Sverrin laughed. “I marvel at how sentimental you are sometimes.”
“Harmatia would be a very different place were I not,” Zachary rasped, his throat dry.
Sverrin laughed again. “Yes, it would. DuGilles!” he called loudly.
Zachary jumped and turned sharply to find the Kathrak stood in the corner close to the servants’ door. Zachary couldn’t be sure how long he’d been lurking there, but the Magi got the uncomfortable impression it was longer than he’d have liked.
“Your Majesty.” DuGilles bowed deeply. “Lord Zachary, a pleasure.”
“DuGilles,” Zachary said evenly. “I didn’t know you’d returned to Harmatia. Last I heard, you were leading a raid into Bethean.”
“Indeed—we went searching for a rebel encampment in Brexiam, where some of your fabled Knights of the Delphi were said to be hiding. Unfortunately, someone appears to have told them we were coming. They ambushed us in the forest. We barely escaped with our lives,” the alchemist said with a grim cheerfulness. Zachary spared him a tight smile. “Your Majesty, I couldn’t help but notice that fine specimen you just excused so graciously. I wonder if you might permit me to make use of him?”
Zachary frowned. “Make use of?”
“Yes, DuGilles has been doing some fascinating experiments.” Sverrin clapped his hands together. “You think you can do something with the man?”
“I do. I’m short on subjects, and he looks strong and able-bodied. I could make use of him—give him purpose, good work,” DuGilles offered sweetly, and from any other person it might not have made Zachary feel so sick. He didn’t know what DuGilles proposed, but he was certain it wasn’t nearly as pleasant as it sounded.
“Might I enquire as to the nature of these experiments?”
“Your opinion would actually be very valuable,” DuGilles said, delighted. “Why don’t you walk with me, Lord Zachary? I can show you my research.”
“It warms me to see such collaboration between alchemist and Magi,” Sverrin said.
Zachary felt like he was trapped between a set of playful cats, making a game of his slow demise.
“Lead the way.” He nodded to DuGilles, who did so, looking smug. The pair left the throne room and walked a while, until they reached the chapel. DuGilles crossed the room to the secret door.
Zachary narrowed his eyes. “Where are you taking me?”
“Now, Lord Zachary, don’t be coy. You know this castle better than I. You tell me where we’re going.”
Zachary’s mouth drew into a thin line as DuGilles pushed the door, revealing the long, narrow staircase beneath. “The crypts. Where the Delphi is laid.”
DuGilles maintained his smug air. “The catacombs of the castle are surprising spacious. There are a lot of abandoned places down in the bowel of this city where no one thinks to go. Places that are haunted by people nobody remembers.”
“And that’s where you work?”
“What can I say? The ghosts are good company, and they’re quiet. Mostly.” DuGilles was mocking him, but Zachary chose to focus on the narrow stairs instead. He’d descended into the crypts many times over the years, in aid of Sverrin’s survival, but it had never gotten easier. The further below ground he went, the tighter the walls around him became, and the harder he found it to breathe. Zachary suspected there was a reason his Night Patrol form had wings.
“Tell me, Lord Zachary, what do you know about Isnydea?”
“The land of the damned?” Zachary frowned. “It’s the fourth province in Kathra, located in the north and west. A mountainous wasteland in which Kathra have exiled their criminals for centuries, leaving them to die in the wild.”
“Yes—the infamous Isnys. Those who weren’t picked off by dragons, or monsters, fathered a race bred from criminals and the occupants of the mountain—the ancient Elves. Tell me, have you ever met an Isny?”
“Not in person.”
“They’re a dangerous people. No delicates among them—to be delicate in Insydea is to die. They work like beasts and have thick skin and small hearts. In many ways, I find them inspiring—they come into the world expecting nothing more than to leave it horribly. No illusions of kindness or love, just suffering.” DuGilles let Zachary pass in front of him down the stairs.
Zachary felt oddly as if DuGilles might pull a dagger out at any moment and slot it up between his ribs.
“Do you know anything of the Shin, my lord?” DuGilles asked.
“They’re the ruling body in Insydea—tyrants who offer damned people protection from monsters and pirates, in exchange for their complete obedience. They guard the borders, controlling who goes in and out, so the Isnys only choice is to join the Shin or be slaves to them.”
“Do I detect a hint of disapproval in your voice?” DuGilles chuckled. “You must understand, people born of cruelty and desperation can’t be trusted in our civilised world. The Isnys moulded their society because it fitted them—what is unimaginable to us, is necessity for them. They created the Shin, because people like that need to be ruled with fear. Fear is understood in all languages.”
“So is kindness.” Zachary kept his eyes ahead, his face blank. “Can I ask the purpose of all these questions?”
They stepped out into the vast chamber at the mouth of the crypt, where Jionathan of the Delphi lay in perpetual paralysis, bathed in the ethereal, blue and green light of the faerie lantern.
“This way, my lord.” DuGilles led Zachary down a tunnel that veered off from the chamber.
Zachary felt his body tense as he forced himself after the Kathrak.
“I’ve travelled a great deal in my life,” DuGilles told him, “and during my time in a small village on the boarder of Sigel’eg, I had some contact with the Shin. You see, for all their seclusion, the Isny are actually closer to the source of Kathrak power. It’s from the Elves that we learnt alchemy, which once upon a time meant more than the elemental magic you so liberally wield here in Harmatia. Alchemy was once a study of the earthly magics, rather than cosmic elements. Alchemists studied the properties of metals and plants—the foundations of medicines and science. As time went on however, ‘alchemist’ merely came to mean ‘a Kathrak who can wield magic’, and all the foundation of our knowledge was lost to the Harmatian renovation. True alchemy disappeared from the world, but Isnydea, separated by a menacing boarder and reputation, kept their knowledge. And it was from the Shin I met, that I came to be a true alchemist.” DuGilles gave a nostalgic sigh. “I learnt many things. They taught me what stone and minerals I could use to block or inhibit the stars’ power—oh yes, more than mica, there are others too. They taught potions which could induce visions and sight into other worlds. And finally, they imparted to me a technique to bind a man, body and soul, to my will.” DuGilles stopped. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
“Impossible,” Zachary said. “You can’t bind a person to your will. Not entirely.”
“A sceptic.” DuGilles rubbed his hands together. “What I’m about to show you many change your mind.” Coming to an old, stout door, he pushed it open and stepped down into a chamber beyond.
Zachary, who already felt like they’d delved deep enough below ground, wanted nothing more than to turn and march all the way back up to the castle. Were he a braver man, he might have done. Instead he stepped down after DuGilles, suppressing the shivers that went down his arms and legs.
The chamber beyond was cool and dry, lit by torches that sucked the air from the room, making Zachary feel lightheaded. Though there was nothing immediately offensive about the room, its dark corners gave Zachary the impression that there was something evil lurking over the chamber. Having mocked Emeric for his fear of ghosts, Zachary felt more inclined to believe in them down here, in the crypts of the castle. Here it felt like men had been left in the dark to die. It reminded him of the Korrigans’ nest, and yet was somehow worse.
“You don’t look well, Lord Zachary. Is the dust troubling your lungs?” DuGilles noted, and then gasped, as
if mortified. “Or has this tight, dark space brought back terrible memories?”
Zachary looked up at DuGilles sharply.
DuGilles sniffed knowingly. “During my hunt for the traitor, I stopped several times in Corhlam. Your father, Lord Rivalen, was a kind and generous host to a weary man. He told me many things about you.”
Zachary rose up to his full height, his body rigid.
“You certainly had a stern upbringing, didn’t you? Beneficial, I’d say—look where you are now, a highly esteemed warrior even among the Magi,” DuGilles said, absentmindedly. “But one of your father’s stories did stick with me in particular, of an unfortunate accident in the dungeons of your own home. How old were you? Seven?” DuGilles baited, eyeing Zachary who refused to speak. Every second he stood in the chamber, it grew more difficult to breathe. DuGilles continued, his eyes unblinking. “Your father told me how you would often explore the old tunnels beneath the fort, without supervision. And how, unfortunately, one day, having been structurally compromised by flooding the previous winter, one of those tunnels collapsed on you.”
Zachary’s entire ribcage was now suffocating him, bound up tightly like bone corset. He held his breath, conscious that DuGilles was watching him, waiting to see the panicked judders that were trying to break up through his throat.
“Poor boy.” DuGilles shook his head. “You must have been terrified—buried alive and nobody with any idea of where you were. How long were you down there, before your sister discovered you were missing, and called enough men to dig you out?”
Zachary knew he had to answer—he’d been silent too long, and it was only feeding DuGilles’s enthusiasm. “A few hours.”
“Hours.” Again, DuGilles shook his head. “I can’t even imagine what that did to you.”
“I was seven. I pissed myself, cried when they found me, had nightmares for a few weeks, and then put it behind me,” Zachary lied.
“Oh? That’s good to know. So often events in childhood can define and govern us as adults.” DuGilles didn’t believe a word, his smile long and thin.
Zachary resisted the urge to tug at his collar and loosen it. It really was getting impossibly difficult to breathe, and the shadows in the corners seemed to be creeping even closer.
“If you’re able then,” DuGilles continued, “let’s press on—I’d like to show you my experiments. I have a fresh one out this morning.”
“A fresh what? Out from where?” Zachary cleared his throat, following DuGilles unwillingly down into the chamber, away from the torchlight. Through the darkness, Zachary spotted a line of cells, which had long been abandoned, circular and carved out of the rock, as if the castle had been built over the ruins of something more ancient and frightening. As they reached the last cell, DuGilles stopped and bid Zachary to take a look inside.
At first, it appeared to be as empty as the others. Then a ragged section of the wall moved and scurried up to the bars. A pair of animalistic eyes, wide and bloodshot, stared up at Zachary. He jumped back, and choked as he recognised the grubby face peering up at him.
“Lord Farthing?” Zachary dropped onto his knees, peering in at Isaac’s master. “Healing Septus, man—what happened to you? You look half-starved…” Zachary trailed off as the man cocked his head to the side, looking blank. Farthing had once been a dignified, if somewhat prudish man, but now there was nothing of that in his dull, empty eyes. “Athea have mercy, what have you done DuGilles?”
“Lord Farthing was found guilty of consorting with rebels a few weeks ago. The King was prepared to have him executed, but I insisted that such a life shouldn’t be wasted. Not when there are measures to correct misguided treachery.” DuGilles squatted down and, producing a crust of bread from his pocket, fed it through the bars. Farthing leapt on it, and began to tear it apart, ravenous. Zachary pushed himself away from the cage against the opposite wall.
“What have you done?” he repeated.
“Only what the King asked of me. Don’t be so stricken, Lord Zachary—his condition now is only temporary. Soon enough, he will be as capable of speech, interaction and life, as he was before. You must remember—I only just let him out.”
“Let him out of where?” Zachary found it hard not to shout. His head was spinning, panic beginning to pulse through him. His body was now desperate for fresh air, and he wanted nothing more than to be as far away from this evil place as he could.
“I’ll show you.” DuGilles pointed further down into the claustrophobic chamber, in the opposite direction that Zachary wanted to go.
And yet, numb and fighting back his shivers, Zachary followed DuGilles, unwilling to be alone with Lord Farthing.
“Here.” DuGilles stopped and pointed down into deep pit which had been dug out just below him. Zachary could see the stone tiles which had been lifted from the floor now lined the opposite wall, alongside two huge mounds of earth and rock, which had been dug up.
The pit itself was about three strides deep, and contained within it a peculiar structure that Zachary had to squint to make out in the darkness. It was a rectangular box, long and thin, just large enough for a man to lie flat in. Two thin pipes led out from the sides, up into the chamber above. One pipe filtered out into the open air, and the other looped into a strange glass dome, filled with a milky liquid, and set upon a small, unlit furnace. For a brief moment, Zachary thought he was looking at some sort of strange new heating system, and then slowly the truth dawned on him.
“Do you like it?” DuGilles asked with delight. “Constructed out of a mixture of mica and lead, buried under three strides of earth and stone, this box is a sanctuary of sense. Any who go in are cleansed of the frivolities of the world—no sight, no sound, no sense of the stars or world beyond. Coupling that with a potion that can cause temporary anosmia,” DuGilles gestured to the glass dome, “and my subjects find themselves in a new womb, ready to be born again. Don’t believe me? Climb down—take a closer look.”
Zachary only realised he’d stepped away from DuGilles, when his back struck the opposite wall. He pushed himself against it, his legs weak. He couldn’t breathe at all. “W-why?”
“Ah, of course,” DuGilles slapped his forehead, “I should have explained my process first. You see, there’s a belief that when we’re born, we emerge innocent of everything. Of course, the star we are born under may dictate some of our behaviour, but we are as a blank canvas—waiting to be painted by experience.” DuGilles pretended not to notice how badly Zachary was struggling not to bolt, though Zachary saw his eyes flash with glee. “Now, when a man questions his loyalty, it’s usually because something else has corrupted him. That corruption can leave a stain on the canvas. So I fashioned this technique, which offers men the chance to remove everything undesirable on their canvas—to be blank once more and born again. To return to the earth and be truly cleansed. It’s a tricky process to be sure—many steps must be taken. First of all, the subject must be run down, brought to a level where he’s susceptible to the change. I usually find that pain is most efficient in this, though the nature of the torture will vary with each subject. For some, it’s physical, others…” DuGilles eyed Zachary, “psychological. Next, the subject is stripped of anything which ties him to the life he lived—his clothes, his senses, the very gods he believes in. We cut all connection to that outside world. Finally, we remove everything that makes a man human—food, warmth, sight, smell, sound. At first, they struggle, but after a time their mind stops rebelling against the loss of these things, and begins instead to focus on retaining them again. And with that falls away stubbornness, loyalty, a sense of self. And then we can begin rebuilding, and I as the artist may define how this man ought to be. A brand new canvas to paint. Do you see, Lord Zachary? Complete control.”
“This is…this is insane.”
“It’s not a savoury process, true, but the results make up for that entirely,” DuGilles said. “That Corlavite the King has granted me…Howell, was his name? He made a silly mistake that m
ight have marked him forever. Now he can be truly loyal again.”
Zachary turned away. He’d fainted only once in his adult life, fourteen years ago, when, having suffered a bad wound, he’d made the mistake of getting out of bed too quickly. Now, he could feel a similar lightness of his head and the sudden heaviness of his body. His vision had begun to tunnel. He knew he had to flee. “You can’t…you can’t do this to an innocent man.”
“But that’s the point, Lord Zachary—when I’m done, he will be innocent. My experiments have been highly successful. Of those who survived the process, I’ve only ever failed once, and only because his conversion was interrupted. He was broken out of the box after only a week, you see, before he was ready.”
“What happened to him?” Zachary’s voice had raised two tones, and was threatening to go higher.
“He was a lost cause—I gave up trying to help and killed him. What can I say? Your brothering apprentice was too stained for even me to clean,” DuGilles lamented and Zachary choked.
“Merle?” Zachary said weakly, and then covered his mouth as he retched, swallowing down his breakfast.
“I fear the atmosphere down here doesn’t agree with you,” DuGilles said kindly. “Perhaps it’s time for you to go? You must have many things to do.”
Zachary, unable to speak, nodded and turned very quickly away. He knew he’d compromised himself, but he doubted even Howell, who’d smiled so inanely during his sentence, would have been able to maintain that same expression in the face of what DuGilles had revealed.
Zachary made it to the stairway of the chamber just as DuGilles bid him one final farewell.
“Lowena dhis.”
Zachary’s entire body seized. He stood, frozen on the bottom step. “What did you say?”
“Oh, you’ll have to forgive my pronunciation. I said good-day to you.” DuGilles chuckled. “I like to pick up new languages wherever I travel. My Althion is yet rudimentary,” he said cheerfully, “but I think I’m getting there.”
Zachary looked back in time to see DuGilles part his lips, baring his teeth in an ugly grin.
Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2) Page 30