The young mages shook their heads desperately, Alex and Jera just as pale-faced and frightened as the rest. And the look of shame Alex sent Jess’s way broke her heart.
Eloquin turned to Jess.
“Calenbry!”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, choking back bitter tears.
“You will report to the head proctor. Barefoot. Your pathetic fall from grace is not worthy of the dean’s time. Only tunic and hose will you wear. Let the world see your shame. You will confess your horrid breach, explain the role your friends played as you see fit, and request the penitent’s shift. You have failed in your duties as a squad leader. Do you understand?”
Jess nodded, reeling with the blow. Her shame would be absolute, that much was clear.
“Good. You are also hereby suspended of your status as a Squire of War. You are one of my Hounds no longer. Merely a girl who has stumbled into gravest folly, with so very much to learn.”
“Yes, sir,” Jess whispered.
He nodded once. “You will attend all your classes, Calenbry, without fail. You will accept bitter words from all who give them, criticism from all who find you lacking, and you will embrace it as the truly penitent would. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Jess gulped, heart lurching with despair. “but sir… I don’t even know what classes I take.”
“That is not an excuse! That is sloth, that is folly, that is a pathetic use of Highrock resources! You have proven my lenience ill-founded! The same lack of discipline that has made you a piss-poor student is also what has led to your downfall, Jessica.”
Jess bowed her head, crushed by shame.
“Now get out of my sight.”
26
A nightmare without end.
Or such is how it felt, bruised, blooded, exhausted, stumbling down corridors, even now overwhelmed by the terrible screams of men dying as her blade tore through their hearts, the awful crunch of bone bursting under the hammering blows of her mace. The dreadful glee she felt, lost to that madness. And when, by rights, she should be soaking in hot baths, embraced by powerful arms as she drunk deep and sobbed and loved the horror away, she was instead stumbling down endless corridors, barefoot and exhausted, so many students gazing at her in disbelief, pity, or in some cases, darkest glee.
She had been stripped of all rank and prestige, everything she had fought so hard for. And now she was to be condemned and humiliated for having risked her life, just to save her friends.
No. She would not lie to herself. She would not lose what little integrity she had left.
She had fallen for putting near a score of her battle-brother’s lives at risk; panic for her friends and the girl who had gazed at her so fondly having compelled her to an act of unforgivable foolishness.
She had broken formation.
She had wedged a crack in the focus and direction of her fellows.
And she had paid that tragic breach with further folly, not even properly warding those who had raced to her banner, defying the will of their master, putting their lives and reputation both in peril.
Only by sheerest luck, did everyone make it back.
Jess trembled and sobbed, thinking of her beloved shieldbrother, thinking of Abella’s playful smile… remembering the rictus of agony her face had twisted into, as she was brutally butchered before Jess’s very eyes.
She had failed them.
She had failed them all.
Jess stumbled and fell to cold, hard tile stones, blisters on her feet bursting at last, even as tears burst, choking sobs held back no longer, and Jess cried bitter tears on those flagstones as frightened looking students gazed on.
A tentative knock upon a door of brooding oak. Free of all ornamentation, down what Jess fancied was the coldest, loneliest corridor in the entire school.
A door abruptly opened. A tall, thin faced man still wearing a proctor’s uniform gazed at her for long, silent moments with hard brown eyes.
“Why do you trouble me, student?”
Dizzy and sick, it was all a shaking Jess could do to remain upright. “I am here to report my crimes, sir. My folly has cost me all status and esteem. I am to don the penitent’s shift, until I am deemed worthy of redemption, or I flee the school in shame.”
So cold, his gaze. She sensed his disdain the instant their eyes had locked, shuddering and immediately looking away, unable to bear the loathing she feared he truly felt for her. Unfair? Not at all. She knew it was because he knew already. Knew that no student would come before him like this, unless guilty of the most grievous of breaches, well deserving of any contempt he would give.
“Jessica de Calenbry. Daughter of Arthur de Calenbry. Arrogant, proud, slothful, deluded enough to think she can neglect her responsibilities as a student and still prosper. Yet, for all your sins, you had still managed to grasp onto the title of Squire.” Gaze lowered, she still sensed him shaking his head. “Your master must have seen virtues I do not, as is his right. Yet now even he has determined that your gross flaws are too blatant to be tolerated any further.”
Jess shuddered, but forced herself to nod. “Yes, sir.”
He let the pause grow endlessly. “You are exhausted, injured, and covered in blood. Have you assaulted or murdered a student or professor of Highrock?”
Jess adamantly shook her head, gripping the doorway before she swooned. “No, sir.”
“Then I am permitted to make you this offer. Leave now. Leave and do not come back. Flee to your father’s estates, like the failure you are. A full diploma will be sent to you, as the dean is too much of a coward to insult a noble House, no matter how much of a wretch their spawn turns out to be. Resign, child. Sully this school with your presence no more, and you will be spared the pain that is surely your due."
The cold silence was a weight on Jess's soul. She swallowed, forcing exhausted limbs to stillness, throat bone dry.
“Or you will be forced to wear the penitent’s shift and bear your sins before me, so I may judge you. And do not think you will find redemption easy, Jessica de Calenbry. For as a student of this school, I find you hideously lacking.”
Jess closed her eyes, squeezing out bitter tears.
“I choose redemption. I will wear the penitent’s shift, and bare my sins.”
“I see. State the nature of your crimes, Jessica de Calenbry, so I may record them, and make sure the school entire knows of your folly. May their scorn and castigation hound you, until you break and flee, or your own shame redeems you.”
Trembling, Jess struggled to speak, to say what needed to be said. Knowing there was so much she could not say, dared not say, for sacred oaths she swore never to break she would honor always, no matter how her heart now burned.
“I jeopardized the lives of forty Squires and near a dozen apprentice mages in an act of impulsive folly.”
“How?”
Jess grimaced. “I swore oaths as a Squire that forbid my speaking the specific nature of my folly, head proctor. I can only say… generalities. Forgive me.”
Jess shuddered as the man's hand gripped the back of her neck, forcing her lowered head down to a kneel. “Are you sure that’s the stance you wish to take?”
Trembling, Jess nodded.
“Very well. Give me the generalities. State the nature of your crimes.”
“I… I disobeyed a direct order, sir,” Jess whispered. “I broke the chain of command, divided the intent and focus of our forces, imperiled my master’s unquestioned authority. I let my own passions get the better of me. As a result, forty Squires were put in mortal peril.”
Trembling, Jess knew what she had to say and how she had to say it, to preserve her friends the horror she knew she was to endure, knowing Alex and Jera were already haunted by the nightmare they had endured. They had been dreamers, eager to learn and explore, betrayed by the most vicious of serpents. She couldn't bear to stab them in the back now.
She was already set to take the charge. She would cover for them too.
> “Twelve apprentice mages were also imperiled this evening. Only by sheerest fortune were they rescued.”
The proctor’s hands curled into fists. “You... that dozen... by all the hells, do you know what you did?"
Jess trembled, shaken by the unexpected contempt. So the head proctor already knew. Already knew how close she had come to losing everyone's life, for surrendering to her own desperation.
Jess could sense the vindictive fury radiating off the man, his trembling fist in the corner of her eye. His breath was ragged. He seemed to be fighting for control. "So. You threatened the lives of a dozen apprentices with your folly.”
Jess swallowed, tears falling freely from her cheeks. “No,” she sobbed. “But… two perished, and my closest friend is gone.”
The proctor’s ragged breathing had turned to a furious snarl of hate. Sinewy hands unspooled what Jess saw to her horror was a whip.
“Strip. Now.”
Sobbing, Jess did not resist, desperate not to catch the man's hate-filled gaze. She closed her eyes, heart racing with terror.
“If you are responsible for what you imply... three sacred lives lost to your blasphemy! And how many others died to your interference? By blackest Justice, I will see you pay for that, Calenbry!”
His whip cracked. Biting into the flesh of her back. She screamed and collapsed, caught utterly off guard by the hideous pain a whip cracking into naked flesh could cause.
“I care not the pretext! I care not if your blade did not strike the killing blow! Your interference cost more than you know. Their blood is on your hands, worthless piece of trash, and by all the gods, I will make you pay!”
His whip cracked her flesh again. Jess screamed.
To her shame and horror, she sensed students looking on.
The proctor had not even thought to invite her in before his interrogation. Before his chastisement.
Desperately she choked back screams as the cracking whip bit cruelly into her flesh.
She was only partly successful.
Time bent, twisted and strange. Her body spasming, blood and vomit spewing forth.
And still, the beating went on.
The crack of the whip, the drum of charging hooves, her hand smacking the forehead of her beloved friend.
His look of wild fury as she smeared his forehead with her own blood.
“Kill them, my brother. Kill them all!”
An act of pure madness, in the middle of a pitched battle.
Jess screamed, another bolt of agony rocking through her.
Forcing herself to remember what she had so desperately sought to forget, reliving that horror to push away the agony burning her even now.
A figure of shadow.
Eyes of flame.
Howling as the storm consumed them, consumed them all.
Eloquin. Master of eldritch arts so well hidden, all of them warded even as the Shadowstorm struck, more than winds pulling at them.
Power stretched so thin, Jess having split their forces.
Unforgivable.
Yet Malek, poor Malek, had slipped free his master's wards, and embraced the storm.
And how those mages had screamed, horrified men exploding like bags of bone and blood, limbs torn free, faces cleaved from bone…
Screaming.
Endless screaming.
Theirs, and her own.
Even now, Jess could imagine a horrific nightmare of flame and shadow racing after those fallen souls, nipping at the heels of those wizards as they fled helplessly into hideous realms of howling storms, desperate struggle, eternal nightmare... devouring them utterly, body and soul. Embracing the High Hunt in terrible ways Jess could only begin to fathom.
“Jess!”
“Twilight, thank the gods.”
“Mistress, what’s wrong? You are in pain! Who dares to strike you?”
“Sable. Liam. Julia. Are they safe?”
“Mistress…” Jess sensed sapphire eyes, blazing like massive fiery suns, peering into her very soul. “Ah, mistress. So bitter is your folly, when I dare to leave your side.”
Jess shuddered, even as the body she knew to be her own continued to writhe and scream.
“I’ve lost Malek, Twilight, I lost him!”
She somehow sensed his sigh. “Please, mistress, never compel him like that again. He is still too fragile. You both are, to weather the storms such acts would bring.”
Jess shivered, tried to nod, screaming even in her waking dream.
“Mistress! Foolish girl. Hold fast, I will see this stopped immediately.”
“Sable! Her baby! Are the okay?”
“I take strange paths, Jess. Vile serpents armed with sacrificial knives seek their hearts, even now.”
Jess screamed, fury as much as pain compelling her.
“Fear not, I am no novice to this game, and will protect them as you compelled… my message has been given. Flee your tormentor! I will return as soon as I am able.”
But it was too late. Even as she tried to stumble to her knees upon hands trembling with exhaustion, her back a shredded mass of agony, a cruel boot slammed into her spine.
She collapsed with a cry.
“I did not give you leave to move, wretch. Blood on your hands. You need not say black truths I sense already. three masters perished for your cursed involvement in things that do not concern you! That bastard cannot hide your sins behind a simple shift. You will pay in blood, and I will see you tried for your crimes in a formal court!” He twisted her ear so hard she screamed. "And not one corrupted by lords grown fat with the butchery of so many good men. No, Calenbry. One day I will see you suffer so sweetly that this will seem but the gentlest of caresses!"
She groaned as he slammed her skull to the ground, his whip cracking once more, biting deep into savaged flesh.
Jess’s scream came out a piteous cry.
And the whip cracked again.
Jess trembled, and felt something snap within.
A blur, so fast she hardly saw it, even as she felt her mind sink someplace deep and dark.
A man screamed.
Jess heard the crackle of snapping bone.
“How dare you! I gave you no leave to strike my student with a lash! If she perishes to your wounds, I will take your life in turn!”
A snarled protest. “You have no right to interfere, dog of war! She has been declared penitent from your own lips! She is now under my care, monster. A penitent she is, and as a penitent she shall pay as I see fit!"
“Her penance is a woolen robe, you vile excuse for a proctor! The robe is a trial of shame, not a gauntlet of fire! I never gave you leave to strike her flesh!”
Bone cracked once more. The proctor’s screams became a pitiful wail.
“She’s responsible for multiple deaths. She said it herself! The bitch deserves harshest pain, for crimes!”
Bitter laughter. “More the fool you. You are a failure, to allow your passions to get the best of you. You, of all people, should make sure your understanding is complete, before you dare to strike a noblewoman’s flesh!”
“Her confession was all I needed to hear!”
“She was protecting them, you damned fool!”
“I do not forgive her, dog, now unhand me!” His breathless protest turned to a shriek.
Yet Jess had already collapsed.
Crying out in sudden fresh pain as she felt herself gently lifted, sobbing as she was briskly carried down endless corridors, feeling scores of eyes upon her, hoping, desperately hoping it was all but a dream.
She groaned as strange white energies lanced her flesh, trying desperately to push them away.
“Stop fighting them, Calenbry.”
A soft whimper her only response, as the shivery magics crackled through her body.
“By all the gods, what happened to her?” Master Jevon’s soft voice, now one of barely concealed outrage.
“It’s being dealt with.”
“I’m afraid I must insist, Elo
quin.”
“Tend to the patient in your care, Jevons. She’s your focus now.”
The healer sighed. “I’m afraid it isn’t that simple, General. Young Jessica here is strangely resistant to our magics. It takes a remarkable amount of force to compel any healing upon her at all.”
“Then use the poultices she herself made.”
Lost in a sea of pain, Jess drifted off, leaving the voices far behind.
27
Odd dreams of being adrift on a peaceful stream, bobbing to and fro, were replaced by the sound of morning birds, shafts of sunlight piercing her skull, forcing her eyes open as she groaned and turned away.
“Ah, how is our favorite herbalist feeling this morning?” teased none other than the gentle voice of Master Jevons himself, perhaps the most skilled healer in all of Highrock, and Josie’s role model in so many ways.
Jess groaned. “Please tell me last night was a nightmare… I couldn’t bear to think...”
The gently smiling face turned solemn. “I am sorry to say this, Jessica, but if it is dreams of penitence that haunt you, they are still very much a reality, I’m afraid.”
Jess trembled, squeezing her eyes shut, the throb in her aching back undeniable, the beating she had survived all too real.
“It’s funny, you know. All the duels, all training I’ve received, my flesh bruised and battered, and when live steel is in play, the cuts that managed to get through… never has it hurt so fiercely as what happened last night.”
Jevon’s gaze hardened, even as he gave a nod. “That is because whips are all but worthless against an armored man. And so long as one can endure the first strike, which is not always the case, one can easily charge through a weapon mean to inflict pain, finishing your foe off with a weapon designed with death in mind. The whip, the lash, these tools tear into the flesh at horrific speeds, biting into your body in a way that sets your senses ablaze with agony. So different from a blade where the sharpest cuts are not even felt until moments pass, death your foe's true goal. The whip is designed only to torment its prey.”
Squire of War Page 28
