The Way of Pain

by Gregory Mattix

  Let the cowards run. They no longer pose any significant threat.

  Taananzu nodded once. “The cube thwarts my magic for the moment, but I shall discover its secrets.”

  “Do so—spare no effort to learn them.” The fact that the human boy, Neratiri’s whelp, was so close sent a surge of excitement through her. You cannot run much longer.

  Taananzu studied the runes, walking around the cube and even teleporting atop it to study it from that vantage point. Nesnys stepped away to allow her lieutenant to work. Something about the cube jogged a memory, but she couldn’t quite summon it to the fore of her mind.

  “Inform me at once when you discover how to open it,” she said.

  In the meantime, she had reports to review and would need to check in with her Ammon Nor garrison commander. Eventually, she would need to return to Orialan and deal with the mage and priest, but that could wait.

  She leaped from the windowsill of the rotunda, diving down into the deep gully surrounding the island of stone before snapping her wings wide and then soaring through a narrow canyon back toward Ammon Nor.

  And then she had to send a missive to Leciras. She smiled to herself at the thought of her plaything and the travails awaiting him. He would be forged in the Pits of Leciras and either emerge as tempered steel or shatter like brittle iron. Once matters were well in hand, she could afford to take some brief time away to ascertain the fate of her newest source of amusement.

  ***

  Several hours later, she received Taananzu’s summons: “Nesnys, come at once.”

  She teleported back to the onyx cube to find a deep hole bored in the ground beside the cube. The pit’s edges were completely smooth and reflective, as if a tremendous heat source had burned through the ground, melting the rock and soil to glass. The shaft was narrow, barely wider than her shoulders, prohibiting her from flying down into it. Instead, she stepped over the edge and dropped into the pit, using a simple spell to slow her descent.

  Deep in the ground, perhaps a hundred or more feet, the shaft ended in a rough cavern. She was surprised to see the onyx structure was not a cube at all but more like a spire of stone driven far into the earth. Glancing around the cavern, she found Taananzu standing before a metal disc inscribed with more glyphs and embedded in the floor.

  “The mortals exited the stone and passed into this cavern,” Taananzu said. “And here lies a portal.”

  Taananzu raised its arms and chanted in the fell speech. A green aurora poured from the demon’s sleeves and across the disc in the floor, growing in brightness and intensity, and moments later the disc hummed with power. A blue glow emanated from the disc, seemingly grudgingly, as if coaxed free by the fiend’s spell. The blue aura turned a sickly hue, mottled with the green energy of Taananzu’s spell as the portal was forced open. Within moments, an oval of shimmering power stood before them.

  “Where does it lead?” Nesnys asked.

  The disembodied cloak seemed to shrug. “When we enter, we shall find out.”

  “Indeed. Our prey must be close now.” She stepped fearlessly into the portal.

  Chapter 11

  Ferret sat on a large, flat stone at the edge of the campsite and cursed her fate.

  Why’d you have to be such a greedy little damn fool? If you’d have left the diamond in that contraption alone, this never would have happened!

  Her companions were asleep in their bedrolls behind her as she stared into the night. The others had endured a grueling trek that day and were exhausted after finally leaving behind the Downs of Atur and passing into an area of rolling fields to make camp. After discovering a small stream of clear water, they refilled their water skins and drank greedily.

  As near as Ferret could tell, she no longer needed sleep or food or drink, so she had volunteered to stand watch all night. She felt neither weary from several hours of walking nor cold from the night’s chill. The only way she could tell the air was cold was from the puff of the others’ breaths and the way they huddled in their cloaks. Come to think of it, she couldn’t feel anything, anything at all. Nor could she smell or, doubtless, taste had she the desire to attempt to eat, which she didn’t, even if she had a working jaw that could open. Her face was a metal mask with a narrow slot between her carved lips, whence her voice issued.

  I can see and hear—that’s all. I should be happy to be able to do that much, at least.

  This new reality was terrifying—she was an inhuman thing now, not a person anymore, not truly. Somehow Taren had managed to preserve what little remained of her essence before it evanesced into nothingness. She knew she should be thankful for that, but she simply couldn’t feel anything other than numbness.

  Once, as a young gutter rat in Ammon Nor, she’d seen a traveling tinker demonstrating a clockwork toy, an automaton as he’d called it—a shiny, painted metal knight. He turned a crank on its back, and it marched around stiff legged with a steady clicking noise within, its metal feet clacking across the wooden surface of the tinker’s cart. More often than not, the toy fell over unless its marching surface was perfectly flat. She’d been entranced by the automaton, as had the other children and adults gathered round, and fiercely jealous of a merchant’s boy whose father purchased one for him.

  The irony wasn’t lost on her that she was now the same as that toy. Taren had wound her up with his magic ring, and now she could walk around or talk or fight or whatever her friends needed until she wound down and froze in place just as that clockwork toy had.

  Mayhap there’s a spiteful god up there watching me like a gleeful child, waiting to laugh when I wind down and fall over onto my face.

  Her anger at her situation was a distant thought that didn’t feel any more real than anything else since she had none of the metabolic changes to go along with emotional response, such as surging heartbeat or flushed cheeks or tightness in the gut. That realization made her sad. Worse, she couldn’t even have a good cry and flush the melancholy out of her system.

  Instead, she simply sat there staring into the night, bitter at her fate and the world in general.

  Would that I’d just minded my own damn business and never gotten involved with Dak or Taren or anyone else. I’d still be me!

  Despite those thoughts, she remembered the elation and thrill of fighting alongside her friends, the gratification of sounding the bell and saving many lives in Ammon Nor that night, just a few days past. And she’d truly enjoyed the camaraderie very much also, even despite the danger and terror.

  Fool, you’d be dead like most of the rest of Ammon Nor right about now if you hadn’t gotten involved with them.

  “How you holding up, lass?”

  Ferret glanced over her shoulder, surprised at not hearing Creel stirring in the camp. He sat down on the rock beside her, wrapped up in his cloak against the night’s chill. She’d returned his cloak once the night had grown cold and she noticed him puffing into his hands to keep them warm earlier.

  “I’m holding up, I reckon. I’ll keep going on like one of those damn clockwork toys until I wind down.” At his puzzled look, she explained about the tinker and his automaton.

  When she finished relating the story, Creel grimaced as though he’d swallowed something bitter.

  “Not going to argue against that and try to cheer me up?” Her words came out harsher than intended, the bitterness turning to belligerence.

  Creel grunted, in amusement perhaps. “I know you better than that. You’d not listen to some drivel I spouted simply to cheer you up, even were I the type to do so. You’re a clever lass, and I’d not insult you so.”

  Just like that, Ferret’s hostility faded. “Aye, reckon you wouldn’t. Shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  “Don’t worry over it. You’ve every reason to be bitter. The gods dealt you a shite hand, no doubt about it. For no reason either, far as I can tell.” He was quiet a moment then said, “Can’t help but see some similarities ’twixt you and I, though.”

  She was intrigue
d despite her wretched mood, sensing he was on the verge of sharing something personal about himself. “How so?”

  “’Tis a long tale, but I’ll give you the gist of it. Once, a bloody long time ago—feels like lifetimes—I was a soldier in a city called Nexus. You heard of it?”

  “Not till I heard Taren mention it—that’s where he wants to go. Will you go back there with him?”

  Creel frowned. “I’ve enough bad memories of that place and am in no hurry to return. Although, I heard there’s been a change in leadership there… Anyway, I thought I was doing right by the citizens, the Magehunters—the unit I worked with—and my higher-ups. I’d seen forty summers and was a sergeant with the Magehunters, a respectable enough position, but I wasn’t growing any younger either, and I doubted I’d move up any higher. Never had the knack for proper arse-kissing and politicking. One day, I heard they were recruiting volunteers to join a special program to create powerful guardians of the city. Fool that I was, I thought they’d give me some specialized training, mayhap some magic equipment or what have you, and then a nice raise in pay and bragging rights.”

  “Take it that didn’t turn out how you hoped?” She was captivated by his tale now, eager to learn more of the mysterious warrior.

  “Nay, sure didn’t. I reported to the fortress, and next thing I know, some cloaked figure put a sleep spell on me. I woke up chained to a table with a pair of sorry bastards lying dead to either side of me.” He let out a long breath, steaming in the cold, eyes lost in memory. “They’d had a bad time of it, too, the way those two went out. After I awoke, these mages—foremost among them the Pale Lord, the ruler of the city in those days—began to experiment on me. They cast spell after spell on me, infusing my body with magical energies, and forced potions and concoctions you could never imagine down my gullet. The ‘treatments’ were painful beyond belief—many a time I wished I’d die, but the gods never granted that wish. All these experiments ended up turning me into a damned monster. They’d cut me, burned me, crushed my bones, cut off fingers, feet and hands, poured acid on me, magicked me with spells of fire and cold and lightning—anything they could think of to test out their creation. I don’t know how long I was there… Weeks, likely—perhaps even months—though it felt like an eternity. It was tough to endure.” His cloak rustled as he shuddered from the memories.

  “After they finished, did they make you one of their guardians?”

  He shook his head emphatically. “I was the only one that survived the brutal treatments. The Pale Lord decided the program was a failure, so they thought they’d put me out of my misery and scrap the whole damned thing. I had other ideas, though. I managed to break free and kill one of the bastards responsible. After that, I fled Nexus. Haven’t had any desire to return since. All my old friends are likely dead by now anyway. My life is here now.” He slipped his silver flask from a pocket and took a sip. He looked as though he was about to offer her some but then thought better of it.

  “So that’s how you can heal the way you can?” She couldn’t help but remember the awful wound he’d suffered in Ammon Nor, when the shattered rafter of a house impaled him, and how the next morning he hadn’t had a scratch on him. Not only that, but he’d awakened after falling on the battlefield, his tunic cut to ribbons and soaked with dried blood from numerous fatal wounds.

  “Aye, among other things. I guess what I’m trying to say is that after those bastards finished tormenting me, I wasn’t human any longer. My skin was withered like some damn ghoul, and I was afraid to show my face around for fear of scaring off the womenfolk and younguns.” He smiled bitterly and took another sip.

  “A monster? How can you say that? I think you look quite handsome,” Ferret added timidly. She was not exactly a blushing maiden, but she thought if it had still been possible, her cheeks might have colored just a bit.

  Creel smiled. “Thanks, lass, but it’s true. For years, I tried to hide my features by wrapping cloth around my face or wearing a deep cowl all the time, sort of what we did for you. Eventually, after I had discovered a use for my skills in hunting monsters, a mage rewarded me after completing a contract with an enchanted mask that I wore to hide my face. Wasn’t till about sixty or so years ago I was rid of my dreadful appearance, though there’s no saying it won’t come back.”

  “Sixty years ago?” Ferret ran the numbers in her head. “Damn, so you’re pushing a century?”

  “Longer… I wandered lost for many years before I was restored. Pushing a century and a half.”

  Ferret scrutinized his face a long moment until Creel laughed. “You’re shittin’ me, right? You don’t look a day over…”

  “Forty? Aye, that’s when they took me. The magic that heals me keeps aging at bay as well, or at least slows it till it’s unnoticeable. Anyhow, enough of my blathering. Like I said, we’re more alike than you might think. We nonhumans gotta stick together, eh?”

  Ferret would’ve smiled if she could, grateful for his tale and companionship. “Thank you for that, Dak. Makes what happened to me seem a bit less awful.”

  “Keep strong, lass. I won’t let you remain like this if I can do anything about it. Taren either. He’s a good lad, keen of mind and more powerful than he knows. Stick with him. I think it likely if any aid can be found, Nexus would be the place to seek it out.” He patted her arm.

  Even though she couldn’t feel it, she appreciated the gesture. “It’ll be sunup in a couple hours. You should get some more rest.”

  “I think sleep’s done with me for the night. Reckon I might as well stay up and keep you company if you don’t mind.”

  “Nay, not at all… That sounds mighty fine,” she said and meant it. She rested her head on his shoulder, and they sat there together until the sun dawned bright on the horizon.

  Chapter 12

  Mira watched Taren as he read from one of his old books by the firelight. His lips sometimes moved, probably as he encountered a difficult passage or sought to understand a foreign concept. She knew it to be a history book of the Elder Ones from a mention he’d made of it before. After their ordeal in the Hall of the Artificers, he took a renewed interest in the book, interest obviously piqued.

  Creel had gone out to hunt for game while they made camp. Fresh water was plentiful since they’d departed the Downs of Atur the day past. However, their rations had run low, and they needed to supplement them with some fresh meat if possible, but Mira didn’t know if that was likely, given the proximity to the battling armies. The land had probably been picked clean of nourishment, any game not already killed driven off for miles around.

  Earlier that afternoon, they had come across the first signs of the armies’ passage. The earth had been rendered a wasteland of churned mud from thousands of boots and hooves, while an assortment of rubbish littered the ground: broken weapons and tools, bits of bloodied rags, rotting foodstuff, dead horses, human and animal waste, and other detritus paving the way to where the armies maneuvered and fought to the north. Just an hour before stopping for the evening, they passed a site where dead men from both sides had become a smorgasbord for vultures and crows to pick over, the bloated remains three or four days old, according to Creel.

  The group was growing disheartened, seeing that the armies were moving in the same general direction they were headed, making any attempt to bypass the fighting and wide-ranging scouts and patrols much more difficult.

  They camped in a small copse of trees a bowshot distant from the road to Llantry, the chosen site clear of rubbish and waste. With their small fire burning cheerily, Mira could almost forget they were only steps away from the depressing reminder of Ketania’s impending defeat.

  The gnawing hunger in her belly made her wish Creel luck in his hunting. He shall need it, for we are ill-equipped, without a bow or arrows among us. The thought of him out hunting game brought back the painful recollection of Kennitt and his heroic stand on the bridge, his sacrifice allowing them to escape their pursuers.

  Poor Kenni
tt… I should have released him from his duty to return to his beloved homeland that night in the woods before the battle in Ammon Nor. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind at that point, so determined she had been to find Taren.

  Ferret was a motionless silhouette at the edge of the campsite. She had taken watch by herself the past night, claiming to not need any sleep or feel any weariness. Mira had awoken that dawn to find Creel standing watch with her, the two talking in low tones.

  Another failure on my part. I should have accompanied her or talked her out of wandering off while in the Hall of the Artificers. She had noted an improvement in Ferret’s mood this day, which was a salve to her sense of shame. The girl is resilient, no doubt. I wonder if I could be so accepting of such a fate as she.

  Taren yawned and rubbed his tired eyes. He had diced a couple potatoes they’d found in a trampled field that afternoon, and he dropped them in the cook pot beside the fire, awaiting Creel’s return, hopefully with some game.

  He is increasing in his power and his control. With Taren’s use of magic at the bridge, then tending to Ferret and, after that, battling against the gloomclaws and bog drowner, his confidence was clearly increasing as well. Truly, he shall be a force to be reckoned with one day. Without knowing quite why, she felt proud of him, almost as though he was a brother just learning a trade. The thought made her smile. I’ll not fail in protecting him as I’ve failed the others.

  “Reading anything interesting?” she asked.

  Taren looked over, blinking owlishly as though surprised she was still there. “Actually, yes. The location chosen by the Elder Ones on which to build the ancient city of Ammon Nor lies at the single most puissant convergence of ley lines on the entire plane. They must have been able to perform astounding feats with such a reservoir of earth magic to draw from. I doubt it is any coincidence that the Hall of the Artificers was constructed there as well. As to what purpose, that remains unknown. This book makes no mention of the Order of Artificers, unfortunately.” He closed the book and ran his fingers reverently across the cover.