by T. A. Miles
“I saw him once. At the battle for Eastmark.” There came a pause, as if the man needed a space to shudder while rehashing images of this ‘Master’. “He looks human enough at a glance, but see the eyes and know he’s not. Cold and colorless as ice.”
Korsten thought helplessly of Renmyr and felt his eyes ache with dry tears. He had seen his lover’s gaze so cold. A part of him would like to have seen it again, even now. If the pain blinded him and he could see nothing else …
“It gave me chills like you can’t imagine to meet that demon’s gaze,” Vel continued. “Even knowing we were on the same side.”
“How long b’fore we ain’t?” the other said. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Yes, and I don’t like the way Lord Alsaide is giving out all of the orders, as if General Shalex isn’t even here. We captured the mage. He should be ours to question, as we see fit.”
“Well now, Vel. Can’t say as I’m opposed to some of the fun the demon lad’s been letting us have with Red.”
“You’re drunk, Kervis,” the one called Vel dismissed. “Even when you’re sober.”
“You’d understand if you played a bit with ‘im.”
“It takes more than beauty to interest me. It takes a woman, in fact.”
“Which we got none of at the moment, I’ll remind ya, Vel. I admit that I only had plans to watch the Edrinorian scum get his dues, but seein’ him with that red hair and put together so delicate….”
“I don’t want to hear it, Kervis,” Vel interrupted, sounding suitably disgusted. In a moment, he added, “Poor bastard. I’m not sure that even an Edrinorian magic user deserves this kind of treatment.”
“Maybe you didn’t have any friends die at Lilende,” Kervis grumbled.
Conversation on the other side of the door ceased for several minutes. The guards didn’t speak again until it was time to greet an arriving superior. Korsten felt sick, knowing what would come. The demonic youth would offer him another chance to betray his country and his fellow mages. Korsten would refuse with silence and the soldiers would be let back in. He’d had to put up with three such sessions of abuse since his capture. Alsaide seemed less genial with each visit. Korsten didn’t know how things could get worse, but he feared the demon’s cruelty. Alsaide wouldn’t kill him, in spite of his threats. He wouldn’t let the soldiers kill him either. He would constantly think of some other way to torture.
The cell door opened and closed. A brief silence preceded the demon lord’s words. “I am beginning to lose patience with you. And my Master is beginning to take interest. I can tell you that he loathes distraction. He has a war to manage and no pity for his enemies. He will show you the depths of Hell before it is over. This … what you’ve endured thus far … is nothing to compare. I promise you.”
Korsten closed his eyes and held his silence.
“How many mages are there left at the Seminary?” Alsaide asked briskly. “How is it that your blood tastes shallow? What tricks have the ancients come up with to shield their souls from us?”
Korsten felt the demon’s presence move across the room. Alsaide was standing in front of him now, his impure blood practically boiling in his anger. Korsten could feel that better than the demon’s hand as it suddenly whipped across his face. “Answer me! How many of you are there? Is Ashwin still alive?”
Ashwin. Korsten opened his eyes without thinking, cursing himself in the same instant.
The edges of Alsaide’s mouth lifted in a faint smirk. “He is, then. That’s wonderful news. I’ll share it with Master Renmyr. Perhaps he won’t have to come visit you after all.”
Korsten could feel the confused anguish in his features in that moment. Gods, no … it’s a lie. Renmyr would never turn against Edrinor. And if he knew … if he thought that I was here … he wouldn’t let this happen. I know he wouldn’t.
Korsten was able to cry now as he failed to convince himself that there was any virtue at all left in Renmyr, who he still loved. No matter what had happened or what might happen, he was convinced that the Vadryn were entirely to blame. Demons had taken Renmyr from him. They had taken everything from him but his feelings. They couldn’t take away how he felt about Renmyr, how he would always feel, so long as he could look back and see the man over the demon.
“Yes, cry for Ashwin,” Alsaide purred, reading Korsten’s tears wrongly. “His suffering shall far exceed yours. You wouldn’t recognize the level of pain we have in mind for him. You’ve barely touched the surface of it. And now, I’ll ask you again; How many mages are left at the Seminary?”
Korsten didn’t hear him. He closed his eyes against the sting of tears and thought of the world he’d known before the Seminary.
It was dark when Korsten opened his eyes. He didn’t feel any pain, but he knew he had begun to feel numb to it. He had lost track of the days since his capture. Maybe it had been weeks or months. He couldn’t say how long he’d been left alone after his last visit from his captors. He knew it was only a matter of time before they would come back, though. And then it would start again; all of them taking turns, the others cheering their fellow on, laughing at Korsten’s pleas for them to stop, striking him when he cried out … if they weren’t already beating him. When one group became bored, another would come. It was only when Korsten lost consciousness that they seemed to lose interest. They must have, because he always woke up alone.
Alone … Where are you Renmyr? I hear them talk of you. The Master, they call you, as if you are some manner of god to them. They fear and respect you. You can stop them. If you’re a part of this, then you must know that … but you can’t. You would never allow this. I believe, after our last encounter, that you would kill me yourself, but you still love me, Ren. You wouldn’t let them … hurt me like this.
Alsaide’s cruel voice rose in the passage beyond. Korsten had begun to panic, hearing it. He was coming to his limit now. The stubborn hope that had kept him waiting this long had finally been crushed by despair. It was guttering now, like a dying flame. Ren, where are you?
Korsten opened his eyes, again without knowing how long he’d been unconscious. His abusers almost never left him until they’d completely spent him, until he scarcely had the energy to breathe, let alone to move or speak. He’d stopped provoking them some time ago, though he didn’t know why. It didn’t make the beatings less, but it seemed to frustrate them more that their plaything would no longer play with them. He hung from his bindings limp as a rag doll, bleeding incessantly. He should have been dead by now. He felt utterly drained. Even if he managed to free himself, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to cast a spell. His last hope was the magicked ball of silver in his body, that he had moved very near to his heart a while ago, when he still had the energy to perform such a feat. He couldn’t say why he had waited so long to finish the task. It must have been some meager hope left in him, making him hesitate before ending the life he’d allowed to drag on for far too long. He’d accomplished nothing as a mortal and precious little as a mage. Merran could have protected Lilende without him.
I was a burden you never wanted. I apologize for all the trouble I’ve caused you, and Ashwin.
He might have cried, but he didn’t have any tears left. He was dehydrated, completely used up. It must have been his magic keeping him alive this long, but how much longer? Korsten didn’t want to find out.
The cell door came open.
Forgive me, Analee. I must place one last burden upon you.
Korsten closed his eyes against his view of the butterfly, looking resigned and unhappy in the shadows where she clung relentlessly to the cold stone wall. He sought the silver inside him and considered the shape that would best and quickest pierce his heart. He decided on the method and….
A hand clapped over his mouth from behind. “Quiet now,” someone whispered while Korsten strained to see the individual. “I’ve got Kervis drunker
than even he’s used to, but he’s still liable to decipher sounds. I’m not here to harm you, in spite of my dislike for you. I just want to give you some water.”
The man’s hand slid away. The guard came around into Korsten’s view and for the first time he had a face to put to the name Vel, the humane one. He was still an enemy, though, and there was a deep frown upon his sturdy jaw while he sunk a dipper into the bucket of water he’d brought and lifted it to Korsten’s lips.
Korsten didn’t want it. He planned not to drink, but his mouth rebelled, opening automatically when the cool liquid made contact with his parched lips. It spilled down his chin and splashed onto his chest while he struggled to take in as much as he could. He felt better than he had in countless days with just that small amount of nourishment.
“Gods, it isn’t decent,” Vel murmured. “Treating anyone this way, enemy or not. I’m ashamed of my people. Not enough to sympathize with you too much, but enough to say that it’s the presence of the demons that makes us behave like beasts rather than men. You may deserve execution, or to die on the battlefield under a Morennish blade, or lifelong imprisonment, but not this. But you do have some strength in you … to have endured such abuse for as long as you have. I’d have bit my own tongue off same day as just one devious bastard even thought of….”
Vel stopped himself, glancing up at Korsten while offering more water, which was accepted a little less desperately this time. “I suppose I’m not the type to give them such ideas. Maybe after you acquire enough bruises you won’t be either.” He hesitated plunging the dipper into the bucket a third time. His dark eyes studied Korsten for a moment, meeting his gaze. “Are you afraid to do it? To bleed yourself to death? If you are … I can maybe pilfer a bit of Lord Alsaide’s … well I’m not sure of everything he keeps in his chambers, but I know he’s fascinated with toxins. Any one of them is bound to kill you, I’d bet.”
Korsten just looked at his enemy, startled by his compassion, but maybe not grateful. How many people of Edrinor had he killed? How many had suffered through his efforts, either directly or indirectly? Yes, their countries were at war and during times of war people died, but Morenne had attacked Edrinor, not the other way around. Morenne was to blame for the death toll on both sides. It was their war, their invasion into land that was not theirs to take.
In Korsten’s silence, the guard dropped the dipper into the bucket and nodded solemnly. “All right. I don’t expect you to appreciate what I’m offering, but I make the offer sincerely. My shift is nearing its end now, but I’ll return tomorrow if I can. If you’re ready to die….” Casting Korsten one last serious stare, Vel went to the door. He added, “Think it over.”
Korsten had thought it over. His mind was already made up. So why am I not dead?
The question went unanswered as sounds of a scuffle rose in the passage outside Korsten’s cell. He tried to look over his shoulder, but to no avail. His muscles ached too much for that kind of movement. Maybe Kervis had discovered Vel acting on his sympathy for an enemy and attacked his fellow guard.
Whatever was happening, it wasn’t any of Korsten’s concern, until the cell door opened once again. Somewhat rejuvenated from the water, Korsten was alert enough that he could instantly feel what the newcomer wanted. It wasn’t Kervis or Vel, but the same man who first satisfied himself at Korsten’s expense, who had recently become the last to satisfy himself during any given session with the guards after recovering from the kick Korsten had delivered him. Apparently, he didn’t want to wait for another gang assault and he was currently too drunk to fear any punishment from Alsaide or his commanding officer.
“We’re goin’t’have some time t’ourselves now, lovely,” the man said. He was intoxicated enough to slur his words, but not to hamper his movement or suppress his desire. Korsten recalled the silver currently in his chest, but he wasn’t able to concentrate when the larger man suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and brought their mouths together savagely. Korsten could feel the brute’s teeth pressing against his jaw. His breath was foul and made Korsten gag, even as the man was kissing him. The guard pulled away and backhanded him.
“Still have it in your pretty head that you’re too good, do ya?” The man displayed a key while Korsten gasped for fresher air, then began to unlock his binds. “Tonight’s gonna be different.” He caught Korsten’s wrist as it was released, then unlocked the other manacle, and promptly threw him to the floor. Before Korsten could recover, the brute took his arm again and twisted it behind his back, pulling him upright by his hair. He transferred the hair-pulling hand to Korsten’s throat and squeezed, successfully cutting off his air. The guard’s hand remained clamped long enough for Korsten’s vision to begin to blacken. And then he released him, pushing him down again, leaving him choking and barely clinging to consciousness.
When he could finally breathe again, Korsten lay still, his throat aching, and felt the shackles come off his ankles. His assailant turned him over afterward and lowered. Korsten lifted one hand, and in the very instant got it pinned to the floor, so hard it felt as if his wrist had been broken in the process. Maybe his wrist had been broken long ago and he was only just now feeling it. He didn’t know, but pain, whether old or new, wasn’t holding him hostage for yet another assault. With sudden energy, Korsten seized a fistful of the man’s tunic with his free hand, planning to pull him down to him and give the sword inside of him shape in such a way as to kill them both. Startling his assailant, he might have succeeded in that plan if someone else’s arm hadn’t locked around the larger man’s neck just then.
Vel proceeded to drag his fellow guard back, off of Korsten, who lay virtually motionless as pain and exhaustion returned. He heard the ensuing struggle better than he saw it and he knew now that this was his last best opportunity. He wanted to die now. He wanted it to be over. He couldn’t withstand anymore. His body was so traumatized that he could still feel what his tormentors had done to him the last time. The pain inside hadn’t gone away any quicker than the pain without. He had almost no strength left and certainly no will. He didn’t want to live with his recent memories, even if it were an option.
Oblivious to the fight carrying on between the guardsmen, Korsten cursed his predecessor for what she’d given him. In the next instant, he thought of the lily garden. “Her name was Adrea,” he heard Ashwin say, and then he wanted to weep, but he didn’t. He simply stared into the empty space beside him, trying to envision his mentor there with him, comforting with just his voice whenever Korsten avoided his touch. Maybe he avoided it too much in the past. That touch had never been forced. It had never taken from Korsten, nor had it hurt him or lied to him.
Ashwin loved him … romantically, as the conversation had gone not so very long ago … and enough that he refused to take Korsten’s broken heart, even when it was offered to him. My dear friend, you’re far more virtuous than you know. And I wish that you were here with me now, because I know that you care about me, as me, and that you would shelter me in that caring. I never really wanted to die alone, but perhaps I have always known that there would never be a place for me in Ren’s arms when that time came.
Korsten no longer felt trapped in his cell. He felt suddenly lost in a sky of infinite depth. There was sunlight in that sky, but he could not see it or feel it. He would never know that warmth again. He regretted that more than he ever thought he would.
Ashwin lay alone in his chambers. The darkness seemed to be falling on him throughout the night and he felt its weight by morning. He hadn’t slept even a moment, not since Merran’s return. He hadn’t even eaten in his state of worry and anger. It was only because he’d been at the Seminary for so long that he could endure like this, but it couldn’t last forever. Magic couldn’t sustain a body indefinitely. Eventually, even one so old as him would be claimed by mortal needs neglected. He was killing himself with fear and despair … and that was how he knew.
He had found the
one great love of his unnaturally extended life. He had been in love before, deeply. But he had waited lifetimes to feel like this, to need someone more than life. He needed Korsten in that way, in spite of the distance that had always been between them. He would sacrifice all the centuries behind him and any that may have been left to him just to see Korsten safe again, to know that a visit to the garden wouldn’t be another lesson in agony as he waited, dreading Analee’s lone return.
After weeks that felt like centuries to one who had previously forgotten what time felt like, Ashwin lay in his bed, his robes wrapped around him. The bedding was rumpled beneath him after yet another night of turning, attempting vainly to make himself comfortable in his misery. There was no comfort to be had and he wished his underlings would stop trying to comfort him.
The mattress sank to one side of him with the weight of someone insistent on bothering him with food or drink, or sympathy … all of which he planned to refuse. He moved to do so, but froze when the individual slid next to him with effort that could be felt. A hand loosely clutched his robe and also his hair, and Ashwin felt his entire body shudder with too many emotions to accurately label. The individual’s face pressed against his back and a weak voice whispered into him, moving through him like a delicate wine, that at once calmed and warmed. But a panic chased the sensation through his blood at the same time, inspiring him to move finally.
“Please … lie still,” Korsten begged, sounding little more than exhausted.
Ashwin knew otherwise. He could feel the pain Korsten wouldn’t acknowledge and the fear that lingered moments after he’d escaped the source of that fear. He had Reached from wherever his captors were holding him. He was hurting everywhere.
Ashwin couldn’t lie still. He had to turn over and see what had been done to Korsten. The sight of the young mage, bleeding in his bed, injured so terribly that he’d lost the ability to maintain even effortless spells, brought instantaneous tears to Ashwin’s eyes. His breeches were all that remained to him, and they were heavily stained, a match for his once-fair skin, now bruised and split, crusted in dried blood. It was a miracle that he wasn’t dead, proof of his strong will. Unfortunately, that too was spent. Korsten had carried himself as far as he was going to.