“Oh, Captain DeMorra,” Borreal said and she turned back to him. “I almost neglected to mention, the first investigations have been concluded. The two men died within the hour they were discovered and the only thing missing was an old research journal of Dr. Ahriman’s.”
“Dr. Ahriman? Well that’s ominous. Still, I don’t see why someone would have wanted that. His interesting findings have all been documented.”
Borreal looked hard at her, “Then we must ask why someone was looking for something no one else considered interesting.”
He bowed to her then turned to go.
Dahlia watched him, thinking. Ahriman had been head of research when she had first joined the force. Cold and pitiless, his published experiments on prisoners had toed the line of unethical. When his hidden research and experiments had been unearthed it became clear he had no problem taking a large step over that line and into inhumane. He’d been banned, denied access to his library, and held in prison until his trial and subsequent exile.
She wandered back towards her barrack, lost in thought. All Ahriman’s useful research had been integrated into more palatable methods, finalized, and documented. None of it necessitated stealing, it hadn’t been a closely guarded secret. It seemed an odd thing to go after.
As she approached the path to the main area of her own barrack she heard shouts and a jumble of voices down the road, around the building just inside Barrack Nine. She rushed over to see soldiers holding a man, a book, and a dead body in the center of a circle formed by a large number of onlookers.
She saw the restrained man struggle and deal a kick to the knee of one captor and then a headbutt to the other. He moved remarkably quickly. She felt her trap snap shut and the man fell rooted to the ground, the word “traitor” branded on his forehead. She began to push forward through the crowd but before she got much closer to the man an enormous form parted the crowd opposite her and entered the ring around the man and the soldiers. Captain Ravin stood facing the traitor struggling against her binding, dressed only in loose pants and an open shirt. He glanced at the two men on the ground that the traitor had incapacitated.
“What’s this?” His voice was husky with amusement.
The one who had taken a kick to his knee struggled up, “Captain, we found Macada standing over Shann’s body trying to pull this book out of his hands.”
Ravin chuckled, “Good, the book matches one stolen by our killer. And someone’s gone and branded his crime across his fucking head.”
Macada struggled to his feet. The man must have been well trained and have a powerful shield on him to fight her binding. He turned and tried to flee but Ravin’s men stood fast. Macada slashed at them, almost too fast for Dahlia to follow but they took the hits and kept pushing him back. Ravin laughed and the man at his right waved his hand to the men blocking Macada’s escape. The traitor was pulled back to the middle of the circle.
“I call that a confession and escape attempt, don’t you?” Ravin roared.
The men surrounding them roared back in assent.
“Well, traitor, if you’re up to attacking my men, stabbing them in the back, perhaps you’re feeling up to facing me.” Ravin grinned broadly, and he eyed Macada like a cat with a young bird. “You won’t last long, but you can try.”
Shit. Dahlia could see what was happening but she couldn’t stop it. Ravin had turned the crowd of soldiers into a mob and stirred up their appetite for blood.
Macada stood up straight and faced Ravin, “I am Macada Adator, Lieutenant of the the Emperor’s Forces. You are nothing but filth and I will see you bleed.”
Ravin grin stretched wider. “Well aren’t you formal. That’s cute. Hope you last a couple minutes, I’m dying for a decent fight. You should know me already. I’m Captain Kenneth Ravin and I’m gunna stick you like a fuckin pig.” His growl was savage and tinged with anticipation.
Members of the crowd jeered and roared. Macada darted in, Dahlia’s “traitor” branding still vivid on his forehead. Ravin dodged, laughing as Macada’s fast strikes whistled by him, missing their mark.
“That all you got, boy? You’re gunna fuckin die,” he taunted.
Dahlia was impressed in spite of herself. Macada was exceptionally fast and Ravin was dodging him effortlessly. He hadn’t even bothered to draw his own sword.
Visibly shaken, Macada swept a kick at Ravin’s ankle using the momentum to swing at his head as well in a desperate, all-or-nothing strike. Dahlia’s eyes widened as Ravin didn’t bother dodging. Macada’s shin connected with his ankle and Ravin just stood there, didn’t move, didn’t even seem to feel it. He caught the blade in his bare hand and bent it. Macada’s mouth gaped open.
“You’re pathetic,” Ravin spat out then moved to draw his long sword. In a blur of motion he ran the man through, burying the blade up to its hilt.
He twisted the sword then whipped the blade back out and watched as Macada fell and lay coughing blood at his feet. More blood splattered across Ravin’s face and arm and trickled down his chest, catching on the scars. Dahlia had never seen anyone move like that, his raw physicality was surreal. Macada had been fast but she hadn’t even been able to follow Ravin’s movements.
His soulless black eyes were bright with a savage fervor. Towering over the jeering crowd around him he looked like some heathen god of war; brutal, overwhelming. As merciless and uncaring as a force of nature. She felt her breath catch at the sight and a rush burned through her. She found her body responding to something primal and dark her mind wouldn’t acknowledge.
Ravin held his long sword up by the hilt then he brought his tongue to the top of the blade and tasted blood. His gaze fell on Dahlia and the feral sensation running through her body grew. As their eyes met she felt as if a chain running through her core had been yanked towards him. He pulled his tongue, thick with red liquid, back into his mouth and grinned at her. Canines, long and pointed like a carnivore’s, on display.
The group roared again and called out. Ravin turned back to the dying man and kicked him into waiting hands. “Worthless. Keep him alive. But only just.” Then he turned on his heel with his lieutenants and walked away.
Dahlia recovered herself and looked around but Macada was gone. She needed to find him. She didn’t trust the mob to keep him alive and he could have the information they desperately needed.
She ran straight into Borreal.
“Borreal,” she gasped, “what are you doing here?”
“Same as you I imagine, heard the crowd and came to see what happened.”
“That man,” Dahlia spat out, “they have him and I don’t trust that they’ll keep him alive.”
“Already on it. I grabbed some saner men at the edge of the crowd and ordered them to grab him. He’s on his way to the infirmary. I suggest you go back and make sure that all the members of your barrack stay put. I don’t need Ravin starting a riot. I’ll head to the infirmary and send a man to my barracks to do the same.”
Dahlia frown, nodded, and took off. Borreal was right, the captains needed to restore order immediately.
She was relieved to find her barrack calm and most of the members present. Being so close to Barrack Nine, most them must have made it in time to catch Ravin’s finale. Sabir, delayed in getting to the infirmary, had collared a number of them and restored order after the brutal display.
She hurried back to her room, separate from the others, to check the results of her trap. She should have an exact copy of his thoughts from the moment it sprung.
She caught a shadow out of the corner of her eye as she reached her door.
“Thought I sensed your work on the branding. It was a nice touch.”
She turned to find Ravin leaning against a column. His flat, black eyes focused intently into hers. Dahlia was struck again by how his scar turned him from handsome to savage. His shirt was still open, exposing his broad chest painted with blood from the fight. As she met his eyes she felt the almost physical sensation of being drawn to him.
Refusing to show any sign of intimidation to this demon she relaxed her shoulders and forced her face into a neutral expression.
“Kenny. What are you doing here?”
He grinned at her and Dahlia felt her heart rate pick up, “What, not Captain Ravin?”
“You don’t deserve that recognition at the moment, you almost started a riot.” She tried her best to sound like a teacher lecturing no one more consequential than a naughty boy.
“I boosted the men’s morale and captured a dangerous criminal,” he countered, still grinning.
“In the most brutal and spectacular fashion you could come up with and that still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” she shot back, her insane reaction to him distracting her from keeping her temper.
“You liked it. I could tell,” he didn’t move, just stayed as still as death, focused on her.
“You seem to have confused your bloodlust with something else,” she dismissed him.
His voice grated out, slow and deliberate, “No, I don’t think I have. People think I’m a brute, an animal. Maybe I am. I could smell the fear, the defiance on that boy. And I could sense your reaction. You loved watching his life drain out on my hand. It turned you on. Now that I’m closer, I can smell it still clinging to you.”
Dahlia took a calm breath. She was annoyed with herself. The man was mentally part beast and not someone she should have any reaction to. “That’s one of my favorite parts of being human, we don’t have to act on instinct.”
“So you’re interested but wish you weren’t?” His gravelly voice was again thick with amusement.
“Kenny.” Dahlia put a warning tone into her voice. This huge man intimidated her but she didn’t intend to let him keep pushing.
He moved then, a transition from dead stillness to motion as swift and unstoppable as a tide, but he didn’t come any closer to her. Instead he turned to walk past her, up the path. Without pausing, he shot over his shoulder, “Think about it, I’ll be back.”
It held more promise than warning. She hated that a small thrill ran through her as she watched him go, the power in every line of his body carelessly displayed as he walked.
Chapter Six
Dahlia closed the door behind her and let the emotions she’d been pushing down swarm over her: tension, arousal, discomfort. She was about to take a look at her trap and she needed her mind calm and balanced. Suppressed emotions and experiences had a way of bubbling up during work and she didn’t need her deranged reaction to Ravin showing up in anything she presented to Borreal or Mazaran. Fine. She tried to relax and let go, not fret over it. The pressure on her psyche mostly vanished and she breathed more easily.
She lit the perimeter of candles so she could remove the effort of holding her shield and then began her meditation. If much of her power came from her mind then it needed to be as clear as her workspace. As she focused and centered her awareness she felt the tension fall away. As she sat and steadied herself she felt the her inner conflict resolve and she was able to accept and let go. Her mind finally quieted and she was ready to begin.
She collected the mirror, sat back on her heels, and pulled at the energy within it. It connected back to the energy she held and she began to watch the scenes. She watch Macada’s memories: his reflection of Shann’s death, his loyalty to his emperor. Well, at least Ravin hadn’t incapacitated the wrong man.
She sifted through, trying to find a reason for Macada’s interest in the research journal but every path she followed led her nowhere. She suspected he didn’t have the ability himself to hide it so whatever it was he either truly had no idea or it had been skillfully masked from any mental trap that searched for it.
She found something hidden on the edge of his memories and tried to edge towards it from the side, watching it from the corner of her eye. She drew closer and got a vision of a wall made of sand before it collapsed again, taking the thought with it. Skillfully hidden, then. She tried again with the same result.
She felt her frustration building, paused, took a moment just to breathe and then let it go. Frustration wouldn’t help her. Instead she began bundling the thoughts and memories into a linear pattern Borreal and Mazaran could review.
Chapter Seven
The trial was a simple affair, having been classified as military treason and high risk. Captain Mazaran’s decision would be the sole and final. Dahlia was present, holding the ball she’d created from the memories contained in her mirror as evidence. Borreal, as head of investigation, was present along with Ravin as the captain who had captured him. Dahlia resolutely ignored him and didn’t see him pay any particular attention to her. At least he was fully clothed this time.
Mazaran’s first lieutenant held Macada, bound and gagged, while Traedon, as Borreal’s officer, took notes for the investigation along with an official scribe from the courts.
Macada looked much the worse for wear. He’d been stripped, cleaned, and clothed but bruises showed above the collar of his rough shirt and he was in obvious pain. Dahlia imagined Ravin’s order to keep him alive, but only just, had been enthusiastically followed with limited healing provided.
“Captain Ravin, report the circumstances under which you took this man into custody.”
Ravin came forward, “My men found the prisoner with our soldier’s body and the missing research journal. They brought him to me at which point the brand he currently bears appeared. He attacked them then attempted to flee. When more of my soldiers blocked him he issued a challenge to me, announcing himself as a lieutenant of the emperor’s forces.”
“Thank you, Captain Ravin.” Mazaran nodded his head in acknowledgement and Ravin stepped back.
“Captain DeMorra, your evidence against this man, please,” Mazaran’s voice rang out through the hall.
Dahlia stepped forward, uncovering the glowing gold ball she had concealed beneath a black cloth. “Captain Mazaran, I set a trap with three-fold effect if it were to detect anyone with thoughts treasonous to our force and memories of a murder of a member of the force. It would first capture and record the person’s mind at the time these memories were detected. Next it would bind the person to the ground. Then finally it would brand them to make identification easier.”
“All of these happened. I’ve reviewed the prisoner’s thoughts and memories and arranged them for you. The memories are straightforward and speak for themselves. There are two areas of concern for me. One, I cannot access the reason behind his treachery. Every time I attempted to access this component I encountered a strong psychic concealment. Second, he was able to fight off my binding surprisingly quickly. Given that he shows no other signs of exceptional mental ability I would like to express my opinion to you that he has someone who has aided him who does possess a strong ability.”
Mazaran’s face remained neutral though she knew she’d just given him the worst case scenario, an ally involved rather than an isolated spy.
“Thank you, Captain DeMorra, please present the memories you arranged.”
Dahlia bowed her head, focused, and held the ball aloft. It began to run through Macada’s thoughts and memories present at the time of Shann’s death. They witnessed the shock he’d had when he found Shann with the research journal, though it was obvious to an outside observer that Shann didn’t know the significance. They witnessed his panic, the importance of the journal, Shann’s murder. They heard his treason echo from his mind. Then they watched Dahlia’s attempts to approach the background memory of the motivation, the reason behind the journal’s importance. They saw the wall appear and dissolve. Then the vision faded and the gold ball returned to emitting only a faint glow.
“This seems very conclusive,” Mazaran intoned. “The prisoner is hereby branded as a traitor to be held indefinitely until he admits his guilt, reveals all, and asks for his sentence.”
“Captain Borreal, you are authorized to use force to extract any information and to retain someone with the ability to divine truth from lies. Given the unknown quali
ty of the work that has been done on his mind to conceal motives and enhance resistance I would ask Captain DeMorra to verify what you recover from him.”
Captain Borreal bowed low, “Captain Mazaran, it will be done.” He motioned to Traedon who placed the notes in his pocket and relieved Mazaran’s lieutenant of the prisoner. Half carrying, half pushing Macada, he followed as Borreal swept out.
Mazaran inclined his head to Dahlia and Ravin, “Captains, thank you for your assistance in this matter. The trial is concluded and you are free to go.”
Dahlia bowed and they left the room.
Ravin turned to her outside the building and bowed at the waist, a perfect gentleman. “Captain.”
Then he turned and walked off towards his barracks, displaying a flash of his broad grin.
Dahlia covered her surprise and continued on. She’d expected him to say something, acknowledge his advances the previous day or even continue them. But it seemed the man had decided to be enigmatic. She decided not to worry about it. Why borrow trouble when it was sure to come soon enough?
She walked down the path, clearing her mind of what she’d witnessed and the worry she’d held that there was at least one other traitor in their midst. It was undoubtedly the worst case. It could just as readily been an outside agent that had worked on Macada’s mind before he infiltrated their force.
Traedon appeared beside her. His soft footsteps masked by the noises of a summer night and they fell in step together.
“I could use something to wash the taste of that scene out of my mouth,” he said.
“I had imagined you’d remain with your captain.”
“He’s left as well. He placed a guard with the instructions not to let the traitor sleep. He’ll send people to start working on him tomorrow.”
“What are you drinking?” she asked him.
Traedon smiled, “Whatever you like.”
“Something strong.”
Dahlia: A Novel of Dark Desire Page 3