The Way of Pain

by Gregory Mattix

  “What did I miss?” Ferret asked.

  “Oh, well, there was some, uh… water damage to my room, so Mira was kind enough to put me up for the night,” Taren confessed, wilting under his mother’s and uncle’s intense gazes, knowing they wouldn’t let him off the hook.

  “Water damage, mate? How could that be? Nexus gets no rain.” Arron regarded him with wide eyes, the hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

  “I’m curious about that as well,” Nera added. “I don’t run that strict of a household, so if you wish to share beds that’s fine with me.”

  Mira blushed furiously then, realizing what Nera was implying. “No, it wasn’t like that—”

  “Like what?” Ferret leaned forward intently, and Taren could sense her curiosity and amusement at their expense. “You must enlighten us further!”

  Taren heaved a sigh. “I might have caused a bit of a mess with my talent, and she aided me. You remember what happened at the country cottage, Ferret?”

  “Aye, that was most amusing!”

  “Well, this was similar, just not so amusing. Well, not for me, anyway.” He sighed then looked at Nera. “I’m sorry if your servants had to clean all that up.”

  “The suspense is killing me, Taren,” Arron burst out. “What happened with your room?”

  Taren finally relented and explained what had happened as he ate, giving them all a good laugh out of it. Now that he was no longer soaked and miserable, it was quite humorous, he had to admit. Nera had apparently hinted at something amiss before he and Mira arrived, to better pique Arron and Ferret’s curiosity. The joke was on him, and he deserved it.

  “If you were that desperate for a bath, I’d recommend trying to conjure a bathtub filled with hot water and a nubile maiden or two to join you,” Arron said with a wink.

  Taren grinned and tried to offer Nera another apology.

  Nera waved it aside. “I took care of it after you left your room last night. It is possible that could have been my fault. The suggestion I placed during our training could have been a wee bit too strong. But no harm done in the long run. Although you’d better keep her around. She’s a good one.” She gave Mira a smile, who beamed at the praise.

  “That I am certain of,” Taren said, and Mira looked even more pleased, if that was possible.

  “So, what lesson should we go over today?” Nera asked brightly. “How to dry out a flooded room?”

  Chapter 50

  Creel awoke to an insistent rapping at the door. He threw aside the covers and rolled out of the comfortable bed. A glance out the window showed darkness yet outside, though a faint lightening on the horizon indicated dawn wasn’t far off.

  He opened the door to find Iris standing there, dressed in a revealing nightgown, her blond hair mussed from sleep. She seemed unconcerned about her state of dress, for her face was flushed with excitement.

  “Master Creel, you must come at once.” She reached out and gripped his wrist, gently pulling at him.

  “Can’t this wait till morning? You know what time it is?”

  Iris blinked in confusion. “My apologies, but this is important. It’s about Sianna!”

  “What about her?” Creel looked around for where he’d left his breeches.

  Just then, Iris seemed to realize he was wearing only his smallclothes and blushed furiously. “I’ll give you a moment.” She straightened her nightgown self-consciously and retreated back into the hallway.

  Creel quickly donned his breeches and tunic and belted on his sword. He followed Iris down the hall barefoot. This floor of the castle was silent at such an early hour, and the young woman’s slippers scuffed quietly as she strode swiftly down the corridor, looking as though she could barely restrain herself from running.

  Iris opened the door to her chamber, a couple rooms down from Creel’s. He followed her inside and paused, surprised to find Rafe inside, standing near the window. The guard was shirtless, his hair sticking up on one side, and looked embarrassed when Creel met his eyes. Rafe’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and his eyes darted nervously to his right.

  Creel followed his gaze and cursed when he saw the dark figure perched in the windowsill like some great raven auguring doom. Final Strike was halfway from its scabbard when he felt Iris’s hand on his arm.

  “Don’t, please! She means us no harm.”

  Sirath’s smile was mocking as she regarded them. “Fear not, monster hunter. I wouldn’t have come all this way to seek you out to quarrel. I have news of your mortal queen.” Her voice was low and throaty.

  Creel relaxed, took a deep breath, and closed the door behind himself before he approached the erinys. Iris had gone over to stand beside Rafe, the two holding hands and looking cautiously hopeful.

  “All right. We’re listening,” Creel said. Although he was focused on Sirath, a small part of his mind was surprised at seeing Rafe and Iris together, and he wondered how he’d missed the signs of their burgeoning relationship.

  Sirath shifted a bit closer. She was nearly lost in the shadows, her dark wings, feathers, and armor blending with the night outside the window. Her pale-skinned face and arms seemed nearly translucent in the room’s candlelight, while her gold-flecked eyes glimmered, reflecting the tiny flames.

  “Nesnys has captured your princess and holds her captive at her army encampment,” the erinys said.

  “You’ve seen her there?” Creel asked, not quite believing their good fortune.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Sirath replied.

  “What does that mean?” he shot back.

  Her shoulders rose in a strange mannerism he realized was a shrug or an imitation of one. “One of my thralls has seen her.”

  “Your thralls?” Iris asked.

  Sirath’s head swiveled to regard the young woman a moment, and Iris flinched from the intensity of the creature’s gaze, almost as if she feared she might get bitten. “Yes. I’ve charmed several scouts about Nesnys’s encampment. When one of them informed me of news regarding a valuable prisoner, I sent a thrall to gather more information. He heard rumor of a young noblewoman held captive. I bade him observe until he caught a glimpse of your queen within a tent at the center of the encampment.”

  Creel thought for a moment. “It’s likely a trap. Why hold her there instead of spiriting her away elsewhere—deep into Nebara where nobody could find her?”

  “That is likely so, yet I cannot speak to her motivations,” Sirath replied.

  “And what do you want in return for this information?” he asked.

  “To take my vengeance upon an old enemy. I seek to spite her however I may.”

  “And?” Creel stared hard at her, instinctively not trusting the creature.

  Erinys usually weren’t known for being especially cunning or patient, as far as he knew. Instead, they were somewhat feral creatures whose strategies were rarely more complicated than ambushing their prey from the sky. If they sought a mate, they would simply use their powerful charm spells to create a thrall. Setting a complex trap seemed very much out of character. Yet Sirath almost seemed a different creature altogether: highly intelligent and far less feral than the others they’d encountered.

  Creel and Sirath remained with gazes locked a long moment before the erinys sighed.

  “My motives are likely beyond your ken,” she said. “Fear not, I mean no harm or duplicity where you or your queen are concerned. There was a time many aeons past when my sisters and I were virtues, loved and favored by our maker. All was lost forever in a moment of foolish pride and betrayal. Would that I could take back such abhorrent deeds, yet that is not to be. Instead, I seek to make amends if I may.”

  Creel knew the legend of the erinys—celestials who had rebelled against the god Sol and been cast down to the Abyss in a pillar of fire for punishment. Surprisingly, he sensed a deep pain, an earnestness in Sirath that made him inclined to believe her claim although he wasn’t convinced he could fully trust her. But that inclination was a be
ginning, he supposed.

  If mortals can have regrets and be driven to seek redemption against detestable choices made in life, why not immortals—fallen beings who once were celestials? He considered that a moment before his mind turned back to practical considerations.

  “The army camp is three days’ ride from here,” he said. “We’d have to travel all that way, get past the scouts and patrols, sneak inside the camp, defeat any guards, then spirit her away. All without the alarm being sounded. Am I missing anything?”

  “Find the right tent among thousands,” Rafe said.

  “Aye, that too. This is madness—it must be a trap. Nesnys has proven she’s no fool.” He looked at Iris and Rafe and saw they were eager to throw aside caution. “She could be long gone by the time we even get there.” Despite his instinctive prudence, he knew this was the best and only chance to attempt to rescue Sianna. Sirath had proven at their past meeting she had no love or loyalty to Nesnys.

  “I can teleport you there,” Sirath said. “You could be at the camp before you could draw a breath. Once there, my thralls can guide you to her tent, although she is known to be moved from time to time. If you manage to return successfully from your rescue attempt, I can teleport you back. If you fail, then you are on your own.”

  “This is madness,” he said to Iris and Rafe, shaking his head. “They’ll be anticipating such an attempt.” He could imagine any number of things going wrong.

  “But if we don’t make the attempt, what chance will Sianna have?” Rafe asked. “I’m willing to risk my life to see my queen—and friend—freed and restored to the throne.”

  “As am I,” Iris added.

  Their determination and loyalty impressed Creel. We won’t get another chance like this. What happens once they decide to move Sianna? She’ll be lost forever in some dungeon in Nebara. Once her value as a captive is ended, she likely won’t receive any special treatment. Her life will be one of misery.

  “Your young queen inspires such devotion,” Sirath remarked dryly. “You mortals are curious creatures—you’d gladly wager your brief lives to save another, one who’s neither a mate nor offspring?”

  “We would,” Iris replied. “Didn’t you once know the meaning of love and sacrifice?”

  Sirath flinched as if struck. She regarded Iris a long moment with her piercing eyes, but the young woman stood fast. Finally, Sirath seemed to deflate. “Those qualities were indeed once known to me, mortal. I was known as Lihanael the Sagacious, a Virtue of Sol. The aeons since have nearly eroded all such glorious memories, yet I alone remember fragments of the time before the Fall. My sisters may have all forgotten what they once were, but not I. Not yet. I would see that does not come to pass. Sol is known as a gracious and forgiving god to his mortal adherents. I can only hope he would offer me a sliver of his mercy in a chance of redemption.”

  Lihanael the Sagacious. Her nature is different than her sisters—her keen mind remembers her true self or at least the remaining shadow of who she was.

  Seeing the three of them ready to commit for their different reasons—Iris and Rafe out of love and loyalty to a friend and queen, Sirath willing to aid them out of some desperate need for her own redemption—Creel felt his own resistance crumble.

  Damn it—might as well throw the dice, then. The gods know I’ve made plenty of foolhardy gambles myself over the years. He wondered why he’d even resisted the idea at first, for he had vowed to see her freed if it was within his power—old survival instincts, perhaps.

  Creel cleared his throat, and the others regarded him. “Very well. We’ll make this attempt, but at midnight tonight. That will give us time to gather men and horses and make further plans. Will you return tonight and aid us, Sirath?”

  The erinys bobbed her head. “I shall meet you outside these castle walls at midnight, then, in the same park where the dwarves are camped. Bring what you need, but I’d recommend against too many men. I can only teleport so many.”

  “I think a dozen or so will be plenty, along with mounts for all. Will that suit you?”

  “Yes. Make your plans. I shall return tonight.” Sirath launched herself backward through the window. She twisted nimbly in midair, and her wings snapped wide, moonlight rippling on her sable plumage as she soared out of sight.

  Rafe let out an audible breath, but he was clearly excited. “So we do this tonight, then. All right.”

  Creel eyed the guard’s maimed hand briefly but nodded. Rafe’s condition was as good as could be expected—his disfigurement couldn’t be helped, and he’d proven he could still fight well. He wouldn’t try to talk the man out of it—Sianna needed all the staunch supporters she could get, and he knew Rafe would gladly die for his queen if the need arose.

  “I’m going with you.” Iris gave each of them a frosty glare, daring them to tell her no.

  Once Creel got over his surprise, he laughed. “We’re all a bunch of fools walking into this trap. You know that, right?”

  Iris shrugged. “So be it. The gods favor the fools over the wise at times, do they not?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person, lass. You’d best seek out a priest for that. Sounds like something a wise man might’ve said once… either that or a mad fool.”

  They all laughed, giddy with relief at having a small seed of hope to cling to. Finally having a course of action felt good. The past fortnight had been brutal, sitting in endless council meetings and listening to prolonged bickering. Creel had eventually volunteered to accompany Jahn and his men on a couple patrols just to get away from the castle.

  At last, an opportunity. Now, if we can make good on this mad plan…

  ***

  The day dragged by at a snail’s pace. Once Creel had committed, he was ready to get on with the rescue attempt rather than being stuck in several hours of meetings with the council. After he notified Lord Lanthas of Sirath’s offer and his plan, the lord had called the council meeting. Lanthas, Sir Edwin, Sergeant Jahn, and several of the military commanders were in the meeting along with Iris and Rafe, whom Creel had brought with him. The duke, like Creel, saw the opportunity presented as too good to pass up yet was also fearful of a trap. He didn’t much like the idea of them trusting Sirath either, but he was a practical man and was close to the Atreus family. He wanted Sianna back as much as any of them.

  Sir Edwin, on the other hand, was a pompous dolt. He insisted on leading the attempt to rescue his “betrothed” although he’d never become officially promised to Sianna, according to Iris. Apparently, he’d made her some foolish promise before leaving for war with King Clement. The handmaiden seemed to think the knight’s presence would raise Sianna’s spirits and thought it prudent to include him. Creel thought the queen would be plenty cheered even if a smelly goblin showed up and managed to rescue her successfully from the enemy camp. The young knight wouldn’t be dissuaded, however.

  Thankfully, Lord Lanthas diplomatically convinced Edwin to let Creel lead the rescue attempt. “Let Master Creel lead the men into the camp. A knight is not so well suited to stealthy blades in the darkness. Your duty is to take charge of Sianna’s person the instant she is freed—spirit her away to safety at once and wait for no other man if they are delayed or fall in the attempt.”

  Creel agreed, if for no other reason than to keep the knight from getting all of them captured or killed with some foolish blunder had he not been given a specific role.

  In the end, it was decided that a dozen would go: Creel, Rafe, Iris, Sir Edwin, Jahn, and seven experienced men vouched for by Lord Lanthas. Creel would have liked Kavia to join them with her deadly bow, but she was still suffering from her hip injury and likely wouldn’t be able to keep up on foot. They would bring an extra mount for Sianna and carry provisions enough for several days’ hard ride if necessary. Iris would remain to look after the horses while the others infiltrated the camp. Lord Lanthas sent orders for a regiment of his battered army to advance south to hinder any mass pursuit and provide escort if Sirath was unable
to teleport them back.

  “I shall pray long to Sol for his blessing that we shall have great success in this valiant rescue attempt of our precious queen,” Edwin announced following the meeting. His surliness of the past weeks had abruptly transformed to a manic joyousness.

  “You do that,” Creel muttered. I need a drink. “Meet up at the castle gate just prior to midnight. We’ll ride together to meet Sirath.”

  The others concurred, and once the meeting was adjourned, Creel found himself alone for the time being. Iris and Rafe went off to make preparations and spend the day together. He felt a pang of jealousy followed by sadness, the wound of losing Rada such a short time past still fresh in his mind.

  An hour later, he found himself at Feldegast’s Tavern down by the lakeside. The place was busy, as was the norm, filled with a mix of locals and travelers, even some off-duty city guardsmen. He was fortunate to find a seat on the deck out back with a fine view of the lake. He ordered the fish stew in a bread bowl, a specialty of the tavern, along with a cup of dwarven spirits.

  The liquor wasn’t up to Brom Stormbrew’s legendary stock, but it wasn’t half bad. As the second cup hit his empty stomach, he relaxed, losing the nervous edge that had been troubling him. The breeze blowing off the lake was brisk but not uncomfortably cold, which kept his head clear.

  The task lies before us this night—let come what shall. Sianna is a figurehead for the entire kingdom, someone who can inspire the people and rally the kingdom to drive the scum back to Nebara. That’s the idea, at any rate.

  His stew arrived, and he reduced it to naught but crumbs in a short time. He was considering yet another drink when he heard his name being called.

  “Master Creel! Fancy runnin’ into ye here.” The dwarf Kulnor was grinning through his beard at him. He had a tankard of ale in hand, as did his companion Harbek.

  Creel clasped hands with the two. “Join me for a drink?”

  The two dwarves sat down and took long slugs of their ale. Kulnor belched contentedly and wiped the foam from his beard onto his sleeve.