Chainers Torment mgc-2

by Scott McGough

  "You were laid low by a justicar," Chainer said. "They generate righteous lighting, or some such nonsense. We don't know what they are, really, but that's twice now they've surprised us. You and I are going to have to do something about that."

  "I'm ready," Kamahl said angrily. He tried to rise, but only his head made it off the pillow.

  "Not yet you aren't. Lie still, or you'll never heal." Kamahl lifted his arms. They also felt heavy, and he could see thick scars running up both forearms. Or were they calluses? There was a sickly odor in the room that was making it even harder for him to concentrate.

  "I've come to show you something," Chainer said. "We've been waiting for hours. You're not one of those people who jumps out of bed ready for the brand new day, are you?'"

  "My arms feel wrong," Kamahl said. "My chest is too heavy. Did I breathe in some of that righteous whatever? I feel like I'm gasping."

  "You were in pretty bad shape. I couldn't let those Order fools take you, and I didn't trust our own leeches to patch you up right." Kamahl blinked. "So who healed me?"

  "I did," Chainer said proudly. "I arranged to have the Mirari brought in, so I could use it to fix you. Worked like a charm, too." "The Mirari? Where is it?"

  "Safely back in its vault," the First said. He had been hidden behind Chainer, but now he came forward to Kamahl's cot. "It was beautiful to watch, however. Chainer remains one of the few people who can touch the Mirari and use it without destroying everything around him."

  The barbarian turned his head and tried to breathe as shallow as he could. The Cabal Patriarch was the source of the sickening odor. Or was he? Kamahl realized his face had been burned, too, and it felt tough and callused like his arms. When the First retreated back behind Chainer, Kamahl could still smell something tainted. Unclean. With a growing sense of dread, he realized the smell was coming from him.

  "Am I zombified, or just gangrenous?" he asked seriously. Chainer laughed.

  "Neither. That's a side effect of my treatment. It should be temporary."

  Kamahl's head was clearing fast. "Your treatment? Since when are you a healer?"

  "Since never. But I am a maker. I make things, living things. And with the Mirari's help, I was able to make you whole again. Instead of an entire creature, I only created the parts I needed. The leech helped me graft them in place, but I think you'll agree it's a seamless job."

  Kamahl lifted his heavy arms again. He felt more calluses on his chest, feet, and deep under the short ribs on his left side. "More light," he said, and Chainer obligingly brought the candle closer.

  Kamahl's hands were covered in stiff copper snakeskin that had grown into and merged with his normal flesh. The new skin was nearly smooth, and the pattern was delicate, but Kamahl could feel the toughness of the individual scales. The edges of each scale were sharp. Kamahl ran his finger underneath one, and the finger came back bleeding. He stared at his own blood for a moment, then looked up helplessly at Chainer.

  "You turned me into a snake?"

  "No," Chainer chided, "of course not. I patched a few holes and touched up a few surfaces. It'll breathe and grow just like normal skin. But it's even sturdier than the stuff you lost. Anything less than a full-on sword thrust just bounces off." He smiled. "What do you think?"

  "Get it off me." Kamahl spoke calmly but forcefully. "Now."

  Chainer looked crushed. "But… I can't. It's a permanent graft."

  "I didn't ask for it. I don't want it."

  "You're tired," the First stepped forward again. "You need some time to adjust. It's a major change, after all, and-"

  "Get the Mirari in here," Kamahl said, "and undo what you did."

  The First's voice grew cold as the grave. "I'm afraid that suggestion is not a possibility. It's also remarkably ungrateful."

  Kamahl shut his eyes. "Neither of you understand," he said. He lashed out and took Chainer by the shirt front, holding his new skin in front of Chainer's face with his free hand. "We barbarians don't do this kind of thing. Chop off my arm, and I must learn to fight one-handed. Put out my eyes, and I must learn to fight blind. This-" he released Chainer and shook his scaly fists at his friend- "is an abomination. It goes against everything I've ever believed." He lowered his arms. "I'm sorry, Chainer, but you've made a mistake. Thank you for your gift. I will not accept it."

  "We should let Kamahl get some rest," the First said. "Sleep, barbarian. Everything will look different in the morning." He glided out of the room without another word or a second glance.

  "You're really angry," Chainer said.

  "Not angry, Chainer. Serious."

  Chainer shook his head. "I'm sorry, Kamahl. I truly am. The First is right." Chainer followed his patriarch's path, but he backed out, so he could keep an eye on Kamahl. "You should get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning, and I'll see about… I'll see what I can do."

  *****

  Kamahl remained silent for the next several hours as his anger and frustration grew. He couldn't stand the feel of Chainer's gift. The snakeskin itched and chafed his natural skin raw wherever the two touched. He could already feel how it threw off his timing and muted the messages the rest of his body continually sent to his brain. Worst of all, it marked him as a coward and a weakling who couldn't even overcome his own injuries without spare parts from the Cabal's nightmare pantry.

  He couldn't stand it-would not stand it. Kamahl let his mind drift, back in time to his training at Balthor's feet, back in space to his home on the Pardic Mountains. Pardic was not the tallest range on the continent, but it was one of the deepest. Tribal legend said that the Pardics ran right to the center of the planet, where the temperature was so hot that the elements and mana alike were combined into one glowing, red-hot ball of fire and molten rock. Kamahl struggled to control the energy he was gathering. This would be an extremely difficult spell under ideal conditions. As it was, Kamahl would need every ounce of concentration he could muster to keep from immolating himself completely. He stared at his hands and focused his thoughts on the sensation of the alien skin. The same sensation echoed in his side, on his legs, on his face, all the places Chainer had treated. He isolated those sensations, in effect isolating those parts of his body and those layers of skin that were no longer his own.

  In Kamahl's native language, there was a word for the act of sterilizing and sealing a wound with fire. The word was "cachede," and Kamahl pronounced it now.

  The huge barbarian growled and gritted his teeth as the snake-skin grafts all burst into flame simultaneously. He could not clearly recall the pain of the original injury, but he was certain that this was far worse. The horrid stench of burning flesh filled the room, and noxious smoke stung his eyes. Kamahl clenched his fists as they burned, holding them aloft so as not to ignite the bedclothes. When the last of the scales was burned away, the fires on Kamahl's body sputtered and died. He sat in complete agony for a moment. Then he shoved himself out of the bed and clumsily began bathing his fresh wounds with water from the bedside basin. I will live, he promised himself. I will heal. I will fight again under my own power, on my own terms.

  And I will leave this place with the Mirari in my fist, or I will not leave it at all.

  CHAPTER 22

  Chainer moved into his lavish new quarters in the First's manor and threw himself into his new duties. The Order's crusat blossomed into a full-blown war in the wake of Chainer's visit to the camp, and the First charged Chainer with bringing the hostilities to a speedy conclusion. While the First dealt with angry communiques from the Order's highest ranking officers, Chainer would respond to the marked increase in crusat raids around the region. The raiders were not yet numerous enough to mount another attack on Cabal City. Instead, small bands of troopers and officers were terrorizing the lesser Cabal strongholds in northern Otaria, especially those with pit facilities. So Chainer had very little time to dwell on Kamahl's betrayal. Mere days after mutilating himself, the barbarian packed up his kit and left the leech's chambers on legs t
hat could barely support him. Chainer realized how completely Kamahl had turned his back on Cabal hospitality. He wondered what kind of madness led a man to spit on his hosts and make enemies of his closest friends. The last thing Chainer heard about his former partner was that he was renting a room in a public house near the docks, where the rents were low and interaction between landlord and tenant was minimal. None of that mattered in the larger scheme of things, of course. Kamahl insisted on being treated like any another contestant in the pits, and the Cabal would happily accommodate him. When he came for the Mirari he would fall to Chainer just like every other nameless challenger.

  Chainer's new quarters were large and sumptuous, but he had no furniture apart from a chair and a sleeping cot scavenged from his room at Skellum's academy. He brought the cot because it reminded him of his mentor, not because he needed it. Sleep came to him in short, sudden bursts, and sometimes it never came at all.

  Just as well, he mused. He had very little time to sleep, anyway. The First had sent scrolls and tomes for him to review, and the Master of the Games regularly added stacks of dates and pairings for upcoming games. Chainer himself had requested some additional reading material on his own, but all of the scrolls and heavy books and loose sheets of paper lay in a confused pile in the corner of the smallest room. Chainer had read them all and retained quite a bit of it, but he preferred to spend his time preparing for battle. He made snakes or weighted chains and aggressively hurled them at imaginary enemies as he sprinted and rolled from room to empty room.

  They were all coming for the Mirari, he knew, all of them. The First had been so delighted with Chainer's use of the sphere on Kamahl that he had made Chainer its official keeper. It stayed hidden in a warded vault that would only open if Chainer and the First spoke the right charm at the exact same moment while standing side-by-side outside the door, but no one was ever permitted to touch the Mirari but Chainer, not even the First himself. Even better, when the Mirari games were staged, Chainer would represent the Cabal, and if he won the tournament, he would win the right to bear the Mirari permanently, as he now bore his dagger and censer. A victory for the Cabal meant a victory for Chainer, and vice-versa.

  Chainer impulsively created two huge saber- toothed anacondas and set them on one another. He wanted to see what happened when they tried to squeeze each other to death. While the snakes wrapped around each other like a braided garrote, Chainer let his mind wander back to the sensation of holding the Mirari in his hands, of having unimaginable power literally at his fingertips.

  Chainer had stood over Kamahl's sleeping body with the Mirari clenched between his palms. In his mind, he saw a bipedal snake man with copper scales standing alongside Kamahl. The two images slid together until they were two overlapping phantoms occupying the exact same space. The snake man's body faded away except for those areas that corresponded to Kamahl's wounds. Chainer felt the first giant wave from an endless ocean of power flow out of the Mirari and into his head. Something shifted deep in his brain, and when he opened his eyes the First was beaming, and Kamahl had live, healthy flesh ready for the leech's grafting spells.

  Tapping into the Mirari was different than being in dementia space, different even from communing with Kuberr. The Mirari was its own power, and it didn't mingle or share with the person who held it. The sphere was more like an infinite battery in search of a will through which it could focus and release its energy. The Mirari could change the world, Chainer knew, but it couldn't decide how on its own. Making the decision and unleashing the power had proved fatal to everyone but him, and Chainer took enormous pride in that. Not only was he the only being alive who had used it, he alone was the only one who could. It was his to employ, his to use on behalf of the Cabal. It had told him so the first time he saw it, and everything it had shown him had come true. As soon as he had annihilated the Order and won the Mirari for himself in the games, his destiny would be complete.

  A soft knock and a call of "Master?" interrupted his training.

  Master Chainer had earned the rank by successfully completing the shikar, and the First had formally conferred it upon him in the wake of the redoubled crusat. He dismissed the two anacondas, touched the polished marble wall to ground himself, and replied.

  "The Cabal is here." He was learning to control the physical changes his powers caused. If he concentrated, he could cancel the musical reverberation of his voice. He was less successful at controlling the appearance of his eyes. A young blonde girl came hesitantly in. She held an onyx scroll case. "The First and Ambassador Laquatus await your presence," she said. She never looked up at Chainer. He guessed his eyes were currently hollow. Had he been that timid at her age? That frightened? "Thank you, little sister," he said. She smiled to acknowledge his kindness, but she still seemed cowed, terrified. Perhaps she had only smiled to avoid antagonizing him. Chainer felt the urge to send a rattlesnake slithering across her sandaled feet, a glowing-eyed venom-spitting nightmare that would strike but never bite, that would follow her everywhere and burrow under her pillow while she slept, rattling all the while.

  He put the temptation aside. He had business with the First, and besides, he was sure the messenger would crack in less than two days. Hardly worth the effort of creating the snake in the first place. "If you are ready, Master, I will take you to them." "I'm ready, little sister. Lead on." Chainer saw the shadow of a thick, scaled body moving across the messenger's foot, but she didn't react to its touch. He blinked hard, and the rattler was gone. "Are you all right, big brother?"

  "I said lead on," Chainer snapped. He was suddenly irritable. Was it lack of sleep? He vowed that he would get some rest, as soon as he and the Mirari introduced Laquatus to his new familiar.

  *****

  Chainer was taken to a small, comfortable room outside the vault that contained the Mirari. He was greeted warmly by the First and Laquatus, but the ambassador visibly fumed when he was ordered to stay behind while the Cabalists fetched the sphere. When Chainer reentered the room bearing the Mirari, Laquatus stared at it hungrily. "Ambassador," Chainer said. "On behalf of the First and the Cabal, let me apologize for the delay. Now, as agreed, I present you with Turg's replacement." Chainer used the Mirari as he had with Kamahl, held tight between his hands with his eyes closed. He had put a great deal of thought into the casting beforehand, with constant input and refinement from the First. Every detail had been meticulously planned. Unleashing the actual creature was almost an afterthought. Chainer saw the creature clearly in his mind. It was a medium-tall humanoid male with five fingers, no toes, and the well defined musculature of a competitive swimmer. Its body was hairless and featureless, an unbroken surface with no openings for eyes, nose, ears, or mouth. It was bruise-black in color, a dark and murky purple that was effective camouflage both in the shadows of the city and the sunless depths of the ocean. With an extremely bright light directly behind it, however, one could see that it was partially translucent with no recognizable bones or internal organs of any kind. In his mind's eye, Chainer saw a collar streak out and find the featureless man's neck. He noted with satisfaction that the figure did not struggle, or claw, or react in any way to the collar. It seemed as comfortable with it as it did without it.

  Chainer gave the leash a gentle mental tug. The creature took a single step forward and disappeared. Chainer opened his eyes, and the purple figure stood in the center of the room, steaming like a lobster fresh from the pot.

  "Ambassador Laquatus." Chainer presented the featureless man with a grand wave of his golem hand. "Meet your new familiar. I call him Burke." Laquatus inspected the new arrival and was clearly unimpressed.

  "Quickly. Call him by name," Chainer said. Laquatus put his hands on his hips, obviously skeptical of the entire affair.

  "Now. He needs to imprint on you as his master, or we'll have to start all over."

  "Burke." Laquatus shot the First a long-suffering look as he spat the name out. "Attend your master."

  Burke responded to th
e sound of his name by facing Laquatus then dropping to one knee with his head bowed and his fists on the floor.

  "At least he knows his place," Laquatus said. "But what else can he do?"

  Chainer had expected this reaction from Laquatus, and he smiled patiently. "Well," he said, "you specified obedient, powerful, and amphibious. Burke is all those things. You can see how quickly he responds to your voice. And he doesn't need to breathe, so both land and sea are accessible to him."

  "But what does he do?" Laquatus keened. "Obedient and amphibious do me no good if there's no power to back them up. He has to be my new jack, my champion in the pits. How does he fight?"

  Chainer smiled again. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order." He scanned the room. "If you'll follow me to a room with a bit more space, ambassador, I'm sure Burke will satisfy your concerns."

  "If I may," the First interrupted, "I will take my leave of you now. Chainer, let us return the Mirari to the vault, so you and Laquatus can test his new jack." Laquatus sulked some more as Chainer and the First left him to become acquainted with Burke while they put their treasure away.

  "Has it worked, Master Chainer? Have you created exactly what we discussed?"

  "Exactly, Pater."

  "Outstanding. Convince the ambassador to accept his gift and send them both on their way. Come to my chambers when you are done. I would discuss your strategy for defending the lesser pits between now and the games."

  "I will be along directly, Pater." They replaced the Mirari, sealed the vault, and the First went away, trailing his attendants behind him. When Chainer returned to the conference room, Laquatus was peering into Burke's blank face.

  "Can I touch him? Is he at least caustic?" "Follow me, please. And no, Ambassador, I'm afraid not. Burke's entire body is composed of nothing more than a dense, inert gel." He led Laquatus down the hall toward one of the private pits, smaller versions of the main arena for private matches and demonstrations. "Inert? Do you mean it does nothing?"