The Way of Pain

by Gregory Mattix

  “I think I see your problem.” Nera knelt beside him, regarding him curiously. “You are crossing your streams of magic.” Sparks of colors flickered and threatened to smother him in unconsciousness, but then he felt Nera’s warm fingers on his temples. A rush of rejuvenation flowed over him, and his senses snapped back, sharp and alert. He instantly felt better. She extended a hand and helped him to his feet.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what that means. ‘Crossing my streams of magic’?”

  “A mage, corruptor, whatever you want to think of yourself—oh, thaumaturge, that’s right!” She said the word a bit mockingly. “Fancy name for basically the same thing. Spellcasters all draw their power from the world around them. What you might consider traditional mages, wizards, sorcerers—you know, them of the dramatic chanting and hand waving—well, they use ambient magic, usually earth magic, to work their talents, shaping and forming it with command words and gestures. Corruptors do much the same although words and gestures are unnecessary. But they can also draw on the vitality of living things.” She patted her own chest. “The only way Malek and I survived on Valirial was by him taking my vitality to fuel his magic. A last resort, truly, but we were desperate, for that world was devoid of all earth magic. And then we also have a third category: mind-benders, whose power comes from within.” She placed a hand on Taren’s chest. “Your inner well powers your psionics, latent though they might be. Everyone has an inner well to some varying degree, although the vast majority have no talent. Somehow, you are funneling your mage talents through your inner well and draining yourself in the process. Getting your magic streams crossed. Or polluted, or however you might think of it.” She gave him a puzzled look as she considered it.

  “Psionics? But I’m no mind-bender.”

  “Aren’t you? Perhaps not knowingly, but have you never gained a sudden clear insight as to what another was thinking with no explanation or somehow caused them to take note of you or convinced them of something you otherwise couldn’t have?”

  “No…” But even as he said it, he thought back to Egrondel—the moment he’d been abducted by the invisible creature, about to be whisked away from the Daerodil estate, until he’d pushed a desperate thought at Zylka to turn her head and see him. “Wait… there was one time.” He tried to push the memory at Nera.

  She grinned. “Exactly! I do approve of your discerning eye for comely females, especially those of the royal persuasion. Always set your goals high.”

  Taren flushed. “I’m honored to consider Zylka as a friend. She helped us out when Elyas and I were vulnerable and being hunted.”

  Nera let the matter go, which was a relief. “Aye, so you were, for I viewed your memories psionically, remember? You do have some degree of latent psionics, from both of your grandparents. We shall have to work on those skills as well to determine how much. But now, let’s continue. What of your defensive capabilities? Your father could throw up a defensive shield or even absorb magic directed at him to fuel his own talents. Try to do the same.”

  Nera took a few steps back then snapped her fingers, and a small blue flame appeared in the palm of her hand. She gave the flame a quick puff of breath, as a child would a dandelion blowball, and it floated languidly toward him like a burning soap bubble. He tried to draw in magic and erect a shield to deflect it, but the flame was too near. It struck his robe and clung to it like sap, a cool flame that did not burn, yet it spread across him like ordinary fire. He swatted at it instinctively, and it stuck to his hand as well.

  “Extinguish it by drawing the mana inside,” Nera scolded, although she looked amused by his antics.

  Taren calmed himself, focusing on the blue fire covering him, then plucked at its magical source. The mana rushed into him, and the fire disappeared.

  “Good. Now try it with this.”

  An invisible force slammed into him, gripping him and hurling him across the room. He struggled against it, trying to calm his mind enough to focus, but the stone wall was approaching at an alarming rate. He braced himself for collision.

  Everything went dark, and he cried out but an instant later realized he hadn’t slammed into it. Instead, he was struck blind. Or so he thought until he used his second sight and saw he’d been pushed inside the wall, into the ground behind, sealed in a fist of force gripping him.

  This is the only thing protecting me from suffocating or being crushed to death. Best not dispel it.

  He had to fight back a claustrophobic response, instead noting the faint line of power tethering the spell back to Nera.

  Ignoring her spell, he pulled power from the ground then released it back the way he’d come, driving it back through the earth and the stone wall like a giant spike of force, like pounding a stake into the ground with a hammer. Similar to the time he’d caused the ground to erupt behind the cottage during their travels, the earth exploded outward in front of him, boring a rough tunnel back the way he had come. Once he had some space around himself, then he absorbed Nera’s spell. He walked the several paces down the new tunnel and stepped back into the room, pleased with his own resourcefulness.

  “Not quite what I expected, but it worked.” She gave him a nod that he took to mean approval.

  Taren grinned, although the dizziness was lurking on the edges of his senses. His proud moment was shattered when he stumbled heavily on a chunk of rock, turning his ankle, and nearly falling. Pain shot up his leg, and he gritted his teeth. Looking around, he saw the room was in shambles. Clods of dirt and pieces of stone littered the floor in a conic debris field for fifty paces save for a clear area surrounding Nera.

  She gave him a smirk. “Made quite the mess, eh? Now let’s see you clean up after yourself.”

  Taren groaned.

  ***

  “Sure you aren’t ready for a break?” Nera reclined on a divan she’d conjured from somewhere, her fingers interlaced over her belly as she watched.

  Taren grumbled to himself, annoyed that he could destroy something with such ease, yet fixing things, reassembling what he’d damaged, was clearly beyond him.

  “Your talents are as subtle as a greatsword when a stiletto is what’s called for,” she added helpfully.

  He shoveled another clump of debris back into the tunnel. After an hour or more, the best he’d managed thus far was creating a crude shovel out of force and then tossing the chunks of earth away. Any larger expenditure of magic, and he’d be on his knees, or passed out. So he labored away with only a trickle of magic.

  It would be just as fast to use a broom and dustpan.

  “All right, I think you’ve learned your lesson.”

  Taren sensed the maelstrom of magic a moment before every piece of stone and earth down to the tiniest clod of dirt abruptly levitated into the air before being propelled across the room, accelerating, and returning to the large scar in the wall. A moment later, the wall was whole again, the floor clear, as if the damage had never been done.

  “That’s amazing,” he said.

  Nera grinned. “I must admit, I even impress myself at times. But enough of that. Let’s move on to something else.”

  Chapter 36

  Sianna was put in a tent near the center of the Nebaran war camp among the officer pavilions. A manacle around her ankle was secured to the central tent pole, and she had enough length of chain to move about the tent, although the only objects inside were a sleeping pallet on the ground with a thin, moth-eaten blanket and a bucket on the opposite side for use as a chamber pot.

  She thought she might have been able to free herself by knocking the tent pole down and sliding the manacle free, but she had nowhere to go, surrounded by thousands of soldiers in the enemy camp. A pair of guards were posted outside her tent at all times. Her cloak had been taken, and she was unarmed, leaving her with nothing other than the clothes on her back and no way to conceal her features even if she did get free.

  For two days, nobody came to her tent other than a guard bearing a tray of food and water, morni
ng and night. She hadn’t seen anyone other than the guards after the winged demon had teleported them into the center of the encampment, their arrival causing quite a stir. By stretching the chain to its utmost length, she could just reach the tent flap and peer outside, although there wasn’t much to see other than the pair of guards posted outside and the walls of other tents.

  She spent her time worrying about her friends and the fate of her kingdom. My kingdom—such a strange thought. I would’ve laughed to hear it but a week ago. However, now her duty was no laughing matter but a deadly serious business with the fate of countless lives at stake.

  What has become of Dorian and Sir Edwin? Iris and Rafe?

  She remembered being lovesick over Sir Edwin a few months earlier but now could barely even remember his face, let alone why she had thought she’d loved him.

  For some odd reason, the face of the young mage Taren popped into her head more and more often. The smooth stone on its leather band was a welcome weight at her neck. As she ran her thumb across the stone, she idly wondered how Taren was faring in Nexus, a place she’d always heard tell of but never been allowed to venture to before. She couldn’t help but think of how he’d saved her twice, first from assassins and then from the erinys. She could picture his handsome face, easy smile, and those unusual but striking eyes…

  What is wrong with you, silly fool? I must keep my mind on serious matters, like somehow escaping and reuniting with my friends and subjects in Carran.

  Yet in her darker moments of despair, she couldn’t help but wonder if the locator stone truly worked as Taren had claimed and if he would come to rescue her.

  Sianna sighed and took a drink from the ceramic cup she’d been provided, but she was disappointed to find it empty. She tossed it aside, wondering if she could smash it and use a jagged shard to stab a guard and escape. Besides being a ridiculous notion, the idea seemed as if it would take far too much effort.

  Her thoughts turned to her betrayal by Mayor Calcote, the way she’d been duped like a foolish, naive girl. I’ll not be fooled again by duplicitous men like that. My people must prove their loyalty. Like Master Creel.

  She again felt the recurring stab of guilt over having gotten the warrior tossed into the dungeon by ignoring his counsel and blundering into a trap. He was likely to either be executed or left to rot in the foul dungeon.

  Sol watch over you, Master Creel.

  With no fire or way to keep warm, she was shivering, the threadbare blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. She pulled it tighter yet as her breath fogged in the cold air.

  I’d ransom away the kingdom if I could go back to that night in the woods by the campfire, warm and safe and with friends around me. What scared her was that she might have even been serious.

  “What do they want with me?” she muttered to herself. “They take care to give me food and water, but must I freeze to death in here?”

  As if her words had willed it into being, the guards outside suddenly called out, “Warlord.”

  Sianna had only enough time to sit up straight before the tent flap was thrown aside and a tall warrior woman entered. She remembered the winged fiend well from the attack on the castle, only a week past, yet it felt like months.

  Nesnys towered over Sianna, sitting on her sorry pallet, the warlord’s form-fitting scale armor shiny like wet oil, glistening in the dim light coming in the chimney hole at the top of the tent. Her ashen hair flowed loosely down her back, and her wings were folded neatly behind her.

  “Greetings again, young queen of Ketania,” she purred, a mocking smile on her lips. Her eyes were like silver coins, revealing nothing of her thoughts or intentions—there was simply no soul there.

  Sianna tried unsuccessfully to stifle a shudder. She scowled up at Nesnys. “What is it you want of me? Why not simply kill me and be done with it as you tried before with your assassins?”

  “Plans have changed. I’d rather keep you as a symbol of the old Atreus line, to remind your people of what is at stake in this war.”

  “As a hostage, you mean.”

  Nesnys shrugged. “Just so. Perhaps your friends will be foolish enough to try to rescue you, then I’ll be rid of a number of nuisances at one time.”

  “I highly doubt they are foolish enough to fall into your trap.”

  “You’d be surprised what misguided love and loyalty will make men do.” Again, the mocking smile.

  “So in the meantime, you leave me here to freeze to death?”

  Nesnys frowned. “That was not the intention. However, you are correct. I ordered you kept secure and comfortable. If you give me your word on your father’s grave not to burn down the tent or some other foolish idea of escape, I shall have a brazier provided.”

  “And some wine—mulled wine.”

  Nesnys stared at Sianna with her eerie silver eyes a moment then nodded. “As you wish. It wouldn’t do to have the queen catch ill now.”

  “Thank you. I give you my word.” She wondered why she was thanking this fiend, but her manners were deeply ingrained.

  Her captor looked surprised as well, bobbing her head after a moment. “I like your spirit, mortal. ’Tis a pity you stand between me and my goal. Otherwise, I’d be tempted to spare you.” She took a step closer and reached out to run her fingers along Sianna’s cheek and jaw, the long talons tickling her skin.

  Sianna shied away from her touch, trying to maintain her composure, but the fiend terrified her. She couldn’t help but recall the guard Tamzo and the way Nesnys had decapitated him with her whip in the courtyard, his head spinning away and blood spewing from his neck.

  Nesnys traced a claw down Sianna’s neck and lifted the locator stone on its thong. She looked at it intently a moment, then a slow smile spread. Something about her demeanor made Sianna think of a shark with her cold, expressionless eyes and toothy smile.

  “Well, I wonder what type of fish such a lure might catch,” Nesnys said.

  Sianna had the urge to snatch the stone away but forced herself to regard the fiend impassively, not wanting her to know how much she valued it and sure that Nesnys would confiscate it if she was aware.

  “And what of my pathetic erinys?” Nesnys asked. “I assume your little group was responsible for their end? That lot was most disappointing.”

  “They attacked us, and we defended ourselves,” Sianna replied.

  Nesnys arched her eyebrows. “Most formidable companions. And what of the last one? A harpy by the name of Sirath?”

  Sianna shrugged. “I know not who you speak of.” The thought that Nesnys didn’t know of Sirath’s treachery was a bit heartening.

  The demoness stared at her a long moment then shrugged. “It is of little consequence. I shall deal with her in time, and she shall truly feel my wrath. But I have much to do. We shall speak again in time, Your Majesty.” She gave a derisive bow and strode from the tent.

  Sianna let out a breath, relieved Nesnys was gone, although she feared for her friends. She was conflicted, both hoping they would come for her and fearing the consequences if they did, for the trap had been baited.

  Nesnys was true to her word, and a young man entered shortly after her departure. Sianna thought he might be Nesnys’s own servant, for he gave her a mug of mulled wine with a bow and departed without speaking. The wine tasted sublime, and she sighed as feeling seeped back into her hands from the warm mug. While she sipped the wine, a pair of guards entered, leaving behind a brazier and a pair of thick woolen blankets. The brazier was already stoked, the heat pouring off it like a small oven. She stepped close and warmed herself greedily, her thoughts returning to fantasies of escape once more.

  Chapter 37

  Creel sat in the darkness alone with his thoughts for untold hours, perhaps even several days. His thoughts wandered, alternately pondering his own situation and worrying about the others—about the frail health of the woman he loved; about Sianna’s fate; about Taren, Mira, and Ferret, particularly the latter, the girl he’d come to
care for more than he’d thought possible.

  So much for acting the gallant hero in looking after Sianna. I failed as her protector, and she’s gone now. We might never find her. I should’ve thrown my lot in with Taren and Ferret—at least I could try to help find the lass a cure, if such a thing exists. She deserves a chance at a normal life.

  His stomach was a tight knot of hunger, and he thirsted like a dying man in a desert. He’d had naught to eat or drink since that first day, before Sianna was taken away. Since then, they’d either forgotten about him or cared nothing for his fate.

  I’m going nowhere but the boneyard, as the gaoler said. Wonder how long it will take to die of thirst and hunger, or if that’s even possible. Somehow, he didn’t think it was. I’ll probably end up in a torpor, little more than an animated skeleton if left here to waste away long enough without food or drink.

  His best guess was that two days had passed since they had taken Sianna, during which he’d seen no sign of the gaoler or any guards. Despite multiple attempts at breaking down the door, he’d had little luck. The builders of the dungeon had known their business. He was contemplating making another attempt at it when he heard a distant sound. At first, he thought he imagined it, for the darkness was a vibrant canvas for such fantasies. He listened intently and this time was sure he heard what sounded suspiciously like a choked-off cry.

  He peered through the barred opening in the cell door. Voices echoed down the long corridor, but even distorted as they were, he thought it sounded like an argument of some type. After a couple minutes, the dim light brightened as someone approached with a torch, footsteps making an unsteady, shuffling gait. He moved to the side of the door, clenching his fists and readying himself to jump the gaoler and however many guards might show up at his door, knowing this was likely his best and only chance to win his freedom.