“Please, come in,” he said. “The Babachenko is expecting you.”
From the looks of the room, it was the entry hall of the Babachenko’s personal quarters … a curious turn of events. Alexander focused on memorizing the layout and looking for anything he might use as a weapon while he followed the guard into a more austere portion of the suite, finally arriving at a large bare stone room with a stout circular cage set into the middle of it from floor to ceiling.
The Lord Protector opened the cage door and looked at Alexander pointedly.
He stepped inside, noting that the bars were arranged within a magic circle cut into the floor. When the door closed, the cage shimmered with color, revealing that it too was imbued with some form of magic, a fact that might prove problematic in the near future.
“I can’t get inside the cage, My Love.”
He could hear the worry in her voice and tried to reassure her, even though he wasn’t feeling terribly reassured himself.
After the Lord Protector and the guards left the room, Alexander sat down on the rickety little cot and considered his limited options. While Chloe could have easily moved the cell door of his previous prison into the aether, it was a near certainty that this cage was immune to her power. Coupled with the wards surrounding this part of the palace, escaping might prove to be very difficult without help.
Then there were the faint points of light floating all around the room, just like the ones in his other cell, just like the ones in his bunkroom in Grant’s stables. He still wondered about their purpose.
While he thought through his options and goals, the Babachenko and Nero entered.
“You see, he is intact and well in hand,” the Babachenko said, “and he will be quite unable to escape this cell.”
“Provided he doesn’t have help,” Nero said.
“It would be very difficult for anyone to penetrate our defenses in this area of the palace,” the Babachenko said.
“As difficult as assassinating your king?” Nero shot back.
“I have to admit, that was an unexpected turn of events. But, given our newfound understanding of his resourcefulness, we’ve taken additional precautions. You have my personal assurances that he will not leave this palace without your express consent, Lord Nero.”
Alexander watched with great interest. The Babachenko’s colors rippled with deceit and half-truth. Nero’s demon-stained colors radiated contempt and a kind of hatred that would burn up a normal person’s soul.
“I’m not comfortable with this,” Nero said. “We should make him ready for transport to Karth immediately.”
“You would deliver only half of Prince Phane’s prize? I wonder if he would consider that a success or a failure?”
Nero glared at him, uncertainty dancing in his colors.
“Give me a chance to retrieve the Sovereign Stone,” the Babachenko said. “My talents are uniquely suited to such a task, as you well know.”
Nero didn’t look convinced.
“Just imagine how much greater his gratitude will be when we deliver his most hated enemy along with the Sovereign Stone. Our actions will prove to be the turning point in this war, ensuring victory and earning a place of honor at Prince Phane’s table.”
“I’ll give you two days,” Nero said. “If you don’t have progress to report by then, I’m taking him.”
“As you wish, Lord Nero,” the Babachenko said, and while his voice was placating and conciliatory, his colors flared with anger and indignation.
Nero vanished without even looking at Alexander.
The Babachenko smiled warmly, approaching the cage, but remaining out of arm’s reach. “I trust the accommodations are adequate. While I regret such extreme measures, Lord Tyr’s recent actions have given me little choice.”
Alexander remained silent, scrutinizing his colors and waiting for the demands to begin.
The Babachenko forced a smile and pulled a chair over to the cage, sitting down and fastidiously adjusting his coat before returning his attention to Alexander.
“We have something in common, Alexander-may I call you Alexander?”
“It’s my name.”
“Straight to the point … how refreshing,” the Babachenko said, forcing another thin smile. “We both have better vision than most. In fact, I’ve been watching you carefully for the past year, and I must say, I’m impressed with what you’ve accomplished, especially given your limitations and disadvantages. Few could have stood against Phane for so long, but realistically, you had to know that it was going to end like this.” He gestured to the cage.
“Between you and me,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “I don’t like the idea of submitting to Phane’s rule any more than you do, but he’s just too powerful to resist, so it only made sense to join him early on. While I’ve been watching you from afar, now that you’re sitting here with me, I’m struck by how young you are.”
Alexander schooled his expression while he watched deceit ripple through the Babachenko’s colors.
“When I was your age, I was almost as idealistic as you are, but time and the pressures of responsibility have molded that idealism into pragmatism. I have countless people to think about-their well-being and security are my responsibility-so I chose the only honorable course that I could, the path that would cause my people the least harm.
“But I had something that you didn’t … I had the benefit of experience. I’m sure that if you knew then what you know now, you would have made different choices. And no one can rightfully fault you for that inexperience … except, of course, Phane. He’s become almost obsessed with you. I don’t believe he’ll stop looking for you until he’s certain that you’re dead.”
The Babachenko shook his head sadly.
“It’s such a shame to see one as talented as you, with such potential, lose everything for a few intemperate, youthful decisions.”
“Where are you going with this?” Alexander asked.
“Ah, to the point, yes of course,” the Babachenko said. “You see, I know what you really want-to live free. To live the simple life of a rancher without the cares and pressures of power, and I can help you get that. I can give you your life back. I can protect your family. You can have everything you’ve always wanted, Alexander, and Phane will never know. He’ll think you’re dead and he’ll move on to other enemies.”
“Let me guess … you’ll give me all of this for the Sovereign Stone,” Alexander said.
“Nothing comes without a price,” the Babachenko said with a helpless shrug. “I’m sure that if you think it through, you’ll realize that Phane won’t stop until he has the Stone. As long as it eludes him, he’ll scour the Seven Isles for it, and you’ll never be safe. But if he has the Stone, and he thinks you’re dead, you’ll finally be free.”
“Do you really think you can deceive Phane?” Alexander asked, leaning in with interest.
“Well now, that part won’t be easy, but I’m certain it can be done.”
“So what would I have to do?” Alexander asked.
The Babachenko smiled warmly. “I would need the Sovereign Stone to placate Phane, but I also have a price of my own. There’s a book within your Wizard’s Den-a dark and dangerous work that Phane could use to become all but immortal. That can’t be allowed to happen, so my price for helping you and your family is the delivery of the lich book along with the Stone.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all I want from you,” the Babachenko lied. “Deliver these two things and I will hand Phane a corpse that is indistinguishable from you. I will change your appearance, give you a house on a plot of good land, a herd and even provide you with protection. You’ll finally be free of this war, safe, comfortable.
“I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll realize I’m offering you a gift.”
“And all for the price of handing the world over to Phane,” Alexander said. “You make it sound like a bargain.”
“But don’t you see, Ph
ane already has the world in his hand. You can’t beat him. I can’t beat him. He’s already won and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Take my offer and save yourself.”
Alexander started chuckling softly. “Did you really think this was going to work?”
The Babachenko sighed. “Not really, but I had hoped, and I still do. Perhaps with better information, you’ll take my generous offer.
“You came here to kill our king, no doubt to disrupt the Lancers rampaging across Ruatha. I’m sure you, like most others, believe that the Andalian bloodline is failing and must be carefully concentrated through inbreeding to ensure that the Crown remains potent and the force lances continue to function. Of course, these are all lies. We don’t inbreed our kings to make them viable, we inbreed them to make them manageable. There are, in fact, one hundred and seventeen people in this city capable of wearing the Crown.
“Within an hour of the king’s death, the Crown was bound to another. Just long enough for your forces on Ruatha to mount an attack against our Lancers. Then, once your troops were out in the open, the power of the force lances returned. The result was nothing short of devastating. Your army is retreating in tatters.”
Alexander schooled his emotions, his father’s old lesson about good information in battle being necessary to victory playing out in the back of his mind. Because he’d believed something that wasn’t true, and acted on that belief, good men were dead … or so said the Babachenko, anyway.
“Accept defeat graciously, Alexander. Take my bargain and be done with all of this death and pain.”
“Here’s my problem,” Alexander said, “you’re lying to me. There’s something you want from me that you haven’t revealed. And even setting that aside, I’m not going to hand Phane victory. He might win, but it won’t be because I gave up.”
“I feared as much,” the Babachenko said, standing up and returning the chair to its place against the wall. “I had hoped that you would see reason. Perhaps pain will be more persuasive.”
“Really? You’ve been through the trials …” Alexander stopped short, examining the Babachenko’s colors intently. “Now, that is interesting,” he said, stepping up to the cage door. “You haven’t been through the trials, have you?”
“Nonsense, of course I’ve been through the trials,” he lied.
“How do you become a wizard, a mage no less, without surviving the mana fast?”
The Babachenko ignored his question, but his colors revealed distress. He went to the lone cabinet along the wall and removed a small glass jar, holding it up for Alexander to see. Floating within the water was a tiny blue jellyfish.
“This is a very special little creature found on the south coast of Andalia.”
“You’re threatening me with a jellyfish?”
The Babachenko chuckled. “I understand your skepticism, but it won’t protect you. This creature possesses venom that causes almost a full day of intense agony, the kind of pain men kill themselves to escape. I’ve experimented with many forms of interrogation, but I’ve never discovered anything as effective as this. Even the most ruinous torture fails from time to time, particularly with stubbornly principled subjects such as yourself, but this has never failed me.”
“There’s always a first time.”
“I want you to know that I take no pleasure in this. When we met in the slave yards, I was encouraged. And yes, I knew who you were the moment I laid eyes on you. I really thought I would be able to accomplish my goals without resorting to this kind of unpleasantness.”
“If you knew who I was, why did you let me kill your king?”
“That, I wasn’t expecting. I knew Grant was ambitious, but I never suspected he’d go against the very government that gave him his wealth and standing.”
“So I guess your vision isn’t that good after all.”
“No one can see everything,” the Babachenko said. “We’re often blinded by our own hopes and expectations. Despite my talent in the art of divination, I can’t see that which I don’t think to look for.”
“Huh … that’s the first thing you’ve said that actually makes sense.”
The Babachenko held up the jar. “Will you cooperate and allow the jellyfish to sting you or shall I call for some guards to hold you down?”
“Better call your guards,” Alexander said, stepping away from the cage door.
“I suspected as much,” the Babachenko said, opening the chamber door and motioning to the men standing outside.
Alexander stood stock-still in the middle of the cage, eyes closed yet very alert, waiting for the guards to approach. The door opened; he held. The two men approached, each of them reaching out for one of his arms. Time slowed, the coming moments clear in his mind. Alexander slapped the back of the man’s hand to his right, catching the guard’s wrist with his left hand and yanking him off balance, snatching his dagger from his belt as he stepped past and behind him, then plunging the knife into his back. The guard fell forward with a wail of surprise and pain.
The second man’s smock shimmered momentarily and then he was wearing the same wispy black plate armor that the Lord Protector wore. Alexander circled him, but he was really fixed on the Babachenko, who stood well away from the cage, but close enough.
Alexander raised his knife in challenge to the guard, then whirled, hurling the blade with all his strength, burying it in the Babachenko’s left shoulder, just high and wide of his heart. He shrieked in pain, falling to one knee.
The second guard crashed into Alexander, slamming him into the cage bars and wrenching his arm around behind his back, then the collar began to choke him, cutting off his air and his consciousness.
Chapter 25
He woke on the floor, alone. The only evidence of the struggle were a few drops of blood and an angry welt on his forearm.
“This is going to be a long night,” he said to himself, lying down on the cot and marshaling his will in anticipation of the coming onslaught.
At first, the area around the sting just felt warm, then the heat started to build, not hot like fire but hot like pepper, only this heat was spreading inside his arm with growing intensity. Within a few minutes, it felt like fire ants were eating his arm from the inside out, but it didn’t stop there. Angry, prickly, burning pain spread through his entire body, filling him up until he felt panic at the edges of his awareness, clawing its way in, trying to steal his focus and undo his will to resist. He thought of the mana fast and the trial of pain. This didn’t rise to that level of agony … at least not yet.
But it grew, expanding to envelop him in a cocoon of suffering so intense that he had to remember to breathe. Somewhere in the back of his mind he understood why men killed themselves to escape this pain, and it had only just begun.
He writhed on his cot while the pain intensified, at some point falling to the floor. Somehow it seemed worse if he tried to hold still, so he kept moving, straining and stretching his muscles until they cramped, contracting into knots of agony. It seemed like he struggled against the pain for a very long time before he felt himself slipping away into the firmament and blessed relief … until the collar started choking him and he slammed back into his pain-wracked body.
Renewed panic flooded into his mind. This kind of pain would drive his mind into the firmament, the only place it could find reprieve, and then the collar would choke him. As much as it hurt, he struggled to remain present in his own body, struggled to take one breath after another in spite of the clenched, suffocating constriction he felt around his chest and throat.
Time and again, his mind tried to slip free and he willed it back to face the torment, until he started to lose strength, started to become exhausted. Facing the very real possibility that this might be his end, he struggled against it with renewed strength, but it waned quickly, leaving him defenseless against the doom poised to consume him.
And then he was in the firmament again, scattered like so many times before, his mind and soul fractured. Instinctiv
ely, he fled into that place where the witness lived, where he could see the world dispassionately, without fear or despair, but it wasn’t enough. Somehow this time was different. He reached out for the scraps of his identity left adrift in the ocean of creation while other parts of himself slipped away. The harder he tried to hold on to himself, the more of his essential self drained away, until there was nothing left but the witness, detached, uncaring, accepting.
He wasn’t certain how long he simply watched the world form out of the formless, each moment created anew in a procession through time that had neither beginning nor end. In this place, he no longer cared about the outcome, wasn’t concerned for his survival, felt no fear or pain or love. He simply was.
He was the watcher.
Thoughts of Siduri came to him unbidden and unexpected, followed by a great rushing sensation as if all of creation was passing through his consciousness at once. In the next moment, he was standing on a riverbank, whole and unharmed, yet somehow different, more like a memory than a man.
A family was playing in the water at the edge of the river not far from where he stood, three boys and their parents. Siduri looked up with a start when Alexander approached, his eyes going wide for a moment as if he suddenly remembered the truth of the world … and his part in its plight.
“How did you get here?” he asked, standing to face Alexander, fear and guilt staining his complex colors.
“I’m not entirely sure. I think I might be dead.”
Siduri slowly shook his head. “You wouldn’t be here if you were dead. There’s really only one way.”
His wife and children vanished, followed a moment later by the little cabin set away from the river.
“What is this place?”
“This is where I live. It’s my home. I created it from my memories.”
“A construct,” Alexander said.
“Yes.”
“But it’s not real.”
Siduri poked him in the chest. “It’s as real as anything else.”
“No, it’s not,” Alexander said. “The real world is out there. Real people are suffering and dying in the real world and they don’t have the luxury of such a well-crafted fantasy.”
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