity. Instead, he felt his mind beginning to pick up speed, generating questions, cataloging information, referencing what he had already learned and preparing itself to learn more. Shoving his emotions down and out of sight.
If you unleash enough fire, do you die?
The Zoeian woman laughed. That will never happen.
What ranks are you?
He could almost feel the three of them regarding each other.
I am urth'akak, said the monk.
As am I, said the Zoeian woman.
I am nahkhor'ir, said the Aletheian man quietly, and Audsley felt the other two shiver.
Audsley stood. He opened his torn tunic and studied his smooth belly. Then he patted his knee. Even the scrapes on his palm were gone. Can I regenerate limbs?
Yes, said the monk.
Can I regenerate my head?
No, said the monk.
Audsley nodded. How close did the dashkaar come to opening that prison?
Very close, said the Aletheian man. Did even he sound nervous?
What lies inside it?
A great and terrible power, said the man. An ur-destraas. This time Audsley was certain. He did sound scared.
Can it escape?
No, said the Aletheian. It is not enough to simply damage the binding runes. They must be undone in the correct order.
"Good," said Audsley out loud. What shall I call you?
Silence.
Surely you have names?
No, said the monk.
Hmm, said Audsley. Perhaps I shall name you, then.
We do not need names, or want them, said the Zoeian woman.
I'll be the judge of that.
Audsley took a deep breath, then rose slowly into the air, turning till he was facing the hexagonal tunnel. He had hoped to fly more smoothly, but still he rose in awkward jerks, the effort requiring intense focus. Had he survived that fight? Or had he, in the most important sense of the word, died? Audsley didn't know. He didn't even really know who he was any longer.
Left to travel without his closest companion, he flew forward and disappeared into the tunnel.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Iskra's every request had been ignored by her escort, possibly due to their not understanding Ennoian. They hadn't bound her hands, but that was as much an indication of how powerless she was as any courtesy; flanked by six armed men, each almost twice her weight and trained to wield their blades with finesse, she didn't waste a second entertaining a flight like Tiron's. In large part her hopes now rested with him, which spoke to the desperation of her situation. What could a man even as resourceful and determined as Ser Tiron do while he was being hunted in a city he didn't know and where he couldn't speak the language?
They descended rapidly into the bowels of the palace. Iskra bit back a final demand to see the emperor himself, relinquishing the last feeble hope that she might be taken to an audience immediately where she could protest her innocence. A dungeon, then. That did not bode well; distinguished personages were often kept imprisoned within their own apartments, or taken to a more secure yet still luxurious suite of rooms on the chance that should they be proven innocent and let go, they would harbor as small a grudge as possible against their captors.
The stairwells grew increasingly cramped as they descended to the ground floor then went underground, till at last they were three levels down and following a curved spiral lit by spitting torches that cast a ghastly crimson glow across the rough stone walls. The air grew cool if not damp, and atrocious moans began to filter toward them from the other prisoners.
They reached a landing of sorts where Iskra stopped walking and turned to face the captain of the guard. "I am Iskra Kyferin, Sigean by birth, and I will not be kept amongst common -"
The captain slapped her. He didn't put much force behind the blow, but it was firm and rocked her head to the side, cutting her cheek open on the inside so that the taste of blood filled her mouth. Iskra went rigid with fury. Futile threats rose to her lips, but she bit them back and instead simply straightened with all the august anger she could muster and glared at the man, who seemed indifferent to her wrath. He pointed past her toward a hall, and when she turned to look he pushed her shoulder. So it was that she came stumbling to her cell.
It was everything a children's tale about an unfairly imprisoned princess could hope for. Isolated at the end of a long hall, it had a curiously small and robust wooden door that opened onto a broad chamber with a natural stone floor and a domed ceiling. The walls were roughly smoothed down and held black iron sconces in which the guards lit torches. Iskra was pushed against the wall and there had actual shackles clamped around her wrists, with thick iron pins slotted down the side of each one to ensure they remained closed. The shackles were too large, and there was a demeaning exchange between the captain and a man who appeared to be a prison warden which resulted in raised voices till the warden returned with black silk rope which was used to bind her wrists and ankles to the chains.
What manner of cell held live torches? Were Agerastian prisons so crude? There was no pallet for sleeping on, no chair or chamber pot of any kind. This was beyond barbaric. And then two wardens shuffled into the chamber carrying a table between them on which were piled cruel and wicked cutting instruments, and Iskra's breath stilled.
This wasn't her cell. This was an interrogation chamber. They were planning to torture her.
The prison warden arranged the tools with an expert touch, moved the table back a few inches, surveyed the room with the critical eye of a chamberlain examining the preparations for a feast, then nodded, content. The torches whispered as they burned, and the six guards and their captain remained standing by the door, their backs to her, though occasionally one would glance at her with a curious and hungry look in his eye.
Iskra didn't tug at her ropes. She stared straight ahead. She knew nothing about the Agerastian legal code. Did they even have one, beyond the will of the emperor? If he had ordered her to be questioned until she admitted her guilt, then this was but a formality and she was doomed already.
The door opened and a slender figure in a cloak and hood stepped inside, followed by another six armed men. Not palace guards, but personal protectors of some kind. Iskra noticed a brief flash of tension between her escort and these new men, much like two packs of dogs coming into close contact, and then the figure removed her hood and she saw that it was Ylisa.
"Your Highness! Thank the Ascendant -" Iskra cut herself off. Realization sluiced over her like a bucket of cold water.
"Good evening, Lady Kyferin." Ylisa's voice was breathy with excitement, anticipation – or perhaps it was only simple nervousness. "It is foolish of me to show my face, but after your coy words earlier this evening I couldn't resist. My advisors told me to order you knifed and be done with it. But they are old men with withered hearts, and they think only of victory. But there is more to life than accomplishing your goals with a maximum of efficiency."
Iskra studied the woman. Ylisa's eyes gleam
ed fever bright, her words had come in a rush and her hands were trembling. There was something passionate, almost fanatical about Ylisa's demeanor. The chances of her being manipulated or reasoned with were few.
"There is no need for this," said Iskra, fighting to keep her voice calm. "We can work together to convince your father to end his invasion. We are both on the side of Ascendancy. We both can profit by an alliance."
Ylisa approached slowly, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Is that so? But a few hours ago you were promising my father as much Gate Stone as he could dream of. Why should I trust you when you so quickly change your tune?"
"Why? Because I didn't know you or your faction existed when I came here, I didn't know that it was possible to save my son and remain true to my principles." Iskra's words came out a rush. "I admire your father, but I don't wish to see him succeed. I only wish to return to my home and protect my family."
"Is that so?" Ylisa's smile grew wider. "And why do I need you to help end the invasion?"
"Why?" Iskra's mind raced. "We can work together, combine our message so that your father finds the situation hopeless." A dozen scenarios played through her mind, each discarded as quickly as she formulated it, and to Iskra's horror she realized that in none of them was her continued presence a requirement to the realization of Ylisa's goals. "I can offer you a means to communicate directly with the Ascendant's Grace. I can -" Again she cut off. It was the look in Ylisa's eyes. She wasn't really listening. Hearing her. She was simply enjoying the sight of Iskra begging.
I won't beg. With effort Iskra drew herself up. "You don't care what I have to say."
"No, not really. But it's an unexpected delight to hear you pleading so naively. Perhaps there is some way in which you could help me, but not nearly so much as being discredited as an assassin and making my father appear a credulous fool. But even that political ploy is but a pretext for what is to happen here. In a perfect world you would be mine for seven whole days and nights, but as it is, I doubt I have more than a couple of hours. We shall find a way to make that suffice. Enough can be compressed into that span of time to satisfy me."
Iskra swallowed slowly and carefully so as to give no indication of fear. "Ylisa. Tell me what this is about." She wanted to append a stream of entreaties and requests, promises and threats, but here, alone, all she had was her dignity. She'd hold on to that for as long as she could.
"Your husband and my mother, my dear Iskra." Ylisa stepped in close. "When your lord took Agerastos, my noble father went into hiding. To draw him out, your husband had my mother tortured for seven days and nights in the public square. My father kept me hidden in a series of basements, but I swear, I can still hear her screams in my dreams. It's impossible that I actually heard them, but still." Ylisa shivered visibly, and her smile widened. "I collected a detailed account of all the things your father did to my mother over those seven days. He was... most creative. In a just world, it would be him here with me and not you. But one learns to take what one can."
"I am not Enderl Kyferin," said Iskra coldly.
"No, but you are his wife. You bore his children. You were married to him for how long? Twenty years? You served his table. You lay beside him at night. You no doubt listened to his tales of war and praised him to his guests." Ylisa paused, one fine eyebrow arched. "Am I wrong?"
Pain arose within Iskra's breast, like a mauled and crippled animal limping into the light. "Yes," she whispered. "I did all of those things. I had no choice. I had my children."
Ylisa slapped her with much greater force than the captain had done. "Lies! You had a choice! You could have fled at any time with your children, sought safety with relatives! You could have killed him, killed yourself, done anything! But you didn't. You enjoyed the luxury. You enjoyed the thought of your children one day being little lords and ladies. Perhaps you lied to yourself and said they would turn out like you and not him, but you were content to take his food, his wine, his wealth, his privilege, his cock." Ylisa grabbed Iskra by the chin, fingers cruelly pinching into her cheeks. "You were his whore for two decades despite knowing what he was. That is your crime. And so I'll take my revenge on you."
Ylisa pushed Iskra's face away and stepped back. "I don't expect or need you to understand. I just need you to be strong enough to remain conscious through the next two hours. These twelve men are going to help me. Oh, I know it's not the same as having the thirty or forty men that used my mother, but they will work with a will." She was trembling again. "They say that when your father was done with my mother, so much flesh and skin had been removed that she had lost nearly half her weight before she died. That, I have learned, takes true skill with the blade. I don't pretend to be nearly as skilled as your father, but I am sure you will be impressed by the time I'm done. If anybody is capable of judging, it is you, who knew him best."
Iskra fought the urge to spit out the blood in her mouth. "I thought you believed in Ascension."
"Oh, I do. In my own fashion. It's better than my father's half-hearted attempt to revive a primitive worship of mythological monsters. You can understand that I haven't had a traditional religious upbringing, but I believe the Ascendant will countenance what is to happen here tonight. What your father did to my mother and my country was the darkest of sins. This is not righteous, to be sure, but it is understandable. He will understand."
Iskra smiled contemptuously. "You don't understand anything of which you speak. You believe the Ascendant will 'understand' your torturing me to death? That's pathetic. I am a Sigean, little girl. I was raised in the shadows of Aletheia itself, and I tell you, this act which you are about to commit will damn your soul and those of every man in this room to Bythos if not to the Black Gate itself."
She stood straighter and allowed her voice to deepen with power and her own very real anger and disgust. "My lord husband is gone from the cycle, no doubt cast through the Black Gate and into hell for his thousand crimes. That was his true punishment, and it is what I contented myself with each and every night I was forced to live by his side. Do you think your sordid little revenge here with hot coals and knives and cocks will come close to touching that torment?"
She raked them all with her glare, and even the men who didn't understand her flinched. "Enjoy these two hours of bestial cruelty, and then spend the rest of your life knowing that you will follow my husband into perdition, and spend eternity screaming beside him, knowing that you are no better than he was, that you were his equal, if not in opportunity then at least in intent."
Iskra returned her gaze to Ylisa, who had gone pale, a vein in her neck throbbing, her eyes wide with fury. "Poor little Ylisa. Hiding in a dark little hole to do what she loves best. You know what I think?"
"Shut up," whispered Ylisa.
"I think you enjoy this kind of game all too much. I think sometimes late at night, when you wash the blood from your hands and lips, you must catch yourself in the mirror and think yourself as powerful as my husband was."
"Shut up," said Ylisa, her voice trembling.
"I think even as you hate him, as you burn with a need for revenge, you might deep down admire him. Maybe even understand him. You think that he would have understood you, and seen in you an equal. Well, don't fool yourself." Iskra smiled. "He would have thought you as pathetic as I do."
"Begin," said Ylisa, her face grown hard as stone, her eyes glazed over. She turned to her guard and spat a command in Agerastian at him. Her intent was clear.
Iskra fell silent, her heart thudding, her face flushed, and her righteous indignation and fury reduced to a simmer that then went out as the prison warden ran to the table and hesitated, his hands ghosting over different instruments. Ylisa stepped up and pushed him aside in impatience, snatched up a barbed hook, cast it aside, then grabbed a slender knife no larger than her smallest finger and stepped up to Iskra.
"Here," said Ylisa, and she pressed the flat of the blade hard against Iskra's cheek, right below her eye. "Maybe we'll co
ndense those two hours into just five minutes. Where to begin? Open your mouth. Open it, or I will take out both your eyes."
Iskra clenched her jaw. She wanted to ignore Ylisa, maintain her contempt, but the cold press of the blade against the underside of her eye was terrifying. She licked her lower lip, bit it, then changed her mind and clamped her jaw shut.
Ylisa snapped a command at the warden. She turned back to Iskra. "One of your husband's tools. And one of his messiest techniques. Gum scraping. Oh, yes. Let's see how sharp you are with your tongue when your mouth is filled with flaps of flesh and blood."
Iskra felt her stomach roil and knot up and kept her gaze fixed desperately on the dancing flames of a distant lamp. Then the warden came up with a hideous contraption of black iron, and Iskra couldn't help herself. She looked down at, saw that it was encrusted with blood or rust or both. A moan arose within her, but again she clamped it down. If you scream, she told herself, there is no shame. Just hold on for as long as you can. Hold on. She felt her insides quivering with terror.
The warden muttered to himself as he placed the contraption over Iskra's head, scraping her scalp, and then lodged it around her jaw. He loosened some screws, opened the mouth guard, and then pulled out two disks of metal that Iskra saw were to be inserted through two gaps and into her mouth.
Iskra found herself thinking of her son Rodrick's sweet, innocent face. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. She'd never see him again, hear his laugh, hold him close, tell him how much she loved him, explain what had happened and why. She heard Ylisa laugh at her crying, but she didn't care. Her sweet boy... She'd tried so hard.
I'm sorry, Rodrick. I'm so sorry. I tried. I did everything I could to get back to you.
There were shouts from outside, muffled and distant. The warden and Ylisa turned to the door. More shouts echoed down the hall, then a scream. Ylisa said something in Agerastian, and the captain bowed and opened the door, stepping outside with his men. There were more screams, accompanied by the sound of blades, and Iskra felt a spark of hope. She wanted to call out, to scream, but the contraption held her jaw closed.