The Vale: Behind The Vale

by Brian D. Anderson

  Bane directed him to drive to the west side of town and park in front of a tavern called the Trail and Stone. There wasn’t anything much of note in this area, just a few shops and a fueling station. Most of the industry was on the east side, where a tire plant was the main employer.

  Bane sat quietly for a time, just staring at the tavern’s front door. A few patrons left, one of whom was barely able to walk from too much drink.

  “Is this the place?” Drake asked.

  “The prince came here to escape,” Bane replied. “Needless to say, he didn’t make it.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  Two large men emerged and positioned themselves on either side of the entrance. “That,” Bane said. “The club owner is in the back, locked in his office. We’ll need a key to get in.”

  “I don’t want a trail of bodies,” Drake warned him.

  “Whatever you might have heard, I don’t kill indiscriminately.”

  “What about the men who captured me in the tavern? You could have taken them out without killing them.”

  Bane shrugged. “They might have identified me. And I wasn’t entirely sure who they were working for. Anyway, it’s not like you’re so innocent. How many men have you killed?”

  “That doesn’t matter. I just don’t want to be explaining a whole bunch of dead bodies when this is over.”

  Bane climbed out of the car. “I’ll do my best.”

  Drake grumbled. This would not go well. The magistrate would not be at all happy if he killed his way through the provinces – even if it was to rescue the prince. He got out and followed just behind Bane.

  The two men saw them approaching and both crossed their thick arms, glowering.

  “What’s with the sour faces, boys?” Bane called.

  “Five notes each,” said the man on their left. “And your pal will have to check in his weapon.”

  Drake cursed himself for not putting on his shoulder harness. He wasn’t about to give anyone his P37. However, it quickly became apparent that he wouldn’t need to.

  Bane’s hands glowed blue. Before either man could move, two streams of mana sprang forth, each one coiling itself completely around its target. Both men struggled and twisted violently, to no avail. Muscles, no matter how strong, were never going to be enough to break the spell.

  Bane looked back at Drake. “You see? I didn’t kill them.”

  “Do you know who owns this place?” grunted one of the entrapped men.

  “Of course I do,” he replied, smiling. “Drake, if you wouldn’t mind terribly… One of them will be carrying the key we need.”

  Drake stepped forward and quickly found a ring of keys on the second one’s front pocket.

  “Now, I can’t have you two charging in and disturbing us,” Bane continued. “So...”

  The mana became brighter for a second; then there was a flash. Both guards immediately crumbled to the ground, their arms and legs twitching and jerking.

  “Not exactly discreet,” remarked Drake.

  Bane flashed a smile. “Never mind. We won’t be here long.”

  The thrumming beat of dance music could be heard when they opened the door, though at this point it was muffled by the carpet covered walls of the small lobby. The booth just ahead of the entrance to the main part of the club was empty. At least they wouldn’t have to pay a cover charge.

  Still taking the lead, Bane pushed open the steel door. At once the volume of the music tripled. To their right was a multi-tiered dance floor surrounded by a dozen or more cushioned booths. A spiral staircase, currently blocked off by a velvet rope, led to a balcony area directly above, where the more affluent guests could talk and drink without being bothered by the common rabble. Directly ahead was a long bar, illuminated by green mana bulbs. A few patrons were sitting and talking there, early arrivals eager to avoid the cover charge and take advantage of cheap drinks. Some of these glanced in their direction, but didn’t register any more than a passing notice. Off to their right were the restrooms and more booths.

  Bane strode straight up to the bar and pressed himself between two men, who glared at him angrily. “I need to see Remy,” he told the bartender.

  The young man was leaning casually against the cooler at his back, fidgeting idly with a bottle opener. “Who?” he asked.

  Bane grinned. “I think you know who.”

  One of the men who he had pushed aside then grabbed his arm. “Why don’t you get the hell out of here before you get hurt?” he snarled.

  The man’s tightly fitting t-shirt displayed a well-muscled frame. Together with his aggressive demeanor, most people would have been quite intimidated. But not Bane.

  “That’s some grip you have there,” he remarked.

  In the blink of an eye, his hand shot out and struck the man in the center of his chest with the heel of his palm. This sent him sprawling from his stool and crashing to the floor, flat on his back. The faint glow around Bane’s hand was barely visible. Even so, the bartender had obviously seen it.

  He straightened up, pressing himself hard against the cooler as if this might offer him some sort of protection. At the same time, the man on Bane’s other side sprang from his seat and backed away, in his haste nearly dislodging another customer from his seat. Bane knelt down and hovered over the man he had hit.

  “I really think you should stay down until I leave,” he advised. Not that it looked as if the man could move anyway as he clutched at his chest, moaning from the magic-enhanced blow.

  The remaining patrons were all now out of their seats and moving away. Drake groaned. Attracting attention like this was the last thing he wanted. His hand moved to the handle of his P37.

  Bane rose and leveled his gaze at the bartender. “Where were we? Ah, yes, I remember. You were about to tell me where I can find Remy.”

  “He…he’s in the back,” the young man blurted out, jabbing a shaky finger over to a door on the left end of the bar.

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Drake saw that the door was slightly ajar. Instinctively, he drew his weapon. The shot pinged off the bar a moment later. Bane spun, hands glowing bright red. Drake felt like throttling him. Rather than taking Remy by surprise, they would now have to fight their way in.

  Drake squeezed the trigger, sending a force shot into the door. It swung open, smashing against the wall. But whoever had attacked them was no longer there. This time, Drake took the lead. Shoving aside those who had yet to start running toward the front entrance, he ran up and pressed his back to the wall. Another shot ricocheted off the door frame as he peered inside, barely missing his head. Beyond was a dimly lit hall, at the end of which was the silhouette of the gunman. Before Drake could return fire, the shape ducked around a corner.

  Adjusting the P37, Drake this time sent a blinding light streaking to the end of the hallway. Averting his eyes from the glare, he raced along behind. On reaching the next corner, he could see several doors lining the wall opposite. He crouched low and looked to the end of the corridor. At the end was another door, this one made from much sturdier metal and with a narrow slot at eye level. The banging of metal followed by the high-pitched whine served as a warning. Remy was ready for them. Or at least, he thought he was.

  The crystal in his chest burned as he prepared the next shot.

  “Don’t bother,” Bane told him. “That door is mana-shielded.”

  Drake furrowed his brow. “Are you sure?”

  “Why do you think I bothered with the key?”

  Drake fired at the door anyway. The shot struck dead center, but nothing happened.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. “This is not good.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I shouldn’t have knocked that guy down.” Bane’s tone was unapologetic.

  Drake ignored the flippant remark. A mana shield on the door meant that this Remy fellow was no run-of-the-mill nightclub owner. Such things were highly expensive and almost impossible to find. His P37 could probably over
come it; it was powerful enough. But it could take quite a long time. And if Remy had a means of escape, they needed to hurry.

  He reached in his pocket and tossed Bane the keys. “Okay. You can be the one to open it.”

  He chuckled. “Of course.”

  Drake followed close behind him, halted a few feet away, and got down on one knee. Bane fumbled through the keys until finding one that looked as if it would fit the lock. Then, with a quick twist and a sharp kick, the door flew open.

  In virtually instant response, a stream of blue light shot out from somewhere inside, only just missing Bane before continuing on to strike the wall right beside Drake. Though a miss, the force of the blast still slammed into his body and sent him sliding several yards back down the hall.

  When he came to a stop, his vision was blurred and he was powerless to move. Despite this, he was still able to hear the unmistakable sizzle of magic. This was quickly followed by several sharp cries of pain.

  Both his head and right shoulder, which was nearest to the blast point, were throbbing intensely, and the rest of him felt totally limp. Mana shield and mana weapons. Who the hell was this guy?

  A minute later, he felt a pair of hands heft him up into a seated position.

  “Are you all right?” asked Bane.

  “I’ll be fine,” he croaked. “Just give me a second.”

  “Take your time. Remy’s not going anywhere.”

  Drake allowed his weight to press against the wall. The sensation in his limbs was returning and the pain subsiding. He could see Bane squatting across the hall, smiling.

  “Did you kill him?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  He began to struggle to his feet. Bane quickly took his arm and helped him up. Drake wanted to shake him off, but the truth was, he needed assistance. Nonetheless, once standing, he waved Bane away, choosing instead to make his way forward by leaning against the wall.

  Through the door was a small office. The walls were covered with holoviewers showing nearly every area of the club. Remy would have seen them coming regardless. On the far side, lying next to the splintered remains of a desk, was a short, thin man in his early forties with straight blond hair and a pale complexion. He was bound at the wrists with a thin cord.

  Bane crossed over to give him a swift kick in the ribs. Remy grunted and curled his knees to his chest.

  “That’s for hurting my friend,” Bane told him in a mock scolding tone.

  Drake noticed a long rifle propped against the wall. He recognized it immediately as a Baluride Model H957. They were illegal for the general public to own and were issued only to military and law enforcement personnel; to be in possession of one could get you life in prison. In the right hands, this weapon could take on twenty men. Only his P37 was considered deadlier.

  Drake examined the room. Aside from the overabundance of surveillance equipment, nothing else appeared unusual. All the same, he was certain there must be a hidden door in the office somewhere. Any man who would take the trouble to arm and protect himself to such a degree would not allow himself to be easily cornered. Remy had probably not been aware of the nature of the men who had come for him. Had he been, it was most unlikely he would have chosen to stay and fight.

  “Is he able to speak?” he asked.

  “Give the poor fellow a minute,” Bane smirked. “He’s had quite a shock to his system.”

  Drake focused his mana into the P37 and pushed a small button next to the trigger guard. After a few seconds, a thin line of light in the shape of a door appeared on the wall behind where Remy lay.

  “I was just about to do the same thing,” remarked Bane. He approached the area on the wall and ran his hands over the surface.

  Remy moaned and squirmed against his bindings. “You two are dead men. You hear me? Dead!”

  Bane returned his attention to their captive. “Oh, I don’t know. I feel very much alive right now. Which is more than I will be able to say for you if you don’t answer our questions.”

  “Do you know who I am?” he snapped, some of his strength returning.

  “We wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Bane told him. He held out the tip of his finger and pressed it to Remy’s cheek. A moment later there was the sizzle of burning flesh, followed closely by a wail of pain.

  He broke contact after a few seconds and plopped down onto the floor. “You know, when I was a fledgling, I was told that pain was an unreliable way to acquire information. But in truth, I’ve always found it to be quite reliable.” He glanced over to Drake. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Drake said. “I don’t want to have to fight my way out of here.”

  “Quite right.” Bane looked down at Remy. “You heard him. We don’t have time for courtesy. So you’ll be needing to tell us right away where Prince Salazar is being held.”

  “Why would I know that?”

  Bane clicked his tongue. “Now, now. Lying will only make me upset. Have you ever seen a mage when he’s upset? It’s not pretty, I can tell you.”

  “Go to hell,” Remy spat back.

  Drake almost felt sorry for the man. He had seen mages interrogate prisoners before. His own methods could be quite brutal when pressed. But mages… He particularly remembered seeing one burn the hide from a man’s body, only to heal him and start all over again. By the third time, the victim was begging for death. Thinking about it still gave him a chill.

  Reaching down, Bane pressed his right palm to Remy’s brow, then shut his eyes. Remy instantly stiffened.

  “That’s it,” Bane whispered. “Now you can tell me everything.”

  “What are you doing?” asked Drake.

  But Bane ignored him. “Yes,” he continued. “Very good. Just relax and let it all out.”

  Very quickly, tears began streaming down Remy’s cheeks, even though his face remained a stone mask. After more than a minute Bane released his hold and stood. There was an odd look of fatigue in his eyes, as though he had not slept in days.

  “The prince was here,” he confirmed. “But they moved him further north, near the barrier. Exactly where, I can’t say.”

  “What the hell did you do to him?” Drake demanded. Remy was still motionless, though drool was now spilling from the corner of his mouth and his tears continued to flow.

  “Much tidier than torture, wouldn’t you say?” Bane answered. “A trick I learned when I was a lad. The mind is far more fragile than people think. Just a little push, and most people will tell you anything you want to know.”

  “You read his mind?” Drake had never heard of such magic. He knew that healing spells could create a temporary bond between people, sometimes even allowing them to share their thoughts. But this…

  “Not exactly. I convinced him to tell me his secrets. Well…in a manner of speaking. Terrified him into it would be a more accurate description, I suppose.” He stood and flicked his wrist dismissively. “Either way, I learned what we need to know. Prince Salazar came here thinking he could find sanctuary. Apparently, he knew Remy. Or at least, he knew who Remy works for.”

  “How would Prince Salazar know Fisk?” Drake asked.

  Bane shrugged. “Couldn’t say. But Remy is the greedy sort. And not particularly loyal to the crown, as it turned out. Exodus had already been here and paid him quite handsomely to hand the prince over.”

  “So Fisk is in on this?”

  “Perhaps. He certainly knows what happened. It seems poor Remy was waiting to die when we arrived. Fisk doesn’t like it when his subordinates don’t give him his cut. That’s why he spotted us so quickly. Poor guy was just sitting here staring at the screens, waiting for Fisk’s assassins to arrive.” He glanced down at the man. “For all the good it will do them now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m afraid there are certain side effects to this form of interrogation.”

  “Side effects?”

  A wry grin crept up on his lips. “You could pull out his
fingernails right now and he wouldn’t twitch a muscle. As far as I know, it’s a permanent condition.”

  Drake shuddered at the thought. It was one thing to torture a man. But this was gruesome and cruel in a way that turned his stomach. It made him despise Bane that much more.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” Bane retorted. “He was dead anyway. And we haven’t the time to do this the old-fashioned way.”

  Every time Bane was right, it served only to stoke Drake’s hatred. He pushed this thought from his mind and turned to where the hidden door was located. “Can you open it?”

  “Yes. But there’s nothing in there we need.”

  Drake caught a flash of emotion in his eyes. Just a hint, but it was enough. “Open it,” he snapped.

  After an extended moment, Bane sighed. “As you wish. I’m warning you, though, you won’t like what you find.”

  Grabbing hold of Remy, he dragged his body over to the wall. He then took the man’s palm and pressed it flat to where the door was hidden. With a hiss and a clunk, a thin line appeared and the door swung outward.

  A stairwell led down to a lit hallway. As Drake descended, he noticed that Bane wasn’t following.

  “You’re not coming?”

  He shook his head. “I already know what’s down there. I saw it in Remy’s mind. And it’s nothing I care to see first-hand.” His tone was uncharacteristically dark. “I’ll be here once you’ve seen your fill.”

  This gave Drake pause. What could be down there that was so terrible? As a hawker, he had seen all manner of atrocities, and he was certain that Bane had as well. After a while, there was very little that shocked you in their line of work.

  At the bottom, the hallway continued for about fifty feet. Several doors were spaced evenly along the walls, and he checked every one. They were either empty or merely used for storing items of a common nature, mostly boxes of plates or metal containers. Certainly nothing of particular interest or even illegal. Then, at the end of the passage, he came to a set of double doors. Written across these in large red letters were the words KEEP OUT.