Chains of the Heretic

by Jeff Salyards

  Braylar looked at his lieutenant. “So. Take stock, and also tell the men to stay well away from the door.”

  Mulldoos and Vendurro nodded and set off into adjacent rooms and the captain started walking away with me in tow. When we were far enough away not to be heard, I asked, “What do you think they intend to do with us?”

  Braylar pressed his lips tight and closed his eyes for a moment, and tremors rolled over his eyelids and seemed to find a path down his cheek. The captain clenched his jaw and waited it out until whatever ailed him passed or lessened. Then he opened his eyes again and said, “I have no idea. And even if I concocted a notion, it would likely be proven wrong. So we will simply wait and see. They didn’t summarily execute us as they could have, so that could bode well. Or it could be they are only saving us for something worse. We cannot know until they make their intentions clear. But until then, I intend to do my best not to fall over wracked with pain as we assess and try to formulate a plan of some kind.”

  He walked towards the other rooms, arms crossed at the wrists behind his back, head down slightly, bowed under unseen and immeasurable weight. I wasn’t sure what would prove more of a burden or torture—the presence of stolen memories that ordinarily afflicted him or the absence of the weapon itself that he contended with now.

  When it was clear the Deserters weren’t coming back, I pulled my writing case out from under the pallet, cracked it open, and recorded the awful events of our capture. When I was done, I walked into some of the other mostly empty rooms, moving through them, drawn forward by the distant sounds of the city of Roxtiniak. While it was an alien place to be sure, perplexing and foreign and disturbing, there were still voices, shouts, what sounded like curses, and the rolling wheels of gigantic cairns pulled by rooters.

  It suddenly hit me that I had no idea what became of our horses. Would they kill them? Eat them? Given the reaction the humans in this land had to the beasts, I doubted they had simply set them free, and they certainly weren’t going to ride them. I felt guilty I hadn’t stopped to think of it before. While I hadn’t spent my life around the creatures, or formed any kind of bond the way these Jackals had with their own mounts—being crossbow cavalry for the most part—I had grown to appreciate the animals in my short time, saddle sores and all. I even looked forward to those moments of brushing my own horse, caring for her. They were beautiful, strong, smart beasts.

  If the Deserters had killed them off, I was glad I at least hadn’t seen it.

  Sighing, I looked out the window. Unlike the door, the windows were barred, so I didn’t think I would set off a trap like Benk had, but still held my breath as I got closer. Not being thrown across the room, I peered out—given the construction with the upper floors extending out slightly more than the ones below, even if there weren’t bars, it would be impossible to scale the walls down, especially without a rope or any kind of tools.

  The city view was breathtaking, though, even more so than the view of Sunwrack from the height of the Jackal Tower. But as I surveyed the oddly shaped and asymmetrical buildings around the city, something arrested my attention unlike anything else. I’d caught a glimpse of it from the ground level, but now with this vantage point, I saw it clearly.

  There was a small quadrant of smaller dwellings, mostly walled off from the rest of Roxtiniak. Even with the sun setting somewhere beyond the city’s Veil, the colors of this little sector were awesome to behold—garish, outlandish, brighter than any dwellings I’d even seen, and undeniably human. They might have been slaves, but they seemed to delight in expressing themselves in the one way that couldn’t possibly offend their eyeless masters. While the Deserters had a way of sensing their surroundings I couldn’t fathom, they clearly couldn’t see the color of anything.

  In the extraordinarily muted and neutral tones of the rest of the city, this riot of color was the greatest silent protest I’d even seen.

  I heard someone approaching and turned. Vendurro said, “There you are. Thought you must have been off roping the unicorn again.”

  I started to protest and he chuckled and hit me in the arm, “Plague me, Arki, but you’re tighter than a priest’s bunghole sometimes. It might actually do you some good if you let off some of that pent up . . . whatever it is you got pent up, and took matters into your own hands. Hand, anyway.” He laughed at his own joke, and I couldn’t help smiling. Then he turned to go, took a few steps before stopping and looking back at me. “Well, come on then. Didn’t think I came out here just to harass you, did you? Cap wants us.”

  I followed him through the rooms I’d seen, passing several with Syldoon reclining against the walls, staring vacantly ahead or with their heads resting on their knees. Curiously, none had fallen into the cots that filled most of the rooms. Perhaps the captain had ordered them not to, or possibly they didn’t trust that gesture as benign or truly generous.

  We turned and moved off through an open doorway that led to another suite of rooms, and I noticed the rumbling sound of rushing water was louder here.

  A few rooms later, Vendurro and I joined the captain, Mulldoos, Azmorgon, Benk, and Rudgi. My stomach twisted as it hit me anew than Hewspear was going to forever be absent from the captain’s council.

  The group was facing a broad open but barred window, silent, looking out at whatever lay beyond. As I settled in line next to Vendurro, I witnessed something that made the colorful human commune seem completely insignificant.

  The Deserter palace was in the shape of a ring and was so large it was difficult to imagine how long it would have taken them to construct it. That alone would have been impressive, as it dwarfed even the most magnificent of human dwellings, but what lay in the expanse in the middle was so utterly unlike anything I’d ever witnessed, it was impossible to even understand it at first or believe my eyes weren’t betraying me.

  At the base of the palace, there was a broad lake surrounded by a wide strip filled with more of the spiked columns and other foliage and footpaths, but it was the lake itself that drew the eye immediately and revealed what the odd watery noise was. In the middle of the lake, there appeared to be a . . . giant drain of some sort, fifty yards across. It was as if a round waterfall occupied the center— the water ran over the edge of what must have been a deep circular cliff of some kind, though I couldn’t see how deep it went down, even from this height and vantage point, as the rushing water disappeared in mist and spray in the drain.

  I stared, shook my head, and turned to Vendurro. “That’s . . . impossible. Isn’t it? I mean, if a river goes over a waterfall, the water is replenished from the source. But this . . . it’s a lake. Impossible.”

  Mulldoos replied, “Impossible is something that can’t exist, right, scribbler? Seems like this queer lake is mighty strange, but it sure as hells exists, don’t it?”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the water disappearing into the huge drain in the center. “Fine. Clearly it does exist. But have you ever seen anything like this, then?” He didn’t reply right away, and so I added, “Anyone? Because real or not, such a thing shouldn’t be possible.”

  Vendurro offered. “Kind of like a fountain, ain’t it? How does a fountain plaguing work?”

  “It is like one,” I admitted. “Only ten thousand times larger. And not man-made. Or Deserter-made. It is a lake.”

  “Right you are. Still want to know how a fountain works though.”

  Mulldoos shook his head. “Your head is a plaguing fountain.”

  Braylar leaned against the small stone window ledge, eyes fixed on the bizarre lake as it emptied into itself without running dry, the crashing water a dull roar in the background. “We are in the land of the Deserters. Whatever these beings are, we do not know what they are capable of, or what sorcery or sophisticated engineering unknown to us they possess or employ. Perhaps they have shaped the land, or created this themselves. Or perhaps it simply is. There is no telling what exists or does not on this side of the Godveil, or why.” He stepped away from the window
and walked towards the opposite wall as we all started following. “And what needs concern us just now is trying to understand our captors as quickly as possible and figuring out the best strategy to getting out of this.”

  Mulldoos said, “Ogre, why don’t you try just walking out the front door. Maybe Benk cleared the way for you.”

  Azmorgon glared at him. “Yeah. Real plaguing funny. Plaguing hilarious, you are, you squinty little fuck.”

  Rudgi said, “Who knows, maybe if you got to running first, you could—”

  “Shut your hole, she-cunt.” Azmorgon rumbled.

  Vendurro said, “On account of a lady having lady bits, and Rudgi there being a lady, the ‘she’ is redundant.”

  “I’m no lady, Ven. But you’re right about the redundancy. It is pretty plaguing redundant.”

  Azmorgon glowered down at both of them. “The whole lot of you, plaguing riotous. But now that Squirrel’s been elevated, these two bastards are my peers. You, though?” He jabbed a huge finger into Rudgi’s collarbone, knocking her back a step. “You don’t watch that stupid tongue of yours, you’ll be cleaning my chamber pot for weeks. Just see if you don’t. Maybe with your stupid tongue even. Cleaning it with your tongue. How’s that sound, you lippy little she-cunt.” He caught himself. “Regular cunt. Whatever I plaguing feel like calling you.” He looked around, daring anyone to correct him.

  I never thought it possible, but Azmorgon really did make Mulldoos seem like an erudite orator.

  Braylar appeared to be ignoring the entire exchange, eyes fixed on the lake that really shouldn’t have been a lake, but when a Syldoon came running over to the window, the captain spun around, hand reaching for Bloodsounder even though the flail was nowhere near.

  The soldier said, “Your sister, Cap. She’s alive. Well, mostly.”

  He turned and moved at a quick walk towards the main entrance to the quarters and we all followed.

  When we got to the main common room and the arched doorway, Soffjian was on her hands and knees about eight paces into the room, and two Deserters were standing behind, surveying the Syldoon around them. They each had their spiked hafts in hand, though not immediately threatening, held relaxed at their sides, and they stood there, towering over the unarmed humans as if challenging them to bull-rush the pair.

  None did, of course, so the Deserters turned nonchalantly and strode out.

  Soffjian tried to get to her feet and fell, barely catching herself before slamming her head on the stone floor. She was far enough inside the room that she didn’t set off the trigger near the doorway, but no one was in a hurry to go assist her, just the same. Several of the soldiers looked around, and a few muttered.

  Finally, Braylar walked forward until he stood next to his sister. Soffjian could barely raise her head, but either recognized his boots or gait, as she slurred, “Well. Seems roles are reversed a bit. Must be fantastic for you.” Then she collapsed.

  Braylar knelt down and rolled her onto her back. She didn’t seem to have any bruises or contusions of any kind, no noticeable wounds. The captain lifted her torso off the stones and then called out, “Vendurro. Give me a hand. Let’s get to a cot, yes?”

  Vendurro ran up and they hoisted her to her feet, one arm over each of their shoulders, and lifted her limp weight off the ground enough to carry her into the closest room with bedrolls.

  I watched them disappear around the corner. It was disturbing enough to see Braylar succumb to Bloodsounder, or Mulldoos and Hewspear laid low by Memoridons. But to see Soffjian, a powerful Memoridon in her own right, overcome so easily by the Deserter witch . . . well, that was truly frightening.

  At least she was still alive. For now anyway. That was something.

  Rudgi was standing nearby and looked at me. “What do you suppose they did to her? And why did they keep her singled out like that this whole time?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t say. Interrogated her? Tortured her? Toyed with her? They are a totally foreign species—it’s impossible to know until she can confirm anything.”

  “Well. That’s real uplifting.”

  “You did ask. But I am only guessing.”

  Rudgi was still looking at the room they’d taken her to as the rest of the Syldoon dispersed. “Didn’t have a mark on her though, did she? You saw that, I’m guessing. Or didn’t, as it were. You know what I mean.”

  “I do,” I replied. “And you’re right. It didn’t appear that they physically hurt her.”

  “Sooooo . . . do you suppose they must have used the same sort of witchery on her she uses herself? Something like that?”

  I turned and looked at her, noticing for the first time that she was the same height as I was. Her dark eyes were startlingly earnest. There was no mockery there, no mischief that I could see, no hint of anything but pure curiosity. “I can’t say for certain, Rudgi, but—”

  “On account of not being witness to what they did, and not being a Deserter, and not a bunch of other things. I got it. But I’m asking you to suppose with me. What do you suppose?”

  “I suppose they were exploring. Her memories. Her mind. They probably saw that she had some defenses against their sorcery, and put up the best fight. And I suppose that would make them very curious.”

  Rudgi nodded twice and looked back to the room. “That’s roughly what I was supposing myself. I sort of feel like I ought to be glad, on account of the damage she’s doled out. Kind of a cruel sort of justice. But then again, she’s Cap’s sis. And what’s more, he needs her, it seems like. Though what for, exactly, is hard to say, isn’t it? Cap’s never real forthcoming about the particulars, is he?”

  I didn’t answer right away, as it hit me that the rank and file Jackals didn’t likely know the full scope of what Braylar or their Tower Commander intended for them, or how or why Soffjian was accompanying us at all.

  “It is hard to say,” I replied, and before she could ask anything else, added, “Excuse me.”

  I walked away, though now with the scrolls gone, I had no real pretense for needing to have any space to myself. Still, better than deflecting questions or revealing more than I ought to.

  It was a very odd feeling to possess more knowledge of our purpose than most of the people around me, when the reverse had been true for so long.

  I would have reveled in that notion more if we hadn’t been trapped in a prison without bars by a giant race who could march through that open door any moment to kill us or shred our minds or toss us in Lake Drain or whatever else they felt like doing.

  Being in the know for once brought no pleasure at all. That hardly seemed fair, as the opportunity to enjoy that position might never come again.

  The captain kept close counsel with his lieutenants and occasionally sergeants, waiting for his sister to wake, or arguing over potential plans, or doing who knew what. Without translation to occupy my time, after recording a bit more, I didn’t know what to do with myself. And without weapons, I couldn’t even ask Mulldoos for any more welt-filled lessons on how to wield one. The Syldoon seemed just as restless, having no chores, drills, preparations, or reconnaissance to occupy them. I overheard some grumbling quietly to each other, though they always quieted whenever I came near. But we were all in the same position—nothing for it but to wait. At least for the moment.

  So I took a cot as far from everyone as I could manage and laid back, my mind buzzing with how unreal it all seemed, being a prisoner in a Deserter city on the other side of the Veil.

  And before I knew it, I fell into a sleep. A depthless, dreamless sleep like the dead, as it happened. Much more soundly than I could have possibly imagined, though abbreviated. I woke sometime in the middle of the night to the sounds of dozens of snores of varying patterns around me, disoriented, in the dark, and it took me a moment to remember where I was.

  My bladder was full to bursting, so I carefully got out of my cot and made my way to the nearest chamber pot that our captors had provided, scattered in the corners of rooms. It sounded
like a furious storm when I released, and I was certain I would wake someone, but if I did, no one gave a sign.

  I considered heading back to my cot, not knowing how many hours of night might be left. But now alert and roused, I knew I’d only lie there staring up into the black, mind whirling and spinning itself silly, and likely unable to fall back asleep anytime soon.

  So I shuffled out of the room, moving slowly and carefully to avoid waking anyone around me, and biting my lip to avoid yelping when I banged my toes on the doorframe leaving the chamber.

  I wasn’t sure exactly where I intended to go, but my feet had their own ideas, and I found myself drifting towards the dull roar of rushing water. It was a miracle that didn’t have everyone running to the chamber pots twelve times a night.

  A small breeze was blowing, dry, cool, and I looked down at the lake that should not have existed, constantly running into its own drain in the center. While I couldn’t see much below, I looked up through the hole in Veildome to see that the horned moon occasionally broke free from a cloudbank and threw a flash of silver on the water that was constantly flowing away from the shore in the most unnatural fashion possible.

  I heard a voice behind me, “Sleep, elusive as a ghost, plaintive as a widow, and as easy to hold as the wind.”

  I turned around as Captain Killcoin stepped up alongside me. “It is good to see I am not the only one so plagued.” He sounded exceptionally tired, and not a little far away, as if he were talking more to himself or a phantom and expected no reply.

  “Captain. You should try to get some rest.”

  Braylar turned towards me, though the clouds had conspired against the moon again, and I could see little of his face and nothing of his expression. “Should I? Truly? I hadn’t considered it before, but you very well might be onto something. Shocking that no one else has thought to suggest it to me.” He spoke with a surplus of sarcasm, and the rebuke was only barely below the surface.

  “That is, I only mean, since—”