by Pedro Urvi
“A very necessary quality in the business I earn my living by.”
“True. The profession of spy requires many skills, well-mastered, in order to lengthen one’s life-expectancy…”
“I’ve managed pretty well until now.”
“Let’s hope you may continue to enjoy a long and healthy life,” the Norghanian said ironically.
“And you are…?” asked Sumal.
“Let’s say I’m a Norghanian patriot who wishes to see his kingdom regain the greatness of yore. To take on the role it deserves in Tremia as the economic and military power it is.”
“Very well, I see you prefer to remain anonymous,” said Sumal. “As you wish.”
“If you don’t mind, I prefer it this way. You never know what ears the wind can carry words to.”
“Wise call.”
“Good. So let’s deal with the business that’s brought us here tonight. Your agent, the Dark Assassin, has been captured, and that puts me in a very delicate position…”
“Yes, the news of the capture of such a magnificent agent has been a total surprise, a very unpleasant surprise,” Sumal said, shaking his head.
“I must admit the stroke was unusually daring. Success was unthinkable.”
“Yes, a masterpiece of Nocean audacity: to kill Grand Duke Orten in his impenetrable fortress, surrounded by all his army. A remarkable show of reach and power, if I may dare to say so…”
“Exactly, and that’s why we’re here tonight. Otherwise I’d have never accepted this little reunion.”
“What course do you recommend we follow regarding my captured agent?” asked Sumal, a little uneasily.
“He represents a risk. He might talk, in fact in the end he will. They all do. Whatever he’s got to tell will be dangerous, or at least not helpful as far as my plans are concerned.”
“You shouldn’t worry, he knows nothing of the reasons behind the murder or whose hand it is that pulls the strings. There’s no trail that can be traced back to me.”
“A surprising statement, seeing he’s an agent in your service,” the Norghanian said skeptically.
“Well, you see, noble sir, he really is no agent in my service. He was hired through an intermediary. Therefore he can’t be linked with the Nocean Empire. It’s all been very well planned and arranged.”
“That may be so, but through the Assassin the connection might be made to the intermediary, and from him to the spy who hired him.”
“I understand your line of thought,” Sumal said. “It’s a logical assumption, except for the fact that the intermediary doesn’t know either this humble spy or who he is leagued with.” He smiled broadly, showing perfect ivory teeth.
“I see… Your skill in the subtle art of intrigue is enviable, just as I’d been told.”
“Thank you, noble sir, it’s very good of you to say so.”
“Whatever the case, the Assassin represents a threat, and it must be dealt with. He might talk and deflect the guilt from Rogdon, and that’s not good for either of us.”
“That’s right. The goal of that daring act was to provoke the war with Rogdon. It wouldn’t do to have anything get in the way of this.”
“Well, then, we’re agreed. The Assassin must die.”
“I don’t see anything against it,” said Sumal. “As he’s a prisoner in your camp, surrounded by thousands of Norghanians, I assume you’ll take care of this inconvenience.”
“You assume correctly, spy,”
“Then we agree,” said Sumal.
An untimely owl flew over the river between the two groups, and several men reached for their weapons. Their nerves were on edge.
“Steady!” the Norghanian ordered his men.
Sumal raised his fist, to calm his own.
A tense quiet reigned once again over both groups of armed men.
“Very well, Nocean, let’s move on to the critical point in this little clandestine meeting.”
Sumal grinned. “I’d be happy to.”
“Our interests run in parallel,” said the Norghanian, “so the most logical thing would be to join forces to reach the final goal.”
“That being… the destruction of Rogdon.”
“Exactly, and to be more precise: the destruction and appropriation of their vast kingdom.”
“The division of the kingdom will be a matter for long and complicated discussion,” Sumal pointed out.
“A discussion which we won’t get into now. We must decide on the next steps to take and commit our separate interests.”
“We’re agreed on that.”
“Right. Can you guarantee that the Nocean Empire will support me in a war with Rogdon if Norghana invades Rogdon?”
“Guarantee is a term not often used in my kind of business, but I can assure you that the Empire would look upon a war between Rogdon and Norghana very favorably.”
“Would it support Norghana?”
“In the present situation, with the Rogdonians accusing the Empire of the attack on their prince, it’s more than likely that the Empire would support Norghana.”
“Would it be willing to do more? Would it invade from the South?” the nobleman wanted to be assured.
“Given such a chance, it’s highly likely that the Empire would invade the blue and silver kingdom.”
“You really are an out-and-out spy. You haven’t assured me of anything, you haven’t committed yourself to anything.”
“I can only assure you that the scenarios you’ve mentioned are the most logical, and therefore what you’re asking me is the most likely result.”
“I need more than that to commit myself, spy. I won’t risk my neck without firm backing from the Nocean Empire.”
“What you request can be obtained,” Sumal said.
“Good. Speak to your superiors and tell them what I propose. Come back to me with proof of commitment, otherwise I won’t support this course of action and I’ll go back into the shadows.”
“I understand. You want confirmation of the Empire’s degree of involvement.”
“That’s right.”
“In that case, you’ll have it.”
Sumal nodded at the Norghanian and motioned his five Motuli to follow him. They left as they had come, riding in the night over the prairies, towards the South. The Norghanian group did the same towards the West, heading for the camp of their army in front of the Great Fortress of the Half Moon.
While he rode, Sumal thought back on the meeting. Curious character, this Norghanian, he surprised me. He wants some action on our part, to seal the deal. I’ll have to study this carefully. It has to be something shocking, to dispel any doubt the Norghanians might have, and it must be done successfully. There’s too much at stake to fail now.
He looked up at the sky, contemplated the moon and the stars and smiled. Rogdon’s ruling days in the west of Tremia were coming to an end. Very soon the proud Rogdonians would be conquered. The breath of night hit his face and made his spirit rise. Times of great change were coming, turbulent times, of war, blood and conquest. Soon the Nocean Empire would rule in the West and its power would be incontestable. He must play his cards carefully. The Norghanian was wary, intelligent, very intelligent and skillful, which made him very dangerous.
The mysterious negotiator had pleasantly surprised him. There was no doubt that Count Volgren was beginning to show his game.
Discipline of pain
Hanging from his chained hands, with a heavy stone slab tied to his feet, Yakumo was resisting torture. He had closed his mind to pain in order to bear the suffering and not lose his reason. He had been mercilessly tortured for a week, day and night, without respite. Now there were three men taking turns to inflict as much pain on him as they could.
But he had not spoken.
Not a single word.
Trying to avoid the agony, he pondered the words of Lasgol. It was true that he could have spoken, but that would sentence him to death: whether they believed him or not. Silence was the
only way to survive. He felt a trace of pity for the Tracker; he had recognized the dull gleam of guilt in his eyes. Yakumo knew that feeling very well, and how it ate at the soul little by little. He was aware that the Tracker could do nothing for him, for though he was a man of honor his duty ended with the delivery of the captured prisoner. Although Yakumo had read remorse in Lasgol’s eyes, and guilt, he would not betray Norghana to save him.
Yakumo thought about guilt, and how his own soul, empty, completely blackened by now, had been eaten away by it. So many murders, so many years of vile acts… guilt had eroded his spirit day after day as a worm eats a rotten apple.
An Assassin with a conscience… what an irony! An unsolvable conflict in itself. The air, the wind, the river, the flower, they all perceive it, they all know my spirit is dead and that I’m a doomed man and always will be.
Each victim had emptied his soul a little more until it had left it like a dry well in the desert. He had reached his limit a very long time ago and he was now looking for Death, longing for it. A death he was sure he would have met with this last murder, of that loathsome Norghanian pig. He would have embraced it gladly, it would have let him rest at last from his evil existence.
But death had not arrived as he had expected it.
In its place the unthinkable had happened, something he would not have thought he would find even in his wildest dreams: love.
He, a despicable man, empty, amoral, with nothing to offer. He had saved that Masig girl without really knowing why, something contrary to all his teachings and instinct. And in their flight he had fallen head over heels in love with the pretty wildling of the steppes, for her kindness, her fury, her tenderness and her enormous heart.
He had made her a promise when they parted, a promise he was determined to fulfill.
I’ll come for you, Iruki Wind of the Steppes, I promise.
The pain he felt was unbearable, but Yakumo had been trained to bear it. Just as he had been trained to kill, so he had been trained to survive, and that he would do. He concentrated and shut his mind hermetically to pain. Yet pain seeped through cracks, he could not manage to seal his mind completely. He half-opened one eye and saw his torturers commenting on ways to inflict more suffering on him, yet being careful to prolong his life as they did so. They must not kill him, and that was what Yakumo had to take advantage of.
It seemed they wanted him alive, for the moment.
You haven’t got a word out of me, and that’s why you don’t want to kill me.
He searched for his Gift and used some of his inner power to fortify his mind and stop the pain from seeping through the cracks. He had not much inner energy left, and without rest he could not recharge it. Those men knew their trade and did not allow him to sleep for longer than three hours. This made it impossible for him to regenerate his power, so that he tried to minimize its use, consuming minimal amounts even though the pain was unspeakable.
What his torturers did not know was that Yakumo had been trained thoroughly by a master without equal, and that as a result they would never break his spirit. This was not the first time Yakumo had been tortured, for days on end, without rest …
That had been part of his training…
And he had survived.
This knowledge, the conviction of having already overcome the suffering of torture before, brought him self confidence. His lord and master’s face came to his mind, clear and perfect. The enmity, the heartless hate which those small slanting eyes emanated would never leave Yakumo, not even in the infernal otherworld which would be his final destination. His lord and master had guided him along the Discipline of Pain from a very early age, showing him the path of suffering, of torture and finally of agonizing pleasure. He remembered the first time, at the age of eight, when the path of suffering was revealed to him in the gardens of the Hidden Temple.
He remembered that day in the distant past which would forever mark his soul.
“My lord and master,” Yakumo said in greeting, kneeling before his lord.
“My young apprentice of the shadows,” his mentor replied in a toneless voice.
“What do you command, master?”
“Who am I?”
“Life and Death, master.”
“What destiny do you wish for, today, young apprentice?”
“Life, master.”
“Today we shall begin a long journey, a journey along a path of pain and suffering. A journey that will make you want to change your destiny.”
“I’ll never choose Death, master.”
“We’ll see about that, my young apprentice.”
“As you command, master.”
“Today we shall begin the Discipline of Pain.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“We shall follow the path of suffering.”
“How will I bear pain and suffering, master?”
“By learning to shield your mind from agony.”
“What will I gain, my lord?”
“You’ll learn to bear prolonged suffering.”
“Prolonged suffering and pain can be borne?”
“They can, young apprentice, by liberating the mind from the physical torture of the body.”
“I don’t understand… master.”
“The Discipline of Pain will one day allow you to reach the pure pleasure which is born out of the deepest pain.”
“Pleasure from pain, master? Is that possible?”
“Yes, not only possible, but the very technique which will allow you to bear prolonged torture.”
“Will I bear torture, master?”
“You will avoid death itself.”
“The Lady of the Otherworld?”
“Yes, but for that you have to train and suffer greatly. The Discipline of Pain demands an extreme physical sacrifice.”
“I shall bear it, master.”
“So I hope. There are very few who don’t give up, who don’t disappoint me begging for the Destiny of Death.”
“I shan’t disappoint you, master. I’ll never ask for Death.”
“We shall see, young apprentice, we shall see.”
“How long will we train in suffering, master?”
“Until you have complete command of the Discipline of Pain.”
“I see…”
“Do you see that furnace filled with live coals beside me?”
“Yes master.”
“Put your hand in and take a live coal, then present it to me.”
Yakumo came up to the coals. He could still remember the fear in the pit of his stomach, but he did what his master had ordered. He knew full well that a refusal to any of his orders meant immediate death. He had already watched several of his colleagues die and he did not want to end up like them, not for anything in the world. He put his hand in and closed it over a live coal. The pain was insufferable, tears were streaming from his eyes. He brought his hand out open, to minimize contact with the red-hot surface. He raised his trembling arm and presented it to his master.
“Painful, isn’t it?”
“Yes… yes, master.”
His lord and master took his hand and closed it on the burning coal.
Yakumo fell to his knees while the pain burned his soul. Tears were running down his cheeks. His master kept his hand closed firmly over his, and the smell of burning flesh became nauseating.
“Now I ask you once again, young apprentice. Who am I?”
“Life… and Death…”
“What destiny do you wish for today, young apprentice?”
“Life…my lord.”
His master smiled with a cynical grimace.
The torture went on for what seemed an eternity to Yakumo. Finally the coal went out and the suffering ceased, although it was replaced by the excruciating pain of the burn. The master let go of his hand.
“Today we have begun the path of pain, and we’ve learnt a valuable lesson. What is it, young apprentice?”
“I…I’m not…sure, master…”
&nb
sp; “Are you still alive?”
“Yes, master…”
“Did the pain kill you?”
“No master.
“That’s today’s lesson. Tomorrow we shall repeat the lesson with the other hand, the day after with one foot and the day after that with the other. When the wounds heal we’ll begin again. Every day I shall ask you what destiny you wish for, and as long as you choose Life, we’ll keep to the path of suffering, a path which will become more and more tortuous and difficult, until one day either you’ll ask me for Death or else you’ll have mastered the Discipline of Pain.”
The path turned out to be insufferably long and brutally painful.
But Yakumo had become a Master of the Discipline of Pain.
And today he was still alive.
Many years had passed, but the memory was indelible. That and many others marked with fire and blood in the Hidden Temple by his ruthless lord and master. All that suffering experienced for years on end, luckily, would serve today to save his life.
He looked at his torturer. At least today they had not hung him upside down, which he appreciated. It must be midnight, he had lost the notion of time but he knew this was when the torturers changed shift. The four soldiers on guard duty, stationed at the corners inside the tent, were nodding off at their posts.
The torturer came up to him defiantly, a big burly man, shaven-headed and ugly as a sewer rat. And he most certainly enjoyed inflicting pain on others. It drove him crazy, he delighted in every session.
“Well, well, well, let’s see what we can start today with…the whip, perhaps? The tongs? The red-hot iron? So much to choose from and so little time…” he joked, trying to intimidate Yakumo.
Two soldiers came in from outside and closed the white curtain which acted as a door. They were enormous, nearly seven feet tall, and their backs were as strong as a bull’s. They were dressed like soldiers from the Snow Army, but something in their manner raised Yakumo’s suspicions.
The torturer had selected the hot iron and was crouched feeding the fire, so that he did not see the two giants whose hair and beards were almost albino-white. Without a word they separated, one going to the right and the other to the left of the tent. Yakumo was tied hanging in the center, further back, with the torturer in front of him.
