by K. C. May
“I hear you fainted before you could cut off that crone’s hand. Hah! We’ll have a good laugh about it later. Milad sent me to tell you to go clean up. He has another task for you.”
Korlan wiped the blood from the side of his face. “Let me guess. I have to pull out the fingernails of a five-year-old girl.”
Trond laughed. “Good one. No, not this time, but you’d be wise not to disappoint him a second time. He won’t be so forgiving next time.”
“Forgiving?”
“Yah, your next task is a punishment of sorts. Don’t complain. It’ll just get you in worse.”
Korlan hurried back to his room, careful not to touch anything he didn’t have to with his bloody hands. He washed using the left-over water from that morning, now cooled, and changed into his spare shirt. He ran the bloodied one down to the bathing room and asked the man folding towels for advice on getting it cleaned. The man offered to take it to the laundry with him on his next trip, and Korlan gratefully accepted the offer.
When he reached the justice building, he met Milad in the corridor outside one of the courtrooms. He waited until his boss finished a conversation with an adept and approached.
“Sorry about earlier,” Korlan said. “I’m not squeamish. I don’t know what came over me.”
The justice captain snorted softly. “Everyone goes through an adjustment period. Give it a few weeks, and you’ll be laughing at the new fellows who do the same thing.”
Korlan hoped not. “So what’s my next assignment?”
“It’s both an assignment and a punishment for your inability to perform the last task. Your friend, Jora Lanseri.”
His heart fell into his gut. “What about her?”
“Though she’s been pardoned of her crimes, you’re to follow her anytime she leaves the premises to ensure she’s not violating the terms of her pardon.” Milad jerked his head, signaling Korlan to walk with him.
“What are the terms?”
They reached the door to the stairwell above the facilities. “She’s not to investigate matters pertaining to that smuggling business you and she were involved in.”
“We weren’t involved in it,” Korlan shot back.
“I don’t give a damn about the details,” Milad said, starting down the stairs. “Make sure she doesn’t poke her nose in it. The king’s men are investigating her claims. She needs to stay the hell away. If you even suspect she’s looking into it or interfering in any way, come to me directly. Do not confront her or warn her. I’ll know if you do.” He tapped his temple with one finger. “I was a novice before I became an enforcer. I can Observe you.”
“All right,” Korlan said. At least he wouldn’t have to beat her or cut off any of her body parts. It was probably for the best anyway. Boden had died over the smuggling. Lots of people had died over it, and he didn’t want to be among them. “How will I know if she does?”
“You’ll know. She’ll talk to people outside the bureau—legion men, in particular. She might even ask you about it. She considers you a friend, right?”
Korlan lifted his lip in disgust. So he was expected to use their friendship against her. If she brought up the issue of smuggling, he would simply change the subject and hope she got the message.
“If I suspect you’re looking the other way or, worse, you decide to help her, I’ll let Gruesome and Nob take turns on you. You’ll be sorry you were ever born.”
Korlan shuddered. “All right. I get it.”
In a room near the back of the hallway was a table topped with a slab of marble. Chains and leather straps dangled from rings set into the platform beneath it, and on the floor, the dark stains of old blood. From hooks on the walls hung various types of gags, iron tools, straps, belts, whips, and paddles. Korlan’s stomach roiled, threatening to chuck his dinner. He doubted he would ever get used to the smell of these rooms or the barbaric instruments used to torture convicts.
“Who’s this for?” he asked hoarsely.
Milad turned to him with a dark smirk. “This is where you’ll carry out Novice Jora’s punishment.”
Korlan swallowed down the foul taste in his mouth. “What punishment?”
“Bucking and gagging. Grue will show you how. Wait here. He’ll bring her in a minute.” Milad turned and stalked back down the hallway. His boot steps faded to silence as he climbed the stairs.
Just what he’d always wanted—a fellow nicknamed Gruesome to show him how to torture a woman he considered a friend. Milad’s earlier words came back to him. You might wish you were dead in a month or two.
Korlan didn’t think it would take that long. A day or two was more like it.
He paced the length of the room, trying to ignore the scent of blood, urine, feces, and the lye they’d used to clean with. He tried not to think about the sound of his boots echoing off the floor or how a woman’s screams might do the same. In all his nineteen years, he’d never considered what role the enforcers played within the Justice Bureau. Not really. Sure, he’d known they carried out the punishments handed down by the Elders who sentenced criminals, but it hadn’t occurred to him that some of those punishments would be torturous. If a thief was behanded, he’d always assumed the convict would be given spirits or poppy to mask the pain.
A pair of footsteps approached, one heavy and the other lighter. Korlan paced, chewing his bottom lip. He looked forward to seeing Jora, but he dreaded the look in her eyes when she saw that he’d become an enforcer. It wasn’t like he’d had a choice.
When she entered the room, her face lit up. “Korlan!” She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck.
“Jora,” he said, holding her tightly. “It’s good to see you.” She released him and stepped away, her face still aglow and her smile broad. She looked thinner in the face but otherwise unscathed, though she had on trousers and a tunic rather than the purple robe he’d expected to see her wearing.
“I’m sorry about the enforcer thing. It was the best I could do.”
He blinked a couple of times, confused. “What do you mean? The Legion reversed my conviction.”
“I know,” she said, patting his chest. “Isn’t it great? I’m lucky to have Princess Rivva as a friend.”
“You…” Korlan swallowed hard. Jora had saved his life, and now he was going to be the one to issue her punishment. What kind of cruel bastard was Milad to assign this task to him?
“You can thank me later.” Her smile dimmed as she looked around the room. “What’s this?”
He looked at the enforcer who’d accompanied her, a tall brute with shoulders almost as wide as the doorway. If Korlan thought his own shirt was too tight, this man was nearly bursting out of his, and it was easily twice the size of a normal shirt. His face was surprisingly handsome with a square jaw and piercing blue eyes beneath thick black brows, but there was a coldness in his eyes that made Korlan want to sidle away, as if the black pupil were the shadow of something sinister behind his eyes. This had to be Gruesome.
“Go ahead,” Gruesome said, his voice as deep as one expected for a man so big. “Tell her.” His teeth were uneven, two of them broken at sharp angles. Two molars were missing behind his extraordinarily long eye teeth, making his smile look like the snarl of a wolf.
Korlan swallowed hard. “Sorry, Jora. I’m assigned to issue your punishment.”
Her mouth and eyes went round. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry. I’d delegate it to someone else if I could.” He cast a wary glance at Gruesome. Not him. “But maybe if I do it, it won’t… it won’t hurt as bad.”
She hung her head and said nothing.
“Bucking and gagging for six hours,” Gruesome said. “That’s what Milad says. Four for her initial offense, two more for her refusal to return some stolen books. Not a minute less–”
“They’re not stolen,” she muttered. “They’re rightfully mine.”
“–but if you want to go longer, I won’t say anything.” He winked at Korlan, grinning his wicked grin.
Korlan’s stomach churned. He thought he might spew. For the previous fifteen months, he’d slain men in the most brutal way, seen their guts spill and their blood spatter, smelled the stench of death, but none of that compared with the idea of torturing a woman, a friend, a fellow patriot.
“Up on the table, Novice,” Gruesome said. Jora complied, hopping up backwards and swinging her legs up. She sat with her legs outstretched before her. “Now, we take this rod here.” He plucked an inch-thick, wooden dowel from its wall hook and handed it to Korlan. “And put it under her knees.”
Jora lifted her knees so Korlan could slide it underneath.
“Bend the knees some more. That’s it. Now she puts her arms under the rod.”
Jora held the rod against the undersides of her knees with her arms, nestling it in the crook of her elbows.
“Then,” Gruesome explained, removing a pair of shackles from the wall, “you put these on her wrists. The chain goes against her shins.”
“Sorry,” Korlan whispered as he clamped the shackles on her left wrist, then went around to the other side of the table and affixed it to her right. She looked terribly uncomfortable, and sitting for six hours that way was going to be brutal. He wished he could at least share the punishment with her—do half the time for her.
“Now tie her ankles together with this.” Gruesome handed him a few yards of cord. “Nice and tight.”
Korlan did as he was told, trying not to tie it so tight as to turn her feet cold and blue.
“That’s the bucking part,” Gruesome said cheerfully. He removed a rectangle of black cotton from its hook. “And this is for the gagging part.” He handed the cloth to Korlan. “Tie it good and tight. It’s not punishment if it’s loose.”
Korlan put the gag into her mouth gently and tied the cloth behind her bald head. He tried to make it look tight without actually pulling it hard.
“Tighter,” Gruesome said. “Don’t be a baby. Yank it hard.”
Korlan tugged it a little tighter, but the other enforcer wasn’t convinced.
He pushed Korlan out of the way. “Move.” He grabbed the two ends of the fabric and yanked hard, eliciting a muffled cry from Jora. He tied the knot and tugged hard to set it. “There. That’s how you do it.” He clapped Korlan hard on the back. “For this particular prisoner, though, we have one last step.” He handed Korlan a silver band with strange black symbols stamped or burned into it. Around the outer surface were knobs of bronze or gold, and between them were screws with flat heads, ideal for tightening with the fingers. “Set it on her head, down low on the sides over her ears.”
Korlan did as he was instructed and turned the thumbscrews, which tightened the bands for a snug fit. “What is this thing?”
“It’s a kendern. Keeps Truth Sayers from using their power for Witnessing. In her case, it’ll also keep her from summoning a monster to untie her.”
The thought of Jora’s pet monsters made him shudder. Despite knowing Po Teng had once been his best friend, Boden, the things terrified him. He’d been trapped in their world for what seemed hours between dying and becoming relived on the battlefield. Since then, he lived with the certainty that they were waiting in the fragile moments between sleep and wakefulness to drag him, screaming and flailing, back into their haunted world.
“If I catch you loosening the gag or removing the shackles, you’ll have to answer to Milad. Trust me, if he assigns me to see you punished, that’s one mistake you won’t make twice.”
As soon as Gruesome was gone, Korlan loosened her gag. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t refuse.”
Jora spit the gag out of her mouth. “It’s all right,” she said, though the look of betrayal in her eyes said otherwise. “I understand.”
“All this after you saved my life. I swear, I didn’t want to do it. Milad–”
“I said it’s all right.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.
“I’ll stay with you if you want. Keep you company.”
She nodded, though she didn’t look at him.
“The smell in here is pretty bad, isn’t it?” He sat on the floor against one wall so that he could see anyone coming down the hallway, giving him time to put Jora’s gag back into place should someone come to check on him. “You got pardoned, huh?”
Jora nodded and turned her face away. “The king asked me… commanded me not to investigate the smuggling or talk about it to anyone. That’s the condition of my pardon.”
“You’re going to adhere to it, aren’t you?”
She hesitated before nodding, giving Korlan the impression she wasn’t sure. Or maybe she didn’t trust him. How could he blame her?
“I was writing a letter to my wife when they told me about my treason charge being dismissed. You have no idea how hard it was, trying to find the words to explain to her why I was being executed.”
“Does she know yet about your court-martial?”
He shrugged. “They won’t tell me. The thought of never meeting my daughter made me understand a little of what you went through after Kaild.”
“The adepts at your camp said your baby’s a girl?”
“Adept Orfeo did, mostly to shut me up. I was relentless, asking every day, sometimes twice a day for news.”
That prompted a tiny smile. “I could tell you how they fare,” she said.
“You would do that? After I… did this to you?”
She shifted side to side and rocked her head like she was trying to get comfortable. “I know this wasn’t your idea, Korlan. It was the dominee’s.”
“Whoa,” he said. “You have powerful friends and powerful enemies.”
“I guess that goes with being the Gatekeeper.”
After a moment’s consideration, he loosened the screws on the kendern and pulled it off her head. He had to know whether his family was safe, and she was the only person whose word he trusted. “Don’t tell anyone I did this or I’ll get into trouble.”
She closed her eyes. “It’ll only take me a few seconds.”
He looked down the hallway to make sure no one was coming.
“Your wife is quite comely,” Jora said. “She’s sitting in a rocking chair with your daughter, feeding her.”
“What does she look like?”
“She has light brown hair and the sweetest little face. Big blue eyes. She’s looking at her mama with such adoration. Your wife is singing to her and stroking her head with her free hand. You should be proud, Korlan. Your family is beautiful.”
A lump caught in his throat, and he swallowed it down, nodding. He wished he could see what she was seeing. If he was lucky, he’d have a chance to travel to Burnd in fulfillment of his duties.
“Let me go backwards a little,” Jora said. “It’ll take a few minutes.”
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to see whether she was told anything about your arrest and court-martial.”
On the stairs at the end of the corridor, boots appeared, then the gray pant legs of an enforcer’s uniform. “Someone’s coming,” Korlan said as he scrambled to his feet. He set the kendern on her head, settling it into place over her ears, then put the gag back into her mouth and pulled it tight, though he didn’t yank it the way Gruesome had. Once it was tied, he stepped away and leaned against a wall with his arms crossed, feigning nonchalance.
Justice Captain Milad entered the room and looked Jora over. “Is everything all right in here?”
“Yes, sir,” Korlan said. “Just biding my time.”
Milad checked the cord around Jora’s ankles, the shackles, and the gag. Satisfied, he started back toward the door. “Come with me. I have another assignment for you.”
“What about Jora?”
“She’s got five-and-a-half hours left. Let’s go.”
Chapter 10
The first half hour of her punishment, Jora was uncomfortable, but at least she had Korlan to keep her mind focused on something other than her s
ore buttocks and aching joints. Once he left, though, the discomfort became pain. The minutes crawled by. All around her was evidence of other people’s agony. How many had died in this room at the hands of an overzealous enforcer?
She leaned to the left, hoping to give her right buttock a moment’s rest, but all her weight on the left side was even more excruciating. A pillow would have been too much to ask for, but she should have at least asked Korlan to smuggle a folded towel into the room for her to sit on. He might have said no, and she would have understood if he had, but not asking was the same thing.
Her wrists ached from the shackles, her shins from the chain between them, her knees from the rod and her hips for being bent for so long. The gag was tight and uncomfortable, but the corners of her mouth started to feel numb after the first hour. She only wished her butt would get numb.
It occurred to her that Korlan hadn’t tightened the kendern on her head. It fit loosely enough that by leaning her head back and jerking it quickly forward, she could move it.
With hours ahead of her and no one to talk to, she needed something to occupy her mind. Might as well start tracing the smuggling for the princess—if she could get the damned kendern off. The problem with investigating during the day was that she had to open the Mindstream, which also meant the barring hood would fall. Anyone with Mindstreaming ability and the training on how to ride someone’s stream could eavesdrop on her activities and report to the elders, who knew nothing about her secret agreement with the king. Leaving it until the dark of night when everyone would presume her to be sleeping made the most sense, but she didn’t think she could bear to sit there for another four-and-a-half or five hours without doing something. Besides, they would assume the kendern was safely in place.
I’ll be vigilant. The moment I suspect someone is riding my stream, I’ll close it and put up the barring hood.
That decided, she leaned back and jerked her head forward again. After a few tries, she managed to fling it from her head. It struck the wall with a twang and skittered across the floor. Free of the muffling silence, she closed her eyes, opened the Mindstream, and found Korlan’s thread.