The Way of Pain

by Gregory Mattix

  “You fought well in that bout,” Nesnys said, regarding Elyas intently. “But then I knew you would prove a worthy acquisition.”

  “Acquisition?” he asked stupidly, not knowing what else to say. His wits weren’t keeping up.

  “Of course. I spared your life on the battlefield, and as such, you belong to me now.”

  “And what of it? Why this game?” He was unable to look away from her powerful allure. Without a blade in hand and not spattered with blood, she bore little resemblance to the brutal fiend he had crossed blades with on the battlefield over the corpse of his dead king.

  Nesnys shrugged. “It amuses me, for one thing. At times, I tire of the monotonous grind of commanding the war effort. Leave us,” she snapped at Edara and Harlan as though noticing them for the first time.

  The healer cast Nesnys an annoyed glance as though she might protest, but Elyas caught her eye and shook his head. Harlan was eyeing Nesnys with a look on his face as if he had a bellyful of spoiled milk. With a curt nod, Edara climbed out of the cart then grabbed Harlan’s arm and steered him away.

  “I have no patience for politics and diplomacy. My nature is to take what I want by force and destroy those that stand against me.” Nesnys stepped up close enough to Elyas that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek. She was tall, and they were nearly eye to eye with him sitting on the back of the wagon. Her fingers were cool when she idly rested her hand on his bare thigh just above his knee. “Yet I have other desires as well. I am not wholly without beneficence—I reward loyalty and valued service.” Her hand inched upward, slowly sliding higher, until she was pushing up the leg of Elyas’s short breeches.

  He suddenly found swallowing difficult due to her nearness, her pale-gray eyes holding his own, and he thought for a moment that he couldn’t hide anything from her, that she could see into the darkest recesses of his mind and spot the desire festering there.

  “Continue to prove yourself in the pits, and if you remain alive, one day soon I may invite you to join me. I have need of a champion—one who can inspire loyalty and courage and lead my troops into battle. I have other, more important demands on my time than leading mortal troops. You could act as my tool, to lead my army and be instrumental in our victory.”

  Nesnys’s hand stopped advancing, resting with a slight pressure against his groin. Elyas found himself stirring at her touch, to his shame. Her jerkin was unlaced at the top, and he could see the swell of her breasts within and was aware of the lean muscles of her thigh pressed against his knee.

  Nay. I will not serve this fiend or play her games. She’s behind the death of my da and countless others. He pushed her hand away.

  “I will not betray my country and lead war against it.”

  She snatched his hand in hers, the grip like iron. Annoyance flashed over her features for an instant and was gone. Instead, a sultry smile took its place.

  “What have your king and country ever given you? You served them to the best of your ability, even valiantly attempted to save an old, foolish king for no reason other than simple loyalty. And how was your valor recognized? None even shed a tear over your loss, that I am sure of. Instead, they turn their hopes blindly toward a young girl who would be queen, one barely of an age to quicken a child in her belly. Give me your loyalty instead. I shall treat you with the honor a mighty warrior deserves and reward you appropriately.”

  Her words struck him as if she were somehow drilling them into his mind, and he found himself listening despite himself. He stared into her pale eyes, finding it exceedingly difficult to look away.

  What have my countrymen done for me but become unmanned at the sight of their king falling, abandoning me to the wretchedness of slavery? He tried to drink in every detail of her face: the curve of her lips, the glint of white teeth, the fall of ashen hair across her forehead… and those intense eyes, now filled with fire from her passionate overture.

  With a supreme effort of will, he managed to break her gaze, shaking his head as he sought to recollect his thoughts. This fiend seeks to bewitch me, trap me in her lies. His gaze fell on her bone dagger, its hilt inches from his grasp.

  It could all be over in a moment… Snatch her dagger free and plunge it into her belly.

  He tried to pull his hand away from hers, and she held him a moment longer before relinquishing her grip.

  “I can be an appreciative mistress and generous with rewards.”

  His eyes went from her face, her red lips forming the words she spoke, and slid back down to the sheathed dagger. ’Twould be a simple matter to draw it, and a quick stab…

  “As my champion,” she was saying, “you might perhaps even aid your Ketanian people with more merciful treatment. Negotiating an unconditional surrender could spare much bloodshed. Remember what I offer you, Elyas son of Wyat, and think on this well. We shall speak again.”

  Nesnys turned on her heel and walked away. The moment to strike slipped past and was gone. He cursed himself for not seizing the opportunity to try to end her. By her own words, a single touch of that blade could be fatal.

  But as he watched her stride away, noting the sinuous way she moved, so confident and powerful, he felt the burning shame as that dark part of him was drawn to her, and it seemed to be growing in influence against his better judgment.

  Nesnys slipped through the masses, many of them unknowingly giving her a wide berth, perhaps sensing the coiled danger hidden in that fair form, and was gone.

  Elyas let out a long breath and was left sitting there alone with his confused thoughts, his heart racing as if he’d fought a second battle on the heels of the first, this one for his very soul.

  “That woman… Was she who I suspect?” Harlan asked him some time later when they had returned to the holding pen, awaiting the culmination of the other fights.

  Elyas sighed. “Aye. Nesnys, the imperial warlord. She apparently wears some type of magical glamour to disguise her demonic appearance and fancies herself my owner.” His mouth twisted in distaste at the word.

  “She was the one who slew the king?” Harlan’s gaze was intense.

  “Aye, that she did.” He could again see King Clement’s shocked face, the sword jutting from his chest, and Nesnys’s triumphant expression.

  Harlan’s face was wracked with grief. “Ah, gods. Did he die well? You never really said how…”

  “Aye, from what little I could see of it. He died a warrior on the field of battle, defending his kingdom. Any soldier would be proud to serve such a king.” He studied Harlan’s reaction, surprised at the depth of his grief for the king. Did he know the man, perhaps worked in the court?

  “What does that fiend want with you?” Harlan asked when he’d composed himself. “She looked as though she was doing more than simply taunting you.”

  “She seems to think she did me a favor sentencing me to this life of misery and offered me my freedom if I join her.”

  Harlan’s eyebrows rose. “Join her? And betray your kingdom? That is Shaol’s own pact, my friend. I hope you aren’t seriously considering such a proposal.” When Elyas was slow to deny it, Harlan cursed and glared at him. “You’d best pray to the gods for wisdom if you actually are seriously considering her offer.” He spat on the ground and moved across the room to sit on a bench, shaking his head as though shocked that Elyas would even consider anything she offered.

  He felt a surge of anger at his friend. What in the Abyss does he know about it? A damn scribe or minor lordling. How much time has he spent on the battlefield, bleeding for a king who gave not a shite for him?

  Once his anger died, shame took its place. How can I even entertain such a thought? I will not let that spiteful seed she planted take root. Nesnys is the enemy and must die.

  ***

  Nesnys smiled to herself as she walked away into the darkness beyond the arena. She was impressed with her plaything thus far. He fought well, which she already knew, but he was gaining an edge of brutality that had been lacking pre
viously. She had touched his mind while speaking to him, sensing her words taking root among the conflicted thoughts within. The soil there was fertile for her offer, his hatred and anger and fear of her and what she stood for diminishing in the face of her persuasion, enhanced by a subtle psionic suggestion. But her words also complemented her physical appeal. And she sensed his desire quite clearly.

  The fact he’d considered drawing Bedlam Judge to attack her but then not followed through with it pleased her greatly. His hungry glance at her dagger was obvious, and she’d almost dared him to draw it.

  Soon, my champion… you’ll come to me freely. I’ll make you the greatest warrior this plane has ever known. And then nothing shall stand before us.

  The other contests were of little interest to her. Had she nothing better to do, she might have remained to watch more bloodshed, yet duty was always calling. She spoke the words to teleport back to the Hall of the Artificers and check on the progress there, in a satisfied mood.

  Chapter 27

  Ferret looked around the common room of the Giantslayers Inn, nodding in approval. The place was classy, much more so than the Disarmed Bandit, and even surpassing the finer establishments of Ammon Nor, at which she had never been welcomed but had seen enough of through the windows.

  A warm fire crackled in a hearth in the center of the room, a cleverly designed cylindrical structure allowing light and heat to emanate in all directions. Burnished wood met her eyes wherever she looked, the lamplight’s reflections gleaming on the polished surfaces, and burgundy-dyed leather covered the seats of chairs and barstools. A long bar lined the wall to her left, with several tapped casks of ale and wine behind it.

  A few people were in the common room, even at that late hour, sitting at booths along the right wall. Many glanced over curiously upon their entry but soon returned to their drinks and conversations.

  So this is Dak’s “home”… Not too shabby.

  She wished she could still smell, having no doubt the inn smelled of succulent food and quality ale, with perhaps a subtle scent of wood polish.

  The party milled around inside the door, and Ferret could tell she wasn’t the only one impressed.

  “Have a seat in the back,” Creel said, pointing toward a large table in an alcove with tied-back curtains flanking it, well away from any of the other patrons. “I’ll go shake the bushes and see if I can’t find us some service.”

  Just as he was walking back toward the kitchen, an elderly dwarf with silver hair and beard and a bad limp shuffled out of the back. The two froze, staring at each other a moment before a broad smile broke out on the dwarf’s rugged face.

  “Creel!” the dwarf exclaimed. “By the gods, man! It’s been years!”

  “Brom!” Creel beamed and ran forward, dropping to a knee to embrace the old dwarf. They pounded each other’s backs heartily for a moment before he released the dwarf and stood again. “You’re looking well, my friend. How is the family?”

  “Doing well. Me dear Selda is as lovely as ever. I got word from Ollie recently—he’s fixin’ to graduate from his apprenticeship to make journeyman stonemason. He’s working with the crew restoring Torval’s Hold to its former glory. And Tilda… just need to get me lass married off, then her mother and me will be greatly pleased.”

  Ferret and the others slid into the booth at the back table while Creel and Brom chatted. Rafe looked pale and exhausted, as if he’d pass out at any moment, and Iris kept shooting him worried glances. Sianna kept her hood pulled as low as Ferret’s, the queen’s inquisitive eyes glittering beneath the cowl as she took everything in. Taren and Mira seemed more relaxed, studying the inn appreciatively.

  A lot of love and pride have gone into this place.

  Creel was at the door to the kitchen, patting a curvy, older dwarven woman on the back as she hugged him. Brom’s wife, I reckon.

  An uncomfortable mix of feelings flashed through her: happiness, that Creel had such a place to call home, discomfort at intruding on that, and perhaps a bit of envy that she’d never found such a warm and welcoming place for herself.

  Creel and Brom joined them at the table, and Creel released the thick burgundy curtains and drew them closed behind them. Brom raised a curious eyebrow but didn’t question the move.

  “Allow me to introduce my old friend, Brom Stormbrew: giantslayer, monsters’ bane, and rescuer of maidens fair.”

  “Bah. Creel’s killed ten times the monsters as me.” Despite his protestation, Brom looked pleased by the praise. “And these days, I’m but a simple proprietor.”

  “And these are my companions.” Creel lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You can lower your hood now, Your Majesty. May I present Sianna Atreus, rightful Queen of Ketania.”

  Brom’s eyes popped open nearly as wide as saucers.

  “For obvious reasons, we’d like to keep her presence here a secret,” Creel added.

  Brom made a clumsy bow. “Welcome to me humble establishment, Yer Majesty.”

  “Just Sianna, please. In fact, it might be better if everyone calls me… Lana, in the event stray words could land in the wrong ear.”

  Everyone nodded or murmured their agreement.

  “Lana?” Iris asked with a grin.

  Sianna shrugged. “She was my first horse I learned to ride.”

  Creel introduced the rest of them in turn. The others had removed their cloaks and gotten comfortable, but Ferret kept hers on, hood up just because she would never feel comfortable in this new metal skin.

  Once introductions were made, Brom said, “Come on, then. Let’s get ye all fed and liquored up properly. Travelin’ and fightin’ invader scum works up a mighty thirst, I reckon.” He took their orders and slipped back through the curtains, where Ferret could hear his baritone voice calling back to his wife in the kitchen.

  “Nice place your friend has,” Taren said, and the others nodded agreement.

  “It’s actually co-owned—well, make that tri-owned—but I’m not around much for the day-to-day operations. Just drop in and do my part to empty the larder on occasion. Which reminds me…” Creel’s brow furrowed, and he got up from his seat just as Brom returned, struggling to push through the curtains without dumping a tray of drinks.

  “Where’s Tilda?” Creel asked, helping to untangle him.

  “Ah, me lass went to stay with her aunt on her mother’s side a couple days. Helpin’ her out since she’s taken ill. She should be back on the morrow.” Brom set the drinks out then frowned at Ferret. “Ye sure I can’t get ye anything?”

  She shook her head. “Nay, but thank you.”

  “Brom… I’ve been meaning to ask about Rada…” Creel let that statement hang, and Ferret was surprised to note he seemed uneasy somehow. Dakarai Creel, who faced down fiends and ghouls and Nebaran cutthroats without breaking a sweat, suddenly seemed nervous.

  Brom’s face fell, and he heaved a sigh. “Pincushion hasn’t been well, me friend. She took ill ’bout a month back… Well, ye’ll see for yerself. She be refusing any healers. It’s good ye’ve returned… Think it’ll do her good to see ye.”

  Creel grimaced. “But we didn’t leave on the best of terms.”

  “Bah! Ye left on the same terms ye always leave on, I reckon. Two ships tossed about in the stormy sea of life, eh?”

  Creel sighed then looked embarrassed when he realized the others were sitting quietly, trying to look as though they weren’t listening in. “I better go see her.”

  “Get some food and spirits in ye first. Ye’ll probably need it. I’d best go aid Selda.” He clapped Creel on the back and left them to their drinks.

  Creel wasted no time in knocking back a slug of amber liquor from a fancy glass tumbler.

  A short time later, Brom’s wife appeared with a tray loaded down with plates of food. She efficiently distributed everything, cast a questioning glance at Ferret, but shrugged when Creel shook his head. They all thanked her, and she departed looking well pleased by their reactions.

&
nbsp; Judging by the pace at which her companions devoured their food, it must’ve been delicious. Rafe shoveled his food down like a starving man, and Taren was close behind. Creel cleared his plate then drained his second cup of spirits after having gone and helped himself to a refill.

  Ferret silently cursed her fate again, which prevented her from eating or drinking or smelling anything, and slumped back in her seat, watching with envy as the others enjoyed their food and drink.

  “Will you all be all right down here?” Creel asked after a long moment during which he was clearly working up to a decision. “Brom and Selda will set you up with rooms and baths.”

  Sianna waved him away with a smile. “See to your friend. We’ll manage on our own.”

  He nodded gratefully and slipped out through the curtains.

  Ferret couldn’t help but wonder who this Rada was and why he was so nervous about seeing her.

  ***

  The moment Creel opened the door, he knew her condition was bad. Something about the heavy air, filled with the smell of sickness, told him she hadn’t long to live.

  She lay back in her bed, propped up by a mound of pillows, looking frail and wasted. He hadn’t seen her for nearly three years, and she’d been hale and fiery, just as she always had, although she’d obviously aged a bit over the decades they’d known each other, like a fine wine. Yet now, the years had finally caught up with Rada the Knife.

  Her eyelids cracked open at the creak of the door. He hadn’t bothered to knock. He never did when they were together, and doing so now would’ve felt wrong. Despite her illness, Rada’s green eyes were clear and sharp, widening at the sight of him.

  “Dak? I knew you’d come back to me. I dreamt it.” She reached out a thin hand, which he took, bringing it to his lips. Her smile wiped a decade or two off her thin face.

  “Oh, Rada. I’m so sorry… I would’ve returned sooner had I known.” He sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand.

  “What for? So you could commiserate with me? You’ve been busy out saving innocent folk from monsters and such. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’ve had our adventures together, but now the gods are nearly ready to call me home.”