by A. J. Smith
Behind her eyes, vivid images chipped away at her reason. The Red Prince haunted her. He had been the last thing Cardinal Severen and Archibald Tiris had seen. They had both been afraid of him and both of them had died with his name in their minds. Saara was not afraid, but she knew now that conquest would not he as simple as she had expected. The foolish men of Ro and Ranen did not appreciate their own inferiority. They fought with tenacity, unaware of the serene path of compliance that was within their reach. If only they would give in, their pain would stop and they could live their lives in pleasure, forever lulled into beautiful servitude. But Alexander Tiris was attempting to rally these lesser men and he was not without power.
Her thoughts were unhelpful. To worry about a single man and his tiny army was a distraction. She had a hundred thousand Hounds mustered around Ro Weir, and more in the Fell. The Red Prince could not reach her, let alone cause her harm. And the thousand Young were almost fully grown.
A knock on her bedchamber door.
‘I am not yet ready to rise,’ she snapped, reluctantly opening her eyes.
Next to her, blood seeped from the dead body of a handsome young wind claw. She had consumed his power before she slept and had been too weary to remove the corpse.
‘My lady,’ said Elihas of Du Ban through the door, ‘your faithful are gathering.’
‘They can wait,’ she replied in a throaty growl.
‘There are three hundred Ro and almost as many Karesians.’
She screamed. ‘Then three hundred Ro and almost as many Karesians can wait!’
Elihas didn’t respond and she heard his boots on the wooden floor as he strode from her door.
She flailed on her bedside table for her rainbow pipe and a candle. She sat up and rubbed sleep from her eyes and drool from her mouth. She lit the pipe and drew in a deep lungful of smoke. It took the edge off, but nothing more. She had servants searching the city looking for the strongest rainbow smoke available and she had been using it to calm her mind for months. The substance was called green in Kessia and was the most mellow of a rainbow merchant’s wares. The black used by the Hounds was like a war-hammer to the head in comparison.
Saara had spent too much time asleep. Since her battle with the Gorlan, she’d woken for barely two hours a day. The rest of the time she had been at the mercy of vicious nightmares about Oron Kaa, the matron mother and the Red Prince.
She rose from her bed and washed herself in a free-standing basin of clean water. Dried blood and sweat coated her body and she wished for a trusted body-slave to scrub her back. The layer of grime came off reluctantly and she took an hour to make sure she was properly washed. Her large flock had been summoned to the lower courtyard and she must not appear slovenly.
The death of Dalian Thief Taker had been prearranged and the citizens of her new empire were looking forward to it. A huge party had been planned for the evening. As she looked out of her window into the dusk of Weir, Saara realized she had been asleep all day. The wine and food would already be assembled and the Thief Taker would have been taken from his hanging cell.
Footsteps in the hall and another knock at the door.
‘My lady, are you ready to rise yet?’ asked Elihas.
‘Almost,’ she replied, as she finished dressing. ‘You may enter.’
Elihas of Du Ban, Black cleric of the One God, was never without his armour. She imagined his skin as toughened leather, calloused and hard from years of austere living. His face was no less harsh. He had sharply angled features and would have been handsome were his eyes not so dead.
‘The lower courtyard is full, my lady.’
She looked at herself in the mirror and slowly brushed her hair. ‘Have we heard from Cozz?’
‘Not as yet. The last group of merchants to arrive said nothing of interest. Yacob is there with the cargo, I’m waiting to hear from him.’
‘Inform me as soon as you do.’
She composed herself and took a long look in the mirror, assessing her appearance. She was not at her best, but she wouldn’t be studied close-up and the festivities would allow her some anonymity, perhaps even a chance to slip away.
‘Take me to the Thief Taker, I wish to see his face.’
‘He has not woken,’ replied Elihas.
‘I will wake him.’
The Black cleric nodded and strode from the room. Saara followed and four wind claws joined them in close guard. The duke’s residence was airy and many windows let grey light flood into the rich corridors. Duke Lyam had a fondness for classical paintings and the halls were lined with rich watercolours: noble knights battling barbarians and savage beasts, all rendered in vibrant colours.
Servants and guardsmen rushed to catch a glimpse of their mistress, but she ignored them, her escort keeping her isolated. Elihas led them past a balcony beyond which she could see a flood of people in the square below. They drank and shouted, chanting oaths to the Dead God and pledges of servitude to the Mistress of Pain.
Her flock was huge. Equal parts Ro and Karesian. Even a handful of Kirin rainbow merchants had joined the faithful. Powerful men and women were in love with her, they offered their fortunes and their influence to her new world. She received them gratefully but despised every one of them.
At the base of the residence, under the multi-levelled garden and above the catacombs, was the dungeon. Its only occupant was Dalian Thief Taker, greatest of the wind claws. Saara tuned out the braying cattle around her and followed Elihas to the bottom level. Somewhere in the middle of all this vileness, work still had to be done. Men needed to die, preparations needed to be made.
‘The last cell, my lady. Shall I accompany you?’ asked Elihas.
She paused, looking from the bottom of the steps along the cold stone corridor. There was no breeze and the air was fetid. Bodies had been left to fester, rats had been allowed to feed and those who cared for the place had been killed by Elihas for various minor indiscretions.
‘I’ll speak to him alone,’ she replied. ‘But stay close.’
She took the cell key and walked down the line of empty cells. The first was filled with torn sacking and straw, the second had rats feeding hungrily on splintered bones, the third and fourth were both bare with green streaks of mould for decoration. In the last cell was a dark heap, curled up in shadow and covered in a thick grey blanket. The shape was motionless. If she had been better rested, she would have laughed.
‘Behold, the greatest of the wind claws. Humbled by his betters.’
A twitch of movement. A dirty hand appeared at the corner of the blanket, scratching at the stone floor. The forearm was bare, with blackened bloodstains and deep cuts.
Rust peeled from the hinges and the door opened with a high-pitched squeak.
Another twitch of movement. This time both arms were visible, but the face was still hidden. The only sound was a guttural mutter, almost a growl. As she glided into the filthy square room, the twitching stopped. His hands clenched against the floor, scratching into fists across the stone.
‘Awake, Dalian Thief Taker. Awake and meet your death.’
The blanket was thrown off and he lunged at her. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth on to his teeth. His eyes were wild and red as he was prevented from striking her, his fists frozen solid in the air inches from her face.
She laughed. ‘You have always been powerless against me, you just needed reminding.’
An invisible barrier was between them. His veins strained against his bloodied skin. She could feel his anger, his frustration, his sadness. He had lost and it was destroying him. Defeat was worse than any torture she could conjure.
He slumped back to the floor, the last vestiges of his strength disappearing. His body had been partially repaired but he had not eaten or washed and many of his wounds had reopened. He bore cuts and lesions over his bare torso and his face was thin and stained red. He still had a taut muscularity, despite his age and wounds, but he had no fight left.
‘Awake
,’ she repeated, permitting his mind to relax.
So much hatred. Touching his thoughts was difficult. His will was stronger than most men’s, his faith in Jaa acted as a layer of protection, but he was vulnerable and his mind opened to her like a willing lover.
He sat against the far wall, looking at her, the blanket now around his shoulders. His body was still and his eyes focused, though the lids drooped and his fists were clenched.
‘I... wish... you dead,’ he murmured, the words dribbling out of his mouth.
‘You have failed,’ she replied, enjoying each word. ‘Your assassin is gone, your allies scattered and broken.’ A slow smile crept across her face. ‘Your god... has fallen.’
‘Then why do I live?’ he roared, drool and blood spluttering from his lips. ‘Just kill me!’
He lunged again, and was again stopped in mid-air.
‘Just kill me! Kill me!’
She took a step, driving him back. His fingers flexed and reached for her, blood appearing around the nails. He was strong and his hatred of her was stronger still. Every inch of his flesh quivered against the invisible barrier, fighting against hope to deliver a final blow or to break the enchantment and strangle her.
‘Do not spend your last moments in anguish,’ she said. ‘Calm yourself.’
He slumped again, scuttling back against the far wall.
His pain flowed over her like a cooling breeze. Waves of pulsating torment revitalizing her tired body and expelling the fog from her mind. The pain of the mighty was like the sweetest liquor.
Another moment and she called for Elihas. ‘Bring chains and a hood. It is time.’
The Black cleric appeared with three wind claws. He took two strides into the cell and struck Dalian sharply across the face.
‘Just to remind you of your place, Thief Taker,’ he said, standing over the broken man.
‘You’re a filthy traitor,’ he growled in response, spitting blood on Elihas’s steel-shod boots. ‘To your god and to the lands of men.’
‘And yet I will not be executed today. Perhaps my god is more forgiving of my actions than you believe.’
Dalian tried to spit again, but Elihas kicked him in the stomach. The Thief Taker coughed, retched and curled up in a ball, sending more waves of pleasure through Saara.
The wind claws brought chains and shackled the prisoner at the wrists and ankles. They did not allow him to stand fully upright, causing him to hunch up as Elihas dragged him to his feet. The hood was placed over his bloody face and tied at the neck.
She looked at him – a bent and broken man, breathing heavily through the canvas sack and struggling against his restraints. He could have been her greatest ally. As it was, he would remain as no more than a footnote in the Lands of the Twisted Tree.
‘Bring him,’ she ordered.
Once out of the cell, Saara’s headache slowly returned. By the time she had reached the stairs, she had to squint to alleviate the pain. Dalian’s death would give her a few hours of respite before she would need to find another’s life force to consume. Keeping her mind clear and her conviction strong was becoming a full-time duty, consuming her time and keeping her from her work.
She walked wordlessly past lines of armoured men standing at attention either side of the corridor. Karesian wind claws and Ro guardsmen, each wearing a black tabard displaying the Twisted Tree of Shub-Nillurath.
Distantly, she could still hear the clamouring of her flock, men and women squeezed into the lower courtyard awaiting their mistress and the evening’s festivities. Many would already be drunk. More would be taking part in orgies and the ritual consumption of drugs. They revelled in the debauchery freely available in the new environment Saara had created.
Sycophants every one. Weak, but useful.
The curtains that led to the lower balcony were held aside and she glided into the evening air of Ro Weir. A few minutes of theatre and playing to the crowd and she could remove herself to her tormented solitude.
Her flock cheered her arrival. They raised their arms and reached for her. Every man and woman hungered for her. They believed her to be their purest love and the catalyst for their future prosperity.
Beyond her flock, soldiers encircled the courtyard. The gates were closed and only the elite were permitted to view Saara. Thousands more lined the streets outside, filling the old town. Any glimpse they could catch of the enchantress would be the highlight of their year, a story they could pass on to their loved ones.
She usually enjoyed the attention. But not this time. This time it tasted like bile in her throat. The noise was jagged to her ears, the sight of so many spewing idiots made her nauseous. Their longing for her was necessary but it felt like the love of infants, a petty end to a long game.
‘Shh...’ she said, holding out her hands to the adoring masses. ‘We will adorn ourselves in flesh and become lost in sensation... all in due time.’
Men looked at women, women licked their lips, and every one of her flock imagined the sordid pleasures of the evening to come.
‘But flesh feels better after a victory. A great victory. A victory for all who follow the Twisted Tree.’
More noise. They ranted oaths of compliance, their eyes bulged and they cavorted in a mad rapture. Flesh addicts threw off their robes and flaunted their bodies, daring men and women to touch them.
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘Soon.’
Elihas came forwards, flinging Dalian on to the balcony. The old Karesian appeared as a ragdoll, his limbs flailing limply within his steel restraints.
‘A man who would see me dead will die this night.’
Discordant cheering from the crowd.
She nodded to Elihas. He held up the prisoner, grasping his neck and shoving his hooded face towards her flock.
‘My beloved followers, my friends, I present to you, Dalian Thief Taker, greatest of the wind claws.’
Elihas removed the hood and pulled his head upright. The prisoner grunted and closed his eyes. Even the glow of twilight was too much for him.
His pain again soothed her mind and she allowed herself a moment of enjoyment at the spectacle of the enchanted people who adored her. They loved so freely, giving her their minds and their hearts in an instant.
However, the question of how to kill him still played on her mind. A swift decapitation? A slow draining of his blood? Elihas had questioned her decision not to enchant him, but Dalian was too strong for her to do that easily. Small commands were possible, but full enchantment could work only if he were unaware that it was happening. A mind of iron and fire would take time to break, and his death would be more useful to her than his compliance.
‘In Kessia, you would be inched before this fine crowd,’ she whispered. ‘Thank your fire god that we are in a less civilized land.’
‘I... will... fear... nothing... but... Jaa.’
‘No, no, no,’ she replied in a purr, ‘you will fear me, and you will fear Shub-Nillurath.’
‘Nothing but Jaa.’ He began to laugh. His bloodied cheeks wrinkled up, his teeth were bared, his eyes, bloodshot and watering, stared off into the sky.
Why would he laugh? What did he know that she did not? It didn’t matter. His laughter, like his life, would soon be snuffed out.
‘Enough playing,’ she whispered. ‘These good and loyal people have come here to see a death, and a death they shall see.’
Her lip curled into a sly smile and her eyes became slits. ‘Elihas, hand him a knife.’
The Black cleric hesitated. He glanced behind at the wind claws in close guard, then at Dalian’s broken body.
‘And unchain his arms.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ he replied, moving to do as she instructed.
Saara faced the prisoner, delving as deep as she dared into his mind. There was layer upon layer of righteous anger. He was protected by his unswerving conviction. No matter. She didn’t need to enchant him, just to command his actions for a few moments.
‘Take the blade, sw
eet Dalian,’ she intoned, her words echoing in his weakened mind.
He resisted. Once his hands were free, he reached for her again. He could barely raise his arms and the strain caused his veins to bulge and his teeth to press tightly together. With tears of pain and regret, he took the offered knife.
‘Good. Your pain is not my goal... your defeat is. Give yourself to me and it will be quick.’
He slowly turned the knife towards his chest. The crowd cheered and willed him to stab himself. They spat and waved their arms, chanting at Dalian.
Death! Death! Death!
His face changed. Anger gave way to despair, then resignation. But the hate never left his eyes. It just grew deeper as the blade touched his skin. A gap in the bloodied rags allowed the knife to draw blood.
‘You know this is what you deserve. You chose the wrong master, Dalian Thief Taker, servant of Jaa.’
‘He chose me,’ he replied, plunging the knife into his heart.
She gasped. She had been slowly driving the blade towards his chest, intending to make his death slow. At the last, he’d taken matters into his own hands.
His eyes changed again. Now they were peaceful and defiant, staring at Saara as his limp body fell against her. An intense fire burned deep beyond the stare. A pinpoint of rage, barely held behind the eyes of a mortal man. She shoved him away in sudden alarm. The crowd cheered but a pounding in her head shut them out. Elihas grabbed Dalian’s falling body but his blood still coated her dress.
She held her breath. He had killed himself. She hadn’t expected it. Something defiant and beyond her control. The crowd didn’t care, so long as the traitor was dead, but she cared. For an instant she saw true faith. When his dead eyes focused on her she was face to face with the enraged Fire Giant. He had further work for Dalian Thief Taker and she had gained little by killing him.
