A Shaper's Promise

by Karen MacRae

  “Why are they going to Alscombe? Did you hear anything?”

  “They mentioned a meeting with Sesi. I know the woman from the Ruustra court. Really strange, always aloof, apparently without emotion. She doesn’t torture or enjoy watching torture like the others, but she does nothing to stop it. The Queen often described her as empty. It’s a good description. It’s like there’s nothing there.”

  “Any meeting place? Timings? Anything?” asked Finn.

  “They were going to be late because of Mystrim’s blood loss. It was another reason that Elona was angry with him. They near killed the horses to get here as quickly as possible, but I think they should have met her yesterday. They’re frantic with worry about what Nystrieth will do to them for being late. They’ll each try to blame another. It’s what they do. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.” Chiara’s voice tailed off and Spider handed her a water skin. She smiled her thanks and drank deeply.

  “Oh! I should have said,” she continued, shaking her head at her lapse. “They’ve been arguing about someone they call ‘The White’. They aren’t sure what to do about her. Elona thinks she’s weak and inexperienced. Mystrim insists that she’s a Shaper. Pyteor…”

  Chiara’s eyes swung to Anna. Her face glowed with hope. “You. You’re her. The White Shaper. May the light bless you now and always.”

  Anna blushed, embarrassed to be on the receiving end of the reverence usually reserved for a Priestess. “Elona is correct. I am weak and inexperienced.”

  “Inexperienced, yes, but weak? She is totally wrong on that count,” Finn said firmly. “You’ll keep it to yourself, Healer?”

  “I swear by the light, I’ll tell no one.” Anna saw that her aura was firm. She would keep her word.

  “Shaper, can I ask you a question please? I mean no impertinence.”

  “Of course!” Anna answered, her blush deepening once more at the older woman’s profoundly respectful tone. “And, please, my name is Anna.”

  “I feel different. Free, somehow. I can sense my well is empty, but something has changed. Can you tell me what?”

  Anna chose her words carefully. “I had to remake your Healer’s well. It’s possible that the new well may have released you from your need to Heal.”

  Spider and Finn shot suspicious looks at her. The woman gaped in wonder. “I can choose?” she asked.

  “You can choose,” Anna confirmed. She didn’t regret it. What was another law broken on top of all the others?

  CHAPTER 17

  E lona was simmering with anger. How dare those miscreants die on her? Pyteor kept his mouth in a well-schooled straight line, but Mystrim dared a small smile. Both were laughing heartily inside.

  “So you’ll be heading straight to the Guild when we arrive, Elona?” asked the weather mage, deliberately needling his unwanted partner.

  Her eyes flashed, but she held her ire. She would not add to his enjoyment. It was a rhetorical question anyway. He knew a new Healer was essential. A pet would be a bonus, but she could do without. She would not, however, do without a new cook. If she could get one cheaply enough, she’d get an extra girl to help with the horses too. Mystrim would have to be content with two grooms to choose between. The Healer and the cook would both be men.

  “We need a new cook too. That one is worse than useless,” Elona told Mystrim, watching in delight as a shiver of excitement at the thought of fresh flesh swam through his aura. “This time, it will be male,” she added. She saw Mystrim’s excitement be overtaken by dismay and laughed out loud. She did love to play with people.

  Mystrim slowed his horse until he was level with the slaves. Elona heard him order the cook to dismount. She looked back to see the woman being hauled over the front of Mystrim’s saddle. Lust and anticipation had replaced the dismay in his aura. “I’ll be slightly delayed,” he shouted, grinning.

  Elona just shook her head and turned her eyes back to the road. The woman was to be replaced and she was too short to be a groom. She may as well be useful at her end.

  The depleted group arrived at the Red Water Inn as the midday bell was ringing around the city. Two rooms had been booked in advance by their agent: one for Elona and one for Mystrim and Pyteor. Sifry and the groom would sleep with in the stables, the bookkeeper ensuring the girl didn’t try to escape or talk to anyone.

  As soon as they’d dumped their bags in their rooms, Elona sent Pyteor to the agent’s house. “I have to get to the Guild so you’ll have to see Sesi. Send my deepest apologies, but I want no further delays to our master’s plans and it might take a day or two to source an appropriate Healer. Explain our delay and get a time for us to be there to speak to our master. Bathe before you go so as not to cause offence but be quick about it. And Pyteor?”

  “Yes, Reader?”

  “Be very, very careful what you say.”

  Pyteor knew the warning had two prongs. Not only should he avoid offending his master, he should avoid giving his master any reason to be unhappy with Elona. If she was punished, she would take it out on him, viciously and repeatedly. He would be very, very careful.

  Elona bathed and changed into a fine dress of black silk. She pulled her hair back into an elegant knot and pinned it in place with two long, steel needles. Weapons were barred from the Healers’ Guild, but these apparently innocuous hair ornaments would slip through a man’s ribs with ease if needed. She inspected herself in the mirror. She looked every inch the respectable, well-to-do widow. Her height and beauty would attract attention, but the colour of her dress would mark her as newly grieving and therefore out of bounds to any but the most determined of gold-diggers.

  She stopped for nothing through the city. She hated the place. It was so clean and virtuous, it made her feel nauseous. She cheered herself up with the knowledge that underneath the supposed perfection were growing chords of dissent and dissatisfaction with the current ruler. They had been expensive to nurture, but every bribe and backhander would be worth it in the long run. She smiled as she thought of the man she was about to meet: a sadomasochistic Healer. Who would have thought it possible?

  “Lady Margrit for Lord Thornson,” she told the clerk on duty in reception.

  “My apologies, Lady Margrit,” the chinless youth intoned, “but Lord Thornson is not to be disturbed. May I make an appointment for you?”

  Elona suppressed her instinct to beat the boredom out of the boy and smiled prettily. “Oh, he will see me,” she smirked suggestively, batting her eyelashes.

  The clerk flushed pink and stuttered more apologies. “I’m sure Lord Thornson will be devastated to hear he missed your visit, milady, but he told me he would have me sent to Tullen if I disturbed him.”

  Elona leaned over the table and lowered her voice, painfully squeezing the boy’s wrist. “He will do worse than that if he finds out you turned me away,” she warned, her husky voice an impossible combination of ice and fire.

  The young man visibly gulped. He’d heard the rumours of the Chancellor’s predilections and here was someone who suggested they were true. “Perhaps I could get a message to him?” he asked.

  “Just give Miss Aston my name. I’ll wait over there.” Elona slowly swished over to a comfortable sofa as the clerk rushed away. She grew increasingly impatient as he failed to return. She amused herself by imagining how she might punish the boy for making her wait. Her face was calm when he finally returned, but her eyes reflected her imagined bloody education of the clerk.

  “I am so sorry for the delay, milady,” he grovelled, terrified by the look in the woman’s eyes. “Miss Aston will be with you in moments, milady. She will take you straight to Lord Thornson’s office, milady.” He bent lower with each ‘milady’.

  Elona switched into the flirty act and smiled a breathless, “Thank you” at the boy. She could see the confusion in his aura. He couldn’t work out what or who this dangerous widow was. She saw him throw off the speculation before retreating behind his desk and keeping his eyes well away from her. He di
dn’t want to know.

  Miss Aston was soon leading the Reader up to Lord Thornson’s suite of rooms. Elona saw the expectation of pleasure grow in the secretary’s aura as they neared the office. She would be disappointed. Finding a cook had to take priority over petty liaisons, no matter how enjoyable.

  Lord Thornson stood from his desk and held out his hands in welcome. Elona took them in her own, deliberately digging her fingernails into the palms of his hands.

  The man shivered in pleasure as deep crescents were imprinted on his skin. “Ah, Lady Margrit, it has been much too long,” he sighed. “I’ll call for you if I need you, Miss Aston.”

  The secretary nodded and bowed out of the room, closing the double doors behind her. She went straight to the outer doors of the office and locked them. They would not be disturbed.

  “I can’t stay, Edward. I have to find a new Healer and a new cook. I know you will help with the former, but the latter might take time I can ill afford.”

  The man’s face fell. Disappointment tinged his aura to quickly be replaced with hope. “Perhaps I can help you with both? I have two cooks at home. You can have your choice.”

  “It must be a man and it must be someone who is… biddable. My servants must know their place and understand the consequences of failure.”

  “Then it’s sorted. You shall have Abbott. I’m confident that you’ll not regret it, but if he doesn’t satisfy, he’s yours to do with as you please.”

  Elona smiled, tilting her head and a giving a tiny nod to show her approval at the man’s sacrifice. “My thanks, Edward, but before I can think of staying a little longer, I must choose a Healer. Again, it must be a male. It would be too much to hope for one of your ilk, I know, but perhaps you can think of a newly qualified who would be suitably subservient?”

  Lord Thornson smiled. “I can do better than that, my dear. My eldest protégé is ready to serve. His well is unfettered so he need not waste time on beings who are beneath him and he has a huge capacity.”

  “I don’t need a Healer who questions my actions or my superiority.”

  “He wouldn’t dream of it, Margrit. I have had years to teach him the art of obedience. He will willingly accept his transfer to you and serve you loyally. He’ll be yours to command in everything. And I really do mean everything. He also has the most perfect skin. You’ll love him.”

  Elona had never known love, but she would certainly enjoy a pliable, well-trained, Healer pet.

  “Shall I have Miss Aston tell him to join us?” Lord Thornson asked.

  She would have time for pleasure after all. “Oh, yes, I think so. And Miss Aston,” she purred.

  While Elona was sourcing new servants, Pyteor was fumbling to tell a story that put anyone in a good light. Sesi sat as still as death as he tied his tongue in knots. With her face an emotionless mask and her chest barely moving, she might be a life-sized doll, but the uncanny way she stared straight at him completely unnerved him. He didn’t understand how she could link with their master and he had never been able to tell when Nystrieth was sharing the woman’s mind. He knew he might be signing his own death warrant as he spilled the unabridged truth, but he couldn’t help himself.

  The doll held up a hand to silence the young man. “Our master is pleased that you hide nothing from him. He will take that into consideration when he thinks on an appropriate punishment for your lapse of concentration which contributed to losing Rybis’ man. You will return here with the others at six o’clock your time. You are not to tell them that you have provided a full debrief. Do not be late.” The hand fell to the woman’s lap. Stillness took over once again.

  Pyteor felt a mixture of horror, relief and dread: horror that he had just spilled his guts straight into his master’s ears; relief that he had been spared death; dread that he would surely experience pain beyond imagining in the morning. He had never been on the receiving end of Nystrieth’s disfavour and had no conception of what the Emperor might do to him. He fell to his knees. “I am yours, master. Nystrieth is God,” he swore, fervour and fanaticism ringing from every word.

  He may as well have been in the presence of a wax doll for all the reply Sesi made so he snuck out of the room before the creature ate his heart or whatever else she did while no one was looking. He went straight back to the Red Water Inn. Mystrim had arrived and was looking very pleased with himself.

  “Did you have fun?” Pyteor asked.

  “Delicious,” Mystrim oozed with a long sigh.

  “We’re to meet at six. Elona is out securing new servants.”

  “How marvellous. That gives us the whole evening for a little fun. Did I ever tell you about the whores here? There is one brothel in particular that makes this whole trip worthwhile. Shall we?”

  Pyteor grinned. He was more than ready for a night of pleasure. He could only imagine what he might face in the morning and this would take his mind off it. Better still, he wouldn’t have to see Elona. He scribbled a note for the Reader and the two men left arm in arm, Mystrim telling him all about a nice, plump blonde that Pyteor would adore.

  Elona arrived some hours later after an afternoon of endless servant hunting. Or so she would tell the others. She was annoyed to find the rooms empty. She had been looking forward to their admiration. They certainly couldn’t have sourced a cook, a Healer and an extra female groom for the promise of a mere five golds, which would never be paid of course. She noticed Pyteor’s note as she was stripping off the black silk. They’d be gone until the early hours of the morning. She sighed. Men were so predictable.

  Sesi was waiting for them in the same seat when they arrived fifteen minutes before their appointed time in the morning. It looked to Pyteor that she hadn’t moved since he’d left. He hovered behind his two superiors, staying as far away from the creepy woman as he dared. They arranged themselves on the ground before her, prostrating themselves before their God. Sesi’s eyes opened as the clock rang one hour past the morning bell.

  Rather than Sesi act as relay, this time Nystrieth’s voice spoke directly into the room. “Report,” he snapped with Sesi’s mouth.

  Mystrim knew not to waste time on niceties. He brought himself to his knees so his master could better hear his voice. He would never make that mistake again. “The smuggling route is reconfirmed, Master,” he began. “Unfortunately, the agent in Straton, Grayson, had the audacity to let the ginger spy live. We arrived to find him secreted on a prison caravan bound for the Tullen mines. We followed but were outnumbered. I rallied the local outlaws and arranged an attack on the caravan. Finn received aid from Spider, Syrano and an unknown woman. We determined that the woman must be of interest and, together with Elona, we tested her. I had almost leached her of life when her allies came to her rescue. We were unable to give chase. That is my fault, Master. I was wounded. We came as soon as I was able to ride.” He threw himself flat on the floor again, waiting for his master to respond.

  “Elona?” was the only reply.

  Pyteor watched the warrior kneel and envied her lack of aura. Nystrieth couldn’t Read her.

  “I’ve been here only a matter of days, Master. I can add little, but I believe Pyteor wished to speak with you.”

  “He has confessed all. Do not dissemble. Tell me of the woman.”

  Pyteor gulped. He knew he’d suffer for not warning Elona he’d already spoken to their master through Sesi.

  “She has a white aura, Master, but is young and inexperienced. We are unsure of her strength. The only talent we are confident of is that she can stun. Furthermore, she was only able to stun during lightening bursts at the prison caravan so it may be that she is unable to act without seeing an aura. We suspect she might be able to Heal. She appears weak, but we may not know the full extent of her gift.”

  “Healing?”

  Elona cursed inwardly. She would pay for not including the information without being asked. “The Seaskian recovered from a crested blade strike.” She waited for the pain to hit.

  All
three bodies began to writhe. Inside their minds, their master’s voice spoke without emotion. They heard only what was said to themselves.

  “Pyteor, I commend your loyalty, but I remind you to be vigilant and to put my needs above your own at all times. Do not disappoint me again. Elona, you intended Pyteor to tell me of the White so my disappointment would be aimed at him and not you. I am growing unhappy at your repeated attempts to manipulate. Your lack of visible aura does not protect you from my eyes. You will learn to be truthful and forthcoming in all things to me or I will have no more of you. This is your final warning. Mystrim, you waste money as if it were yours. You must learn frugality and less expensive methods of persuasion. I will not tell you again.”

  Nystrieth pushed their pain gates wide open so his servants would know every sensation without mercy then gradually added increasing pressure to each trigger point in their bodies. Three faces reflected discomfort through to searing agony as the pain built. Just as they were sure they would die, their master began to add pleasure until the exquisite torment that coursed through them was an addictive combination of punishment and reward. The abrupt cessation left all three breathless and bereft, longing for its return.

  Their master’s voice boomed into their minds, scorching itself into their still aching brains. “There will be no more playing with Rybis’ men. By all means kill them if there is an easy opportunity, but you must make straight for Ionantis without delay. Our agent there will arrange passage to Shae. Do not fail me.”

  A chant came from the floor. It was weak at first but grew louder and louder as the three tried to outdo each other in their fanaticism. “Nystrieth is God. Nystrieth is God. Nystrieth is God. Nystrieth is God. Nystrieth is God.”