"I'm Keevan."
"I know your name," The Rhetan answered evenly.
"What's yours?"
"Falletal," The Rhetan said, rolling his head from side to side with a sigh of relief. "Thanks for calling off the Malik's dogs. They're very good at their jobs. Animals."
"Mind telling me why they've assumed your one of Zerik's agents?" Keevan asked, watching Falletal's elemental field for signs of deception. At the moment, the Rhetan's anger and fear had dissipated to a state of relief.
"All I did was attend a fight and win a bet," Falletal insisted, pride resonating in his voice. "One of the Rhetans there had a fancy looking sword on him. He'd also had a lot of ale. So, I thought he'd be willing to make a crazy wager. He was. I won."
"What kind of wager?"
"There was a fighter. They called him Raejin's spear. I'd never heard of him before, but he showed up from nowhere and mopped the floor with the usual combatants. I've never seen anyone move or recover so fast after taking a punch."
Keevan pursed his lips in thought, recalling Touric's conversation with Corvan. Now he knew where Corvan went after his initial escape from the Harbor Guild. Elementally weak Rhetans wouldn't be able to tell Corvan wasn't one of their kind, at least, not right away.
"So, you bet on him and won the sword," Keevan surmised. Standing before the Rhetan felt awkwardly superior, so he sat down before the prisoner. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. "Did he say anything unusual about the sword?"
"Besides being made of reinforced Danica?" Falletal said, sarcasm thick on his voice. "I just saw a chance to guarantee I wouldn't be robbed again. It's not easy on those streets, don't you know? The people so much as smell an extra gold piece or a spare biscuit, and things can get real dicey, real quick."
"So, you were only looking for a means to protect yourself?" Keevan insisted, glaring at him knowingly.
Falletal's elemental field shifted, the moisture thickly crawling up his legs. "Yes, of course. No other reason."
"Falletal," Keevan said gently, "I can tell when you're hiding something. This is your only chance to tell me all you know and walk out of here a free man."
"Really? A free man?" Falletal spat back. "Look at me. They've incarcerated and beaten an innocent man. They can't afford for the people to find out about this, not in the state the streets are already in. No, I'm at peace with my fate boy."
Keevan didn't answer right away, trying to sort out Falletal's answer and attitude. The man hated pain as much as the next fellow, but didn't mind dying for Zerik's cause. Considering the severity of the famine, Keevan couldn't blame the Rhetan. Keevan could blame himself plenty though. He'd let down so many people lately, like Corvan, who couldn't go home because of Keevan's idealism. Thinking of the Varadour gave Keevan an idea.
"Falletal, you and I both know death isn't the only option," Keevan insisted, waving at their surroundings. "I can arrange for you to be kept under guard, until either Zerik or Morgra wins. If Zerik wins, you'll be greeted as a patriot. If Morgra wins, well, once Zerik is out of the picture, a discontent Rhetan will hardly be worth killing, will he?"
Falletal didn't respond right away, a motionless cloud of white. Keevan thought about stepping out of the elemental plane for a moment, to read his facial expression, but then the prisoner's emotions shifted. Warmth, but not quite anger. Moisture. A lack of electricity, he felt safer now.
"You sure you can arrange all that for me?" Falletal asked.
"I can if you're completely honest with me," Keevan countered, tapping on his eyes. "Believe me, I'll know if you're lying."
"Very well," Falletal conceded, "I didn't just take the sword for security. It's part of Zerik's selection process. Each sword marks a leader in his new regime, if you bring it to Malik Morgra's Palace when the time comes, dirtied with a guard's blood."
"When the time comes," Keevan echoed, "You mean a rebellion?"
"Yes," Falletal confirmed. "Anyone carrying a sword like that, with flames of unnatural colors, will attract anyone loyal to Zerik. It's a risk, of course. Some people have fought over the swords to the death, but Zerik will only take the strongest into his new regime. New Tri-Beings to rule over Issamere. I think that's why he's waited as long as he had before striking, to make sure the swords' wielders are firmly established."
"That makes sense," Keevan agreed. "Whoever's behind this, I get the feeling he loves making people dance on his strings."
"Better dancing for your meal, than lying on the roadside starving," Falletal said. "Just as the acrobat troupe in town does."
"Did Zerik have any special plans for them?"
"I haven't joined up with him, yet. Not technically," Falletal repeated with a shrug and a grunt of pain. "The swords are for selecting the rebellion's leaders. I won't know his plans until you do. By then, the Malik's palace will be in flames."
"It's made of stone."
"We're very determined."
Keevan sighed, rubbing his temples. "Can you tell me anything else important?"
"Well," Falletal replied, a far off tone in his voice. "There's something off about those swords. The Danica reinforced ones. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I didn't feel quite myself when I held it. I suppose that's how I got caught with it in the first place. I took it outside to return the blade, but the Persuaders saw the weapon and jumped me."
"You didn't feel like yourself?" Keevan echoed, watching Falletal's elemental field. "Can you describe it to me? How did you feel? Exactly?"
"I felt... distant," Falletal answered, turning his head to the side as he thought. "It was like there was someone else inside me, listening. Not saying anything or giving orders, exactly. Just, watching. Like when you think you're alone in a room, but it turns out there's someone behind you. It made my skin crawl, so I-"
The cage door roared with a mighty burst of flame. The blast hurled Keevan into Falletal's lap, knocking them both against the rear wall of the cell in a tangle of limbs, sweat and leather. Lightning flashed in the hallway and steel rang against steel, followed by a heavy whumph as someone hit the floor. Then someone screamed in pain, a cry cut short by a slicing, wet sound.
The cell door burst open, revealing a cloud-like Tri-Being, carrying Falletal's sword. Keevan recognized Ahmro's elemental field, and with a gasp of despair and guilt, realized what felt so familiar about the green energy now filling the veins of Ahmro's sword arm. The light of an active receiver stone. Ahmro's blade burned bright green in the dark cell, making him look ethereal and demonic. The warmth felt real though, his body radiated heat as if they were standing too close to a bonfire.
"You, Rhetan," Ahmro howled, pointing his flaming weapon at Falletal. His voice was broken, thick and unnaturally deep. His elemental field held twice the reach and power of what Keevan saw when they first met. Green veins of energy leached from the hilt of the blade into his arm. "You've said quite enough."
Keevan saw another cloud-white Tri-Being behind Ahmro, a flicker of movement. Ahmro whirled, catching Madol's overhanded chop with a clever parry. The Persuader clutched a deep gash in his side with his free hand. In the elemental field, the wound appeared to bleed water, as Keevan's vision picked up the moisture in the Haustran's blood.
"Last chance to leave this room alive, Persuader," Ahmro said, his voice sending chills down Keevan's spine. He'd heard the eerie, grating tones once before, through the body of a young woman he was possessing at the time. Zerik.
"I could say the same for you," Madol grunted, holding his sword at the ready.
"No, you have no idea," Ahmro grunted, his unnatural voice echoing through the dungeon as he charged. Sparks leapt between them with each clash of steel. Then Ahmro summoned a massive ball of fire, hurling a torrent of heat Madol's way. The Persuader leapt to one side, as the blast of flame smashed into the hallway, sending dust and debris falling from the ceiling when the blow collided against the opposite wall.
Ahmro charged in, trying to catch Madol off balan
ce, but the Persuader rolled onto his feet with trained precision. He pushed off the wall of the cell, changing the direction of his momentum just in time to avoid the Ahmro's next swing. The blade cut a thick gauge from the wall, the enhanced metal tearing into the stone with ease. This time, Madol didn't land well. His feet sliding on the wet stone flood and he went down.
"Madol!" Keevan cried out desperately, "The pommel, it's a receiver's stone!"
For a moment, Keevan wasn't sure Madol heard his little voice crying out in the elemental chaos. Ahmro howled in greedily, running after the disoriented Persuader. Ahmro pulled back his sword for lethal, downward swing.
A heavy oak chair smashed into Ahmro's face, driving him back a confused step, blood pouring from his broken nose. A glance over Keevan's shoulder revealed Falletal's stunned expression, shocked at his own actions. Ahmro glared at Falletal with murderous intent, scrambling over the chair.
His blade glowed emerald with hungry flames, building up to the point of release. Keevan felt fear creep into his mind, paralyzing his body. There was enough heat there to reduce either of them to a pile of bony ash.
Then Madol struck from below. He didn't strike at his opponent's legs or vitals, but the hilt of his opponent's sword. Steel rang against metal and sparks flew through the air, accompanied by a single white orb, prismatic, like a diamond.
The green flames vanished immediately, along with the emerald strands of energy once pulsing through the Ahmro's skin. Madol collapsed onto his side, clutching his stomach and groaning in pain. Ahmro lurched against the wall, staring at the blade in his hands as if the weapon and the arm, as if them both belonged to someone else.
"Madol," Keevan cried, hurrying to the Persuader's side.
Madol grunted something through his clenched teeth, but the pain as too severe. He threw back his head and screamed, moisture convulsing around him. Before Keevan's eyes, the gash in Madol's side coagulated and scarred. Strands of glowing Dancia peaked out through the wound, glowing with moisture as the metal responded to and amplified the elemental needs of Madol's body.
"Wow," Falletal muttered, standing alongside Keevan as he watched the healing. "No wonder you're one of Malik Morgra's best. I've never seen anything like ... well, any of this."
"What happened to me?" Ahmro asked, his eyes still fixed on the sword in his right hand. He held the blade so the tip pointed to the ground now, sagging in defeat and loss.
"There was a receiver's stone hidden in the pommel," Keevan explained, moving around Madol until he stood just out of reach of the guard's blade. "It wasn't your fault. Someone else took control."
"Madol, did I-" Ahmro gulped uneasily, "How are Nevin and Shiivel?"
Sitting up in a crouched position, Madol grunted, "They were the first ones you took down. Closest. When they died, the lightning caught me off guard. You went after Hadrian next. Not sure if he'll make it."
Ahmro faced Keevan. Heat fled from the Tri-Being like mice from a cat, flakes of ice crystalizing over the man's cheek, exposed arms and neck. The cold chewed at Keevan's skin, exposing his breath as a hot puff of steam.
"You couldn't help it," Keevan emphasized, throwing caution to the wind as he stood in Ahmro's face. Only one emotion could prevent him from freezing out. "Someone possessed you. Someone turned you against us. Help me find them. We'll make them pay."
"Madol," Ahmro said, as if he didn't hear a word Keevan said. "Promise me, you'll find the ones responsible."
"I will," Madol seethed angrily, sheathing his blade. "I've enough hate for the two of us."
"Thank you," Ahmro said, pushing Keevan aside with his thickly muscled arm. An inward thrust and quick twist was all the effort the simple task required. Ahmro threw the blade aside crumpling to the ground, blood pouring from his chest. Lightning surged across his body, in tune with his dying heart.
They watched helplessly, as the life faded from Ahmro. Keevan watched the guard expire in a final spurt of electricity, scorching the stone floor around him. The blade lay next to him, coated in fresh blood. The receiver stone rolled to a stop in the corner, a single orb of white in a world of black. Keevan withdrew his elemental vision, nausea boiling inside him until he tasted bile.
"Why would he do that?" Falletal asked, stunned.
"To the southern tribes, taking the life of a friend is the most heinous of crimes," Madol explained, struggling to his feet. "The deepest form of betrayal. He didn't want to live in a world where someone could force him to do that to his closest friend. Keevan, bag the receiver stone please. You're the only one who can."
Keevan shuddered. The Persuader was right. They couldn't risk whatever that was, happening again. "The guard was a Haustran," Keevan said numbly, walking into the corner and picking up the stone, moist and warm to the touch. He put the orb in his pocket. He picked up the sword next, wiping the weapon against his pants' leg to get rid of the blood. "But he fought like an Etrendi."
"Yes, somehow, whoever used the sender stone empowered the receiver," Madol grunted, slowly standing up straight. He winced with each step. Leaning down, he took a ring from the corpse, the Issamerean Guard insignia clearly engraved on the metal band's face. "I didn't even think that was possible. Possess a man's tongue, sure, but to fight like that? Never."
"That... thing, was controlling him?" Falletal said, staring at the blade. "Why didn't that happen to me when I was attacked?"
"I think whoever was doing the sending was hoping you wouldn't talk," Madol surmised, crouching down in front of the guard's corpse, muttering a prayer under his breath. When he finished, he stood and added, "You forced his hand when you couldn't hide the truth from Keevan. We will have to put both of you and your families under guard immediately. The sender knows he failed to kill us. We must act fast."
"Very well," Keevan agreed. "What about the bodies?"
"We'll send someone to tend to them," Madol promised, lurching toward the door. "I assume you're going with us, Falletal?"
"I doubt whoever was pulling that guard's strings will soon forgive me for smashing his face with a chair," Falletal admitted, glancing back at the oak chair and torn leather straps doting the floor. "Suddenly, being imprisoned until things calm down seems like a very generous option."
"Fine," Madol agreed, "You can help Hadrian to his feet."
The burly Persuader stood slumped against the wall, clutching the right side of his head. Blood oozed in between his fingers. "How did we get here?" He asked dreamily. Glancing into the room, he said, "Who was cooking beef in there? Smells good. Can I have some?"
"Are we sure he's only suffering from a head wound?" Falletal asked, gingerly taking Hadrian by the arm.
"You'd be surprised what can happen to the mind after a good smack to the head," Madol explained, "He'll need a Suadan healer soon. If his brain swells from the impact, the pressure in his skull will kill him."
"Who got hit on the head?" Hadrian asked, pulling aside his hand long enough to stare at the blood. "Was I just treating someone's wound?"
"You're the one who's wounded," Falletal insisted, pointing at his own head and then back at Hadrian's. "Just there. But we're going to find some Suadans to take care of you."
"Oh, thank you. You are a good friend." Hadrian echoed, following Falletal's lead as they walked through the dark hallways. "Have we met before? You seem familiar."
Falletal gulped nervously, glancing back at Keevan as they walked. "Yes, you were helping me build my tolerance to pain. You were a very good teacher."
"Good lesson, dealing with pain," Hadrian said, wobbling unsteadily. Falletal nearly disappeared under the man's enormous bulk, his face red with effort as he steadied the broad shouldered Persuader.
"I feel like I'm floating," Hadrian echoed.
"Yes, on top of me," Falletal grunted.
"He's right about one thing though," Madol noted, pausing at an intersection to examine the wound in his belly. The scar was turning black now, with thin veins of grey reaching out across Madol's bel
ly in all directions, clawing deeper into his flesh. "Whoever was controlling the guard knew his way around a fight. Not just swordsmanship. He knew just the right spot to hit a man's skull from, to do the most impact to the brain." He tapped his own temple, just above his ear.
"The voice was Zerik's," Keevan said, trying to organize his thoughts aloud. "But where did he get the extensive military, anatomical and elemental training? He's a politician, not a soldier."
"Keevan," Madol grunted.
"Yes?"
"One mess at a time." Madol insisted.
"Alright, what's the quickest way to the healer's quarters in the training hall?" Keevan asked, glancing around warily at the next intersection. This far down below the academy, every hallway looked the same.
Madol guided them with nods, gestures and grunts through gritted teeth. By the time they reached the healers' quarters, Hadrian was complaining of dizziness and a fierce headache. Falletal's face was the color of a plum from the exertion. He gasped in relief when he set the broad shouldered Rhetan on a cot, which creaked in complaint.
Much to Keevan's dismay, Persuader Madol crawled onto the cot next to Hadrian's. A healer approached the Persuader, as if to wave him away. Madol only pulled up his tunic and exposed the grey veins of dead tissue somehow growing through his skin. One of the healers pulled over a bucket and vomited then and there.
The remaining healers screamed for a runner and demanded Keevan and Falletal leave the room. They were forced to sit against the opposite wall, facing the healer's quarters. A runner arrived seconds later, sprinting away in a flash of lightning after brief report from a healer and a glance Keevan's way.
Minutes later, a half dozen Suadan healers arrived, linen loops bouncing in step with their panicked pace. Only seconds after they entered, the screaming started. Deep and throaty. Keevan bowed his head in shame. He couldn't be sure which of the tough Persuaders was crying out.
"You think they'll make it?" Falletal asked, glancing up and down the hallway nervously. Students clad in training leathers passed by in twos and threes, moving from one training exercise to the next.
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