by R. K. Thorne
“Soldier to soldier, then?”
Daes stopped, then grunted. “Fine.”
“We don’t practice magic,” Aven spat. “Do your nobles? I should think not. Do your soldiers? Anyone? I couldn’t share my powers with anyone. For obvious reasons. All magic may not be forbidden, but it is certainly taboo. The knight was the first to discover my powers in over a decade.” Well, that was mostly true. If Fayton and the others had known, Aven had had no idea.
Daes paused, seeming to consider this. There was too much of a feeling of truth in Aven’s words, most likely. “You said you discovered it in the library. Discovered what, exactly?”
Damn him and his tongue. He had acknowledged too much already. He should have continued to play dumb as to any knowledge of anything. But would Daes have ever believed that? He highly doubted it.
But he could not tell him about the map. He could tell the truth about some things but absolutely not that. Nothing was worth revealing it. It seemed to be the only way Aven had defended himself, and for the moment, it was still out there. For the moment, someone could still find it, read it, and do what Aven had done, resisting the enslavement.
And then—finally—Aven understood.
Of course. Daes did not know the specifics, but he knew there was a way to break his power. Aven had proved that much. And Daes was after it. Understandably. Any way to destroy his power must be his primary objective.
Before he could decide how to respond, Daes gave him a little added motivation with another prod near his right hip. The pain was starting to addle him, which was of course the idea. Oh, to be a creature mage and be able to heal himself.
“How did you discover the star magic?” Daes pressed. Ah, so he knew it was of the stars? Daes did know some of the details, then.
“A book. The library. I told you.” He was panting with the effort and the pain, without much breath to speak clearly at this point.
“You’re lying,” the dark man said. “I don’t believe any of it.”
“No. It’s true. I was reading the book on the balcony where Miara found me. Send her back, it might still be there.” This was the problem with torture, he thought. Beyond the obvious cruelty, it was almost useless. He was telling the man the damned truth, and his torturer still couldn’t believe him. The easiest thing for Aven to do right now would be to make up a plausible lie, something that would make more sense than the truth did. It’s been handed down in my family for generations and generations and we’ve all been secretly training to… what exactly? He had no idea.
But he didn’t want to lie. He was too foggy with pain to think through the possible ramifications before choosing a story at this point. Damn it all, perhaps he could go down with that one thing to lord over this fool—that he’d told him the truth all along.
“Where did you really learn? Who taught you? There must be others.” He jabbed the poker into Aven’s side. Aven finally let out a short scream before biting it back—there was no dodging or relieving the pain of this one.
Daes withdrew the poker and waited for Aven to recover for a moment.
“You will tell me everything you know about the star magic.”
“I already have,” Aven grunted through clenched teeth.
“We’ll see what you say when the pain has driven you mad. Or perhaps I should bring the mage slave in here and apply this poker to her and see what you say then?” Daes looked delighted with himself at that idea.
“Do it, and I swear I’ll find a way to crush your skull like an egg while you sleep,” Aven whispered.
At this, Daes just smiled. “Tell me what I want to know, and perhaps it won’t come to that.”
“I am not your slave.”
“Aren’t you?”
Chapter 16
Balance
If she could kidnap a man once, she could kidnap him again, right?
At the crack of dawn, she trotted to the library, quickly checking for any drawings of the layout of the rooms in the Master’s Hall. Anything that could help her locate Aven. She had no luck, but it didn’t matter.
She had worked through the details with her father late into the night, examining a layout they had drawn together from memory, trying to recall the guard’s patrol times, what had been said when she’d given Aven to the Masters, what she would need to collect and gather once the sun had risen. Then in the dark of night, she’d stolen out to the woods again, and she’d hidden the map Aven had given her with some supplies about an hour’s flight toward Akaria. If she failed, the map could not fall into the Masters’ hands.
The sun now completely up, she strode from the library and began gathering her ingredients—web from a spider, hair from a rat and a cat, the antennae of a beetle.
As she ran her hand over one of the wandering gray cats, snatching a hunk of excess fur the cat was shedding, she remembered the wolves who’d attacked them in the temple. With the Balance, there is always another way, the wild wolf had said. She hoped it was right.
She felt the quietest touch of hope creep into her heart. Perhaps there was a Balance, perhaps this was what her father had meant all along. If this feeling of freedom wasn’t somehow a cruel practical joke, if she could actually find him, if they could somehow get away…
That world was too bright to think of, lest her heart be shattered when it didn’t come true.
It was not time to think, it was time to act.
Her steps seemed no different from any other day, but on this day, she headed into the Master’s Hall of her own accord. The day would not end the way it had begun, that she was sure of.
Inside, she found a quiet corridor, waited until she was sure she was alone, and then slipped into the form of a cat. Then she darted from corner to corridor, again under the guise of hunting rodents.
She began systematically exploring the areas of the Hall that she’d never seen before, one by one, peeking in as a cat, looking under doorframes, sniffing others, even slipping in as a beetle sometimes just to be sure. Several doors concealed only sleeping chambers on the other side; some were empty or held crates in storage. Many nearest to the main hall seemed largely unused. One by one she went, fast as she could, eliminating each in its turn.
Beyond another series of storage chambers with dusty barrels inside, she found a doorway made of iron rather than wood, with bars and a large sturdy lock on the left side. She could barely make out stairs leading down into the darkness.
This had to be it.
The hallway was empty and silent. She could hear no one nearby. She wound herself down, coiled into a spider form, and began climbing, heading for the safety of the highest parts of the wall. Then she crawled past a bar and was plunged into darkness.
A spider was not quite the smallest thing Miara knew how to transform herself into, but it was the smallest one that would be at home in a dungeon. There might also be flies, but they might also be more annoying targets for guards or prisoners to squash. All tiny forms carried many risks—easily crushed, stepped on, brushed aside, or blown away by the wind. Tiny legs went a great deal slower than bigger ones or even feline ones. Eight spider eyes did not work the same as two human ones. Still, she had to hide herself somehow. She had no idea what to expect from this dungeon. However, she did know that a spider on a dark wall was probably a fairly normal occurrence no one would pay any attention to.
It was slow going. Her sight as a spider was much blurrier than as a human, but brighter in the dark. She could see more in the low light, though with duller lines. She could tell enough to know that she was going forward and down. Very, very slowly.
Behind her, a loud clanking and smashing sound made her freeze in her tracks. Voices rang out. Guards.
She moved a few inches higher up on the wall, then held very still.
A group of them passed her, headed down. She counted eight, if her eyes were to be trusted. With her strange, new eyes, she couldn’t quite make them out perfectly. Where could they be going?
The sound
of the soldiers faded. Had they just quit talking, or could she no longer hear them? How far was it to the bottom of this dungeon?
Didn’t matter. Keep going.
Time blurred and became nothing but the slow, steady progress across the wall: a strange crevice in the rock, a hill here, a valley there. She scaled higher as she neared a torch, unsure how hot it would be, not wanting to end up cooked.
With time came more footsteps. The guards were leaving, but there were no voices this time.
She was about as high on the wall as she could be, but she nestled into a crevice just in case. She waited.
They came around the bend quickly, marching in better form this time, in rows. Two, then two, then three, then two…
Nine? Wasn’t that more than had gone down there? She struggled to look harder in the dim light. Was the new figure slumped against them? Was there even a ninth figure?
Yes. They were escorting someone—someone they’d gone down into the dungeons to fetch.
Gods. It was Aven.
She felt every muscle in her tiny body tense as if she could pounce to free him. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what to do. They were taking him somewhere. Her plan couldn’t possibly work now if there were nine guards surrounding him wherever he ended up.
The guards lumbered with Aven up the stairs, almost out of sight. Think, she commanded herself. Think, damn it! They rounded the corner, gone now. She still stared, numb.
Then action returned to her in a rush. She leapt from the wall and let herself drop down toward the floor, and as she fell she twisted her form into a large rat. She hit the floor with a tumble and a roll, and her head spun, but she righted herself and took off after them.
If she wanted to save Aven, she had to know where he was. And right now she was at least close. When she got to him, she had no idea what she would do.
One step at a time.
She scampered on at full rat speed, leaping when the uneven stairs were farther than the normal distance apart, throwing all her energy after the sound of the footsteps. After him.
“Put this on,” the guard said, tossing a shirt in Aven’s face.
Guards had again arrived in his cell, but these didn’t seem like the others that had taken him to the smithy. They had a different air about them.
Was it morning? What were they planning?
He could only move slowly, gritting his teeth against new shocks of pain from the night before. He couldn’t remember Daes leaving or even passing out, but it must have happened at some point. Even now, he felt himself teetering on the edge of consciousness, whether it was from the pain, the lack of sleep, the mental exhaustion. One more quick jerk, and perhaps he could have the shirt on—
He felt himself fall to the ground and into darkness.
“He has his father’s eyes.”
A man’s voice. Cold stone pressed against Aven’s cheek. His body lay uncomfortably sprawled on its side. He kept his eyes closed, hoping to hide that he’d awoken.
“You have done well for once, Daes, Seulka,” the voice continued. “Perhaps I should be asking you more often to attempt things I don’t think you can do.”
The slightest pause at the awkward comment.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Daes’s voice. Aven longed to clench his fist as a knot tightened in his stomach. It was best not to focus on the night before. At most, he could cling to the fact that he’d stuck to his story throughout.
And now he knew something, at least—the voice was King Demikin of Kavanar.
“The crown prince of Akaria. And I thought the feat impossible. Fine work, indeed. Especially for a bastard.”
Again the slightest pause. A bastard, eh? What was that all about?
“Several of our mages are very skilled,” said Daes, ignoring the comment with grace. “And only yesterday, I added six dozen to start additional similar training.” Aven didn’t like the sound of that.
“Excellent.”
“Also, these mages may have gotten quite lucky,” Seulka added. “We don’t know how repeatable it will be.”
“Well, we shall have time to find out, eh? And somehow we have yet to receive a declaration of war.” From the movement of the king’s voice, he seemed to be pacing in front of Aven. War, huh? Was this the intent all along? If they wanted war, why not just attack? Perhaps this was the direct method Daes was referring to. And perhaps they were truly concerned with getting at the star magic first, which made sense. Such a mission would have been significantly harder with a full-blown war underway.
“He’s not exactly what I pictured. Can you believe they let themselves get so bulky? Fighting is for foot soldiers. Far too much muscle.” The king paused, and Daes cleared his throat. Heh, didn’t agree, did he? “Like a damned farmer,” the king continued, circling Aven. His steps were soft, his voice like crunching gravel. “Commoners do menial labor, like wielding swords. Not royalty. And no painting can quite capture that stubborn glint around the eyes. But I digress. What shall we do with him, do you think? Daes, your thoughts?”
“We are fully prepared to kill him, sir, as you ordered. The real question is by what means and how quickly.”
“Indeed,” said the king.
“I recall it was your desire to kill him promptly this morning, after you were able to verify his identity. All preparations have been made, and it would be a worthy revenge for the Akarian wrongs against your family.”
“No revenge is worthy enough,” the king said, as though he would be the judge of that. What was he even referring to? The mages in the Dark Days had been Akarian, true enough… But they couldn’t still be holding on to such nonsense, could they? Oh, by the ancients. “But it will be a start. Especially when we strike fear into the hearts of every Akarian by returning his head on a pole.”
For the first time, Aven felt his body tense with the instinct to fight and survive. It had all been so politely diplomatic—even contemplative—up till that point that it hadn’t really seemed real. But now… well, he might not hear the details, but he was sure they were carefully calculating the most terrible outcome, at least for Akaria.
Perhaps he needed to think more seriously about how he was going to get out of this before he lost the chance.
Aven risked opening one eye the smallest amount he could. Red velvet robes draped across the black marble floor not far from him—the king. They were in the large receiving room where he’d last seen Miara. He could see servants entering from a side door, carrying steaming bowls. A small, gray cat ran in, dodging their heels as they headed for the dais. He couldn’t see it, but he knew the four leaders of this disgraceful place sat there on the other side of the king.
“If you are open to other timelines, however, we could potentially keep him alive for a bit. Find out what we can from him.” Daes paused for a second. Letting it sink in, or regretting he hadn’t gotten more—that he believed—out of Aven? “There could be much to glean about Akaria’s defenses, force preparation, plans for war, diplomatic relations.”
“A thoughtful approach. You are quite the brains of this war effort, Daes. But we also have your spies. Is it worth the effort to try to get it out of him? Will he really tell us anything the spies can’t find out anyway?”
Another slight pause. “Perhaps you are right, Your Majesty.”
Aven wanted to laugh out loud. By that tone of voice, he was fairly sure Daes did not at all agree with the king’s assessment. But for his own reasons, he chose not to say anything. Aven risked another slight peek, as the king was focused on Daes.
The gray cat had settled nearby, beside a guard. The king still stood before him.
“We could demand a tribute from Akaria. Returning him would be less rewarding for you, I’m sure, but it would bring much needed resources to the nation, such as their iron from the mountains.” So they needed iron? Good to know.
“Well, we could simply not return him after the tribute has been received.”
“Brilliant thinking, Cousin,
” the woman chimed in.
Another slight pause. “Indeed,” said Daes. How could the king be missing how much the dark one clearly disapproved? “A tribute could also present opportunities for ambush and a chance at reducing Akarian forces before a war has fully begun. Which would be invaluable, in my opinion. Worth more than this prince, with certainty.”
Strange. Amid all this talk of options, Daes had framed the discussion around his death—where, when, and how. Not if. They had yet to mention that he was a mage or any chance of enslavement. Were they hiding it from him? Aven stifled a grin. They didn’t want him to know they had failed. That there was someone who could resist them.
That was it, wasn’t it?
“What do you think, Your Majesty?” asked the woman.
There was a long moment of silence, in which Aven began to wonder if he was missing something he could not hear and if he should open his eyes. But then the king finally spoke.
“These are all worthy options. But I must say, I lean toward the original plan. His immediate death.”
“Of course, my lord,” Daes said quickly.
“Are you certain, Cousin?” said the woman. “What is the rush to kill him? Let us make some use of him and then kill him.”
“I have decided. What is the rush? I want our people to know that our justice is swift, our memory is long, and our wrath is unending. He will serve as an example of the age that is to come.”
“Huzzah,” she said, a touch of awe in her voice. Well, perhaps this fool did have his kingly moments, even if it was only via hellfire and brimstone.
Daes spoke into the silence. “I have one more course of action that has just occurred to me, Your Majesty.” What could this be?
“Let’s have it.”
“The mage who captured him has proven herself very talented. She’s observed him for nearly a week on their journey here. She knows him well now. What if we kill him and then send her back in his place, disguised as his likeness?”
Aven gasped. He could not think of a worse hell for Miara—to pretend to be him in front of all those who missed him, all those whom she’d betrayed by bringing him here. Pure torture.
