by Jackie Dana
She stared at the table, the burnished wood soaking up the light of the candles and fire in the hearth, and the torches at the door. Under the table she rubbed her hands, and she felt a bit queasy. Something was about to happen, but what? She tipped her head up to catch Rynar’s eyes, but he now refused to look at her, as if ashamed that she had not disavowed the Dosedra while she had the chance. Tashin, however, was once again watching her intensely, and that caused an involuntary shiver to run down her spine. What was going on?
Finally the door swung open to admit the Dosedra into the chamber. His shirt was unlaced at the neck, and he had not combed back his hair, which tumbled in unruly clumps at his forehead, and hung loosely between his shoulders.
“Found him in the library, my lord Vosira,” the guard explained.
“Reading anything interesting, brother?” Bedoric asked with a bit of a chuckle.
Arric shook his head. “Nothing at all, actually,” he responded quickly. “Apparently several of the chronicles I had hoped to read are missing.” He stood behind the empty chair that lay between Kate and Vosira Bedoric, his hands tightly gripping the leather back of the chair. “Brother, if you had given me warning, I would have dressed properly for the Council meeting.”
She stole a glance at him but did not look at him directly. All the same, she bit her lip, trying not to smile at his brashness.
Vosira Bedoric, however, did not find his comments amusing. “Brother,” he repeated, but layered with sarcasm. “This no Council meeting.” He motioned to the chair. “Now if you would take your seat, we have important things to discuss.”
Arric nodded politely at her, as one would do to a casual acquaintance. “Bhara.”
She nodded in return, but said nothing.
As he sat down, she felt his knee brush against hers. At first, she thought it was an accident, but he pushed it closer, as if hoping his touch would give her courage—or perhaps it was the other way around. Either way, it was a subtle enough gesture that no one else in the room would have seen it, not even the guards that stood behind then at the door.
“Now, finally, we can begin.” Bedoric smiled politely to Rynar and Tashin. He snapped his fingers behind his head. “You may leave us,” he signaled to the attendant. Then to the guard at the door, he waved his finger, as if beckoning someone else to join him.
“Aye, Vosira,” the soldier nodded, and left the room as well. He returned with a second guard, and between them they led in a third man, his head and shoulders bundled under a long cape.
“Now.” Bedoric smiled broadly to Arric and Kate, as if gloating over something. “We shall see if the two of you stick to your stories. I must thank Captain Joven for his hard work finding this one,” he said, nodding appreciatively to one of the Senvosra. As he spoke, the cloaked man was led to the end of the table, across from Bedoric. “Brother, I believe you may be acquainted with this man?”
At the Vosira’s signal, the guards yanked away the cloak.
It was a young man, badly bruised and bloody about the face, with a deep laceration on his cheek, and with his arms tightly bound behind him. He held his head down, and appeared to be in considerable pain as he stood there. Still, his dark hair, slender nose, and freckled cheeks over a wisp of a beard were unmistakable.
“Nyvas?” she called out without thinking, and quickly turned to Arric, who didn’t flinch, and instead, in the practiced way of a seasoned soldier, stared at the boy without sign of recognition. Yet, as a response he would not have learned on the battlefield, under the table he reached for her hand, and gripped it tightly.
“Ah, this is quite an interesting development, wouldn’t you say?” Bedoric had not stopped smiling, and Tashin shared the expression. “If you know him, Bhara, then I think it is safe to assume my brother has also had the chance to become acquainted?”
Arric turned to Vosira Bedoric, but the expression on his face was intentionally bland, and he made no indication either way.
Rynar, however, was noticeably puzzled. “Vosira, who is this?”
Bedoric leaned to his brother. “Perhaps you would like to do the introductions? I believe Aldrish Rynar is the only one in the room still unacquainted with this boy.”
Arric sat straight up. Kate sensed he was restraining himself from attacking his brother right at that moment. Remarkably, however, he kept his voice calm as he replied. “His name is Nyvas, and he is fhaoli.” His eyes flickered between the Aldrish and his brother, resting with Bedoric, finally. “I do know him, aye. I won’t deny that fact.”
The Vosira reached for his goblet, and nonchalantly spun the stem between his fingers. “Of course, brother, you know that to willingly associate with fhaoli is to bring their crimes onto your own shoulders. I assume when you invited him and his friends to join you on your lengthy journey, you also planned on joining them as they met their fate—a fate which, I should point out, is now assured?”
“What do you mean?” Kate asked, her voice trembling. She looked at Nyvas, who had raised his head, and was carefully watching everyone in the room, despite the fact that one of his eyes was puffy, and nearly swollen shut. He was uncomfortable, and in considerable pain, but alert. They had beaten him quite badly, but his spirit seemed intact. “What have you done to him? And what else are you going to do?”
Bedoric shrugged, acting entirely too nonchalant for the topic. “We shall see. He will die, of course, but when, and by which means, will be determined by this meeting. You see, he knows many things that would be useful to me. If he is forthcoming, I will consider offering him a quick and merciful death, more than he probably deserves. If not… well, like I said, we shall see.”
“What could he possibly know?” Kate cried out. She would have gotten to her feet, but Arric still held her hand in a death grip under the table. The sight of their friend was obviously disturbing him as well, though he was struggling to hide his reaction. It was as if she had to speak for them both, and she didn’t hesitate. “Look at him. He’s no threat to you.” She turned to Arric, and then to the Vosira. Finally, she tried to get a sympathetic expression from Rynar, but he averted his eyes. “I don’t understand. What has he done? Why are you saying he has to die?”
Tashin answered this question on Bedoric’s behalf. “Bhara, do not be fooled by him. He is fhaoli, and for that fact alone, his life is forfeit to the Vosira. However, this boy is special.” He leaned forward. “When you were in his company, did he never share with you the reasons why he became fhaoli?”
She shook her head. It hadn’t ever occurred to her to ask. Surely Nyvas could not have been capable of anything that bad—certainly not something worthy of this kind of drama.
Tashin ran his tongue over his yellowing teeth. “Nay, I suppose he would not, for had he done so, even you might not have chosen to associate with him. Bhara,” he continued with a grin, “this one became fhaoli eight years ago. He was lucky for such a fate, however, because by all rights, he should already be dead.”
With this comment, Rynar turned to him with surprise. “Tashin, what do you mean?” She could tell he was irritated that information had been kept from him. Preferring to being in charge of a situation, this time the Aldrish was as much in the dark as she was, and it was obvious that he was growing impatient with the game being played.
“Allow me to explain,” Bedoric said, and waved to the door again. A guard opened it once more, admitting another man in uniform. “This is quite the party today, isn’t it?” he laughed. “Castellan Solerav, would you please be so kind as to share with everyone what you told me this morning?”
Although she had seen him before, the castellan’s presence tonight was rather intimidating. He was a brawny man who towered over all the other men in the room, and his spiky black hair simply added to his height. As he stood there, he held his giant hands at his waist, his thumbs hooked in his belt. “My lord Vosira, when my men brought the fhaoli into the city late last night, they thought little of him. To them, he was just one of a gr
oup of bandits that attacked the Senvosra at the edge of the Arsdala. He was the only one my men were able to capture, as all the others got away, but they hoped to find out more about the rest when they brought him back to the city.”
With those words, she caught a bit of a grin from Nyvas. So Fantion and Lysander were safe? That at least was good news.
“I assumed the Senvosra questioned him, and told you where the others are camped?” Rynar suggested. “You could return for the rest of the fhaoli.”
“Aye, that was my thought as well. From what the men tell me, though, they tried to get information from this one, but he would not speak, even as they utilized various means to convince him to do so. Usually, of course, in such circumstances, the Senvosra then would have killed him outright, but the boy had an unusual demand that saved him from a quick demise.” Tipping his head down, he stared at Arric, a frown on his face. “To their astonishment, at the last moment he demanded to speak to the Dosedra.”
Bedoric sipped from his goblet, the smile on his face quite joyous for what was undeniably a serious occasion. Why was this so important?
The castellan continued. “Of course, such an odd demand caught my interest, so I personally went to see him myself. ‘Who is this fhaoli who knew our Dosedra had returned to Sarducia,’ I wondered. To my great surprise, I recognized him immediately.” With a shift of his eyes, he gazed upon his captive. “He is taller than I recall, and his hair is no longer blond, but I knew him well as a boy, and I would never forget that face.” He was not smiling, but seemed pleased with himself anyway. “Vosira, this fhaoli is none other than Stavan, son of Elric. Behold, the murderer of Vosira Parmon.”
With that announcement, Arric released Kate’s hand and jumped from his seat. “That’s a stinking lie!” he shouted, and kicked over his chair as he leapt towards the castellan, who merely stepped backwards, a smile unmistakable under his beard.
One guard tried to restrain him, but Arric easily knocked away the man’s arm. Meanwhile, two other guards struggled to hold onto Nyvas, who used the distraction to kick and bite them. Bedoric shouted for more Senvosra, and those outside the room rushed inside at his command. Kate tried to put her body between the door and her friends, attempting to block the soldiers from entering the room, but the Senvosra roughly shoved her aside, causing her to fall hard against the table. In moments one of the Senvosra had lifted her up and shoved her back into her chair, holding her there with his hands, and two others struggled with Arric to likewise restrain him.
Meanwhile, Nyvas had broken free from his own captor and stumbled towards Tashin. As she watched helplessly, another soldier backhanded him with enough force to break his nose and send him crashing against the wall, effectively ending his efforts to escape. Tashin meanwhile stood up and slid behind Rynar’s chair, towards the Vosira, as if afraid to be contaminated by the blood that now gushed from Nyvas’s face.
Arric continued his struggle against the guards that held him, and muttered several curses. One of the Senvosra finally subdued him by roughly twisting his arm behind his back. “It’s impossible, Bedoric,” Arric finally replied, out of other options, and grimacing in pain. “Stavan has been dead for years, as well you know. After you captured him and put him on display in the cage, he was killed and his body ripped apart by the mob. This boy may be fhaoli, but he is not Stavan.”
As they spoke about him, the guards lifted Nyvas from the floor. Kate’s heart nearly broke from the sight of his abused face. Nyvas now gasped for breath through his mouth, which was filled with blood. The punch had also split his lip, and heavily bruised the previously uninjured eye socket, which now was beginning to swell. Blood ran down his mouth, onto his chest, and spattered the table. One of the soldiers held him tightly, wrenching Nyvas’s head back and covering his mouth with a gloved palm so the boy could not speak, causing him to sputter for breath.
Rynar had watched the melee with concern, his right hand against his lips, clenched in a fist so tight that his knuckles had turned white. He too was shaken by the proceedings. “Vosira, it may be the Dosedra is correct. After all, it has been eight years. Perhaps, with all due respect, Castellan Solerav is mistaken.”
Bedoric shook his head. “I wish you were right, Aldrish, for it would make things much easier. The boy, however, admitted it himself last night, after a bit of the castellan’s own efforts at persuasion.”
“You tortured him?” Kate asked, appalled.
“Call it what you will, Bhara, but it was necessary—and successful. Surely you must realize that where my father’s murderer is concerned, I cannot allow myself the usual niceties.” He glanced at Rynar, who gave him a similar look, nodding very slightly, as if they had communicated something unsaid between them. Then Bedoric stared at his brother, and when he next spoke, his voice was deep and foreboding. “It is fortunate that we did so, for now I understand that you went to Bhoren to devise a plot against me. Arric, since the day I was named Vosira, I knew that you resented the fact that you would not be the one to wear this torc. Others warned you’d cause trouble for me, but I chose not to believe it, thinking you would accept your fate in time.” He pressed his lips tightly together, visibly disappointed, and sucked in a breath, nearly shaking from anger. “I never thought you’d do this to me, brother. At least now I know your intentions, and I shall do everything in my power to ensure that you never have a chance to plot against me again.” Out of nowhere, he slammed his fist on the table with enough force to knock over his goblet. There was a pause, but in the silence, no one moved to clean up the pool of wine. Finally Bedoric declared, “it is over now.”
Arric still tried to get free from the soldiers’ grasp, but they held him firmly. “That’s all a lie, Bedoric, and you know it. That’s not why I went to Bhoren, and I know that Nyvas didn’t tell you that. It just isn’t true.”
Bedoric shrugged, unconcerned by Arric’s comment. “Who knows what else he told the castellan? From what Solerav told me, the boy was screaming too much from the pain to tell him anything. Knowing you went to Bhoren, and that you traveled with Stavan—this is all I would ever need to know of your character and your intentions.”
Throughout the accusations, Nyvas had been struggling to gain his freedom from the arms of his captor. He had been unable to speak because of the guard’s gloved hand over his mouth, and his nose still bled profusely. More than once he grunted slightly as the soldier tightened his grip. Pointing his finger at him, Bedoric announced, “Stavan, as a traitor and fiend, you shall die in accordance with the laws of this land, and this time I will ensure the sentence is carried out in front of my own eyes. Whether or not you suffer further will depend on what you can tell me about your role in my father’s death, and what you can divulge concerning my brother’s schemes.”
The guard dropped his hand, and Nyvas lifted his chin in defiance. He sucked in a deep breath through his mouth, the first satisfying breath he had taken in several minutes, though the effort made him cough. Then, in a muffled voice, sounding not unlike he was trying to speak underwater, he said, “I will tell you nothing. I’m innocent, as is the Dosedra. You are wrong about us both, and you know it well.”
“That is quite an impertinent speech, boy.” Bedoric’s eyes burned with fury. “Very well. Since you refuse to cooperate, your fate is easy to decide.” He grinned now. “On the night of the next full moon, flames shall cleanse you of your crimes. That will be a fitting end to such a life as yours.”
Despite his pain, and what the Vosira had just said, Nyvas was remarkably calm. “If that is my fate, I accept it. I will not lie to ease your conscience.”
With one glance from Bedoric, a guard wound up his arm and punched Nyvas low in the abdomen, forcing him to spit blood across the table, and then he let out a strangled gasp as he collapsed onto his knees.
“Stop it! Isn’t he hurt enough?” Kate tried to get up from her chair, only to be pushed violently back into her seat by the soldier.
“Aye, Bedoric,” Arric
added his own protest to hers. “End this. He’s done nothing. You are wrong about him.”
The Vosira, however, ignored their protests. “You, Bhara,” he said, turning to Kate, “have not escaped my notice. Why couldn’t you have just stayed in Loraden—you would have been a great joy to have at court. Instead, you had to wander off, forcing me to puzzle over your own role in this. Despite what my Aldrish tells me about you, it appears you are neck-deep in my brother’s treachery. This I will not abide.” He once again waved his fingers, and before she could react, the Senvosra who had shoved her back into her chair now slammed his fist down on her left hand, which had been resting on the table.
She cried out in surprise and pain as his fist crashed down like a mallet, shattering a number of bones instantly. The pain was sharp and immediate, and she cried out in misery. Although she didn’t want to show weakness now, of all times, the pain was too intense to hide.
Enraged, Arric again tried to get free of the soldiers, and shouted, “how dare you! She had nothing to do with any of this! Bedoric, you should be damned to Yoren!”
“So you admit you wish me dead, then, brother?”
At the guard’s action, Rynar had also jumped to his feet. “Vosira,” the Aldrish pleaded, visibly shaken by the violence in the room. “I beg you, end this now. Bhara Kate should not have to suffer for their mistakes. The Dosedra is right—she’s innocent.”
As they spoke in her defense, she could barely hear them. The pain was excruciating as she leaned forward, slowly lifting her hand to bring it up to her chest, trying not to look at the damage, the crushed bones, the torn skin, and the pooling blood. Never had she experienced broken bones, and she was dizzy with pain and shock. Even so, she tried to remain brave, taking her cues from Nyvas, who, despite even worse injuries, remained silent and defiant. Then she caught a glimpse of Arric, who likely would have killed every man in this room excepting Nyvas if he could have gotten his arms free. Instead, one of the guards further twisted the arm he held, causing the Dosedra to choke with his own pain as his shoulder was nearly dislocated.