by Cole Pain
Davis rode out of the woods with some wild chickens tied to his saddle. Lorlier smiled. At least Davis still acted normal. At twenty, Davis already matched Lorlier’s size and had a mind as sharp as a double-edged sword. His dimpled chin and boyish good looks had already won every female heart in Fest. Lorlier had caught his son stealing kisses from almost every attractive maid in the keep. But how could he scold the boy when he had done the same at Davis’s age? Davis glanced his way, smiled and saluted. Lorlier laughed and saluted back.
An approaching horse caused Lorlier to turn. His captain, Gregory, rubbed his long dark beard and nodded in Davis’ direction. “Davis seems unaffected by the recent events, does he not?”
Lorlier chuckled. “Lucky for him.”
Gregory raised a thick eyebrow. “Is the great Lorlier a little shaken?”
Lorlier shook his head, smile withering. “I just don’t know what to make of it, Gregory. I want to push magic away, hoping it will leave, but I can’t do that, especially with Alise and a quarter of my men under its power.”
“I know, my lord. What are your thoughts?”
Lorlier sighed. He neither understood nor liked his thoughts. He didn’t like being indecisive and that was precisely how he felt. Lorlier spurred his horse into a canter and motioned for Gregory to follow. When they were a fair distance from the men, Lorlier stopped and looked over at his captain.
“Gregory, you saw what happened. Ren attacked Valor and all the guard went after him. Although I have a bad feeling about Ista, how could all the guard be wrong?”
Gregory cleared his throat. “Excuse me, my lord, but I didn’t see that. I saw chaos: men running to protect their prince, men running to protect their king, and men from other nations acting instinctively to save the king. I also saw many hesitate, due to the fact they believed in Ren but were loyal to the king, or because they believed in the king and feared Ren.”
“That doesn’t help me, Gregory.”
A small smile spread to Gregory’s thin lips. “No, my lord.”
They rode in silence. After a time Lorlier nodded, thinking of his plans for Korin. “I believe I’ll be neutral for now.”
Gregory’s dark eyes flashed with mild amusement. “Neutral? I don’t know if you have it in you.”
Lorlier didn’t respond. How could he tell Gregory his mind told him Ren was a power-hungry young man? After all, the prince had killed his father, used the calling power to escape justice and fled, but in his heart Lorlier felt something wasn’t quite right with that scenario. The man he had seen fighting the dragon was one of two things: being used as a scapegoat or putting on an incredibly good show.
Lorlier didn’t like being neutral, but what else could he be? Until he had more of an inclination that was all he could be.
- - -
Manda watched Alezza boil the needles. Alezza didn’t know what she was doing, and she didn’t care. What did it matter if Chris died? He was presumed dead anyway. Alezza wouldn’t be blamed for his death, and if he lived Alezza would control him. Chris was just a convenient experiment.
When Alezza had tried to insert the needles the previous day Chris had lost consciousness. Thankfully, Alezza had decided to wait until he had regained some strength. Although Manda was relieved, the waiting was just as bad, if not worse, than the threat.
Chris sat ten paces away, and although he still looked feverish he sat up straight and tall. The herb had finally left his body, but he was weak from fighting it. When he turned to look at her his face was devoid of emotion.
“Be strong,” he mouthed.
She nodded and looked away, afraid he would detect her fear. Alezza would use magic to push the needles in place. She had been practicing on other objects during the day. Before Vos had died he must have shown Alezza how to touch the power for she was more adept than she should have been after a few days of tinkering.
Manda felt Evann’s eyes on her and turned. He sat beside her, tied as she was: hands behind his back, feet bound beneath him, and a rope linking feet and hands together. His eyes conveyed his sorrow. She smiled her thanks and glanced at his arm, asking her own forgiveness. He shrugged as if there was nothing to forgive, but she could sense his pain. Nothing had been done for the wound. Flies circled his exposed flesh like vultures.
Four of Alezza’s men held Chris still as Alezza reached into the bowl with a pair of tongs and brought out the first needle. Manda closed her eyes, willing the sight away. Chris told her to be strong, but she couldn’t be strong. He was her brother. She couldn’t be strong for this.
When Chris’ first scream ripped through the air she was unprepared. It sounded more like a wild animal than her brother. It was a high-pitched wail of anguish that hovered in the air like a fog. A thin stream of blood seeped down Chris’ cheek, marring his ashen face. His eyes were crazed and he heaved breaths as if he had just run from a pack of wolves. Manda shouted for Alezza to stop, but Alezza ignored her. Alezza reached into the bowl for another needle.
If Chris’ first screams were a wild animal’s, his second screams were from the Abyss. How a scream could be more terrible Manda didn’t know. By the time the third needle was inserted his screams had stopped. The silence was even more terrifying. Manda cried his name to fill the void, begging him to hold on. Finally, the guards released him. He dropped to the ground, eyes wide with unspeakable horror. Alezza stood above him and watched his spasms until he stilled.
Manda swore to the Fates she would kill Alezza with slow precision. Her own words sent tremors of repugnance through her, but she couldn’t stop. She knew she spoke the truth. She would make it her mission in life to destroy Alezza. Manda lunged for the viper, trying desperately to break free. The Maker knew she wasn’t that strong, but Manda knew she would be able to slay the woman with her bare hands if given the chance. Alezza laughed and walked away.
Manda forced her remaining words to die on her lips. Words wouldn’t help her brother. Although Chris made no sound and was deathly pale, his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Manda contented herself with counting his breaths and listening to the silence. Slowly, calmness settled over her. She felt neither rage nor anger. Her only thought was escape.
Chris would be unable to move. She and Evann would have to leave him, seek help, and come back with force. She didn’t like the idea of leaving her brother but if she stayed none of them had a chance.
Something beside Chris twinkled in the light of the fading sun. She shifted for a better view. It was a razor. One of the guards must have dropped it after they had shaved the top of Chris’ head. Manda’s mind spun. If she could reach it she could use it to cut her ropes. Soon night would fall and the men would sleep. Manda scanned the camp. Only one man hadn’t unpacked his bedroll. It appeared Alezza would only post one guard.
As night fell the lone guard started to make his rounds. Manda counted how long it took him to circumnavigate the camp – ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty-two counts. That had to be enough time. She watched him pass again and shifted positions, getting as close as she dared to Chris, waiting for full night to fall.
The clouds were thick and blocked most of the moons’ light. Occasionally Chris convulsed and moaned, only deepening her conviction. When full night fell she waited for the guard to pass. After five counts she began to roll, praying no one would hear the soft patting of earth. Evann whispered warnings but she didn’t acknowledge them. This may be their only chance. The razor had gone unnoticed, but by morning it would be found.
When she reached Chris, Manda spun her body in an arc and searched behind her for the thin blade. After a few short breaths she clasped it. She almost gagged as Chris’ hair and blood stuck to her fingers, but she blocked out the horrific images and quickly rolled back. When she saw Evann to her left she stopped, breathless. Heartbeats later the guard passed her without a second glance. She struggled to a sitting position and began slicing her ropes.
Her hands were numb, the ropes tight, so each thrust was sluggis
h and weak. Whenever the guard began to pass Evann’s fervent whispers warned her and she paused in her work. Soon her wrists and fingers were wet with sweat and blood. The razor slipped out of her hands more than she could count, but after a time one of the ropes loosened and she could tighten her grip on the blade. Soon her hands were free.
She waited until the guard walked past before she swiveled her feet and started working again, heedless of the razor slicing the tender part of her ankles. When the ropes broke she pivoted to her former stance and waited for the guard to pass, then she ran to Evann.
Just as she was about to slice his ropes, his eyes stopped her.
“Manda, leave me the razor and go. One alive now is better than two dead later.”
Although Manda fought Evann’s words, she knew he was right. She dropped the razor in his hand and kissed his cheek.
Then she was running through the woods as branches slapped her face and slashed her bare arms. She stumbled a few times over the hem of her dress but never missed a stride, pushing hard, tasting freedom.
Her frantic breaths created voices in her head. She thought she heard someone whisper her name. She ignored the whisper, telling herself it was only her imagination. It came again, this time with more urgency. She ran faster, suddenly fearful her escape had already been discovered. Then she saw a shadow running beside her. Panic overtook her caution and she opened her mouth to scream just as the shadow sprung. It tackled her, knocking the wind from her lungs. Her assailant pinned her to the ground and covered her mouth.
“My lady, I’m from Ren’s guard!”
When she heard Ren’s name her body went slack. Ren knew. Ren would help them. Tears stung her eyes as the man on top of her continued. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to help.”
“Ren?”
“I know nothing of what happened, my lady. Quinton sent us … me to find you.” The man offered a small smile. His face was dirty but his eyes were kind. They pleaded for her forgiveness, for being unable to come sooner. “First Lieutenant Carter Meal at your service. Come, I have a horse.”
Without further question he hauled her to her feet just as cries of alarm erupted from the camp. Manda glanced behind her, praying Evann had managed to escape. Blessed Chance let him be safe!
Manda paused as a shrill scream reverberated through the trees. “Hurry, Manda,” Carter whispered, a worried glint to his eyes.
Another scream resounded through the night. Manda fell to her knees, covering her ears. Evann! Once again they were punishing him for her actions. The black horse stood silently in the brush only paces from her.
The third scream was far worse than the first.
Manda closed her eyes. She would never forgive herself if she didn’t go back. Evann was expendable. Alezza would kill him. Carter shook his head, compassion in his eyes.
“He’s already dead, Manda. There’s nothing you can do but get to safety and try to save your brother from further torment.”
Evann’s next scream chilled her to the bone. She broke from Carter’s hold. She couldn’t leave with a death on her hands. Evann’s kind eyes kept appearing in her mind. They were eyes she wanted to see again.
When she broke though the forest she saw Evann kneeling before Alezza and Bort. Evann’s left hand was severed. Bort’s sword dripped blood. Evann was pale, very pale, but when he saw her, the color returned to his face. He screamed for her to leave him and run. Alezza brought a knife to his heart.
“No!” Manda sprinted forward, watching in horror as Alezza plunged the knife into Evann’s chest. Manda fell to her knees just in time to break Evann’s fall.
“Evann, blessed fates!”
“Manda,” he whispered as a small smile touched his lips. “You’re so beautiful.” The light left his eyes as his arms went slack.
Someone grabbed her from behind. She ripped free and lunged for Alezza. Bort’s arm rammed her neck. She fell back, gasping for air. Alezza put the bloody dagger to her face. With calm precision she trailed the knife’s tip down Manda’s cheekbone, not cutting her flesh but leaving a thin line of Evann’s blood. She wiped the remaining blood on Manda’s sleeve, placing blame.
“When will you learn, Manda? Every time you do something I find disagreeable I’ll hurt both you and your friends.” Alezza paused and glanced down at Evann’s lifeless body. “Well, now it will just be your brother. He’s weak, Manda. Don’t anger me again.”
- - -
The port city bustled with commerce. Fraul wasted no time buying supplies, the man at the inn being foremost in his mind. People looked at him curiously. His navy uniform, beaded with glittering decorations, branded him as someone of profound importance. On another day his status would have served its purpose with the women, but a frolic was the last thing Fraul wanted, although his loins told him differently. Albeit he still flashed the handsome women his best smile, pleased to observe most blushed like teenage girls. He had always had a way with women. Most in the Lands were imbeciles, treating women as they would a man or, at the opposite extreme, a fragile flower. Women were neither. Women were complex, beautiful creatures who had to be treated as if they were more precious than gold. In Fraul’s mind, if he had one in his arms, that wasn’t too far from the truth.
After paying the tailor, a short, squat man with ruddy lips and a pleasant smile, Fraul hurried back to the inn where he had taken a room. The barmaid scurried out just as he walked in. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, and as if he alone had caused her reason to flee, she brushed past him and trotted down the main street, heedless of anything else around her. Fraul shifted the weight of his packages and watched her departure before turning to proceed up the stairs.
He was unsure if the girl would tell others about her earlier encounter or deny the event ever took place. In either case he wanted to leave the port town as quickly as possible. He was sure the man upstairs would feel the same.
When Fraul opened the door to his room he found things exactly as he had left them. The Avenger still sat on the bed, staring out a side window where the only thing visible was another inn’s wall. He was still naked, and he still clutched the betrayal sword. He was in the Avenger daze and would probably remain so for a while longer.
After stacking the supplies, Fraul stretched and sat in an old wooden chair. The room was simple but comfortable enough. The chair, like the ones downstairs, had been mended with burlap and wire. Other furnishings appeared in a similar shoddy condition, but the room had a pleasant feel to it. Whoever tended it took pains to keep it as comfortable as possible. The linens on the bed were crisp, despite their singed color, and a bowl of fruit sat on a small table in welcome. A broken mirror hung above the wash basin, but instead of making the small room look inferior, it gave it character. The bed looked inviting but Fraul remained content to sit and watch the man who stared at nothing.
Fraul thought back to his arrival in Zier. The simple trip had turned into an adventure of a lifetime. First came Ren’s conviction, then magic’s rebirth, and now he sat in the same room with a magical mystery still revered as being the most terrifying tale of all time. He wondered what the next day would hold, but after a few heartbeats Fraul decided nothing could shock him more than the man sitting before him.
Fraul still couldn’t believe it. When the Aaron the Avenger was born it meant someone had been brutally betrayed by a loved one. The Avenger’s duty was to find the betrayer and slay him, thus avenging the betrayed.
The Avenger was always born naked, clutching his betrayal sword, far from the object of his interest. The distance was one of the mysteries surrounding Aaron. The pain of the betrayed was said to awaken Aaron’s magic. Why then did his magic not take him directly to the betrayed?
Fraul had read a great deal about the myths of the Avenger. The man had always fascinated him, but now, even with Aaron sitting before him, Fraul was unsure he would be able to unlock Aaron’s mystery. He didn’t recall one story where Aaron communicated with anyone other than the betrayed.
Well, that may have been understandable. Once the Avenger discovered the betrayer the electrifying current surrounding him intensified, and if anyone tried to stop him death was instantaneous. Even now Fraul could see the effervescent light circling Aaron, spinning over his skin and making him glow a golden bronze.
Fraul leaned forward, tapping his foot with impatience. When the Avenger was born he had to surmise who he was and what his purpose was before he awoke from the Avenger daze. Most of the time this introspection didn’t take longer than a sun’s click, but this time it would take Aaron far longer to wake. After all, Aaron hadn’t been born since magic’s destruction almost four hundred years before.
Although the Avenger’s mission sent terror into the bravest of hearts, Fraul had never thought of Aaron as someone who needed to be feared. The story of the Avenger always brought Fraul more sadness than terror. The legend read the Avenger was free to live a normal life after fulfilling his duty. In other words, when Aaron’s last mission was over he could live a full life, never to be reborn as the Avenger.
But no one knew when or if Aaron’s duty would ever be complete. Over the ages Aaron continued to appear with no sign the legend was factual. Each time, after Aaron killed the betrayer Aaron only lived a brief time before he killed himself. No one knew why Aaron did so. Some thought Aaron had to kill himself in order to be born the next time someone was bitterly betrayed. Others thought Aaron took his own life because after the avenging he had no purpose, and thus no will to live. Still others believed the Avenger loved the people of the world too much to continue witnessing the pain they caused each other.
