The Way of Pain

by Gregory Mattix

  “I’ll say a few words since I knew her longest.” Creel crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the shrouded form, sorrow and perhaps a bit of helpless anger writ on his face. “Anyone know what god she prayed to, if any?”

  “Sabyl, I think,” Taren answered.

  Creel nodded but then frowned. “You know, I never even knew the lass’s true name.”

  Taren and Mira both shook their heads in response to his questioning glance.

  “Very well. Mistress of Shadows, welcome this young lass, Ferret, who was taken much too young, into your hall. She was ever fierce of heart, decent and loyal, a staunch companion to the rest of us. Ferret was dealt a bad lot in life but made do and always looked ahead, keen to make more of both herself and her fate. She saved many lives in Ammon Nor with her courage and determination. I reckon you can’t ask for more in a companion than the qualities Ferret embodied.” He went silent, voice thick with emotion. After a moment, he shrugged awkwardly before picking up one of the crude shovels and scooping a load of loose dirt into the grave. The dirt plopped softly against her blanket as it began to cover it up.

  Taren stuck his hands in his pockets as a chill gust of wind buffeted him. Something hot pressed up against his hand, and he flinched, yanking his hand free. Curious, he gingerly slipped his hand back in his pocket and traced the edges of Gradnik’s ring. The band was as hot to the touch as a mug of steaming tea.

  I forgot all about this thing once I stuck it in my pocket. He pulled it out curiously and held it up. The metal band was resonating as it had when he had first opened the passageway into the underground facility.

  Mira gasped beside him, her wide eyes locked on the ring. “I think you are meant to use that… on Ferret.”

  “Can you see the Weave?” Taren asked.

  She nodded, looking between him and Ferret’s body, eyes filled with wonder.

  “What’s this?” Creel looked between the two of them, puzzled, before his eyes focused on the upheld ring.

  “A ring of the ancients… these same artificers that created the machine that transformed Ferret. Perhaps it can somehow aid her condition.” A surge of excitement filled Taren at the prospect since all prior attempts researching and trying to remedy her condition had been futile.

  He stepped down into the hole, holding the ring near the shrouded form. With a soft clicking, the ring unfolded and sprouted like a mechanical plant, reconstructing itself into yet another key as it had before, only now it somehow had much more mass than should have been possible. However, it wasn’t like any key he had ever seen before. The shank was long and cylindrical, turning into a hexagonal shape at the end with two large teeth protruding to either side. The bow flared out to either side of the shank in broad, triangular loops, as wide as his hand.

  “A key… Will it somehow unlock Ferret from her state?” Creel knelt on the edge of the hole opposite Taren, watching hopefully.

  “Let’s find out.” Taren, with Mira’s help, gently unwrapped the blanket, allowing the piled dirt to slide away to either side. He studied Ferret’s metallic form, the brass color turned dull, reflecting the iron-gray clouds overhead.

  “Check her back. I recall seeing a similar shape in the plate on her back.” Creel hopped into the hole and raised Ferret to a sitting position. “Aye, it’s here!”

  Taren leaned over and saw a hexagonal aperture in the backplate where it curved inward, between where her shoulder blades would’ve been. He looked at Creel, who nodded, then pressed the end of the key into the aperture. It latched in with a solid click. He gently turned the key clockwise. It turned easily in fine gradations, with recurring ticks as it rotated. After one complete twist, he stopped and studied Ferret but noted no change in her condition. With a shrug, he continued turning the key. After thirty rotations, the key would turn no more. Taren removed it, and the key reformed back into the ring.

  “Listen.” Mira cocked her head.

  Barely audible over the gusting wind, he could hear a subtle ticking sound emanating from Ferret’s chest, like a clock. After a moment, that was followed by a louder clanking sound. Taren shifted to his second sight and gasped. A vast well of magic was glowing in her breast, much like a heart, sending tendrils of power flowing throughout her body, including around the small spark of life force.

  Ferret’s blank eyes flickered suddenly then glowed with a steady amethyst hue.

  The three of them remained frozen, afraid to break the spell.

  With a faint whirring, Ferret’s head turned to regard Taren then Mira and Creel in turn.

  “Ferret?” Taren asked. “Can you hear me?”

  “What has happened to me?” Her voice was totally foreign, a hollow sound much like that of the automaton guardian of the Hall of the Artificers, issuing from deep within her body.

  “You… you’ve been changed,” Creel said. “Do you remember what happened?”

  Ferret stared at him a long moment then looked at the others. Her jeweled eyes were unblinking, the lips in her mask of a face slightly pursed. “Aye. I remember the chamber… and the diamond.” A shudder seemed to run through her body. “I remember the pain… agonizing, as if I was being torn apart bit by bit. That bloody place destroyed me.” She lifted her hands and gazed at them, flexing her fingers, then gasped and jerked sharply, kicking herself backward until her back struck the edge of the hole. She looked around rapidly, shuddering, a surprisingly humanlike reaction, and she seemed horrified to realize she was sitting in her own grave.

  “We thought you were dead, lass,” Creel said gently. “We were about to put you in the ground. Luckily, Taren’s ring seemed to know what needed to be done.”

  “Dead.” Ferret seemed to think on the word for a time as it hung heavy between them. “Nay, not dead… but not alive either.” She looked at her arms again, holding her hands up before her face, her jointed fingers articulating each in turn with faint whirs. “Gods… what have I become?”

  Taren watched in fascination. Truly, the ancient Order of Artificers possessed some fantastic arts to create such a creature. He again shifted back to his second sight and observed the blue-white aura of magic emanating steadily from Ferret, and within her skull glowed a small core of amber light—burning steadily now as a lamp with a full reservoir of oil—the remainder of her living essence.

  Nobody answered Ferret, unsure of what to say.

  “I am like those things in that horrid place. Will I lose my mind and be nothing more than an unthinking metal suit of armor?”

  “No,” Taren said firmly. He rested his hand on her head, surprised at the warmth of the metal, as though it had been out in the sun for some hours. “You are still in here. Before the process could be completed, I was able to stop it. I must conduct further research, but I will try to find a way to aid you.”

  Her head swiveled, and the amethyst eyes bored into his. She reached up and grasped his hand in hers as if clutching a line to prevent herself from drowning, her alloy fingers latching onto his with marvelous dexterity. “Please promise me you will try to cure me or change me back or whatever you can. I can’t live like this… trapped in a metal shell.” Her face was expressionless, the glowing eyes unblinking, but he could sense the desperate pleading in her hollow voice.

  “I promise, Ferret.” He patted her hand, and she nodded.

  “Come on, lass. Let’s get you out of there.” Creel took her other hand, and together they helped her stand.

  Ferret wobbled on her feet a moment, then a faint clank sounded from inside her carapace as some mechanism regulated her balance, and she stabilized herself, suddenly surefooted. She stepped out of the grave under her own power.

  “Where are we?” she asked. “Are we near to Llantry?” She looked around at the forlorn hills to the west and then the distant mountains visible beyond the Downs off to the east.

  “We are near the edge of the Downs of Atur,” Creel replied. “A portal took us out of those underground warrens in the midst of the Downs.
”

  “I’m ready to keep going if you are.” Ferret walked eastward several paces toward where they would eventually meet up with the road to Llantry. She walked somewhat stiff-legged but surprisingly smoothly considering her state, albeit with faint clanks and clicks and whirs as she moved. However, she’d never move with the easy agility she once had.

  Taren thought she might almost be able to pass as human if she kept her body concealed. The sounds, if muffled, could likely pass as the jingle and clatter of armor. But she would have no way to hide her glowing eyes.

  Creel apparently had the same thoughts. “Here, put this on.” He offered Ferret his cloak. “We’d better keep you covered as best as possible so as not to attract unwanted attention.” He shook the dirt off her blanket and sliced strips from it with his dagger.

  With the aid of all three of them, Ferret was soon covered head to ankles with the cloak and strips of blanket. Once they reached the nearest town, they could purchase some clothing roomy enough to fit her bulk, but in the meantime, they made do with strips of cloth wrapped around her lower face, torso, arms, and legs. The cloth muffled the sounds of her inner mechanical workings to some degree, but moving stealthily was out of the question.

  Ferret’s sword belt and sheaths had been destroyed in the chamber, but her short sword and dagger were intact. Creel had carried them strapped to his pack, but when he offered them to her, she looked at them without interest.

  “I don’t think I’ll be needing those.”

  She walked over to a nearby sapling and extended her right arm. Her hand and wrist split apart smoothly at a seam, and a blade the length of a long dagger sprang outward from her forearm. With a powerful slash, she sliced completely through the wrist-thick trunk of the sapling. The upper portion of the tree slid off sideways and collapsed with a snapping of branches. Expressionless, Ferret next approached a knee-high rock. She clenched her left fist and then dropped to one knee, ramming her fist into the stone with the power of a piston. The rock burst apart, pulverized into jagged shards and rock dust.

  After a long moment, she stood and faced the others again while the blade retracted back inside her arm and her hand reformed.

  “I reckon you’re right about not needing these,” Creel said with raised eyebrows. He shrugged and strapped the blades back to his pack.

  They gathered their gear and walked east, eager to escape the Downs of Atur with the few hours of daylight remaining.

  Chapter 10

  “The fleshbags have found something of interest in the ruins near Ammon Nor.”

  Nesnys could sense one member of her Triad, Scaixal, was nearby from the clarity of his sending. Perfect opportunity to take my leave of this worm.

  “I must attend to other matters,” she said curtly to the mortal before her. “I trust our arrangement will be suitable?”

  They met in a nondescript warehouse within the human city. Nesnys had shapeshifted to her human form, although she’d also added a glamour to make her appearance seem utterly forgettable in the streets for benefit of the city guards, possible spies, and any others who might take an undue interest. Any carelessness that might cause setbacks to her plans simply wouldn’t do, though she detested the need for such subtleties.

  The fat, powdered noble bowed low, fawning to gain her favor. “Of course, my lady. Do not hesitate to ask if you require anything further.”

  A heavy purse of gold and promises of power had made this one quickly forget any past loyalties he might have had.

  “Very well. Don’t make me regret this.” She ran her hand across the pommel of Willbreaker, aching to draw it and hack the groveling worm to pieces. Yet she knew these alliances would be necessary.

  “On my honor,” the man replied with another bow though he had paled visibly at the implied threat.

  With a few spoken words, Nesnys teleported away, appearing high in the air with a view of the countryside below, the city’s walls far in the distance. She shapeshifted to her natural form and spread her wings wide to catch the air before plummeting too far downward.

  Scaixal approached rapidly, his great leathery bat wings covering a great deal of distance, ungainly though the demon’s flight might look. The winged fiend resembled a skeletal featherless bird with almost no muscle mass—his leathery skin was shrunken around bones and sinew. Red eyes gleamed behind his wicked serrated beak, which was the length of Nesnys’s forearm.

  She could sense the creature’s excitement. “Ammon Nor, you said?”

  “Yes, Nesnys.”

  “Show me,” she commanded.

  Scaixal teleported them back to Ammon Nor.

  The sky was clear of smoke now, the city quiet below, with a garrison of a thousand Nebaran troops occupying and holding it against any incursions from would-be heroes among the southland lords and any militias they might raise. A good quarter of the city had burned down to the foundations. Heaps of ash were all that remained of the dead from the recent battle, the vast majority of the corpses those of the defenders and citizens. She had given orders to leave the remaining civilians be for the most part, the few who hadn’t fled, as long as they fomented no resistance and obeyed the rules her officers set forth. Trade and industry could still be conducted, some of which was necessary to provide for her troops.

  Scaixal flew toward the northern edge of the city, where the ancient ruins stood. She followed, and a moment later, they were above the ruins, circling lower.

  “What has occurred?” Nesnys asked.

  “Your fleshbag soldiers pursued a fleeing group of mortals into the ruins and lost them within,” Scaixal said in his raspy voice. “They claim one was a mage of some puissance, one fitting the criteria we seek, likely the same that attacked Bleizahr.”

  Nesnys snorted in disgust. Bleizahr’s sole responsibility had been to reinforce the soldiers in Ammon Nor and capture any mages fitting the description. Instead, the idiotic demon had let the mortals get the best of him, wounding and blinding him in the process. For his failure, she had punished him severely then sent him back to the Abyss, where his wounds would regenerate. She knew he was champing at the bit to avenge himself against the mage who had injured him. Bleizahr could still prove a valuable tool, albeit a blunt one with limited use, to be utilized at the proper time.

  “The mage collapsed the bridge below and escaped into that… object.” Scaixal pointed with a skeletal arm to an area of the ruins below, where a squad of her troops were milling around.

  After descending farther, Nesnys could see a trio of soldiers examining an onyx cube inside a towering rotunda. She followed Scaixal, swooping down and tucking her wings to sail gracefully through the arching windows and alight behind the humans. A quick glance revealed the connecting bridge had collapsed in one section, as the fiend had said. A temporary wooden bridge had been constructed to span the collapsed portion.

  The three soldiers before her stumbled over themselves to bow low, obviously shocked at her sudden appearance.

  “Warlord,” they said as one.

  “Who has command here?” she asked brusquely.

  “I do, Warlord. Lieutenant Tohar.” A thin man with a narrow face and beady eyes saluted her with fist to his breast.

  Nesnys strode over to the cube, instinctively drawn to its dormant power. She ran her hand across the smooth surface, feeling the glassy stone, unusually warm despite the chill in the air. “Tell me what has happened here.”

  The lieutenant related how the party of five they had tracked had managed to escape after a fight in which one old man was slain. The mage then collapsed the bridge and opened the stone, and they entered.

  “Opened the stone,” she mused, seeing the runes were in a language she was unfamiliar with. “How was the stone opened?”

  “Apologies, Warlord, but the actual opening took place out of view from our position. We noted the mage examining it for a time, and then he summoned his companions. They came around the back of the stone and then were gone. My scouts, when they cr
ossed the gap, found it as so.”

  “Taananzu, attend me at once. I am in the ruins of Ammon Nor.” She sent out the psionic command to the fiend, which she could distantly sense, yet she was unsure of its whereabouts or activities.

  A moment later, a sickly green light shone in the air a couple paces to her left and quickly expanded. The light dimmed and vanished, revealing the cloaked form of Taananzu. The troops cursed and scrambled away from it. The lieutenant managed to retain some dignity and remained beside Nesnys though his face was pale and coated with a sheen of sweat.

  Scaixal, perched on the window ledge, eyed the mortals with amusement, nearly unmanned as they were by their proximity to the three demons.

  “I need to know what this cube is and how a mortal mageling was able to open it and escape therein,” she said at once, before Taananzu could speak.

  The empty cowl swiveled to take in the rotunda and the black cube. Taananzu muttered a spell of detection, and green sparks effervesced from its armless sleeves. With a dramatic gesture that sent a spray of worms and beetles flinging from its sleeve, a green net of magical energy descended over the cube. The soldiers retreated even farther from the creature’s magic and the insects it left in its wake.

  The runes on the cube sparked an angry red, and energy crackled off the stone when Taananzu’s spell contacted it. After a moment, the spell net broke apart in wisps of smoke.

  “I believe this is the same human the inquisitor tracked to the elven woods,” Taananzu said, its hollow voice tinged with excitement.

  “The same who wounded Bleizahr. My dear sister’s whelp.” Nesnys smiled.

  Since she’d smashed the Ketanian army, she would have more time to focus on her other duties, beginning with securing the boy. Even now, the pitiful remnants of the king’s army were fleeing toward the heartland city, Carran, her troops in leisurely pursuit.