"Ella, what did you find?" Killian whispered.
"Your father. His name was Lord Aidan. He had red hair and blue eyes, just like you. By crossing with him, I was able to come here to get you."
"He's alive? But you speak about him as if he's dead. Why did you say it like that?"
"He is dead. I'm sorry Killian. He died more than twenty years ago." Ella held her breath.
"Than how did you…?" Killian suddenly pulled away, so that he was no longer holding her hand. "You didn't. Not that."
"I'm sorry. It was the only way."
Killian looked over at the stone archway. He started to stride towards the archway, walking on the paved road with brisk footsteps so that Ella was forced to scurry to keep up.
A figure appeared out of the mist, standing next to the archway with his back slightly hunched.
The resemblance between Lord Aidan and his son was unmistakeable, yet his pallid flesh and white-eyed stare beside Killian's youthful vigour was disturbing.
Killian stopped and stared, and Ella saw raw emotion cross his face.
"Has the portal opened?" Ella asked.
"It has not," said the revenant.
"Then we'll have to wait."
Lord Aidan spoke again, and Ella noticed his speech seemed laboured. "I do not have long. It grows difficult to stay in this world. A feeling of rage overcomes me. I do not understand it."
Ella saw how much fainter the runes on the revenant's skin had become, and if anything the redness in his eyes was stronger.
"Ella," Killian said, and there were tears streaming down his cheeks. "I need to speak with him."
Ella bowed her head. "Of course. I'll wait over there."
As she turned and left, she heard Killian as he walked towards his father and spoke. "My name is Killian. I… I am your son…"
39
GUIDING his revenants with soft words, Renrik the necromancer had Miro bound hand and foot and then carried to one of the tents where Renrik and his fellows created more warriors for the Lord of the Night.
Miro was laid on an iron table so that he was on his back, staring up at the ceiling. A revenant cut through the bindings on Miro's wrists, but before he could surge forward two more warriors pinned his arms above his head. His wrists were then bound, one to each corner of the table.
Miro's legs were then given a similar treatment, until he was splayed on the table, his chest heaving and body tensed as he wondered what lay in store.
They left him alone for hours.
Whatever they were going to do to him, no matter how loud they made him scream, the sounds would be lost in the other terrible noises shattering the night.
The rain had stopped, and Miro wished it would come back, for now against the ensuing silence he could hear the moans of anguish and cries of terror. A woman called out a man's name, again and again, her torment evident in every shrieking syllable. A wailing man couldn't be understood at all, his pain so great all he could do was scream. Sobbing children and tortured howls came all directions, so that Miro wondered at the inhumanity of it all.
The waiting hours filled Miro with suffering enough for a lifetime, for with every cry he was reminded of Sentar Scythran's promise regarding Amber.
There was a regular rhythm to some of the horrific sounds of the night. A scream would be cut off by a wet crunching sound. A chorus of fear would follow, and the cycle would repeat.
Feeling sickness and fear mingle in equal quantities, Miro realised what it was he was hearing.
They had put the prisoners into a queue. One would be killed, screaming as they saw the death blow coming, and the other prisoners' voices would rise in cries of horror as they saw the fate that awaited them and their loved ones. The queue marched forward, and the next man, woman, or child would die.
"Lord of the Sky, help us," Miro whispered.
Sentar had promised to make Amber's death more painful than that of the other prisoners. What would he do to her?
Even imagining her beautiful skin marred in the smallest degree filled Miro with hate and rage. He didn't care that Sentar had said Amber would be the one to kill him, as much as he wanted to spare himself the sight of his wife brought back in revenant form. He cared that when she died she would be in pain, and her last thoughts would be a desperate longing to go home.
Miro hated himself then. Amber hadn't chosen to join him on this foolish quest, and knowing she was distraught beyond belief, he hadn't known how to treat her. He should have taken her back to Castlemere, regardless of the delay.
Someone entered the tent. The pain would begin now.
Miro felt a presence move slowly towards him, and then a face came down to stare into his eyes. He looked into the remorseless stare of the Lord of the Night.
"Your woman is still alive, for now," were Sentar's first words.
"Don't hurt her," Miro said, swallowing his pride.
"Can you hear the slaughter line?" Sentar asked. "Can you hear the beautiful music of my revenge on the human race? If you answer my questions truthfully, and I consider that you are forthcoming with your responses, your woman may join that line. Trust me. It is better than the other fate I can give her. When humans displease me I go to… extra lengths… to ensure their last hours are as pain-filled as possible."
"Despot tactics," Miro gasped. "You're no god."
"Ah, you'll be an interesting one to work with," said Sentar. "I can tell you'll do anything to spare your woman, but there's a stiff backbone in there. Which will it be? Will you choose to divulge, or will you let me go to work on your pain centres, and make you listen as I flay your woman?"
Miro gulped. His breath came in heaves.
"Yes, you heard me. I'm quite an artist. When I flay a human, I do so cleanly, so that I eventually remove the skin in one piece. I can flay your woman just outside, so you will only be able to hear the screams and imagine what I am doing to her. You'll hear her last gasp as she dies, and then do you know what I'll do? I'll bring her back with no skin, and that's when I'll lead her in here and show her to you. She'll be my only skinless revenant."
"What do you want to know?"
Sentar's face drew back, so that Miro could only stare at the ceiling and wonder where his tormenter was. "Where are you from?"
"Across the sea, in the east."
Miro's heightened senses told him there was a sudden swift movement in the area of his chest. He tensed his stomach muscles, but nothing could have prepared him for the blow that struck the area under his ribs.
The breath left him with a whoosh and for a moment Miro couldn't think, had no comprehension of where he was, could only focus on the pain, his mind begging without hope for it to end.
Some time later awareness returned to him and he realised he was coughing and wheezing. Sentar's strength wasn't natural, and the sadistic Lord of the Night evidently took pleasure in the pain he dealt out to the race he despised.
"I told you I want you to be forthcoming in your responses. Now, let me try again. Where are you from?"
"I'm from Altura, the land of enchanters."
"These ridiculous tribes you humans have separated yourselves into," Sentar muttered. "I know your land. There is one from Altura, a leader, who I tried to kill along with some of the other leaders. Dogs without a pack leader are just so many curs, you see. What was his name? Milo? No, that wasn't it. Miro. Yes, Miro. I'm sure you know his name."
Miro felt his pulse race. He knew he couldn't hold out for long, not with Sentar's ability to harm Amber. He thought about the things he knew. About the machines being rebuilt at Mornhaven, and the numbers of fighting men each house possessed. He knew Sarostar's weaknesses, and which was the most poorly defended port, Castlemere or Schalberg.
Miro realised Sentar Scythran was going to make him choose between the defence of his homeland and the woman he loved. If he told Sentar the things he knew, he would be placing countless soldiers and civilians in harm's way, and dooming the people of Merralya to enslavemen
t and death. If he didn't, he had no doubt this monster would do to Amber every last thing he had said and more.
"Tell me, Alturan. What are you doing here?" Sentar asked.
"There was an explosion at the Lord Marshal's wedding in Altura's capital, Sarostar," Miro said, treading close to the truth. "I was there as a guest, and some kind of poison infected my son. Looking for a cure, I tracked the origin of the poison to the Alchemists' Guild in Wengwai."
Sentar's face again appeared in Miro's vision. "Better. Where is your ship?"
"The Emir's men captured our ship in the waters near Emirald, the Veldrin capital."
"The Veldrins have many ships, don't they? I plan to take my great army south, where the Emir's ships will enable me to take my minions across the ocean — to your land, young Alturan, and beyond. Tell me, where did you come by the enhanced sword?"
"I made it in the hours before I attacked. I stole the essence from one of the vats. My sister is an enchantress."
"Sloppy work. You're fortunate you didn't kill yourself, although in your case perhaps I should say unfortunate, for your current position isn't enviable. I saw the way you moved, however. Are you what they call a bladesinger?"
Miro hesitated. "No."
Miro sensed movement and tensed, his body turning rigid, fear coursing through his blood as he felt his shirt ripped open. Suddenly something burning, like coals from a fire, was pressed against the skin of his chest. He screamed and convulsed, smelling blistering skin and hearing sizzling. The thing pressed to the bare skin of his abdomen was then removed, but the pain continued, working through his body in waves.
"That was just my hand," Sentar said. "Not much artistry there. It's time to fetch your woman. I'll start by removing the skin of her face. You'll be surprised, but that's not the most painful place. Soon you will be begging me for her death."
"Yes!" Miro cried. "I'm a bladesinger!"
Sentar Scythran laughed, a sound of superiority and triumph. It was all the more chilling against the backdrop of screams and anguished cries.
"You are Miro, aren't you?" He laughed again. "Miro Torresante: one of the few men holding the Empire together. Your name is on every man and woman's lips. If I had killed you with my device, ah, what a triumph! But now you've come to me of your own accord, and all for the life of your son. You could have sent another but you've come yourself, and now you're in my power."
"You'll never win," Miro said. "We're stronger than you, and we always will be."
"Humans? Strong? You're always bickering, and warring amongst yourselves. You need rulers like us, to keep you from tearing each other's throats out, to keep you in line. This time, though. This time I don't want to rule you, and nor will my brothers. This time, Lord Marshal Miro, we will scour you from the world, until you are not even a memory."
"We're better than you," Miro whispered. "We always will be."
Sentar Scythran moved to depart. "I'm going now, but I will be back shortly. I'm going to get your woman and tie her to a pole outside this tent, just as I promised. I won't even ask you a question before I start, I'll simply set to work. Get some rest, Miro of Altura. Open your ears. Prepare to hear her cries."
"No!" Miro shouted. The muscles in his arms bulged as he strained against his bonds, and his whole body quivered with effort. The ties held strong, and he slumped back with exhaustion.
He tried again as he heard Sentar Scythran leave the tent.
And again.
Some time later, the Lord of the Night returned.
40
SENTAR Scythran stormed into the tent, staring down at Miro with his ice-like eyes blazing. Something had happened to shatter his previous composure.
"Start talking," he said. "The people of this continent have no lore, which is why I came here to raise my revenant army. I don't understand your bladesingers and golems, avengers and nightshades. You've seen my army. Do we have anything to fear from the lore of the houses?"
Miro opened his mouth, the words initially coming haltingly, and then faster as he spoke. "Yes. Your army has everything to fear. A bladesinger of Altura is worth a thousand men in combat. A golem of Halaran is more powerful, more indestructible than any revenant. Tingaran avengers fight like demons, and if you think of the strength of trees than you can imagine what it is like to fight a nightshade of Vezna. You have everything to fear, Sentar Scythran." Miro finally allowed himself to grin. "She's not here, is she?"
This time Sentar's rage was unrestrained. With his back against the iron table, there was no space for Miro to duck his head. The iron fist smashed into his cheek, and a second blow under his other eye rocked his vision.
Even as he wondered how Amber had managed to escape, Miro felt a sensation of intense pleasure overwhelm the terrible pain he was in. He knew he could hold out now, no matter if Sentar flayed him alive, or burned his eyes with pokers. The secrets of the Empire were safe.
A third blow struck Miro, crushing his nose against his skull. The pain drove like nails into his head as he heard the bones crunch together.
Sentar struck Miro again and again, but Miro didn't feel a thing as his vision narrowed to a tunnel, and unconsciousness enclosed him in its embrace.
~
MIRO hovered in and out of consciousness for days. Sentar's fit of rage was a mixed blessing, for his wounds saved him from torture for a time, yet his enemy's wild fury took Miro close to death.
At some point he was loaded aboard a cart and for some time he travelled with the army as it headed south towards Veldria and the great harbour city of Emirald.
Miro knew the Lord of the Night's plan now. Gathering numbers as he went, Sentar Scythran would reach Emirald with an indomitable army. After sacking the Emir's beautiful city, he would take possession of the Emir's ships. Miro had seen for himself how many ships were in the massive harbour. Revenants didn't need food or water. Sentar would cram them on every vessel and set sail for the Empire. The closest nation was Altura.
Miro moaned when he woke, unable to prevent the agony bringing sound from his throat. He sometimes stayed awake long enough to call out questions, which sometimes were answered, but most times were not.
Someone tended to him on the journey south, although he wasn't sure if the healer did so out of tenderness. More than likely the healer had orders to rebuild Miro's strength to the point where he could be tortured further.
The healer did his work well, and Miro began to feel consciousness return for more than a few moments at a time. He tried to fake a comatose state, but with dread he heard someone send word to Sentar Scythran.
An indeterminate time later he felt his body being moved. Another indistinct amount of time passed, and then Miro opened his eyes.
He realised he was once again splayed on a cold iron table, staring at the ceiling of a tent.
This time Miro was naked.
There was a rustle, and the sound of heavy breathing, as someone entered.
Miro tried to lift his head but still couldn't see who it was. He felt his heart-rate increase and sweat broke out on his brow. The pain in his broken nose throbbed as if in expectation of further pain.
Miro wished he could simply die.
He heard further movement, and closed his eyes as he waited for the pain to begin. Would Sentar question him first, or would he simply start to slice and burn?
Miro tensed, unable to prevent the involuntary response of his body. With his eyes closed his hearing was amplified, and he heard a snicker and a snap. With surprise he felt a loosening of the tension on his right wrist. Another snap a heartbeat later and Miro's other wrist was freed.
He opened his eyes, flexing each hand as he did. A man in a black robe moved to the bindings around his ankles and swiftly cut each in turn.
Miro recognised the black robe of an alchemist, although this time the triangle was bound by a double circle. When the alchemist turned Miro saw a pair of shaggy eyebrows and kind eyes.
"Get up," the alchemist's voice was thin but c
urt. "I know you are weak, but we do not have much time. You need to be strong now."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Tungawa. I freed your wife, and now I am freeing you."
"Why are you helping us?"
"Those words are better saved for a more appropriate time. Here." Tungawa threw Miro a bundle of black clothing.
Miro slid off the iron table and wobbled as he tried to hold himself on two feet. For a moment he thought he would faint. Pain throbbed in his head, blood rushing to the wounds on his face and sending waves of agony to his battered flesh. With a supreme effort of will he fought the pain, battling it like an adversary, clenching his jaw and holding himself still.
He realised he held a black alchemist's robe akin to the one Tungawa wore. He pulled the robe on over his head and raised the cowl to cover his face.
"Quickly," Tungawa said. "Come."
Miro followed the alchemist out of the tent. Two revenants lay sprawled on the ground outside the entrance.
"A powerful poison," said Tungawa. "It destroys the nerve centres so the muscles no longer respond. Even revenants are susceptible. Please, we must be fast."
Sentar was evidently busy, but as soon as he finished whatever he was doing and went to interrogate his prisoner, the alarm would be raised. Tungawa was risking a terrible fate by helping Miro escape.
Miro kept his head down as he followed the alchemist, trying to move quickly without appearing to run. With his limited perspective he saw the silver robes of Akari necromancers and tall legs clad in furs: barbarian warriors. Miro passed tent after tent, any moment expecting the alarm to be raised. If they were caught, Miro decided he would force his enemy to kill him rather than suffer interrogation and torture at the Lord of the Night's hands.
He sensed they were leaving the encampment and wondered how Tungawa planned to leave without being questioned. Each footstep was leaden and Miro fought the pain in his head just to keep moving. He felt he'd been following the alchemist for hours, but he knew it had only been several minutes. Every time he heard a shout or a cry he thought the alarm was being raised, and fear made the bile come to the back of his throat.
The Path of the Storm (The Evermen Saga, Book Three) Page 32
