by Corin Cain
“Sit,” he orders, and I obediently perch on the medical examination table. He quickly pulls out a series of needles, drawing blood from me and running it through tests and scans.
“You’re remarkably healthy, for a citizen of Barl,” he mutters under his breath. He isn’t talking to me, I realize. This doctor views me almost as if I’m an animal – livestock to be poked, prodded and evaluated for viability.
Until now, I didn’t realize just how much the citizens of the Capital looked down upon those from the periphery cities. This doctor, and the Viceroy before him, might be able to see my naked body in its entirety – but they care nothing for the human being beneath the skin.
Although maybe that works to my advantage. In addition to missing my human aspects, they’ve also overlooked the secret I still keep hidden under my tongue.
“In there,” the doctor finally barks, motioning brusquely towards the opposite corner of the room. I follow his finger. He’s pointing to a tall, glass cylinder in the corner – tall enough to easily fit a human, and maybe even an Aurelian, inside it.
I wince as I walk naked to the cylinder. I’ve seen these before, in the hospitals of the Capital. They’re used for cleaning and disinfecting patients quickly and easily.
I step inside and the doctor seals me in. A moment later I shriek as cold water douses me. The doctor didn’t even turn on the heat.
Next, a spray of chemical soap fires against me, stinging and burning my eyes. Before I can even blink it away, a final burst of freezing water cleans and rinses me.
I shiver, freezing cold as I finally step out of the glass cylinder – feeling as though I was thrown over a waterfall.
Dripping wet and shivering, I look for a towel, but there are none in the room – and the doctor offers me nothing. Instead, I reluctantly walk to my discarded clothes – but that’s when the doctor finally shakes his head.
“Those will be burnt,” he growls – as if my dirty clothes are teeming with parasites and infection.
Shivering, wet and miserable, I stand there while the doctor takes notes.
While many of the doctors in the hospital I’d worked at during my internship used electronic records to track their findings, this one apparently still preferred the old-school approach of pen and paper.
My lips tighten into a thin line. Though the doctor has the trademark, illegible scrawl of a physician, I can still make out the words on the paper clearly.
Rape test: Conclusive
Vaginal tearing and bruising. Subjected to violent sexual assault.
If the doctor notices me looking, he doesn’t make any sign of it. Instead, he just takes the clipboard and leaves the room – leaving me, once again, naked and alone.
I sit down on the edge of the medical table, my head swimming.
They’re going to claim that the Aurelians raped me. They’re going to call them spies. They’re going to say that the attack on Barl was the Aurelian’s fault – and even if the Aurelians didn’t firebomb the city themselves, it was destroyed because the Capital would have been attacked next.
In a disgusting way, it all makes sense.
I sit in the medical office, wondering what I’m waiting for. It’s tempting to start looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon, or a means of escape, but that seems a little too easy. Even if there are video feeds transmitted from cameras in the medical room, there’s still a chance they didn’t catch my quick palming of the black vial of Mercy from my sock. If I tried snooping around now – to pocket a scalpel, for example – it would tip them off as to my true intentions.
I laughed humorlessly. I couldn’t even pocket a scalpel anymore. I was naked, and didn’t have pockets!
Instead, I think.
The question is Lord Aeron. The Viceroy makes him out to be a useful fool. I must play a part for him, to let his guard down.
The door eventually opens again, and this time a women my age comes through. She rushes over to me, and puts her hand on my shoulder, looking at me with concern.
“You poor, poor thing. What those Aurelians did to you… Oh, Gods, I can’t even imagine. Come with me.”
It’s not like I have any alternative, so I follow this stranger out of the room, and down the hallway outside.
I’m painfully aware of the fact that I’m still naked, and I wish that I still had my medical kit with me. Somehow, I miss that even more than I miss my clothes.
The only good thing is that I’ve confirmed I can talk clearly even with this small vial hidden beneath my tongue.
The woman opens another door at the end of the hallway, leading to a room filled with clothes and beauty supplies. She bids me to sit down in front of a tall mirror, and then fusses around as she beautifies me.
I’ve scrabbled for life in the hard streets of Barl for so long that the idea of being ‘beautified’ is completely alien to me. When the woman is finally finished, I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize myself. This morning I was a scrappy mechanic, covered in oil and grit. Now, I am someone else. I look like a beautiful, noble lady from the Capital elite.
But now that I know how the Capital feels about people like us, I think I’d prefer to still look like the scrappy mechanic.
When my friends Jade and Anna would tell me about life in the Aurelian harem that they’d joined together, I often felt envy at the clothes and fabrics they told me they wore, and the perfumes that they dabbed against their skin. They’d boast of the softness of the material against their delicate skin.
Back in Barl, I had calluses on my hands from hours of labor, grease on my cheeks from the dirt of my vocation, and cuts on my body from struggling to use poor-quality tools and scrap metal.
Now, in contrast, I can have everything I once dreamed of – and yet I want to rip these ostentatious signs of wealth from my body.
Now that I know the true villainy incipit within the Capital, I have no further desire to be part of their ranks. All I want to do is help the sick and the wounded – and I’d happily trade all of these fine clothes just to have my med-kit back.
I don’t have that choice, though.
Instead, now that I’ve been dressed and adorned with makeup, I’m escorted up the stairs to the main chambers of the infamous, near-legendary Lord Aeron.
The looming doors to his luxurious chambers open and I suddenly realize that I’ve been led right into Lord Aeron’s huge bedroom.
I shudder, realizing that I’m alone in the bedroom of a man who is in a very high position of power. This never ends well for women like me.
I also suspect why I was just beautified. I wonder if I am being presented to Lord Aeron as though he’s my savior, and I’m to play the part of the grateful, vulnerable, shuddering woman. A victim that he rescued from the Aurelians – and who wishes to… repay him.
The expression on his face confirms my suspicion.
Lord Aeron enters the room from a doorway opposite, and I see that he stands taller than me – perhaps an inch under six-feet-tall with a fleshy face and enormous eyebrows that look as though they want to crawl away from the rest of his bloated visage.
He’s decked in absurdly ostentatious finery – fabric and adornments that make even the rich dress and necklace I’m now wearing seem like the rags of a peasant.
The enormous gold chain that marks his status as a High Lord of the Capital dangles from around his blubbery throat, and I wonder if it’s so heavy that it gives him neck pain to wear it all day.
“They say you are called Tammy,” Lord Aeron says, spreading his fleshly arms wide in welcome. “Please, Tammy – you have no more to fear. I know that you come from the poorest segment of our society, and that you’ve had a hard life from birth, but all of that is behind you, now. Lord Aeron will see to it that you are taken care of.”
Oh, Gods. It’s not just the ridiculous chain, or the purple velvet suit he’s wearing that makes him seem so oafish. Does this character seriously speak in the third person?
I could tell Lord Aeron the truth – that I was born just a few miles from the Capital itself, and that I’d studied in the city university. I could correct his assumptions, and reveal that I did a practicum in the hospital not ten miles away from this ostentatious estate.
I’d encountered the upturned noses of those born in the Capital before, but I’d never realized to what extent these nobles truly looked down on those who were impoverished.
So, instead, I confirm his lies by murmuring: “Thank you, Lord Aeron.”
The door shuts behind me and I repress a shudder. If this man is in charge of things – at least in name – then he needs to become an ally. The second I’m gone, the Viceroy will begin muttering things in his ear – as I suspect that the tall, thin man is the true power behind the Capital.
But two can play at that game. If this bloated oaf is to be manipulated by the Viceroy, I can do the same. Before that, however, I have to make Lord Aeron think that I’m as weak as he views me. Manipulation is always more effective when your victim considers you too pathetic to be an influence upon him.
“You must be exhausted,” Lord Aeron says. “Please, rest yourself upon the bed.” He sits down himself on the huge mattress and pats his hand on the empty space next to him.
I hope desperately that this bloated man doesn’t try to make a move on me. He’d have to be an evil man indeed to think that I’d just endured violent sexual assault at the hands of the Aurelians, and yet still try to touch me.
I give the big man the benefit of the doubt, and sit down hesitantly.
“Tell me everything! A Lord must be advised. The people of the Capital… They are protesting at what we had to do to stop the Aurelian spies and the Scorp horde that they unleashed upon Barl.”
I look into the man’s beady eyes, and I’m not sure if he’s reciting a lie, or truly believes that events unfolded according to the Viceroy’s story.
I play along:
“The Aurelians – they are so dangerous. Please, tell me that they’re not near us, Lord Aeron.”
He smiles at me, and I know he’s trying to appear wise. His hand strays to my knee, patting me placatingly; as though I’m a shivering piece of horseflesh.
“Calm yourself, my dear. They are in the dungeons in the lower levels. Fear not – my guards are very strong, and without those Orb-Weapons of theirs, the aliens are next to helpless.”
As he says that, Lord Aeron motions towards the dresser.
I turn my head and see the twin hilts of Forn’s Orb-Daggers, Hadone’s huge Orb-Warhammer, and Darok’s Orb-Sword resting on the top of the dressing table.
My heart pounds quicker as I look at them. I can’t believe that they would allow me so near to such powerful weapons!
Of course, if I tried anything against Lord Aeron, it wouldn’t just be my life forfeit. I fear that the Viceroy would take the lives of the orphans as forfeit, too – to openly demonstrate how betrayal is punished in the Capital.
My thought of the orphans makes me ask: “My kind Lord, tell me – are the children safe?”
He nods. “Yes. Take a look out the window.”
I walk to the window and look outside. In the gardens below, the four children are playing. Well, Stacy, Tod and Tyler are kicking a ball around. Runner is sitting at the sidelines, alone and brooding.
I know that he hates Aurelians, and I imagine he’s thinking about what he’d like to do to the three in captivity in the dungeons below.
If I break out the Aurelians then what will happen to the orphans? Surely, the Viceroy wouldn’t hurt little children...
I swallow hard, and my heart goes cold. He would hurt children, if it was to his advantage. But, if I am able to break the Aurelians out of the dungeon and get them to safety, he’d have no reason to hurt the orphans.
Just as there isn’t a compassionate bone in the Viceroy’s skinny body, I know there isn’t a vengeful one either. I knew, from the moment I met him, that he’d be the type to consider revenge as much a useless distraction as love, lust or affection.
He’d do nothing unless there was a reward to be received from it; and even if I escaped with the Aurelians, the orphans are still more valuable to him as prizes to be adopted out to the wealthy nobles.
After all, what use is taking life from those who’d barely had it?
So, that’s settled – but now: How do I get the Aurelians out from the dungeon? And even if I do, can I truly leave the orphans here? In the Viceroy’s grasp?
I shudder. “I’m sorry, my Lord. The events of the last two days have shaken me. Perhaps… Perhaps some wine?”
The nobleman nods. “Of course. A cup to settle the nerves.”
He starts to stand, but I quickly jump to my feet. “You… You saved me, Lord Aeron. If your man Captain Arnold had not come, then I… I can’t even think what would have happened. The least I can do is serve you a drink, my Lord.”
Lord Aeron smiles graciously. “Of course, my child. I’d be honored.” He points to a row of bottles and decanters on the dresser opposite – the same one which holds the Aurelian’s Orb-Weapons. “My favorite is the bottle on the right. I recommend you try it.”
As I cross the room, Lord Aeron continues:
“I’m sure your nerves are still rattled, but have courage, child. You will be speaking in the Senate tomorrow. Once the protestors hear all about the Aurelian threat, they’ll understand that swift action was necessary to stop the spread of the Scorp infestation. That’s why the tragedy of Barl had to occur.”
I shudder as I hear his words. How can this man be so misguided? So led-astray by the machinations of that sinister Viceroy?
I reach for the decanter on the dresser – the one Lord Aeron specified. As I do so, I glance across at the three sets of Orb-Weapons lying within reach.
It’s so tempting to reach for the hilt of one of Forn’s Orb-Daggers. If I could only grab it, I could…
…I could put it to Lord Aeron’s throat and make him let the Aurelians go free.
But that plan is risky - very risky. If I lose control of the situation for even an instant, I’ll be killed – and the Aurelians will be put to death with even more swiftness than the fate which awaits them now.
I have another plan, and it’s a lot less risky.
Turning away from the tempting hilts of the Orb-Weapons, I instead reach for beautiful, crystal wine goblets. As I do so, I slip the vial of Mercy from beneath my tongue and quickly squeeze a single drop of the black liquid into one of the cups. Moments later it’s hidden by the dark, red wine I pour into the goblet.
A single drop. It’ll be enough to put even the beefy bulk of Lord Aeron into a deep, dreamless sleep – and yet will have no long-term, adverse effects.
While the Lord Aeron might seem like a force for evil, I’ve quickly come to realize that he’s simply a fool; used like a puppet by the true enemy of Independence: The Viceroy.
In many ways – even though he doesn’t realize it – Lord Aeron is as much a prisoner to the Viceroy’s machinations as I am, or the three Aurelians have become.
Therefore, to put two or three drops of liquid Mercy in Lord Aeron’s cup would be wrong. It reminds me of the first thing they taught us when I studied medicine at the city university:
First, do no harm.
I turn and serve Lord Aeron the wine, keeping my gaze down as I know he’d expect a commoner to do in the presence of his nobility.
He sips eagerly, taking a huge gulp. I politely take a sip, knowing that the glass I poured the wine into is probably worth more than I’d earn in a year at the chop-shop in Barl. Hell, the serving of wine itself was probably worth a week’s wages.
Lord Aeron burps gently, and I take the glass from his hands. He yawns, and starts to blink groggily.
Gods – I had no idea that Mercy worked so quickly!
Confused, Lord Aeron tries to stand; but instead slumps to the ground.
As soon as I see him sleeping, I cross the room and grab the hilt of one of Forn
’s Orb-Daggers. I slip it into the pocket of my elegant dress – grateful that the seamstress included such a practical addition.
Then I open the door - and I start screaming.
“He’s passed out! Help me! There’s something wrong with Lord Aeron!”
Guards instantly rush in, yelling for the doctor. The doctor with the huge moustache clambers up the stairs and waddles into Lord Aeron’s chambers as well, his face a mask of concern.
“What happened?” The Doctor demands. “What happened?”
“He had a sip of wine and then passed out. I have monoxydren in my medical kit – can I get it?”
I say the name of a rare compound used to treat fainting conditions. The doctor ignores me – more concerned about Lord Aeron than a peasant girl like me.
I take the opportunity and rush downstairs in the confusion, not waiting for an answer, or even for the doctor to realize there’s no chance in hell that I have such a rare medicine my med-kit.
Yet as soon as I round the corner, I come staggering to a halt.
The Viceroy strand there on the stairs, blocking my path.
My heart freezes, as he looks at me with an almost reptilian understanding.
“Stop,” he murmurs in his cold, emotionless voice. I suddenly know that he realizes he’d underestimated me – and has no intention of doing so again.
Please work! Please work!
I think the words desperately to myself as I reach into the pocket of my dress and grab the hilt of Forn’s Orb-Dagger.
Yet I needn’t have worried. As my fingers curl around the hilt, it’s as though the dagger can read my mind.
I feel a connection to it – as if the weapon has a mind – and the blade activates – ripping a burning hole right through my dress as the shimmering, black weapon emerges to its full, humming length.
I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. The Viceroy may be in his forties, but he instantly jumps over the banister at the sight of the weapon. He screams to the guards:
“Seize her! Grab the woman!”
His voice echoes down the stairs, and I run in the opposite direction – not even knowing where I’m going.
