But what about now? He seemed calm enough.
“Fist?” she said hesitantly. He looked up at her. “Can I…can I ask you a question?”
He made a weary gesture with his hand indicating that she could continue and turned his face downward once again.
Ravin took a deep breath. She was taking a terrible risk doing this. The smallest things triggered him these days. Only yesterday he struck old Willem in the face for dropping a spoon when he was clearing off the table. He had one of his personal guards dragged away and lashed for not saluting him properly, even though the man did nothing wrong.
But if she didn’t do something, Fen would die, and she couldn’t bear that thought. She’d risk ten times as much if there was any hope of saving him.
“Have you…have you given thought to going to see Fen?”
The Fist’s head snapped up. “Fen?”
What was that she saw on his face? Was it sorrow? Loneliness? It wasn’t anger, that much she was sure of. She took courage from it. “He’s in the prison,” she said, as if maybe the Fist had forgotten. “If only he could talk with you, maybe he could explain what happened and you could…” She swallowed. “See your way to forgive him.”
“He betrayed me,” the Fist said. Strangely, it sounded almost like a question.
“Fen has always loved you. He’s always been loyal to you.”
“I never expected it,” the Fist said. He sounded sad. “He was the one person I thought I could trust the most.”
“He is, he is the person you can trust the most,” she said quickly, her heart pounding with fear and hope. “He would never betray you or his people, not for anything.”
“Maybe it is time that I go speak to him.”
Ravin felt blessed hope spring to life. “You won’t regret it, sire. I promise you.”
“He followed me around that whole night like a puppy,” the Fist said.
Ravin wasn’t sure what he was talking about. “Sire?”
“The night Samkara fell to the Maradi. He was the only other person alive in the square. He followed me the whole night and the next day too. It helped, you know. My wife and son had died only two days before, and I was stricken with grief. Having Fen there helped. He gave me a reason to—”
The Fist broke off as the door swung open.
It was Maphothet. With him was a middle-aged woman with a scarf tied over her graying hair. Right away Ravin knew she was one of the slaves taken from Marad. It was there in the beaten, terrified look in her eyes. This was a woman who’d recently lost everything.
“Leave,” Maphothet said to Ravin.
She snatched up the Fist’s plate and hurried out the servant’s door, cursing the man inwardly for his terrible timing. She’d been so close.
Ravin closed the door, but not completely. She stood there, peering through the crack. She had a feeling something bad was about to happen, something she very much didn’t want to see. But she also felt that she should see it. Sooner or later she’d be able to get in to see Fen, and any information she could bring him would be helpful.
The Fist had half risen from his chair and was staring at the woman with burning eyes. “Why is she here?” the Fist asked.
“I think you know why,” Maphothet replied.
“Do I?” The Fist’s tongue appeared in the corner of his mouth and touched his lip.
“You have a hunger now, do you not? A hunger that food does not touch?”
“How do you know that?” the Fist asked. His gaze had still not turned away from the woman. She was staring at him with increasing fear.
“Because I have been where you are. After your first time tasting power stolen from another, food is never the same again. It no longer suffices.”
With an effort, the Fist tore his gaze away from the woman and looked at Maphothet. “I won’t do that again. That was a one-time thing, so I could break down their gates. I did it to save the lives of my soldiers.” He sounded like a man trying to convince himself.
“You don’t mean that. You haven’t come this far to turn back now, not when you stand on the very threshold of godhood.”
The Fist’s eyes had drifted back to the woman, who was trying to back away, but was held fast by Maphothet. “Godhood?” He licked his lips again.
“The power we talked about, the power the gods have selfishly kept for themselves. You are so close to unlocking it.”
“It felt…incredible. Like there was nothing I could not do. I miss that feeling,” the Fist said, his voice sounding distant.
“And you will feel that way again. Only give in to your hunger.”
“It’s not right,” the Fist said in a faint voice. “I shouldn’t…”
“Right and wrong do not apply to gods.” Maphothet shoved the woman forward. She staggered and fell at the Fist’s feet. She started trying to crawl away, but the Fist bent and took her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“No no no!” she cried.
The look that appeared on the Fist’s face once he touched the woman was terrifying. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a snarl, and a wild light danced in his eyes. He pulled the woman closer, and she scratched his face, her fingernails tearing bloody furrows in his cheek. His face darkened with rage, and he grabbed hold of her shoulders and lifted her into the air.
He barked a single, harsh word in an alien tongue.
The woman flung her head back and screamed. White light poured from her eyes and mouth and into the Fist’s mouth. When the light entered him, he went rigid. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he began to shake.
In heartbeats it was over. The white light faded to nothing. By then the woman was nothing more than a shriveled husk, her skin turned to cracked leather, lips and eyelids pulled back, limbs bowed and desiccated. The Fist dropped her and staggered back, his hands over his face. From him came muffled animal sounds.
“Give it time,” Maphothet said.
The Fist hunched over, wrapping his arms around himself and shaking madly. Before Ravin’s horrified gaze, he changed. His sunken pallor disappeared. His skin lost its grayish look. The scratches in his face closed up. When he straightened he looked fit and strong, the muscles in his arms and chest straining against his tunic.
“You see now that I was right,” Maphothet said.
“You were right,” the Fist replied. He held up one hand and clenched it into a fist. “I’m strong again.” Then he glanced down at the body at his feet and winced.
“For now, things such as this are necessary,” Maphothet said, “but once we have the final pieces of the key in our possession that will all change.”
With difficulty the Fist tore his gaze away from the woman’s body. “Yes, the key. Have you located the third piece yet?”
“We have. It is on the steppes to the north of Qarath.”
“Another city that we will have to conquer?” the Fist asked.
“No. The country is empty but for a handful of nomads. But there are other complications. That is the other reason I came here today. Sitkamose and I will be leaving with Lowellin tomorrow to secure the third piece.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Tumerisy and Akhraten will remain here, to oversee the work on the new ships.”
“The ships. I’ve been meaning to go down and look at them. How are they coming?”
“The work is proceeding quickly. The invasion of Qarath will go ahead as planned.”
Maphothet left soon after, and Ravin silently closed the door. For a minute she stood there, grappling with what she had just seen and heard. The Fist had killed again. As far as she knew, this was the first time he had done so since the night of the invasion. Was he going to begin killing regularly now? What had Samkara’s king become? And what would happen now?
Word would spread. Servants would begin leaving during the night. More riots would probably start. Was the Fist aware of the unrest in the city? Did he care anymore, or was he too far gone?
It was dangerous
in the city these days. There was so much violence, most of it random. It was as if there was something poisonous in the air. The whole place was like a torch soaked in pitch, awaiting only a spark to blaze into life.
It wasn’t safe for a woman alone, even in the middle of the day. But however dangerous it was, she had to go try again to get in to see Fen. With Maphothet gone, if Fen could somehow get to talk to the Fist, maybe he could finally get through to him. That chance was worth any risk.
Chapter Seven
Fen’s cell door opened, and he looked up from his seat on the cot, blinking against the sudden light. It was Robbert.
“You have a visitor,” Robbert said.
Fen stood up quickly, wondering who it was. Could it be the Fist? He’d spent a lot of time thinking about what he would say to the man, how he might get through to him.
Then Ravin stepped out from behind the jailer, and suddenly the light from the lantern faded into nothing.
“Thank you, Robbert,” Ravin said to the jailer.
“My pleasure, miss. Wats won’t be back for a bell at least. I’ll give you as much time as I can, but I have to have you out of here before he returns.” He set the lantern on the floor, backed out of the cell, and re-locked the door.
Ravin ran to Fen and threw her arms around him. For a time neither of them spoke. She was like a dream of a life he barely remembered. She smelled like sunshine and fresh bread. He wanted to hold her forever.
At last she pulled away. She held his hands and looked up at him, smiling through her tears.
“Sorry about the smell,” Fen said. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have cleaned up a bit.”
She gave him a quick, fierce hug. “I don’t care about the smell, Fen, you know that. I’m so happy to see you.” She looked him up and down. “How are you doing? You look thin.”
“They don’t feed us a lot and the food is…well, I’m not always sure it is food.” Fen smiled a little, trying to make a joke of it.
“I’m sorry. I should have thought of that and brought you something to eat.”
“It doesn’t matter. Seeing you is better than food. How did you manage to get in here?”
“I found out from Melda—she’s one of the scullery maids—that her brother Robbert was a jailer here. I begged and pleaded with the guards at the front gates until one of them went and got him. He brought me in straightaway.”
“I’m glad you’re here, but I hope the Fist doesn’t find out. I don’t want you to get into trouble on account of me.”
“Fen, you big fool. Would you stop worrying about me already? I’m fine. It’s you we have to worry about.”
His smile faded and he slumped down on the cot. She sat down beside him. “I do way too much of that,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I’m trying not to give up hope, but it’s hard, a lot harder than I could have imagined. I have nothing to do but sit and think, and my thoughts lately have gotten pretty dark.” He tried to smile and failed. “At this point, the trial would be a relief. Anything to get out of here and see the light again.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Don’t talk like that. We want the trial to be a long way away.”
“I know. I was only trying to make a joke. I should be glad for every day that passes without my trial. Every day is another chance that the Fist will come see me.” He looked at her. “Has he spoken of me at all?”
“I spoke to him today about you.”
“You did? What did he say?”
“He seemed sad. He said you were always the one he trusted most.”
“Did he…is he going to come see me?”
“I don’t know. He said he thought it was time to, but then Maphothet came in.”
Fen swore bitterly. “It’s like that man has some way of knowing when his hold on the Fist is weakening. What happened then?”
Ravin bit her lip and looked down. “The sorcerer had a woman with him, one of the slaves. The Fist, he hasn’t been eating lately. He says food doesn’t taste good anymore. He got so thin. When he saw the woman, he got this hungry look in his eyes.” Her words died off, and she moved in closer to Fen.
“He sucked her dry, didn’t he? Just like he did those prisoners.”
She nodded. “It was terrible to see. I think I’m going to have nightmares about it forever. When he was done, she was all shriveled up.” She shivered.
“How did the Fist look afterwards?”
“He looked strong again. Healthy.”
Fen leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. The cell seemed so much worse now, made so by getting a glimmer of hope, only to have it crushed immediately. “And now he won’t come, will he?”
Ravin hesitated, pain showing on her face. “I don’t think so. He seemed like a different man afterwards. Harder, colder.”
“At least you tried. Maybe I’ll get to speak with him at the trial.”
“I have good news too.”
He opened his eyes and sat up. “What?”
“Maphothet and one of the other sorcerers are leaving tomorrow. They’ve found the final piece of the key. With him gone, maybe you’ll get a chance to convince the Fist that you didn’t betray him.”
Fen tried to push the bleakness away. He didn’t want Ravin to worry about him any more than she already did. He had to act like this was good news, even though in his heart he didn’t think it made any difference. “I’m sure you’re right, Ravin.”
“I’ll watch for another chance and talk to him again. This time there won’t be Maphothet around to interfere.”
“Thank you,” Fen said. “Knowing you’re out there, that you care, it means everything to me. It gives me something to hold onto. You have no idea.”
“We’re going to get through this,” she said, putting her arm around him. “We’re going to figure this out.”
“Yeah. Of course we are.” The words were ashes in his mouth, but he tried his best not to let her know that. He tried to draw close to her hope, as if it were a fire that could warm him, but he felt so cold, so very cold.
╬ ╬ ╬
After Robbert came and took Ravin away, Fen lay down on the cot and stared up at the blackness. This was a battle he could not win. He knew that with terrible certainty. He could fight his hardest, but in the end he would lose. For despair was a ruthless, implacable enemy. It never rested, never yielded. It was always there, always waiting for a moment of weakness, ready to pounce.
How many days had he been in here? Already he’d lost track. Night and day meant nothing. He had no idea whether the sun was shining, or if it rained. The world beyond these four stone walls might have ended for all he knew. Time was marked by two things: his daily meal and the movement of the jailers outside his door. How many meals had he gotten since he was imprisoned? There was no way to tell. They all blurred together.
He'd meant it, what he said to Ravin. The trial would almost be a relief. To be able to get out of here, even if only for a few bells. To finally know his fate, for good or ill.
He wondered if it hurt, having your head cut off. Surely it would happen too fast to hurt. A flash of steel, and it would all be over. He’d be free. No more fighting, no more struggling. No loneliness, no fear. It really didn’t seem so bad.
It would be easier for him than for those who still lived, he thought. He wouldn’t have to face whatever horror the Devourers unleashed when they finally broke through into this world. That they would break through he had no doubt. Who would stop them? Even if he had full access to Stone power, he probably wouldn’t be able to. No one else would even have a chance.
What sort of beings were they? he wondered. Why did the masters lock them in the Abyss?
At length he fell into a troubled sleep, where nightmares and the real world intermingled freely. Mixed in with the nightmares was a vague memory of someone bringing him his daily meal, but he never got up off the cot. Whoever it was went away, and he fell back into the nightmare world.
He became awar
e of a bright light in his face. He tried to push it away, but it came back. “I’m not hungry,” he mumbled. “Go away.”
“After I came all this way? I don’t think so,” said a familiar voice.
Fen sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Cowley? Is that you? Or are you just a dream?”
“Well, according to the women I’m a dream. But I never knew you felt that way about me.”
It was Cowley. He was standing there with that little smile on his face that said he’d been up to no good again.
“It is you.”
Cowley splayed his hands. “In the flesh.”
“I thought I was dreaming.”
“Are you going to sit there all day, or are you going to get up and give me the grand tour of your palace?”
“Um…there’s a cot. I’m sitting on it.” Fen gestured toward the corner. “Over there is a chamber pot.”
“You’re telling me,” Cowley said, holding his nose and grimacing. “You ever think of emptying that thing?”
Fen managed a weak smile. “The maid doesn’t come too often.” He tried to stand up, failed the first time. Cowley took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Thanks.” Cowley let go, then had to grab him again when he wobbled. “I’m still waking up,” Fen explained.
“Did I come at a bad time? Did I interfere with one of your naps?”
“No. I can always take another one.”
“At least one of us is getting enough sleep,” Cowley said. “I don’t know when the last time was I got more than a few hours of unbroken sleep.”
Fen blinked at him. He was still having trouble getting his thoughts together. “You have trouble sleeping?”
“No. No trouble at all. When I actually get to lie down on my bed.” Cowley’s grin disappeared. “It’s gotten pretty grim out there, while you’ve been away. We have riots all the time. They’re too much for the city watch to handle, so the army keeps getting called out to help.”
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