by Greg Curtis
“So what happened to this one? He looks a little burnt.”
She picked Simon up by the back of his jacket and lifted him up one handed so that his feet dangled limply while she studied him. Simon just moaned a little as he hung there but didn't struggle. He didn't even open his eyes. But then he was in a bad way. The burns to his legs were extensive and despite Edouard's apparent confidence that he hadn't killed him, he might well die of them. Even if he lived she doubted that Simon would ever walk properly again. If he walked at all.
“Edouard.”
What else was there to say? Though he surely had reason to be angry with his brother, he had gone too far. Gone beyond what either honour or decency permitted. But there was no point talking about it. He wasn't talking. Edouard had left immediately after, heading for his workshop, telling them that under no circumstances was Simon to be allowed into the fort. Not even to heal him. Not unless Tyrel agreed to offer him sanctuary, in which case he was simply to be carried straight through. And they'd had to respect his demands. Edouard was not in a mood to compromise.
After he had left the others had stood there staring at the injured brother as he lay there, crying out in pain and begging for mercy. And though there was shame in standing there and doing nothing, it was all they could do. The lord of the house had spoken and as his guests they were bound to his word.
So they had stood there and watched while Mara had made a hurried visit through the portal to speak with the Mother and tell her of what had passed and what had been offered. It was several hours before she returned with the Mother's words and a deal. That the Mother would offer him his life and healing in return for his knowledge. By then Simon had been almost unconscious. He had woken briefly though when they'd used a few smelling salts to rouse him, and then he'd agreed. He had no choice. Shortly after that Denetta had arrived to carry him through. He would not be able to walk on those blackened legs.
At least Simon was alive, for the moment. He had agreed to the deal that was given him – not that he'd had a choice. He'd had little before Edouard had burnt him, and even less since. After all, he was still stuck outside the fort's walls unable to either enter or leave. Unable to even stand up and probably dying slowly. And all the time the pain of his burns had been tormenting him. He would have agreed to anything to make it stop.
“The tinker? I wouldn't have thought him capable of such malice.”
“Neither would I.”
And that was the sad truth of the matter. She had not understood him at all. Not in all the time she'd known him. At the start Edouard had seemed like such an inoffensive sort. Intelligent, educated and gifted with magic but content to live a pointless existence. A waste of a life but an all too common arrangement among the nobility in these soft lands. Still, he had kept his brother safe from Tyrel's wrath and shown courage in meeting the Honoured Mother despite his obvious fear. There was nobility there and she had liked that.
Then he had had battled the sprigs and she had realised she'd underestimated him. He was far more dangerous than he looked. Those weapons of his were not toys and he wasn't playing. Somewhere lurking under that elegant exterior there beat the heart of a warrior. As one of the Tennari she respected that.
After he had come back from the dungeon however, he had been a changed man. There was something darker in his soul. Something of anger and hatred. He hid it. He pretended to be the man he had been before. But underneath his pretence of civility and behind his light tones and considered words it was there. She had seen it before. In the eyes of those who had been hurt too badly. In trapped and wounded animals that would strike out at anyone. She had seen it in him. And when Simon had come to the fort it had burst loose for all to see.
Just a little bit – and he had somehow contained it. But now she knew that the darkness was close to the surface. Closer than she'd guessed. He was controlling it. Hiding away from the others in his workshop and letting his bitterness consume him instead of simply letting the rage loose in front of everyone. But when things went wrong as they so often did, she knew it would return.
In most people that was a bad thing. In someone from the Severin family where both the givings and the thievings of life seemed to be magnified that was worse. And in someone with both the knowledge of technology and the spark of magic – an arcanist as he called himself – that could be truly terrible.
He would need to be watched.
“Sister, is this the usurper king of Therion?” Denetta had obviously finally realised who Simon was. Kyriel nodded.
“He looks bad. Close to the other side. We should get him to the Mother before he passes.” Denetta gave up on studying the badly injured brother and simply slung him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Simon didn't even seem to notice save to grunt a little in pain.
“Agreed.”
Denetta wandered in through the gate heading for the shrine at the back of the property while Kyriel shut the gate behind them. At least Simon was finally inside the fort, for however long it took to carry him through. And then he would have to face the Mother's justice for all the innocents he had harmed.
This had not been a good day for the false king. But he had survived it. And as she followed her sister to the shrine, Kyriel had to remember that. He suffered, but as terrible as his pain was, it was nothing compared with what he had brought to so many others. And all so that he could sit upon a throne.
Maybe Edouard was wrong to have done what he had done. But it could also be that Simon was only suffering what was right for him to suffer given his crimes. He had brought this upon himself. Besides, what sort of gall did it take to wander into the home of those you had harmed and expect them to take you in?
Or what sort of desperation?
Chapter Thirty Nine
Simon couldn't understand the tree lady. Not really. Her words were clear enough but the thoughts behind them seemed to make no sense. Besides, he was too tired to concentrate. Too tired to listen to her anymore. It had already been a long day, far too long, and he was tired. All he wanted to do as he lay on the grass staring up at her was sleep. Sleep and heal. And in time to start hunting down those who had wronged him. Vesar who had stolen his throne. And Edouard who had burnt him.
The hatred for them both burnt inside him. It burnt so hot that he knew just killing them would not be enough. They had to suffer. They had to scream in agony for what they'd done. They had to burn.
They had committed terrible crimes against him. They had to pay. But the tree lady didn't seem to accept that. She just kept haranguing him about all his mistakes. Talking to him as if he was a naughty little child. And he didn't want to hear it anymore.
Maybe she liked Edouard. Or she found him useful. It was the only thing he could think to explain her endless diatribe as she chastised him, listing his many failings over and over again. She surely guessed that he had plans for his little brother. Plans she wouldn't like. Plans that Edouard would hate. And besides, while it had come as a surprise to realise that Edouard had some sort of connection to the tree lady's temple, it also made sense. His brother had after all brought the handmaidens to the city.
If she did it didn't matter though. He had done what he'd said he would. He had told her everything he knew about Vesar. Everything about the temple he'd been building and the funny stone he'd used to stop the sparks from being able to use their magic. In truth he'd babbled a bit. At first the pain had robbed him of some of his wits. And then when the handmaidens had dressed his wounds with those poultices and the pain had miraculously gone away, the relief had undone his thoughts in turn.
Even so it had been done. He had kept his end of the deal. And a deal was a deal. It was her turn to do as she'd agreed. To finish his healing and get him to safety. But all the tree lady seemed to want to do was lecture him about his mistakes. To call him names and accuse him of crimes he simply didn't care about. It was getting tiresome. And the late afternoon sun was warm on his face, the grass soft beneath him. He desperate
ly wanted to sleep.
“Tyrel please.”
Simon held up his hand hoping to make her shut up. Maybe it was a mistake. All the stories he'd ever heard had spoken of her great power and her fanatical hatred of men. But he was beginning to think they were exaggerations. In the end she was just a twelve foot tall woman with bark for skin and ferns for hair. Frightening perhaps, probably dangerous, but in the end nowhere near as dangerous as the bards claimed. He'd expected that. Vesar might be frightened of her, but no true man would be. And the deal had been made.
“You wish to say something in your defence?”
“I don't need to. The deal was agreed to and I have fulfilled my part of it. Now you have to fulfil your part. The rest of this doesn't matter.”
Most people didn't understand that. They didn't have trader's blood in their veins. And so they often wanted to talk about completely unimportant matters, or justify their actions. They didn't understand the nature of the deal. That it was the only thing that mattered.
The hamadryad stared at him in silence for a bit. Perhaps considering his words, maybe just annoyed by his bluntness. But a deal was a deal and he didn't care what she was thinking about. So he waited peacefully for her to realise the same thing. To understand that she had to do as she had agreed. It was that or be known far and wide as one who broke their bargains. An oath-breaker. And even a power wouldn't want that reputation. Especially a power. He knew little of them but he knew that they valued their names.
“You know there are few creatures in this world as disreputable as you. Few who have never done a single kindness for another.”
Simon sighed quietly, realising that she was once more about to start into a lecture about his evil ways and all his misdeeds. He didn't want to hear it.
“And I don't care. Healing and safety. That is what you agreed to. I expect you to honour your words.”
“And I shall worthless child.” Her voice was low and angry and the ground seemed to tremble ever so slightly as she spoke. “But do not think that I don't see the evil in your soul. The desire to do harm to others. To those you believe have wronged you. Do not think that I will allow you to cause harm to more innocents.”
“That's not your choice.”
“That is my choice! I will heal you and I will send you to safety. But I will also make certain that you can never harm another innocent for the rest of your life. I will cleanse this corruption from you. I will wash away every illicit desire that stains your soul. I will rinse out the poisonous dreams and foetid memories. And when I am finished there will be nothing left but the purity of the new born.”
“That's not the deal!”
Suddenly Simon was wide awake again, terror having driven away every thought of sleep, and he screamed it at her. But she wasn't listening to him. Instead she was staring at him intently; her strange eyes had gone wide, and he could feel something happening inside his flesh. Inside his mind. And then his hair started falling out.
“That's my deal.”
“No!” Simon screamed at her having no idea what was happening but knowing that it was bad. Something was happening to him that was beyond description. Something that was enveloping his whole body. His mind as well. He screamed some more for good measure, terrified, trying to resist her. But there was no resistance. He was changing somehow. His body and his thoughts both. And there was no stopping it.
“Please!” He begged her then, but there was nothing of mercy in her eyes. Nothing that said she cared at all for his words.
“You bitch!”
In the end insults were all he had left and that was the first and only one that came to his mind. He was finding it hard to concentrate on his words. Hard to think. But he still meant it with everything he had. Not that the hamadryad cared in the least.
“Goodbye Simon of no house and no family. We shall never meet again.”
Chapter Forty
The warehouse was full when Marcus arrived and Anatha was already speaking, giving her report on what Simon had told their Mother. So he quickly took a seat, nodded his apologies to everyone and pretended to listen as the handmaiden carried on with her report. He was late. But he was late for a reason.
Now that Simon had been disowned he had become the heir to the House, and in time he would become the next Count Severin. So he had to show his face in public, even here in Bitter Crest. He had to meet with other members of the Court of Therion, those who had fled with them to Bitter Crest. He had to discuss contracts and terms with their suppliers and those they supplied. In short he had to do all the things that he hated. Things that a soldier never had to do.
At the same time as the former captain of the Royal Guard, the soldier who in time might well have become the Right Hand to King Byron, he had to help with the defence of the realm. Arranging the patrols that rode through the edges of the realm. Taking the information they brought back and sending it to their allies. Occasionally organising skirmishes where the enemy looked to be advancing. Sourcing weapons and armour for his soldiers, not to mention training them. And arranging for some of the smaller towns and villages to be evacuated. All while in exile. It was a nearly impossible task, and it took up most of the hours of his days.
He was also late because he'd mistakenly headed for their quarters in the Basilisk's Stool instead of the warehouses and they were on the opposite sides of the city. It was a natural mistake to make. He'd been meeting with many nobles and traders in the alehouse beneath their quarters over the past weeks and months. But those meetings were one on one. This meeting was different because the entire family had to attend, and the warehouses were the only properties they had in the city large enough to hold it. Thus far.
In time there would be a new house for them in the city. His father had had plans drawn up by the local artisans and already construction was under way. But it would be at least a year before the new house was built, and that was still dependant on finding enough masons and workers. Such people were in short supply.
Privately Marcus was still unsure of whether it was the right thing to do, rebuilding in Bitter Crest. The city was too close to Therion and these rock gnomes. It was a trading city with only a small population of permanent residents and many more visitors. And he also wasn't enthused about the idea of having the family home just behind their warehouses and market. But his father had made the decision. They needed to have a home. Somewhere where their suppliers and customers could meet with them. Somewhere where they weren't all squeezed into a single attic. And Bitter Crest was the closest city to Theria. It was still close to the heart of their trading concern. And they already owned property in the city.
Besides, as they were to build their new home on the land, the handmaidens constructed their new shrine beside it. That was the agreement that had been reached as part of their alliance. Every house would have a shrine. And that meant that the warehouses were the most convenient place to have meetings with Tyrel's handmaidens. After all, they could just step through the portal at Tyrel's temple and be with them a heartbeat later.
His far shorter journey by contrast had taken much longer.
All of his family save for two notable exceptions were there already. Simon was not coming naturally. From what they had been told he was alive and no longer in pain, but he would never be free again. Tyrel had spoken and his fate was decided. What that fate was they still didn't know however. That was something that April said they would be told in time.
Naturally his parents were upset about that. Th'yssen had been weeping openly for days while the Count maintained a painful silence on the matter, refusing to discuss it with anyone. But it was not a matter they could interfere in. Not when the handmaiden was busy reading out a list of Simon's crimes. His confession. A fifteen page document that was now being given to the scribes for reproduction. Soon everyone from Therion would know the truth. And most of them already knew that he should have swung from a noose.
The other notable absence was Edouard. He had claimed th
at he was too busy, but Marcus knew the truth. He had listened very carefully to the reports from the handmaidens, and especially from April. There was a poison in his brother's soul that prevented him from taking comfort in family. It had been there ever since his return from the dungeon. But since he had half killed Simon it had started consuming him. The wounds to his flesh were slowly healing. The wounds to his soul were opening up wider.
As a soldier Marcus understood that. He knew what torture could do to a man. He had seen it. Whether it brought the truth to those asking the questions he didn't know. He doubted it though. Men in pain would say whatever they needed to say to escape the pain. Truth or lies – it didn't matter. But afterwards, those who survived were changed. Always for the worse. The suffering robbed men of their joy. It stole away their confidence and destroyed their trust in others. And always it brought anger. Terrible anger born of hatred and fear.
Edouard's mother Laurine had visited him once, brought through the portal by the handmaidens, and what she had seen had upset her greatly. She had left to see him with fear in her heart and returned with tears in her eyes. She still wept. That troubled him. She was not a woman given to outbursts of emotion. And that she would not speak of what she had found worried him even more.