by Kris A Hiatt
“You sound terrible,” Moffred told him.
“Not as bad as you look,” Treace said as best as he could. He knew it wasn’t a good insult, but considering he didn’t have much time left to live, he thought it best to take every opportunity he could. “Do you think?”
“I don’t,” Moffred replied. “I think it’s the carrot at the end of the stick for you. Only this time the incentive is for you to lose.”
Looking at the wounds on Moffred’s back made him wince. Moffred said he didn’t like Treace being in his head after the last time he healed him and used that for the reason for him not wanting to be healed this time. Treace thought there was another reason for it. Moffred was punishing himself for the death of his family. It was a reminder of the pain he’d caused. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t a good thing, but there wasn’t much Treace could do about it.
“You’re right,” Kiril said at length. “I don’t think Shamir would let a traitor walk away.”
“You know what that means don’t you?” Moffred asked.
Treace shook his head.
“It means that you’ve got to kill Drokier,” Kiril told him.
He couldn’t do that. As much as he believed none of them would make it out alive, he knew that by killing Drokier he’d be sealing their fate. Even if it was only a slim chance that Drokier had slipped up, he wasn’t risking one of their lives on that slightest of chances.
“If you’re going to kill him,” Kiril said, speaking more quickly. “You’ve got to be in better shape. You need water. You need to try to make water.”
“What does him peeing have do to with it?” Moffred asked.
“Not make water that way,” Kiril clarified. “Find Path of Tears.”
She didn’t need to explain it to him, he already understood her meaning, even if Moffred did not. It sounded like a great idea, and one he had thought of often, but he didn’t want to risk their lives should he stone-face himself while trying to create water. He had never attempted it before. He shook his head.
“Treace, you have to!” Kiril pleaded, moving to the bars closest to him and pressing herself against them. “You need water. You may even die before the fight. You haven’t peed since yesterday. You’re dehydrated. You need water.”
Treace didn’t realize she was keeping track of his urinations, or worse, his bowel movements, but he thought it would be hard not to notice considering he was hanging there with no ability to use the bucket in the corner. As such, he was literally hanging there with has pants full of his own shit. He knew he smelled, but it stopped bothering him hours ago.
“I agree with her,” Brental said.
Treace looked up to see that Brental and Disdane had just rounded the corner into the jail. He wondered just how much of their conversation was overheard. He noticed Brental was carrying a sack of some sort, and even though he smelled terribly, Treace could smell fresh bread wafting through the air. But why would Brental be bringing any of them food?
“Well aren’t you ripe,” Disdane said, making a disgusted look as he spoke.
“Remind you of your mother?” Moffred quipped.
Disdane’s response was a hard look and a clenched jaw.
“Save your insults,” Brental told them. “Unless you don’t want him to have this,” he added, pulling bread from the bag and motioning in Treace’s direction.
“You would help us?” Treace squeaked.
“Perhaps, but only if you help yourself first,” Brental replied.
Treace tried to speak clearly but it came out in squeaks and hoarse whispers.
“You see,” Brental explained. “What have you really done? Think about it. What have you done?” he asked. The last question was asked one word at a time. After he asked it, he shook his head. “You have this reputation that you don’t deserve. You’re supposed to be one of the greatest fighters this world has ever seen. At least that’s what Drokier would have everyone believe. He’s been telling that story for a while now. He’s putting you up on a pedestal in everyone’s minds so that when he beats you, he’s accomplished that much more. He’s the one that killed the greatest fighter this world has seen. He must, therefore, be the best. But, you see, I know the truth. I know that you’ve never beaten anyone in a real fight. You lost to Disdane. You should be dead. I know that you didn’t prevent that child from being taken hostage when Drokier put a knife to his throat. I know that you couldn’t help Drevic keep his perverted version of the College intact. I know you couldn’t keep from being caught and drug back here. You couldn’t even prevent your friends from sharing your fate. You’ve done nothing. You’ve accomplished nothing. You are nothing,” Brental finished.
“And even so, he’s twice the man you are,” Moff added quickly.
“Shut up,” Disdane told him, glowering at Moffred.
Treace was glad Moff came to his defense, but everything Brental had said was true. None of what he said was a lie. Not that Treace believed that he was nothing, but neither did he believe he was anything more than anyone else. Unable to speak, Treace simply looked at him with indifference. Nothing could be done about any of it now. If it made the man feel better by pointing out all of his failures, then good for him.
“Yet, with all of your failures, with everything you’ve not done, I’m going to help you. But,” he said, raising a finger. “You need to help yourself first. I need to see that you’re capable of something. Find The Calm, use the sadness of all those failures and produce water. Give yourself a drink and I’ll give you this bread.”
“Why would you help him?” Kiril asked.
“I have my reasons,” Brental replied. “Isn’t it enough that I’m offering?”
“Why would we trust you?” Moff asked. “The bread is probably poisoned.”
Brental didn’t say anything, but he pulled a piece of bread off of the loaf and ate it. After he swallowed it he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I’m waiting.”
Treace didn’t trust the man, but the idea of having a drink and getting something to eat was too much for him. That and he really wanted to show Brental that he could do something right. He wasn’t a failure at everything and he was going to prove it.
He closed his eyes and fell into The Calm. He was mildly surprised to find that he could find it so quickly given his physical and mental condition. Having never attempted to walk the Path of Tears before, he knew he needed to be careful. He knew enough about it to know that the magic was tied to sadness. He remembered how he nearly suffocated while trying to find The Calm in school. Although it seemed like many years ago, not even a year had passed. The thought of losing his father had saddened him and while it nearly cost him his life when he was trying to find The Calm, he knew full well it would power Path of Tears like no other memory he had. He thought of his father reading the story of Slither to him. He concentrated on how much it hurt him when he found out about his father’s death. He thought of how much he had cried and how much his mother had cried. Finally, he thought of Kiril. When their minds were linked, he clearly felt her pain and sadness for the loss of her father. He used that pain and sadness and added it to his own. He forced their combined energy from his heart and up his arms. He cupped his hands, or tried to. He couldn’t be certain because he had no feeling in his hands or arms. He tilted his head back, and opened his mouth. He released his magical energy, willing it to pour from his hands.
He released The Calm and opened his eyes. He inadvertently tried to swallow and choked on the water that was in his mouth. He wasn’t fully prepared for it and his throat was so restricted that he didn’t know how much he actually managed to consume. He coughed a few times but tried to keep his mouth closed to keep as much of the water in as he could. He swallowed again and this time he felt the soothing water rush down his throat. He knew it was dry, but he didn’t realize just how dry it really was until he finally was able to take a drink. It was a joyful feeling like no other.
“Are you okay?” Kiril asked worriedly. “Treace! Ar
e you okay?”
“Great,” he replied, though it didn’t sound as if it were true.
“Captain, does that post that the chain is attached to look broken to you?” Brental asked.
“I think it might be,” Disdane replied, pulling a key from a side pocket and inserting it into the cell door.
Treace highly doubted the iron post was broken, but if they were going to let his arms loose for a few minutes so they could inspect it, he was all for it. Not that he could feel them anymore, it was just the idea of it that sounded good. Besides, how else was he going to eat? He didn’t think Brental was going to feed him.
Disdane opened the cell door and stepped through. He had to stoop and turn sideways to get his large frame through the doorway. Once through he inspected the post. After a moment, the large man grasped a bar next to the post in one hand, and the chain leading to the post in the other. He began pulling on them and after a few moments of effort and a grunt that was more of a primal scream, either the post broke free or the chain did, because Treace was instantly dropped to the ground.
He came to rest on his side and his arms were in front of him. Whether it was water or his own urine, he wasn’t certain, but he was laying in something wet.
Brental tossed the sack of bread into the cell. “Eat, drink, and rest. You’ll need it for later.” He tossed in a waterskin that Treace didn’t notice before.
The bread and water were only a few feet from him, but he couldn’t get his arms to move. They wouldn’t heed his command.
Disdane exited the cell and closed the door.
While he heard Brental say something about later, he didn’t really process it. He just laid there and listened as they walked away.
“What just happened?” Moffred asked once the footfalls were gone.
“I have no idea,” Kiril replied.
Treace didn’t really either. He didn’t know what Brental’s reason was for helping him, but neither did he care. Once he got blood to return to his arms and he could use them again, he was going to take a long drink and finally eat something. But for now, he was going to lay on the cool, wet floor and wait. He was exhausted and the cool floor felt wonderful.
“Treace, you need to get that waterskin,” Kiril told him.
“I don’t think he can move his arms,” Moffred said.
Kiril responded, but Treace didn’t make it out. He was dehydrated and simply exhausted. Despite his thirst and hunger, he either fell asleep or passed out.
~~~
“You feeling better?” Moffred asked some time later.
“Much,” Treace admitted. “But I’ve got a long way to go to being normal.” He guessed he slept for a few hours before waking up. He was cautious to drink and eat slowly, knowing it was better for him to do so. He knew it was night, but not exactly what time. The guards hadn’t checked on them in some time and there was only a flicker of torchlight coming from the hallway.
“I’d never call you that,” Moffred mused.
“I don’t know how you two can even joke at a time like this,” Kiril scolded.
Treace could tell she was annoyed. But he, too, knew she cared more for him that she admitted. There was a genuine look of relief on her face when he finally had woken up and began to drink and eat. She might not necessarily be in love with him, but she cared about him. That much he knew. Her annoyance now was just out of frustration of their situation. At least that’s what he thought.
“I’m not spending my last hours crying about it,” Moffred said. “I’d prefer to go out on my own terms.”
He was sitting with his back against the bars closest to Moffred, so he had to turn to regard his friend.
“I’d hardly call this your own terms,” Kiril countered.
Moffred offered only a shrug of his shoulders as a reply.
Treace supposed it didn’t matter either. Moff was using humor to cope with the loss of his family. If he didn’t, Treace supposed he’d break down at any time.
He turned back around to face Kiril. He wanted to sleep on the uncomfortable bed that was in the cell, but he couldn’t reach it. The post had broken away from the bar, but it wasn’t small enough to fit through the ring above him in the center of the cell. The furthest he could reach was the bars on either side of his cell. He was on Moffred’s side because he managed to convince Moff to help him clean his soiled pants. It took half of Moffred’s blanket and some of the water from the waterskin, but Treace finally no longer felt like he was carrying five pounds of manure in his pants. At least Kiril had turned away while he washed.
Treace heard something then that drew him from his thoughts. It sounded like metal ringing off of metal. But just as soon as he heard it, it was gone. “Did either of you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Moffred asked.
Treace heard it again.
“I think I heard something,” Kiril said.
Treace heard more muffled sounds but then it went quiet again.
“What’s going on?” Moffred asked.
“I’m not sure,” Treace admitted. It sounded like fighting, but if it was, each of the fights were very short lived.
Treace could clearly hear footfalls then. There were two. One was heavy and the other was much lighter. Both were coming closer. Treace only knew of one man that would make that heavy of footsteps.
Disdane rounded the corner carrying a guard over his shoulder.
If the man was alive, Treace couldn’t tell.
In the hand that wasn’t balancing the man, Disdane held a short sword. The blade had blood running down its length and it dripped onto the floor.
Brental followed closely behind, twirling a key in one hand and holding a torch in the other. “It’s time,” he said.
Treace was too stunned to reply.
“For what?” Moffred asked.
“For your escape of course,” Brental explained. “Assuming you want out of here alive that is.”
“Why would you help us?” Treace asked after finding his voice.
“I have my reasons,” Brental replied. “But suffice to say that your death doesn’t benefit me. At least not yet.”
“And our living does?” Kiril asked.
“You, not as much,” Brental admitted. “But him, for certain,” he said, pointing at Treace.
“Why?” Treace asked.
“It’s not important,” Brental told him, unlocking the cell and stepping out of the way.
Disdane pulled the man from his shoulder and tossed him inside the cell.
The man must have weighed as much as Treace and Disdane tossed him through the door as if he were a sack of flour. He came to rest at his feet and it was instantly clear the man was dead. Blood leaked out of a wound in the man’s abdomen. “You killed him?” Treace asked.
“You did,” Brental corrected, smiling a knowing smile.
“Me?” Treace asked, bewildered.
“Yes you,” Brental answered. “All you have to do to earn your freedom is agree to keep one little lie. Do you think you can do that?”
One little lie? Lie about killing a man? Why would Treace want to do that or why would it even come up? “Why?”
“You’ll tell everyone that you escaped. Right?” Brental asked.
“Yes!” Moffred exclaimed. “We agree!”
“But do you?” Brental asked Treace. “If not, killing a guard is a serious crime. Disdane would have no choice but to kill you just to protect himself.”
Disdane stood menacingly in front of him. It was clear that if he didn’t agree that he’d be dead. “I’ll keep your lie.”
Disdane approached him and Treace instinctively backed away from the man. He had no weapons and his hands were still bound. What could he possibly do to fend the man off?
“If I wanted you dead, you would be.” Disdane stated, reaching for Treace’s shackles and unscrewing the pin.
This was all madness to him. Why would Disdane kill one of his own men and say that Treace did it? An even bigger questi
on was why help him escape, as it appeared that’s what they were doing. But, if all he had to do to save all of their lives was tell a lie, it was an easy choice. He relaxed and let the man work on unscrewing the pin.
“You killed him on your daring escape out of our jail,” Brental explained, unlocking Moffred’s cell door. “It’s not as formidable as it should be, but it was still a daring escape for one in your situation.”
“Why are you doing this?” Kiril asked.
Disdane finished unscrewing the pin and pulled it free from the shackles. He backed away before completely turning and exiting the cell door.
“I told you,” Brental said, moving to the front of Kiril’s cell. “The death of The Wolf doesn’t benefit me. If it did, we wouldn’t be here.”
Treace pulled himself to his feet with some effort, but was able to stand on his own. He waited for further indication from Brental on what was next. He certainly had no clue.
“But Shamir wants him dead,” Kiril pointed out.
“He does,” Brental admitted, pausing to look at Treace. “It’s just sad though. Your reputation will grow even more from this. And, yet again, you’ve done nothing to deserve it. Fitting I guess, if you think about it,” he said, turning the lock on Kiril’s door.
