by Jeff Grubb
The guards brought in a heavy chair with thick pillows for padding. Ashnod set herself gently down on the pillows. The guards placed a small table before her. The table had clawlike legs that gripped the rough stone floor. Ashnod tried to shake the table, and when it did not move she nodded her approval.
The table was fitted with a single manacle. One of Tawnos’s hands, the right one, was freed of his wrist cuff and forced at dagger point through the table-mounted manacle, palm upward. The guards fastened the cuff shut with iron pins, and two of them left. One remained.
“There are those among the Fallaji who want you dead,” said Ashnod. “They are, fortunately, outnumbered by the ones who want you to suffer a long time first.”
She pulled from her bag a circular device looking like a flat plate, to which an odd set of struts and wires had been attached. She slid the plate forward beneath Tawnos’s right hand. The remaining guard placed the dagger’s edge against Tawnos’s throat as Ashnod attached small clamps to each of his fingertips. The clamps drew blood as they pricked his flesh.
Tawnos waited until the dagger had been withdrawn from his neck, then said, “And which group do you represent?” His lips felt like lumps from the earlier, unknown, beating.
“As always, I represent myself,” the red-haired woman said, throwing a knife-edge switch before her.
Tawnos convulsed as a charge of energy passed up his hand and into his body. He nearly fell from his stool, but his hand was firmly manacled to the table, and the table was firmly set on the floor. He twisted and turned as the current ran through his body.
Ashnod tripped open the switch. “It works,” she said.
Tawnos gasped, “What…is…?”
Ashnod replied, “The Fallaji have a number of traditional tortures: rack, thumbscrew, and garrote. Mishra had worked his own version of the rack, years ago, designed to cause maximum discomfort for minimum effort. This”—she patted the device that had ensnared his hand—“is a smaller version of my own rack. Like it?”
“Love it,” gasped Tawnos. “Fits you perfectly. Why don’t you just kill me?”
“That’s one option,” said Ashnod. “One I don’t want to be forced into.”
“Ashnod,” said Tawnos, “when you were our prisoner, we treated you well.”
“Here’s a hint, Duck,” said Ashnod. “By Fallaji standards this is being treated well. Most of your compatriots have been killed. Mishra doesn’t even trust Yotian slaves anymore. He thinks Urza can read their minds at a distance. Mishra wanted to deliver your head, pickled, to Momma Duck Urza. I talked him out of it; said you had knowledge we could use.”
“I won’t tell you anything,” spat Tawnos.
“I know,” said Ashnod calmly. “But it was either this or the pickling jar.”
“Why tell me this?” growled Tawnos. “In the hopes I’ll tell you something useful?”
“In part,” said Ashnod.
“And with your friend listening?” asked Tawnos.
Ashnod shook her head. “Understanding Argivian is considered to be a black mark in the Fallaji armed forces these days. Watch.” She turned to the guard and said clearly, “I turned your father into a transmogrant. And your grandfather and your brother too. Because they were insufficient bedmates.” The guard said nothing.
Ashnod turned back. “See? If I said the same thing in Fallaji, he’d be after my blood.” She turned to the guard and barked out a command in the desert language. The guard started to protest in the same tongue, and Ashnod shouted at him again. The guard hesitated, glowered at Tawnos, then left the cell. The door swung shut behind him. The shutter opened briefly, then closed.
“Now you have to do me a favor,” said Ashnod.
“I’m at your disposal,” said Tawnos bitterly.
“My back is to the door,” she said. “And I figure our guards will be checking regularly on my progress with you. So when the shutter opens, give me the high sign and I’ll give you a little dose.”
“Why would I do that?” said Tawnos.
“Because if you don’t, I’ll have to zap you randomly just to keep up appearances,” she said, and threw the knife-switch again. Tawnos’s body stiffened as the charge roared up his arm. “The secret word is ‘traitor,’ okay?”
“Easy to remember,” said Tawnos. “Just stop doing that.”
“Oh come on,” said Ashnod with a smile. “This is nothing close to a lethal dose for a man your size and age. Trust me, I know.”
“I believe you,” said Tawnos. “Those transmogrants, the zombie men. They are yours, aren’t they?”
“What do you think?” she said, smiling.
“They’re horrible,” said Tawnos.
Ashnod’s smile flickered for just a moment, and when it returned there was a forced feeling about it. “I thought you, if anyone, would understand.”
“They were once living men,” hissed Tawnos.
“Emphasis on once,” returned Ashnod. “They were criminals, slaves, prisoners; people they were going to kill and leave out for the vultures anyway! I found a use for them!”
“Traitor!” snapped Tawnos quickly.
Ashnod threw the switch, and another bolt of energy blasted through Tawnos’s arm and shoulder. It seemed to him that she left the switch closed for slightly longer than she needed to. When Tawnos recovered, she continued.
“The desert has only two resources. The Thran relics are one, and Mishra has gone as far as he can with them. The other is people. They’re a resource too.”
Tawnos said nothing.
“I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty,” said Ashnod.
“Or bloody,” added Tawnos angrily.
Her hand hovered over the switch, then pulled back. “We don’t have all the wealth of the eastern nations,” she said defensively. “We have to make do with what we have.”
“You don’t take care of what you have,” said Tawnos. When Ashnod looked at him, confused, he said, “You’ve stripped Yotia to the ground.”
Ashnod’s eyes lowered. “Yes. That. I argued against that, too, but Mishra overruled me there. That ever happen with Urza?”
Tawnos hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “More often than I want to think about. Why was it a bad idea?”
“Didn’t I just agree with you?” asked Ashnod.
“Yes,” said Tawnos, “but I probably won’t like your reason why.”
“Because it’s a waste of resources,” said Ashnod. “Of material and manpower we might have held and used later.”
“Thought as much,” said Tawnos. “Traitor.”
Another flip of the switch, though this one was not as long as previously. Nevertheless, Tawnos was sure that his heart had stammered in its beating in the middle of the jolt.
“But you were overruled,” continued Tawnos, when he could breathe again.
“Uh-huh,” said Ashnod. “Mishra’s been putting distance between the two of us for years now. He wants my transmogrants, my battle armor, and my other creations, but he doesn’t want to be seen as depending on me. It’s a sign of weakness among the Fallaji, and even after all these years he depends on their support.”
“The other chieftains,” said Tawnos, guessing whom she meant.
“And others,” returned Ashnod. “He has an aide from way back who’s like his second shadow. And then there’s the Gixians. They would just love to go pawing through my notes.”
“Gixians?” inquired Tawnos. “The Brotherhood of Gix? Machine worshipers?”
“Yeah,” grunted Ashnod. “Nasty little creatures.”
“They’re in the Argivian court as well,” said Tawnos. “Your spies?” Ashnod shrugged. “Don’t know. They may be playing both sides against the center. I don’t trust them.”
“Nor I,” agreed Tawnos. “Less now that I know they’re working with Urza’s brother as well. Traitors.”
Another throw of the knife-switch, and Tawnos yelped. Finally he said, “I don’t know if I can take much more of this.”
“So they will kill me, now,” spat Tawnos. “Was that what all this was? One last chance to taunt me?”
“One last chance to see if you’re as smart as I am,” said Ashnod, sharply, “and one more chance to embarrass the others on whom Mishra depends so heavily. If everything goes well, a chance to have you owe me a favor. A girl can never be owed too many favors.”
“I don’t understand you,” said Tawnos.
“You will,” said Ashnod, “if you’re as smart as I think you are. For now, this discussion is over.” She flicked the switch shut again, and the pain radiated through Tawnos’s body until finally the darkness swallowed him.
Tawnos did not know how long she kept the charge going, but by the time he recovered the guards were back in the room and he had been freed from the table and its device. His right hand was a tight ball of pain as they refastened his original chains.
“But you didn’t ask anything,” he gasped. “About the artifacts.”
Ashnod knelt beside him and hissed, “I don’t need to ask anything. We have the remains of your precious artifacts. They will tell me more about Urza and you than a year and a day of torture would.”
Then she was gone, and the room was in darkness again.
For a long time he sat in the shadows, slowing his racing heart and his labored breathing. Once the shutter in the door opened, then shut again after an unseen watcher determined Ashnod had not killed him.
Tawnos slowly opened his hand. Clenched tightly in his palm were two of Ashnod’s earrings and a spool of golden wire. The gemstones in the earrings glowed with their own internal light.
She wanted him to prove he was as smart as she was, he thought.
Tawnos allowed himself a smile, and crawled over to the skull that had been left in his cell.
* * *
—
Ashnod was summoned to Mishra’s court in the palace of the old Pasha of Tomakul. It was a month after her discussion with Tawnos, and three days after she had filed a final report on Tawnos’s artifacts. There were definitely design components she could incorporate into her own work.
She did not find Mishra at his workbench. Instead he was seated on the former pasha’s throne, patting his fingertips together. Slowly.
Ashnod had been surprised by Mishra’s appearance when she first returned from Sarinth. The man had let his waistline grow, and there were jowls beneath the silver-flecked beard. He was decked in his desert robes, billowing things that made him seem all the fatter. He had tucked into his belt the symbol of Sarinth itself, a razor-sharp ankh.
The strain of the war was telling on him, thought Ashnod. He had been afraid of his brother’s response for years, and when it finally came, he beat it back. Now he was afraid of the next assault.
Beside the throne and slightly behind it was Hajar, trusty and silent as ever. On the other side was one of the Gixians, a repulsive priest with a hunchback and mismatched eyes.
Ashnod knelt, then rose to hear Mishra’s words.
“Tawnos escaped his dungeon cell five nights ago,” he said quietly.
Ashnod frowned. “Why was I not informed?” she said hotly. “Has he been found?”
“Not yet,” said Mishra.
“And no one told me?” snapped Ashnod. “I might have aided the pursuit.”
“Or hindered it,” said the Gixian.
Ashnod gave the priest a look that clearly showed she was sizing him up for the transmogrant tank. “What do you mean?”
Mishra answered instead. “An accusation has been made about your involvement in this matter.”
“My…” said Ashnod, letting her voice trail off in astonishment. “Who makes such wild accusations?”
Mishra said nothing, but the Gixian priest laughed. It was a nervous, clicking chuckle.
“You did meet with the escaped prisoner,” said Mishra finally.
“Once!” said Ashnod hotly. “Almost a month ago! On your orders! To ascertain whether he would break under the rack. I quickly determined that he would not and left him there to rot. It was there in my report.”
“Of course,” said Mishra smoothly, waving aside her comment and the report. “The fact of the matter is, Tawnos made his escape by means of a device similar to your own staff.”
“Pardon?” Ashnod wondered if she was acting sufficiently surprised by the news.
“A device that weakened his guard,” continued Mishra. “A device that allowed him to immobilize a patrol that had almost snared him. A device similar to that which you used against me once before, at the walls of Zegon.”
“That proves nothing,” said Ashnod, then took a deep breath. “I was relieved of my own staff when I was captured in Kroog. Tawnos could have examined it then and prepared himself for the eventuality of capture. It is not my fault if your guards did not search him sufficiently.”
“And your conversation,” said Mishra, ignoring her words. “Very unusual interrogation technique.”
“My methods have been suited to your needs before,” said Ashnod, but she felt a cold chill run down her back. Had one of the guards been able to understand them?
As if reading her mind Mishra said, “While the guards spoke only Fallaji, to prevent them from communicating with the prisoner, they did have fairly good memories. Their recitation of the words proved interesting. They did not understand any of the words, so the translation was garbled, but they paid special attention whenever you mentioned my name.”
The cold chill became a winter blast. Ashnod said, “If you do not trust me, Master, next time send along a guard who speaks the prisoner’s language. I am sure there were mistakes in what they heard and reported to you.”
“I would be inclined to believe you,” said Mishra, “were it not for one last piece of evidence. Priest, if you please?”
The Gixian chuckled and held out his hand. In his palm were the setting to a pair of earrings. The gemstones had been removed.
“Found them in the sewers beneath the cell,” said the priest, with a giggle.
“Amazing what people lose,” said Ashnod coldly.
“Indeed,” said Mishra, looking over Ashnod’s shoulder now. “They look similar to a set I’ve seen you wear. Except those are now missing. And these are missing the power stones that would have been at their centers.”
Ashnod opened her mouth and shut it. Mishra’s mind had been made up before Ashnod arrived at the door, and he’d paid not the slightest heed to anything she had said. Even were she innocent of the accusations, the circumstances damned her.
And she was not innocent.
“Milord,” she said, switching tactics, “were you aware there are members of the Brotherhood of Gix in Urza’s court?”
Mishra’s face was calm, but there was the barest twitch of his lips at the mention of his brother’s name. Instead he said, “You know that from your interrogation of my brother’s student?”
“Yes,” said Ashnod.
“Was that in your original report of the interrogation?” asked Mishra, his eyes narrowing.
Ashnod realized her mistake. While claiming her honesty and innocence, she had revealed there were things she had not reported. She kept her face emotionless and said, “I did not want to make wild accusations”—she nodded at the priest—“without proof.”
“And do you have proof?” said Mishra.
“I was waiting for confirmation from other sources,” said Ashnod, “but thought you had best know of it now.”
“I know of it,” said Mishra, “because the good priest here has informed me of the situation. Which you had not. You’ve made their case for them.”
Ashnod grasped at straws. “Surely I am not to be singled out because a prisoner escapes.”
“You are not,” said Mishra shortly.
“There are the guards,” said Ashnod.
Ashnod paused for a moment. “I see. And my fate?”
She looked at Mishra and thought she saw his face soften, but only for an instant. “You are banished.”
“Most Revered One, I—” started Ashnod.
“Banished,” said Mishra, slightly louder. The priest giggled and rubbed his hands together. Yes, Ashnod thought bitterly, the Gixians had their paws in this from start to finish.
“Urza would not treat his apprentice so shabbily,” said Ashnod hotly.
As soon as the words left her lips she knew they were a mistake. Mishra’s face burst into an emotional storm. “What my brother would or would not do is no concern of yours!” he thundered. Ashnod felt the force of the words like hammer blows.
Mishra leaned back in his chair. The momentary storm had abated, but the fire was still in his eyes. “You are banished from this court and from the Fallaji empire. Leave now. If you are found anywhere within my lands after sunup, you will be put to death. Slowly. Am I clear?”
Ashnod looked into Mishra’s face, then nodded. “As glass,” she said. She bowed low and retreated from the throne room.
She stormed through the halls, making for her quarters. No, she realized, the rest of the brotherhood was already there, going through her notes and books, stripping her lab of her personal discoveries, looting her possessions. They would like nothing better than to delay her, then to claim Mishra’s order as a chance to get rid of her once and for all.
Instead she went to the stables and took her favorite horse, the black charger that had carried her from the battlefield in Korlis. She took only the clothes on her back and the knowledge in her mind.
That would have to be enough.
She rode out of the pasha’s royal complex and reined the horse in. The street led east and west. East to Argive, a road most likely watched, or west to the unknown.
She pulled the horse’s reins and began the long trek to the west, to Terisia City and the lands outside either of the brothers’ control.
