I waited up for a while, expecting my visitor to come calling soon afterwards. The minutes dragged on like hours, and the hours slunk past unbearably slow. Every time my mind started to wander, I had to stop myself from unconsciously whistling or fiddling with my manacles. That only made the wait more excruciating, to the point where I slipped out of consciousness from sheer boredom.
* * *
“Rise.”
I heard the voice before I felt the foot. This time, it wasn't my ribs but my stomach, and it wasn't a nudge so much as it was a kick. Half-groggy as I was, the pain woke me up faster than any cup of coffee. I fought for breath, each gasp twisting my stomach and stirring my other aches afresh. My eyes swam with tears, but with some difficulty I managed to blink them aside to see my visitor.
I'd seen portraits of Othenidus Gottfried before, mostly when Hawke and I last visited Val'Hala. In many ways, he had hardly changed from those picturesque personas: his face was locked in a creased grimace so firm it might have been carved into leather, his military-cropped hair heavily grey with only a scarce few streaks of the original blonde. From the shoulders down, he was suited in bronzed mail that had started to green with age. He even stood with his arms crossed over his barrel chest, the exact same pose I'd seen in all his simulacra.
It was the details that couldn't be captured by canvas that disturbed me more. Shiny scars and gouges that criss-crossed his armor, bragging of its regular use. The tension his body displayed, even in rest, like he was ready to lash out at the most minor provocation. His eyes, the pale green of frosted grass, seemed to be staring through me more than at me.
“You look too small and young to be the Scholar's lover. You're not the one who tried to curse my wife.” He spoke with the rumble of thunder, a voice that would easily roll across a battlefield to command troops. He grabbed me by the chin and turned my head one way, then the other, examining me.
“You're looking for Rouge? Good luck with that,” I said.
“I don't care about the names of the ants crawling beneath my feet. My soldiers said they'd captured the Scholar's companion.” His grip on my chin tightened, the merest flex, but it was enough to make my jaw creak and pop. I fought the urge to cry out.
“What do you care about Hawke? Are you going to join with Uraj and Hawke for Conclave, after all?”
His fingers twitched again, and I was certain he'd dislocate my jaw. Then he let go, straightening up to his full height, his eyes weighted with judgment. He couldn't have been any taller than Hawke, but his presence and posture made it feel like he was towering over me.
“You speak of things no commoner would know about. Your familiarity speaking about King Morau and King Kuznetsov is abnormal, too. It seems my men have found the right person.”
I felt a tick of annoyance at that. The only people who referred to Hawke and Uraj in such a manner were people who were considered close to their equals. Very few had the right to claim that honor.
“You think an awful lot of yourself, don't you?” I said.
“I 'think' nothing. I am what this country needs. I am the power to save humanity from the demons. I am greatness. It's time the relics of a failing kingdom were thrown under my boot. What the Scholar's little whore thinks means little to me.”
I spat at him. I was aiming for his face but only managed to reach his collar. I did get the satisfaction of watching it dribble down into his armor. For the first time since I saw him, his face trembled a bit.
“You're pathetic. Compared to Hawke and Uraj, you're the ant beneath their shoes,” I said.
I couldn't follow his hand. Like brushing away a fly, the back of his mailed glove brushed across my face. I thought for a terrible moment that my head was going to be sent spinning away. As fresh pain piled atop my other injuries, I fought to keep my head up. His voice floated in from somewhere far away.
“The Scholar's taught you well in disrespecting your superiors. Be grateful I need you alive, at least for now. Dead bait would be worthless.”
So that was the big reason for keeping me here. He was hoping Hawke would rush to my aid. I wanted to laugh at his foolishness, but I knew he was right. Hawke would probably do it.
I heard something scrabbling across the floor. It reminded me of the sound a rat makes darting to safety, claws scratching frantically in haste. But it was too loud to be any ordinary vermin, and there were too many of them. It would take hundreds of rats to make such a racket.
“Bother, they should have learned to leave me be by now,” muttered Othenidus over the rising noise. It was coming from every direction, and my mouth went dry when I realized that it was coming from the depths of the empty cells. Then there was a burst of violent movement all around us, and the cells were no longer empty.
Grinel. Tens upon hundreds of grinel flooded to the bars, spitting and clawing and biting and cursing in their twisted language.
I tried to back away instinctively, forgetting that I was already pressed against the wall. Countless clawed arms lashed out as far as they could reach, some lanky and corded, others bulging with barely contained muscle, red and green and orange and blue limbs flailing in anger. In the flickering torchlight, an army of pale blank eyes and slitted pupils shone with crazed rage and the desire to be free. The only comfort I could find was that their wrath was aimed squarely at the Lord of Val'Hala.
Othenidus hadn't moved a muscle. Even when a few twisted hands managed to stretch far enough to skim their claws against his armor and strike sparks, he simply watched them behind an unreadable mask. All the while, the grinel continued to screech at him. Most of it was grinel-tongue, incomprehensible to me, but the horrible ones were those who spoke in a tongue I could understand.
“Free us!” “Bastard!” “Food me!” “Child! Where mine child!” “Food!” “Food!” “Food!”
One of the grinel managed to squeeze its head through the bars, razored teeth gnashing fiercely. It might have been trying to bite him out of pure spite, or it might have been trying to eat him, if their cries for food were an indication to their conditions.
With a calmness I've yet to see surpassed to this day, Othenidus reached out with one arm and wrapped his fingers around the demon's head. His hand closed into a fist, and a macabre crunch drowned out the sounds of the bloodthirsty mob.
It had happened too fast for me to look away. I caught a brief glimpse of dark ichor and fragments of skull running between his knuckles before I was able to turn and empty what little I had in my stomach on the masonry floor.
I expected the dungeon to grow even louder, the grinel inflamed by Othenidus' casual killing. I couldn't bring myself to be surprised at the immediate silence, save for the shuffle of nails on stone. Like a multicolored wall of claws, teeth, and insanity, the grinel slipped back into the safety of the cells' depths.
“The beasts task me. They still think they hold any power,” said Othenidus.
“You're the only beast here,” I choked out, the fresh memory of the grinel's fate still making me retch. I didn't want to look at him anymore, preferring to fix my stare only my own vomit. It was a much more comforting sight.
“That's where you're wrong. I am the most humane person left in our world. King Kuznetsov is the fool who would consider making peace with such filth.” I heard him spit. “I would never stoop so low as to ally myself with demons, or their half-spawned bastards. Tell me, have you heard of the Giant's Shadow?”
I didn't expect the question. I turned to look at him, surprised. He watched me, hands behind his back, perhaps as an odd show of compassion. His face tightened, almost giving him the impression of smirking.
“Ah, the name means something to you. A name befitting something much more than that worm, hiding in the dark, lest he come up against someone with real might. The news from Hafwei was some of the best I have heard in ages. Then again, no backstabbing thief would last a moment against a real knight.”
The meaning of his words sank in like a stone. “You sent Anonce to
kill Fasketel.”
He rolled his shoulders. “So, you know Anonce, too. A useful tool, that one. I can't say the same for that fop, Ricard. Now that I think about it, he mentioned meeting the Scholar and his young lady friend on the road.”
“No,” I blurted. Could he really be that ruthless? “Then Liturgy was your doing?”
“I only pointed him in the direction of a possible lead on his beloved Ravoso. Of course, he failed in even taking a fake kingdom back. I was hoping he would have relieved me of that nuisance of a Lord Ordained, but at least I am rid of his incessant screeching. Would you like to know something amusing, though?”
I didn't want to hear one more word from his mouth. He took my silence for approval, though.
“The madman had already been in his homeland before. Multiple times, in fact. While I am at it, allow me to welcome you properly. Behold, the last remnants of Ravoso!” He threw out his arms, sweeping them to accompany the dungeon. “The only useful part of it, at least. I tore down the rest for building materials when I overthrew Bojangles the Second.”
“I take back what I said about you being a beast,” I said. “There isn't a word to describe the filth you are.”
“I am a man who can get things done. Which is more than can be said for the incompetent one who sits the throne, and the less competent one who ran away. They chase pipe dreams while the people they claim to protect live in fear of monsters. I've held strong against their campaigns to depose me, and more of the masses side with me every day. Astra seeks a cure, and I am the medicine they crave.”
He really did love the sound of his own voice. Every second I spent listening to him convinced me more that Hawke and Uraj were right to distrust him.
“There is a reason I have come to talk to you,” he continued on. “As impotent as they have been, the Old Kings still hold sway as symbols in Astra. If they were to concede their rulership publicly and give me full reign, the country would finally be united under a single, powerful governing body.”
“And, what, you want me to convince them to do it?” This time, I had no qualms about laughing right in his face. “What the hell makes you think I'd even consider it?”
“This, for one.” He reached for a cord around his neck and tugged it out from underneath his armor. A charm was tied to the end, a muddied crystal that seemed to drink the little light in the dungeon. I didn't have to ask what it was.
“I really have no use for this. My business in Grankul was finished long ago. Talk sense to them, and you can take this worthless dirt clod and run off with the Old Kings and whatever other lunatics you can persuade to follow you to hell.” He ripped the cord free from his neck and held it toward me. “Agree right now, and I will give this to you on faith. You will be released, and treated as a guest of Val'Hala until the Scholar or Forge arrive, at which point we can discuss terms.”
Honestly, as much as I was loathe to admit it, it didn't sound like a terrible deal. Neither Uraj nor Hawke seemed like they enjoyed their positions as rulers. Hawke had abdicated that responsibility long ago himself. If Othenidus was willing to give us the last nullstone and send us on our way, it would save a lot of bloodshed trying to take it by force. After all, our ultimate goal was peace with the grinel. What did it matter who sat the throne?
“What happens to me if I say no?” I asked.
Othenidus blinked. “You stay here, and while the Scholar works to free you, I will protect the people from the demon horde that will soon descend upon Astra.”
“The demon what? There's hardly been a grinel sighting around here in—”
Only there had been a rash of “demon” sightings in Astra recently. All of them had been near Val'Hala, come to think of it. Then there was the matter of Othenidus' other prisoners.
“No,” I said.
“I assume you are saying you will not help me, then,” said Othenidus.
“No,” I said.
“Then you will?”
“No,” I said. “No, no, no.”
He stared at me, his face tightening again. From between his lips, I saw a flash of perfectly white teeth. It was the single most shit-eating grin I've ever had to see.
“I see you need some time to collect yourself. I will be back shortly for your answer.” Started as if to leave, but paused mid-turn.
“Oh, yes, there is one other thing we must discuss.” He whirled around and pointed at the vomit I had recently deposited on the floor. His voice hardened. “Tell me who gave you food.”
I froze. I couldn't deny I had been fed, not with the evidence lying right there. For as much as I disliked the Val'Halans, though, I couldn't just rat out Captain Farhel after she risked herself to help.
“I ate my sandals waiting for you,” I said.
This time, I saw the hand coming, but I couldn't move to avoid it even if I wanted to. My head cracked to the side again, another fresh bruise to join the rest of them. My head lolled around on my shoulders as he spoke.
“No matter. I have an idea of who it is anyways. You think hard about my offer. In the meantime, I have to see to some disciplinary measures.”
He turned on his heels and began to walk back towards the stairs, hands still clasped behind his back. One of them was dark with crusted blood.
Othenidus had to die. I'd already come to that decision before he finished speaking to me. No matter what choice I made, he would wreak havoc on Astra. Everything that Hawke and Uraj had ever worked for would be undone if he had his way. There was no other option.
Oddly, I felt perfectly calm. It would be simple, but I had to act fast. He had come alone, but it was doubtful I'd be so lucky again. This was likely the best chance to strike.
My eyes landed on the remains of the grinel he had destroyed. A long, jagged fragment of skull lay among the pulped remains of the creature's head. Yes, perfect. All I had to do was shrug off my shackles, grab the bone shard, and lodge it right in his throat. If I used all the essence I could muster, I would be able launch myself down the hall fast enough to attack before he knew I was free. I hoped I would be fast enough.
He was already halfway down the hall. Time was running out. I took a deep breath, knowing that any mistake would mean my death. My arms tensed, and I called upon my power, shaking my shackles to fling them off my wrists.
Nothing happened.
Chapter 23: The Essence of Perfection
It took me a few failed attempts to confirm my fear. Try as I might, my power wasn't working. Ever since I had learned how to use it, I'd never experienced a complete failure like that. I kept shaking my shackles, expecting them to come free, but each time they rattled against the chains, mocking my attempts.
My mind raced to find a reason. Was I too tired? I'd used my power while sleep-deprived before. Had I used too much essence? It was possible to drain it - it was a finite resource - but I'd been careful not to exert any of my energy since my capture.
There was only one explanation left that made sense to me: someone was using a power of their own to stop me from using mine. I tried to think of any incident that might indicate when it happened, but I gave that up. It could have happened any time from being caught to when Othenidus showed up.
The Lord of Val'Hala was already climbing the stairs. My best chance, if not my only chance, to stop him by myself had slipped away. Of course, he was the one most likely to have some ability to nullify my power. He could have used it on me any time he had touched me during our conversation. Or, even worse, it could simply work if he was close enough.
I tried unlocking my manacles a few more times. When they still refused to budge, I decided to try a different tack. I tried concentrating my essence, pulling from my store to enhance my strength. Perhaps I could simply rip myself free with brute force. It would be noisy, but I was getting desperate, and was willing to take the risk.
But the familiar feel of my essence pouring through me refused to come. I'd practiced countless hours to learn how to do it, and I had been able to do so eve
n in the heat of battle. Whatever had happened to me, it stopped me from calling on any of my energy.
I had run out of ideas. Without my power I felt, well, powerless. Weren't situations like this the whole reason I had chosen to learn from Hawke? So that I would never have to feel helpless in the face of a crisis? What good was everything I learned, all those years of drilling the basics endlessly, if they disappeared at the eleventh hour?
A strong foundation of the basics is necessary for true mastery.
Hawke's lessons echoed in my thoughts. He was always going on about making sure I practiced the essentials, even after I learned how to tap into my essence at will. It was the reason he had gotten that special padlock for me in the first place, insisting I play with it long after it stopped being a challenge.
The padlock…
I felt like a thunderous fool. Of course I could still free myself. Hadn't I been undoing my shackles to watch the stars long before Hawke freed me? I had grown so dependent on my power, I had failed to realize the lesson he'd been hammering into me all this time.
With some difficulty, I managed to twist my arms around so I could reach to my head and pluck a hairpin out. I gave silent thanks that I had kept up with the habit of pinning my hair in place, and a not so silent curse as I struggled to figure out how to reach the keyhole.
I was just barely able to fit the tip of the pin in, only by holding it between the tips of my index and middle fingers. While I was well versed in removing shackles, I'd never had to remove them from my wrists before. Trying to get a feel for the pins and springs that held the lock tight with such a tenuous grip proved harder than I had hoped.
Still, I had toyed with enough locks in my life to parse out roughly what I was working with. It was a well-crafted piece, but any lock that used just a key for the mechanism was much the same as the next as far as I was concerned. It would only take a few minutes tops for me to get free.
Savants of Humanity (The Scholar's Legacy Book 2) Page 26
