The Way of Pain

by Gregory Mattix

  Only then did the invisible force gripping Elyas relent. He nearly fell at the abruptness of its disappearance and had to rest his hands on his knees. He glanced up just in time to glimpse the first cudgel blow as it smacked his head.

  ***

  The sounds of cudgels striking flesh reached Nesnys’s ears, and her smile broadened. He has spirit—I’ll grant him that.

  She forced herself to calm her breathing, for despite the scuffle having ended prematurely, the violence excited her—very much so—and she felt a stirring in her loins. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to dominate her plaything, to mount him and sate her lust and carve her mark into his flesh with her talons.

  But such was not to be—not yet, at least. She had erred in thinking him ready. The loss of his friend was still too fresh on his mind—that had been easy to sense—as was the fear of having his accomplice discovered and brought to harm.

  She idly flicked the small knife around between her fingers, considering. Her threat would likely ensure his compliance. She was curious as to how he’d acquired both the blade and the poison, for Pasikos and his minions ran a tight ship—the very best of gladiatorial schools, as she’d been led to believe.

  But it was no matter. More important events commanded her attention. She would speak with Pasikos about arranging a prime match, then return to Orialan and check with her priest and wizard there, although their roles had been lessened in recent days since events were running their course according to plan. However, a surprise visit to remind them she hadn’t forgotten about them would be good, to ensure their motivation remained adequate in performing their assigned tasks. Following that, a return to her military encampment to check on her commanders and her esteemed royal captive would be in order. Only then would she be free to return to the Hall of the Artificers and continue unraveling its mysteries.

  Soon, I shall hopefully have my champion to relieve me of some of these menial tasks.

  Chapter 46

  “Work your way through the circuit, and hit each one with a blast of force.”

  Taren studied the course Nera had set out before him. A series of training dummies—a dozen in all, of a type similar to those warriors practiced their swordplay against—were arranged in a semicircle. Each consisted of a stuffed burlap sack covering a wooden post, with a knob of wood for a head and stick arms and legs protruding at differing angles.

  He summoned the magic and unleashed a pulse of force at the first dummy. The stuffed sack impacted as if he’d punched it, and a chime sounded from somewhere. He continued to the next, repeating the process until he had completed the entire circuit.

  “Easy enough,” he said, turning to face her.

  Nera grinned. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. Defend yourself.”

  Behind him, wood groaned and creaked. The training dummies lumbered toward him, having become animated constructs with Nera’s magic. The dummies’ central posts had pushed upward so each construct could waddle forward on its wooden legs. Yet despite their awkward appearance, they scuttled quickly toward him like bizarre beetles, wooden feet clacking loudly on the stone floor. He blasted the first two away, only to be clubbed on the shoulder by another. Then he was surrounded, the dummies punching and head-butting at him. He raised a defensive shield around himself, pushing them away, and they battered at it ineffectually. Taking his time, he picked them off, one or two at a time, blasting them backward and off their feet. With each “kill” he scored, the dummy fell and a chime sounded. Once they were all down, he had to steady himself a moment, for he had exerted himself to a degree, but his stamina was improving—deepening his mana well, as Nera had put it.

  “Round two,” she announced.

  They came at him again, even more quickly this time, but he was ready with his shield. The dummies pounded at it again. He picked a few of them off before they suddenly backed away. One of them glowed red with magical energy and barreled right at him. He blasted it, and it exploded in a burst of magical energy. His shield flickered and died. A second, then a third dummy began glowing with energy. He retreated, siphoning all the power out of the first glowing one until it collapsed, divested of its magic. But the second was already charging him. He ensnared it with a rope of force and hurled it back into the other waiting dummies, where it exploded. The group of them collapsed, all “dead.”

  “Not bad,” Nera said with a smile. “Round three.”

  The dummies all leaped back to their feet as one. They formed up in ranks this time, six to the fore and six behind. The back rank raised their arms, which began to glow with power. Alternating, they lobbed small bolts of magical energy at him.

  Taren erected his shield, almost second nature now, absorbing the attacks although his barrier flickered and he was forced to expend more power to keep it from breaking down. Before he could retaliate, the first row of constructs charged like melee soldiers, surrounding him and battering at his shield. Their limbs glowed also, and each magical blow severely weakened his shield. He tried to back away, but in a few seconds they had him surrounded. As his shield weakened, he was forced to keep pouring magic into it.

  An idea came to mind, and after concentrating a moment, he caused the air around his feet to solidify into a disc, which he stepped onto. Then he levitated the disc above the fray. Ignoring the melee constructs for the moment, he summoned lightning, the energy crackling around his hands and arcing between his fingers, then threw a massive bolt at the enemy mage constructs. The bolt struck one then forked and took out two more. His own shield flickered as he absorbed a couple more incoming magical attacks, but he managed to hold it long enough to finish the last three mages with another lightning bolt. He floated away from the melee foes and picked them off at his leisure.

  Nera clapped her hands, genuinely pleased with his performance. “Most impressive! You did well preserving your defenses while maneuvering out of danger and striking back.”

  Taren beamed with pride, for that was the most praise she’d given him yet.

  “Want to go again?”

  “Actually, I was wondering if you could teach me something new, such as teleportation.”

  “Ah, I was wondering if you’d come to that. Very well, pay attention.”

  ***

  Mira gazed upon the Weave in awe, the intricate pattern of golden tendrils binding everyone in Nexus. Tens of thousands of lives were all woven together, all interlinked and grouped in such close proximity that her senses were nearly overwhelmed.

  A sharp crack split the air, and she withdrew from her contemplation. A horizontal line of blue fire was sizzling in the air a few paces away from her, poised slightly above head height. A moment later, a vertical line intersected it at one edge, burning through the air until it neared the grass, causing the vegetation to wilt and smolder. Then a second vertical line paralleled the first.

  What is this? Almost appears to be a doorway.

  The fiery outline flared brightly, and the view of the garden within the lines abruptly dissolved into the view of a darkened room with a stone floor. Within, Taren was peering out at her. He waved, grinning, then stepped forward into the garden.

  “I did it!”

  “So you did,” Nera said drolly from beside Mira.

  She flinched in surprise, for the Lady of Twilight had appeared abruptly, without the slightest warning.

  “Now you’re showing off,” Taren grumbled, although good-naturedly. He waved a hand, and the fiery gateway faded out of existence.

  “Perhaps.” Nera grinned. “Creating a gateway isn’t quite the same as teleportation but should suffice until your skills increase.”

  Taren nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll keep practicing, but I’m glad to have learned this for now. Thank you.”

  “Well done,” Nera replied. “Take the afternoon off. I thought I’d have Arron show you three around town for the rest of the day. I’ve a matter to attend to.”

  “Sure,” Taren replied. “Anyone seen Ferret?”

/>   Wide-eyed, Mira could only gaze at the two of them. The Weave was still visible, a glowing tangle of lines surrounding Taren and emanating outward, encompassing Mira herself. But Taren’s influence paled in comparison to Nera. She was something else entirely—Mira could barely have described it, but every single person’s fate in Nexus was intertwined with the Lady of Twilight. She knew that without a doubt.

  Nera seemed to sense her thoughts. She smiled and winked at Mira, at which she hurriedly looked away, feeling her face growing warm from her rude staring.

  “Mira? Have you seen Ferret?” Taren asked again.

  She cleared her throat, embarrassed that she hadn’t been paying attention. “Oh, yes, I saw her earlier. She seemed restless and wandered off in the direction of the hedge maze.”

  “Restless and bored as young lasses tend to get with too much time on their hands and too little to keep them occupied. I should know—I was a troublesome little shite in my youth, no lie.” Nera’s grin momentarily faltered when she saw the blackened line in the grass. She stepped carefully on one portion, and when she raised her foot it was restored to green. She walked across the line, heel to toe, until it was gone, then she pirouetted back to face them. “Arron shall be with you shortly, so I’ll let you run along and do as you wish.” With a nod, she disappeared into thin air.

  “I don’t think she liked that much.” Taren stared at the spot where the grass had burned. “I’ll have to try to avoid that in the future. Could start a fire if the gate forms over dried leaves, not to mention ruining carpets and such if indoors.”

  “I thought it was a splendid spell,” Mira said, truly impressed.

  “Thanks, Mira.” He smiled, then his eyes lost focus momentarily. “Be right back. I’ll go find Ferret—I see she’s nearby, but I wonder what she’s found.”

  ***

  Ferret was wending her way through the lush gardens surrounding the Nexus fortress. A short time before, Yosrick had dismissed her from her studies, which were coming along fairly well. She could decipher most of the signs she came across in the city now, as long as they were in Common.

  Taren had promised to accompany her into the city, so she remained near the castle and decided she might as well explore the gardens for lack of anything else to do while Taren trained and Mira performed her meditations. Ferret had no idea how one could sit motionless for hours meditating—she got bored easily, even more so following her transformation, since her whole life was spent without sleep now. She did feel fatigue at times, but it was mental, and she could stand and stare out the window of her tower room for hours in the middle of the night and feel refreshed afterward. Once she thought about it, she suspected Mira’s meditations had the same effect for her, although how much more rest and rejuvenation one could need boggled Ferret’s mind.

  A narrow path led away from the quiet grove where Mira spent most of her time either meditating or practicing her fighting styles. Ferret followed the path around the side of the castle and discovered the entrance to a hedge maze she had somehow missed before. She stepped inside, wondering if she might discover some wondrous treasure at the heart of the maze. After a few wrong turns, she deduced the correct path, arriving soon after at a clearing in the center. Not knowing what to expect, she was mildly disappointed to find a small yet stately stone mausoleum. It was built of bricks so tightly joined that it almost appeared to be one giant slab of stone carved and hollowed out. It had clean, geometric lines, tapering upward to an arched roof. The heart of the maze there was eerily silent, as though magically so.

  Ferret approached the mausoleum, curious as to who was entombed within. The doorway was open, so she stepped inside only to find herself at the top of a staircase. The interior of the structure served only as an entrance underground. Following the stairs down, she descended into the bedrock beneath the fortress. At each landing, the stairs were illuminated by glyphs emanating a soft glow, and she took three turns before reaching a small subterranean chamber. Utter silence filled the space, in complete contrast to when she’d followed Yosrick through the underground passages, with the Machine’s rumble ever present.

  Twin candelabra ignited with a soft hiss the moment she stepped off the stairs, her metal-on-stone footfalls disconcertingly loud. The light, obviously magical in nature, was steady and evenly illuminated the chamber. An ornate stone sarcophagus nearly filled the entire space, carved with what she took to be dwarven runes, for they were neat and angular, matching the architecture. The sarcophagus cover was carved to resemble a noble dwarven warrior lying in repose. He had bluff features with a neatly plaited beard and was dressed in plate mail and gripping an axe to his chest with both hands. The artisan’s skill was magnificent—the warrior looked as if he would sit up at any moment and scowl at her for interrupting his sleep.

  Ferret circled the sarcophagus, admiring the craftsmanship. On one side was stamped a placard of gold:

  Herein lies Waresh Hammerhelm,

  Hero of Nexus and comrade in arms,

  Staunch companion and mighty warrior.

  When hope was most dim,

  Against a multitude of foes

  He stood with courage unfailing.

  He lay down his life

  In defense of another,

  Striking a mighty blow,

  That the enemy be vanquished.

  Thus ended the Battle of Nexus,

  And countless lives spared.

  Tragic and harrowing was his road,

  At last, in Reiktir’s hall

  Hath he found his peace.

  The fledgling bard in Ferret was bursting with curiosity as to who this dwarven warrior was and what great deeds he’d performed. She couldn’t help but think his story was important.

  I’ll have to do some asking around.

  “Ferret?”

  She jumped, not realizing Taren had been calling her. He stood behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder, but of course she hadn’t felt it.

  “Sorry to startle you. If you’re ready to go into town, Arron will show us around.”

  “’Course I’ll go.” She gestured at the sarcophagus. “Who was Waresh Hammerhelm? This place feels so sorrowful, yet he was paid great respect. I’d like to know his tale.”

  Taren nodded, studying the placard. “I’ll let Uncle Arron tell that tale. I only know what I’ve read, but he knew Waresh and fought beside him. A good story to be told over a few drinks, I’d wager.”

  Ferret walked beside him as they climbed the stairs, eager to hear the story, and they left Waresh to his deathly repose.

  ***

  Taren, Mira, and Ferret waited at the edge of the garden where it adjoined the castle bailey. While in that green space, Taren could almost forget for a moment that they were in a city floating in the void, without air and water or crops of its own, all of which it required be brought in from other planes. He had read in The Battle of Nexus how once isolated during the war, air, food, and water had all become critically short. However, from what he’d glimpsed from the upper windows of the fortress, the food situation was changing. Certainly not on a grand scale or even close to enough to feed the city, but he saw many rooftops had been converted to house gardens. Also, a few scattered parks were located about the city, all made possible now that Nexus had sunlight, although its daylight cycles reminded Taren of wintertime back home, with the sun perpetually low in the sky and days short, nights long. Yet the growers seemed to make do.

  Before the trio stood an impressive, lifelike statue, or rather a number of statues grouped together as one party atop a stone plinth. The Heroes of Nexus, a placard at the bottom read. So lifelike were they that he almost believed they would stir at any moment. A tear came to his eye at the sight of Wyat’s likeness in the center, standing tall and noble. He had his sword in hand and wore a suit of mail. Beside him was the tall, beautiful statue of a woman, also in mail but wearing the tabard of a priestess of Sol. She held a mace in hand. From the positioning of the two, he gathered they were
close at one time although Wyat had never spoken of such details. The Steel Commander, Wyat of the Steel Rage, and the Golden Priestess, Idrimel of the Temple of Sol, the inscriptions read.

  Around them stood other figures: an elven maid, Endira Moongrove, also Yosrick Sparkspinner and Waresh Hammerhelm. He knew of all of them, of course, from his multiple readings of The Battle of Nexus, his favorite book, now burnt and mostly unreadable. But he was surprised at not seeing Nera or Arron among them.

  “So that’s Waresh,” Ferret remarked. “And Yosrick, of course. And Wyat, he’s your uncle, right?”

  “He is,” Taren said. “Was.” His throat caught at making the correction.

  Mira placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

  “Nifty stonework, eh?” Arron strolled toward them from the fortress, his usual roguish grin in place.

  “Yes, quite well done,” Taren replied. “It seems to be missing a couple prominent characters, though.”

  “Ah, well, that’s since Nera and I are the paragons of humility.” He laughed, and Taren and the others joined in. “Actually, Nera didn’t want herself up there, or me either, since she likes to keep our unofficial identities separate from the Lady of Twilight and her ever-faithful servant.”

  “Servant who happens to be a dragon?” Taren had made the connection over a year earlier during the wyvern hunt with Arron and Wyat, but he hadn’t challenged his uncle on it until now. “I remember what happened in the wyvern’s lair, you know. And how you managed to evade all my questions so deftly afterward.”

  Unsurprisingly, Arron looked unfazed by the accusation. He beckoned them to accompany him. “Come, let’s walk. Well, I suppose I have been known to bend or evade the truth on occasion. I’ll admit to that. Yet as you’ve so cleverly surmised, I am one of Sabyl’s humble servants, pledged to Nera as her guardian long ago, when she was but a wee lass.” His tone had grown serious. “The mistress took away both of our memories, so I actually grew to believe I was a half-elf, just as Nera thought she was plane-cursed. We grew close over the years, living as adopted brother and sister on these very streets. She does me great honor by still calling me brother. And I’m quite fond of her as well, so ‘siblings’ seems a fair enough way to think of our relationship—better than guardian and mistress, although she doesn’t really need a guardian any longer. Yet I like to think she does need a brother.”