From Across the Clouded Range

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  #

  Several hours later, Jaret was thrown back into his cell. He lay where he landed, gasping as the door and bolt were slammed into place. The iron manacles clamped around his wrists and ankles kept him from doing anything more than pressing his arms to his sides in a futile attempt to ease the raging in his chest.

  When the pain had subsided enough that he could open his tear-soaked eyes, he almost wept again. His cell had been stripped of its furnishings. The bed and mattress were gone. Along with them had gone his knife and any hope he had of securing his revenge.

  Propping himself against the cool wall at his back, Jaret brought his hands up to feel his bare scalp. He had received a bath and a shave from the sadistic guards. They had forcibly shaved every whisker of hair from his head and face, scrubbed him until he was raw, and dressed him in the rough woolen robe that hung from him. After the beating he’d received in the cell, he had barely been aware of what was happening and was just now realizing the significance of the event.

  Nabim was preparing him for trial. His next stop would be the Hall of Judgment where the Xi’ Valati would oversee his trial and eventual execution.

  Jaret could only shake his head at the abject failure his life had become, at the prospect of being remembered for all time as the traitorous monster he was. Worst of all was the thought of Xi Valati Maciam sitting in judgment of his crimes. The idea of the man who had been there so many times for him, who had advised him, comforted him, been more of a father than he had ever known listening to his crimes, passing judgment on him, seeing and acknowledging his betrayal was too much to bare. He would gladly admit to his crimes, drop the axe on his own neck, whip the horses that would quarter him if he could only avoid seeing the disappointment in the Xi Valati’s eyes.

  And still, there was no sign of Nabim, no word of what had happened in the world outside. That always left some hope, Jaret told himself. Perhaps the army was rallying to his defense. Perhaps the city was besieged. Or perhaps Nabim and his henchman were dead and a new Emperor was preparing to dispatch the other would-be usurper. All these were hopes that Jaret could hold to replace his desire for revenge, could hold until they too were stripped away.

  A scrape at the door brought his head up just as the stout wooden planks swung open to reveal the same mountainous guard that had beaten him in his ill-fated attempt at escape. The guard was encased in filthy leather, covered with scars, and completely bald. He filled the entire doorway, rising to the stones at the top and just as wide. He probably weighed twice as much as Jaret, and though he looked flabby, Jaret could testify that he was strong as an ox.

  “Gonna try anyting, dis time, ya rat?” The huge man flexed his massive arms as he stepped into the room. Jaret had no plans to challenge him and shook his head to show that he was harmless. “I did’n thin’ so!” The brute stepped across the cell and kicked him hard enough to lift him from the stones and send him crashing into the wall. Jaret almost blacked out from the pain and loss of air.

  “Emprer’s, comin’ t’ see ya,” the guard said as his fellow dragged Jaret by the chain that constrained his hands. The man pulled out a metal lock and secured the chains to a ring that hung from the wall. “He’s em’nince, do’n wan’ slime like you bein’ able t’ touch ‘im. Can’s say’s I blame ‘im.” The brute struck him across the face splitting his lip and loosening several teeth.

  Jaret spit blood. He tried to hit the man’s grubby shoes, but he was already walking away.

  The way he was stretched against the wall strained Jaret’s ribs so that he could barely see for squinting against the pain. His shoulder felt like they were being dislocated, and his hands were getting cold from lack of blood. Lost in misery, he did not even see the Emperor step into his cell.

  “I always knew that you smelled, Jaret,” Nabim’s high, nasal voice announced his arrival, “but this is terrible.” The little man had a scarf held to his nose as he entered. Jaret could smell the sickly sweet perfume from where he sat ten feet away.

  Jaret kept his eyes diverted as Nabim sauntered into the room, focusing instead on the Emperor’s voluminous gowns followed closely by the hem of a black robe.

  “Jaret,” Nabim spoke with mock disappointment, “have you forgotten your manners? Will you not even say hello when old friends stop to visit?”

  Nabim covered the few steps between them, grabbed Jaret’s face, and pulled it around to look him in the eye. “Look at me, you sack of . . . .”

  Jaret spit the blood from his broken teeth into the Emperor’s eye, cutting off his words. Nabim pulled back reflexively, letting Jaret’s head fall. He retreated to the succor of his henchman and wiped the blood from his eye into a red streak that marred the rouge on his cheek.

  Jaret tried to kick him with his chained feet, but they were capable of little more than flailing. The monstrous guard ended his rebellion a second later. The big man planted his foot in Jaret's stomach and cracked his head against the wall sending him into delirium. Another blow landed across his face leaving his eye swelling shut.

  “Stop that! I need him alive, you idiot.” Nabim scolded the guard like a child, and the huge man shrank back until he almost looked the part.

  “They told me you still had some fight left.” Nabim was visibly agitated but kept his tone conversational. “I have to say, I was secretly hoping that you were not broken. That will make it so much more enjoyable when you are, and trust me, you will be broken. One way or another, I will see to that.” The sniveling little man tried to sound ominous then broke into a twittering laugh.

  Jaret looked up at the Emperor. He was keeping his distance now – a large stain of red scarred the length of this cheek. He spent some time adjusting his robes as he sat on an ornate chair that three servants carried in and placed behind him.

  “So Warlord Rammeriz.” Nabim clapped his hand over his mouth in mock surprise. “I’m sorry. It must be an old habit. I can’t very well call the man who assassinated the Emperor by the title of his most senior defender, now can I?” He chuckled. “I guess I will have to call you Traitor Rammeriz, or Rammeriz the Assassin. Those seem far more fitting.”

  "I should have let Yuelle kill you in the throne room,” Nabim sneered. “He wanted to be rid of you and your sniveling cowardice then and there, but I am convinced that you can still be useful, that the traitor, the assassin can still help. It is very nice of you. First you remove my brother from the throne, kill his entire family – and trust me, they are all dead now – and pave my way to the throne. Then you take the blame for every one of the Empire’s problems, leaving me as the savior. You truly are a very useful fellow.”

  Jaret tried to adjust himself so that he could look defiantly into the Emperor’s eyes. The wall and his myriad injuries made it into a pathetic display that earned nothing more than a chuckle from Nabim.

  “But how can I be of service to my Emperor, you ask?” Nabim said as if they were discuss the plan over tea. “Well, I am sure you have guessed by now that you are to stand trial. You will be found guilty of treason, of course. You will take the blame for every problem the Empire faces. I may even find a way to blame you for the drought. By the end, even your friend the Xi Valati will call for your execution. But my infinite mercy will prevail. Despite the fact that you killed my poor brother, whom I so deeply loved, I will spare your life. I will spare you so that you can live out your days caged in the center of Sal Danar like the lower-class animal you are. Women and children will spit on you as they pass. Men will throw stones through the bars of your cage. They will hate you like no other, and while they are busy hating you, they will love me. You, Traitor Rammeriz, will kindly take the blame for all of the Empire’s failures and serve as a public display of what happens to those who betray the Order, to those who rise too far, who don’t know their place." Nabim let out a hearty laugh of triumph.

  Jaret could not seem to get his eye
s away from the stone floor of the cell even as the image of that floor began to blur. He fought to restrain his emotions, but it was no use. Nabim had just described a punishment far worse than death could ever be. Not only would he be slurred forever in the chronicles of history, not only would his pain continue for years, but it would be magnified by the horror of seeing the people hate him, of seeing the lies become truth. He would not be able to hide from the manacles of history in the darkness of death; he would have to live with their cold embrace. It was a punishment that no man should ever have to face.

  Seeing the tears run down Jaret’s cheeks sent Nabim into a frenzy. He clasped Jaret’s chin and yanked it up so their eyes locked. "Tears from you, Traitor Rammeriz? I thought you prided yourself on being too strong for emotion? Well, you can save the tears for your trial. Save them for those who might feel sympathy for a monster like you. You will receive none here!” Nabim was foaming at the mouth by the end and finished by slamming Jaret’s head back onto the wall of the cell.

  The blow stunned Jaret, and his head hung limp. Nabim paused and made contemplative sounds before he grabbed Jaret’s chin again. “A few tears will not be enough, to convince me that you are broken, if that is your thought? It will not save you from the torture I have planned, will not save you from my new guards." Nabim’s face twisted in dreadful glee at the mention of Jaret’s torture. “Yuelle brought the guards with him. They are quite marvelous creatures. I am sure that you will find them just as fascinating as I do. The only problem,” Nabim hissed through clenched teeth as he dug his fingers into Jaret’s ribs, “is that they will take care of this as well.”

  The probing fingers sent spikes of pain through Jaret. His eyes pressed shut, but he suppressed the wails that threatened to break through his locked jaw – he would not give this little man the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

  When Jaret thought he might faint from the pain, Nabim took his fingers from his ribs and stepped back toward his chair. “It is all for the best,” he said nonchalantly. “It can’t appear that you have been tortured when you stand trial. There can be no doubt about your guilt, no possible claims of tampering. It will have to be inscrutable.” Nabim paused in thought then turned to the black robe at his side. No part of the man wearing that robe showed. It might as well have been a garment held up by wires for all the evidence that a person actually occupied it. “Are you sure your creatures can do what is needed?”

  The little man cleared his throat somewhere in the voluminous hood and raised his head so that the lamp light reflecting off the wall showed in his dark eyes. “Though I regret exposing them to this, the Curava Deilei Tuhar’za are ideally suited for this task, my lord. The general will appear to be in perfect health when his trial begins. That much I can guarantee.” Yuelle’s words were soft and sweet, high-pitched and effeminate just as Jaret remembered from the throne room. And the words were spoken with the same strange language that Jaret did not know but could understand. Over the past several days, he had convinced himself that it had been an illusion of his shattered mind. To hear it again was almost more than he could handle. What is he? Where did Nabim find him? And what is he planning?

  Jaret expected Nabim to laugh at the prospect of his torture, but he just looked down at his silk-shrouded arm and shuttered. “I can only imagine,” he whispered and turned somewhat pale. Finally, he pulled himself out of his shock and cast a final wicked glance at Jaret. “Very well, Yuelle. I give him to your creatures. They have ten days to break him. Come. We have much to do and have already wasted too much time on this worthless traitor.” With that, the Emperor rose from his chair and marched from the room with his servants scrambling to retrieve the heavy chair and follow.

  Yuelle stood for a moment longer, watching Jaret silently. He tilted his head one way then the other, but Jaret could see no expression through the shadows of the hood and could not imagine what the little man was thinking. Finally, he waved off whatever he was considering and turned. As he walked from the room, he mumbled to himself.

  When he was out of the door, the guards followed but did not bother to close or lock the door. They simply left it standing open, like a taunting reminder of his captivity. Chained to the wall, there was not a thing Jaret could do but stare longingly at the opening.

  That taunting ended a few minutes later as a sauntering form that could only be one of the Emperor’s new “guards” appeared in the doorway. Jaret’s head snapped up at the sight of the interloper, but he could not believe the vision before him. He shook his head, thinking that he had drifted into nightmare or become delusional, but the delusion did not disappear or fade. It simply leaned against the frame of the door, enjoying the way its victim lolled.

  When Nabim had talked about creatures, Jaret had thought he meant men so cruel-hearted as to no longer deserve the moniker of humanity, but the thing standing in his door was no man. It was like nothing that Jaret had ever seen. He had seen men disfigured by war, disease, and defects of birth, but even with those possibilities, he could not call this thing human. It was about the size of a man. It had arms and legs like a man. A head came up from its shoulders. It even wore a man's clothes, but covering its body where the clothes did not reach and across its exposed chest was a thick layer of short, bristling, shiny-black fur denser than the hair of any man could be. The fur covered the creature from head to foot so that no patch of skin was exposed, but it was the thing’s face not its fur that kept it from being human.

  Its face was not broken by a nose or ears. The entire surface was left to beady eyes and a gaping maw. The solid black eyes were no larger than small buttons and almost indistinguishable from the fur except that they sparkled in the light of the lamp it carried. Defining the thing’s only other feature, thin lips split into a maniacal grin that stretched well past where its ears should be and revealed rows of small needles that glistened in the shimmering light.

  When Jaret had spent several long minutes studying the thing in disbelief, it ambled toward him with a grace that reminded him of a dancer then squatted in front of him, studying him with its expressionless eyes. The sight of himself in those eyes sent a shiver through Jaret that he could not restrain. Seeing it, the creature’s smile widened to a toothy grin that wrapped around its head. "I am glad to see that you are frightened, human.” It used the same strange language as Nabim’s henchman, but it spoke with a hissing lisp, and its voice was as oily as its fur. “I so enjoy fear and have not seen nearly enough of it these long ages.” The thing reached out one of its hands and caressed Jaret’s cheek. The coarse fur had a rank smell that made him pull away in revulsion.

  It laughed in a spidery sort of way, but its voice was surprisingly airy, smooth, and seductive like that of a lover whispering passionately to the object of his affection. "I already know your name, Jaret Rammeriz. You have been much the subject of discussion with the Emperor, but I do not think that you know me. I am called Thagas'kiula of the Curava Deilei Tuhar’za. I think that we will get to know one another well, but I have always thought that introductions are important. That way you will know whom to beg for mercy." The creature’s voice slipped from sweetness to a grating hiss slurred by the enormity of the crevice that uttered the sounds.

  The radical change startled Jaret, and the creature responded with an evil grin that showed its teeth. "You are a strong one. I am glad that they have not broken you. It is so much more fun for me that way."

  The thing’s face drew closer to Jaret, and it breathed heavily on him. Its breath smelled like honeyed milk that had gone sour, a combination of foul pestilence and sickly sweetness. Jaret could not help but to turn away from the black eyes and horrifying rows of teeth until his cheek was pressed against the cold wall.

  Thagas'kiula threw backs his head and let out a laugh that echoed off the walls like the maniacal cackle of the devil himself. When the ghastly laughter finally ended, it turne
d on Jaret with such intensity that he wished the laughter would continue. "Let your treatments begin."

  The creature’s mouth opened to an impossible angle and flashed down. Jaret could do nothing to defend himself and felt the teeth sink into the flesh of his bicep. The gnashing pain of the bite was followed by the most intense pain that Jaret had ever experienced, far more than any wound of that type should have been capable of producing. The pain spread across his entire body, making his other injuries a memory. It felt like his blood was on fire, and for a long time he convulsed, unaware of how the shaking made the manacles bite into his wrists and pulled his shoulders out of socket.

  Just as the unspeakable pain was beginning to subside, he felt the teeth digging into his thigh, and the pain returned, worse than before.

  Again and again, Thagas'kiula bit him with the same unbearable result. Finally, the pain stopped long enough for Jaret’s eyes to focus and his mind to clear. The creature’s face formed in front of his. The thing smiled in pure ecstasy, showed its red teeth and dripping chin. It leered at him with an expression of fanatical desire as if it received unimaginable pleasure from his pain. It stared at him that way for a long moment – a lover caught in the moment of rapture – then returned to its loathsome work, leaving that image as the last Jaret would remember through the unimaginable suffering that followed.

  Chapter 30