Isiilde wasn’t exactly sure to whom he was referring, because of late, they had ruffled far too many feathers. Regardless, they walked out together, and that was all that mattered.
As the paladins bullied everyone out of the way, Marsais arranged a stern face, nodding to the cheering crowd as if he were not on the verge of collapse. Clearly concerned, Oenghus stayed close to Marsais.
“Not bad, Marsais!” Isek called, breaking free of the pressing crowd to fall in step beside them. The assistant tossed a heavy pouch to Oenghus. “The Scarecrow made us all a small fortune.” Oenghus hefted the pouch with a satisfied grunt before tucking it into his belt.
“Guthre worked you over good though. I was starting to think I made a poor choice,” Isek admitted. He moved beside Isiilde, squinting uneasily at Marsais’ wounds, weaving the ever present coin between his fingers.
The arena was located in one of the outer baileys. To escape the crowds, they passed through the gates that led into the inner courtyard and main Keep. The knot in the back of Isiilde’s neck was slowly unwinding. When they climbed the steps, moving past the four guardian statues and into the main hall, the knot unwound completely. Here, a teleportation rune would quicken their journey to Marsais’ chambers. She was lightheaded with happiness, hardly believing the outcome of the last months, and looking forward to spending her days as a free nymph; bonded to a man whom she loved.
The seven passed the threshold of the Keep, striding into the columned entrance hall, whose golden heights swirled with animated paintings that mimicked the night sky.
Her dream shattered, and a nightmare descended.
The Storm Gate slammed shut, Marsais’ coins chimed, and Isiilde was ripped from his side by none other than Isek Beirnuckle. A rush of sharp air signaled their downfall. Eiji materialized with a blowpipe already raised to her lips. Her dart nailed Oenghus in the neck.
A number of things happened at once, in a flurry of cause and effect, rippling uncontrollably outwards. The Nuthaanian ripped the dart from his neck, the paladins drew their swords with a rasp of steel, and another pair of hands grabbed Isiilde, pressing something cold to her throat as Isek stuffed a gag between her lips.
“Stop, or the nymph dies!” a voice hissed from behind.
“Stop!” Marsais shouted, dropping the attack that he had already begun to weave. His eyes were wide with dread, fixed on the blade pressing against her throat. Oenghus’ eyes fluttered towards her weakly. He was breathing harshly and sweat beaded on his sallow skin.
“Put your weapons down,” the voice of Tharios ordered, and as if by some prearranged cue, ten cowled Wise Ones dropped their Weave of Invisibility, materializing along with a host of Isle Guards. Isek quickly retreated, moving behind the Rahuatl who had her by the throat.
“Do it!” Oenghus bellowed. At his command, the paladins dropped their swords and shields with a clatter of metal on marble.
“I see you’re both familiar with this dagger,” Tharios said, stepping to the forefront and lowering his cowl. “A Devourer of the spirit. One prick from the blade will leave your nymph drifting the realms for all time as one of the Forsaken.” The immaculate Wise One walked slowly over to her, keeping his eyes focused on Marsais. “Never to be reborn again, offering her a cold, remorseless existence of endless torture.”
Marsais ignored the pale Wise One, addressing Isek instead, “Why?” The sting of betrayal clouded his grey eyes.
“You’re the Seer, you should have foreseen it,” Isek replied. “They would have done it anyway, Marsais. This way I’ve guaranteed Isiilde’s safety, but you have to do what you’re told.”
“Ah!” Marsais rasped. “So you get the nymph—you’re right, I should have foreseen it.”
“And you should have warded your conversations, as I’ve always warned you.” Isek’s words struck like a slap and Marsais flinched with realization. Isek Beirnuckle, former spy, had been doing what he does best, listening to conversations.
Tears rolled down Isiilde’s cheeks as she struggled against the Rahuatl’s hold. But N’Jalss put a quick stop to her futile fight, yanking her painfully back by the hair, nearly lifting her off her feet.
“Enough,” Tharios cut in. “Get on your knees, and put your hands down. All of you—now!”
“I’m surprised Grimstorm’s still standing,” Eiji remarked with morbid excitement. “Stone adder venom could drop a bull.”
The gag was so intrusive that Isiilde couldn’t even whimper.
“My Order will investigate,” Captain Mael declared.
“Of that I have no doubt,” Tharios said with a polite smile. “On your knees, hands down, or N’Jalss will gladly bleed her.” Oenghus gasped for air, his muscles seizing a moment before he collapsed to his knees, falling forward with a thud.
“Looks like he’s a bit sturdier than a bull, but it still works,” Eiji said, kicking the Nuthaanian roughly in the ribs.
A guard stepped forward, clouting Marsais on the back of the head, shoving him to the floor, and pressing a foot to the side of his face. The Archlord struggled as his wrists were bound and then yanked forward by a rope, stretching his arms and holding his hands in place.
Shimei Al’eeth stepped forward, swinging his mace. The spiked mace slammed into Marsais’ vulnerable hands, crushing bone and flesh with ruthless force. Marsais howled in agony. Again, the mace was brought up, and then brought down with enough force to crack the marble floor. Isiilde thrashed, but it was useless, N’Jalss had her by the hair like a dangling fish.
“How could you serve him, Shimei?” Marsais screamed hoarsely. The guard let go of the rope, and Marsais jerked his arms in with a whimper, cradling his mangled hands protectively against his chest.
“You are weak, and once were a king of Vaylin. Imagine when your friend Isek let your name slip, Marsais zar’Vaylin.” The Kilnish lord spat in his face.
“Bind them, and bring them,” Tharios ordered.
“Do you know what he plans?” Marsais’ face was twisted with pain and he had to force every word past his lips. “Ask him about his plans to summon Karbonek, Shimei.”
“You were always a raving lunatic, Marsais. Did you have another vision?” Tharios was all poise and confidence. “They know my plans. That was always your problem, old man, no one could ever fathom how your mind worked.” It was clear who the traitors believed.
The cowled Wise Ones gagged the prisoners, and the guards bound their wrists, dragging them forward. However, the guards didn’t bother with Oenghus, because every muscle in his body was convulsing and spittle dripped from his lips. He struggled to draw a single breath.
N’Jalss sniffed at the nymph’s neck, before running a grating tongue up her ear.
“She’s mine,” Isek hissed, stepping forward.
The Rahuatl sneered at the little man before pushing her forward with a growl. She fell into Isek’s arms. He clamped her wrists together with one of his hands, and bound them tightly with the other, ignoring the desperate plea in her emerald eyes. Isek had been Marsais’ trusted friend for hundreds of years. How could he betray Marsais so completely?
“I’m not going to hurt you, Isiilde,” Isek whispered. “You know you’ll be safe with me.” He reminded her of Stievin and she closed her eyes against his hungry gaze.
It was pointless to fight, but she did, just as she had done with Stievin. Isiilde brought her knee up and Isek jumped back with a grin, then moved forward, hoisting the kicking nymph over his shoulder.
Peering upside down as she was, she could see little from her awkward vantage point as Isek followed after the group of betrayers. Oenghus’ feet dragged limply along the stone between two muscular soldiers who were struggling with his bulk. Marsais was staggering between Shimei and N’Jalss. He glanced over his shoulder, catching her eye.
Isiilde had never seen fear in his eyes, until that moment. She called out to him in panic through their Bond, but there was no reassuring answer, only the distance that he had kept her at since the
beginning of his duel.
Captain Mael and her two paladins were being prodded with spears. For the Captain’s part, there wasn’t a flicker of fear in the woman’s stern face. To all appearances, she looked at her captors like pigs who were about to be slaughtered. Isiilde certainly hoped that that was the case.
The group walked for a long time—long enough for Isek’s shoulder to become uncomfortable. She squirmed, struggling for breath, as she tried to lessen the pressure on her stomach, finding little relief.
The party entered a narrow stairwell that plunged into the earth. The passage was dank and smelled of mold, with torches fluttering fitfully in their rusty sconces. She tried to call her flame, to summon it to her aid, but without the power of her voice, the fire only sputtered weakly.
Isiilde did not recognize this part of the castle. She was forbidden to explore the lower levels. But then she had had no desire to do such a thing. The press of stone had always smothered her curiosity. Even now, the walls were closing in and she felt as trapped as she had ever been. Mold tickled her nose, causing her to sneeze painfully around her gag. Isek cursed, setting her down to pat out the flames that had caught on his cloak.
“You said a gag would take care of that,” N’Jalss hissed.
“It’s just an involuntary reaction. She can’t help it,” Isek explained, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her forward.
“We can’t afford any surprises, Isek.”
“And you’ll have none.”
The narrow stairwell ended, flowing into a passage that sloped downwards. They were led through a series of twisting chambers. A spiderweb of passages branched off into darkness. Muffled noises of turning cogs and hissing steam filled the air with the dull hum of activity.
Isiilde glimpsed rooms filled with alchemy equipment, giant cauldrons, and walls of shelves, which were packed to the brim with herbs and other dubious ingredients. One room held the remains of a monstrous animal, its bleached bones propped against the walls like fallen timber.
Another stairway, and they went deeper still, the weight of stone crushing her chest. She tried to bolt back up the stairwell, tugging against her captor, but Isek hoisted her over his shoulder again.
“Be still,” Isek commanded, sliding his hand beneath her skirts to pinch the back of her thigh in warning. The gag silenced her whimper and she went limp, however, his revolting touch remained on her flesh.
Isiilde was as helpless as she had been while trapped in the washroom with Stievin. But in many ways, this was far worse. The only people who could rescue her were captives too, and in much worse condition. Was Oenghus still alive? From her uncomfortable position, she could only see N’Jalss’ boots in the narrow corridor. All that was left to the nymph was to shiver with silent dread while she prayed to the Sylph for help.
After an indeterminable time, the party stopped in a large chamber. The rafters were lost in shadows, and the corners were obscured by darkness. The prisoners were shackled to chains looped over beams, and then hoisted off their feet by a cruel winch. Marsais’ eyes rolled back in his head as he was wrenched off his feet. Fresh blood gushed from his wound, running rivulets down his side and dripping onto the floor.
Tharios gestured sharply towards the Seer, and one of their captors stepped forward, lowering his cowl. She recognized him as Zander, a Xaionian Wise One. He removed Marsais’ gag and pressed a vial to his lips, forcing him to drink its contents. Oenghus hung limply from his chains, his broad chest rose with a shudder and deflated with a rattle.
The room made her skin crawl. Strange devices, bristling with blades, screws, and leather straps, were scattered about the chamber. A row of rusted cages sat in filthy ichor on one side. Shadowed, vaguely human lumps languished behind the bars. Coals smoldered in a rusty brazier in the center of the chamber. An array of instruments rested on the edge, their tips nestled beneath the coals, glowing red in the dark.
The majority of the traitorous soldiers had been left at key points along the way to discourage any unwanted visitors. Only six soldiers remained along with Zander, Shimei, N’Jalss, Eiji, and Tharios.
Isek pulled her back so she had a better view of Marsais, or perhaps it was so he could see her. Tharios strolled over to a cruel, wooden chair with metal buckles and clamps, and casually sat down. The pale Wise One lounged, letting his prisoners ponder their Fate as he studied his lacquered nails with disinterest. Eiji was poking curiously at Oenghus, surprised every time he managed another breath.
Captain Mael watched from her hanging position. Lucas glared at everyone with a vehemence that would have done Oenghus justice, and the young, smooth-faced paladin was sweating with fear, making a valiant effort to swallow his terror.
Whatever they had forced down Marsais’ throat seemed to revive him, because he lifted his head. In one fluid motion, Tharios rose, drew his dagger with a hiss of steel, and swept the blade towards Marsais. Isiilde jerked, but the blade fell short of his throat, slicing through his goatee instead. Braid and coins clattered to the floor.
“We mustn't forget about those little trinkets.” Tharios kicked the severed braid away as if it were cursed. “You look as though you are alert, perhaps not comfortable, but we hardly want that. N’Jalss is extremely talented at maintaining a perfect balance between life and death. The limits of the body versus the severity of pain is a fascinating subject. We certainly don’t want you passing out.”
Marsais remained tight-lipped, studying the Wise One with disgust. Blood dripped from his mangled hands onto his face.
“It’s too bad you’re not in a talkative mood.” Tharios paced slowly around Marsais’ hanging form. “So let me get right to the point and allow me to paint a picture for you. The Archlord, who is already wounded and compromised, is suddenly attacked by Oenghus Saevaldr for his—indiscretion with his charge. The barbarian, whose honor was slighted, flies into a rage and tears the Archlord to pieces. Our noble paladins foolishly get in the way of a berserking Nuthaanian, and are quickly slaughtered for their gallant efforts, at which point Eiji is forced to subdue Oenghus, and kill him.
“O, there will be the skeptical, the doubting, but in the end the Wise Ones will do what they always do: argue, debate, investigate, argue some more and finally—nothing at all.”
Isiilde squirmed against Isek’s grip in protest.
“You will be a scratch on that useless table in the Hall of Judgment, and I will be Archlord in the wake of your unfortunate, but not widely mourned death.” Tharios stopped directly in front of Marsais, peering into his face. “You know what I want. I have never questioned your foresight, although it seems to do you little good, so let me narrow down your options. I doubt torture will work, but I’ll give N’Jalss the satisfaction anyway. Same with your barbarian friend, although by the looks of him, I doubt he’ll last but a few breaths longer.” Tharios’ voice chilled Isiilde’s blood. If a realm existed where no sun shone, then his voice would whisper to all ears in the darkness. He spoke of their deaths as someone might remark on the weather.
“I know what will cut to your heart. She’s standing over there like a terrified rabbit.” Isek tensed, hugging her closer as Tharios walked behind Marsais, speaking softly in his ear. “Look at those eyes. Wide and innocent. Do you think she can even imagine what horrors the body can endure?”
“You swore she’d be unharmed,” Isek challenged. “That was our agreement.”
“And I honor my agreements, Isek. You will have the nymph, and I assure you that she will not be harmed any more than you would harm her.” Isiilde could feel Isek’s heart quicken against her back.
“I leave the choice to you, Marsais zar’Vaylin. Tell me how to reach the tomb and I will send her off to live in safety with Isek. He’s not such a bad fellow, is he? She wouldn’t be the first nymph to set two friends at each other’s throat.”
Marsais remained still, however, Oenghus began to stir, a low rumble rising from his chest as he sucked in another, unbelievable breath.
&nb
sp; “Now the first option isn’t so bad, but let me give you the second.” Tharios leaned forward, brushing Marsais’ ear, his voice smooth and pleasant. “You will have the privilege of watching my men pleasure themselves with your nymph. I’ve always wondered what would become of a nymph who changed hands so quickly.”
N’Jalss moved towards Isiilde. The Lore sprang to Isek’s lips, but Tharios was faster. An ethereal hand materialized, lashing towards Isek and seizing him about the throat. Tharios gestured, lifting the would be traitor off his feet.
“It’s unwise for a turncoat to turn again,” Tharios warned. “I swear you’ll have her. Keep silent or I will rip out your tongue, Isek.” Tharios released the hand and Isek crumpled to the dingy stone, gasping for air. N’Jalss seized Isiilde’s hair and dragged her over to a slanted table.
“No,” Oenghus rasped, stirring weakly against his chains. Eiji jumped backwards, gaping in shock.
“I don’t know where the tomb is!” Marsais exclaimed, frantically. “Blast it, if I knew don’t you think I would have investigated it myself?”
“I think you’re lying,” Tharios replied.
N’Jalss slammed her onto the table and shackled her wrists. The chains were pulled tight and she fought to slip free, ignoring the rusty metal digging into her flesh. She kicked at N’Jalss, but he caught her ankles in one strong hand. Still, she struggled. N’Jalss shackled one ankle, and then the other, spreading her legs to opposite corners of the table. Blood trickled down her arms and feet, but in her terror, she cared not, fighting against the chains like an animal caught in a trap.
“In fact, I know you’re lying.” Tharios gestured to the soldiers who eagerly lined up, jostling one another to be first. “Think back, before you were born even, to the founding of this Isle—over three thousand years ago. Legend claims that Hengist Heartfang, the first Archlord of the Isle, raised the Spine. However, I know the truth.” Tharios’ voice lowered dangerously. “And I know what lies beneath this rock.” Marsais’ eyes widened. He gazed at Tharios with new understanding—and fear.
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