“Gods,” I swore. “When were you going to use that?”
“I didn't plan to,” Hettar said mildly. “I brought it for emergencies. Used it, you may recall.”
I didn't. “Well, he has it now. I'm just glad stone isn't cumulative.”
Everyone nodded, including Larner and Hettar I was very relieved to note. I hadn't known for sure; just because it's common knowledge doesn't make it true, but if these experienced battle mages believed it that was good enough for me.
“I make it twenty stones, maybe one or two more. I don't know who had multiple stones, but doubtless the healers did,” Larner was thoughtful as he spoke. “Not that it matters to us, and we can hardly send a message home.”
No one spoke. It was true. I pulled my head back in and went to lie down.
54
They brought Gatren back a day later. We all heard the bang of the door opening and went to see what it was. Gatren was a bloody mess. Unconscious. They threw him into his cell and left, smirking back down the corridor at us and waving before they shut the door.
We all exchanged glances. There was nothing to say.
“We need a healer,” Sheo muttered.
“They have one,” I said.
“What?!” Hettar protested loudest but he wasn't alone. “How do you know?”
Lentro answered for me. “It's Ormal.”
“You knew?”
He nodded. “I woke during the healing, just enough to see his face. He looked dreadful. Terrified. Horrified.”
The memory came back to me. The voice I had not known saying 'make him live.' Not let him, or heal him, but make him. I hadn't thought about it, but it made sense now. Control. Whoever said this was all about control. What had Ormal said? I didn't remember, but I had recognized the voice.
It was Ormal.
“I heard his voice. I just remembered. He's with them, for whatever reason.”
“I can't imagine…” Lentro trailed off, then withdrew, his usually calm and friendly face looking unbearably sad.
The crash made everyone jump. It came from Kerral's door. He had withdrawn a little while back but we no longer noticed or commented on who we could see, and who only hear. The crash came again. The door opened inward. There was no chance of kicking it open.
I considered trying to persuade him to give it up, but there was no point and hell, he might succeed. For the first time I wondered where we were. If he did get out, kill a guard, get keys, let us out…I was fantasizing and knew it but what the hell… where were we? Undralt, I guessed. It was a barbarian town long ago, but remodeled in part six hundred years ago when first taken. As it developed, control passed back and forth many times. I guessed this part of this building was built with our masons by a barbarian ruler centuries ago. Why Undralt? Simple. We had been dying when brought here. It couldn't be far from where they had taken us.
One crash was followed too closely by another as a door banged open. For a second my heart leapt into my mouth and I moved fast to my door, sticking my head out. I was disappointed.
It was Ferrian and his two thugs.
They came for me and took me away.
55
They dragged me through a room, along a corridor and into another room where a stout chair was fixed to the floor. Struggling did no good. I'm no figure from mythology, no golden hero of the past. Just one man, strong enough and fit enough but no match for several other strong and fit men, sometimes not even for one. I stamped on one foot and thought I heard bone break. It just made the pain start sooner. I was already bruised and battered before they tied me into the chair. Half a dozen of them. There was no fighting it. When they were done most of them stepped back to the walls, presumably to watch.
“There is no escape,” Ferrian said.
“Go to hell,” I told him calmly.
He stood in front of me. I looked around the room. It was bare apart from a table with tools on it. I didn't like the look of them. There was dried blood.
A slap on the face got my attention. Hard enough to rock my head, hard enough to make my ears ring. “Now that's what I call reasoned argument,” I said.
“Just because you freed one slave, doesn't make you a good man. You owned a slave, own slaves.”
I tried to shrug. It's the culture I was brought up in. It's the done thing. “Everyone with money owns slaves. You did.”
That got me another slap. Same result.
“Every culture has slaves.”
“Not in the north.”
The north? North of here? What the hell was north of here? Beyond the mountains was wasteland. And Battling Plain. Well, the tribes there fought each other tooth and nail over that puddle of fertility and doubtless always had. What made them so virtuous?
“In the north the men are free and virtuous.” There he went, reading my mind again.
Good for them, I nearly said. In a way I was feeling detached, free to say what I wanted but not yet letting myself off the leash. They were going to torture me. Him or them, what difference? Doubtless they had broken him this way. Tortured him until he broke, then re-made him as a tool for their own purpose. Now it was my turn but they wouldn't win. I knew about torture; I'd read about everything, even things I didn't want to know about. Torture becomes a race; get the information before the victim dies. I wasn't going to give. I was going to die. My spirit would be free and I would learn what Dubaku meant when he told me that spirits didn't perceive reality as we did.
Then the door opened and Ormal came into the room. He looked frightened, twitching and timid in the presence of those he feared. My heart sank at the sight of him and the reality of the situation came crashing down on me. They would beat me and heal me and beat me and heal me until I went mad or broke and became what they wanted, a willing tool like Ferrian or an unwilling one like Ormal.
One of the barbarians pointed to a spot behind me and Ormal went there, moving out of my sight.
Ferrian hadn't seemed to notice Ormal enter the room. He had been talking the whole time but I hadn't been paying attention. I tried to catch up lest I miss some salient point in his argument.
“Kukran Epthel is determined to wipe the evil ways of the city from the world and you will help him, willingly or unwillingly.”
“Freely or as a slave?”
That tipped him over the edge.
It just didn't get any better after that.
56
I was expecting them to throw me back in a cell as they had Gatren. They didn't. During one of my lucid moments, just after Ormal had spent a little time healing something that would have killed me, I asked why that was.
“Gatren was reasonable. He agreed to help us.”
“So you threw him back in the cells?”
“Kukran Epthel is not a fool, don't delude yourself that you can match him in any way, you worthless piece of dung.” Ferrian was taking a break; I didn't have any inclination to be introduced to the scabrous monster who was currently my interrogator. “He will work on their will, subtly weaken their resolve, and he will spy on them until he is assigned another task.”
“And me?”
“You will break, one way or another, some time or another, everyone does and everyone is useful to the purpose in some fashion or another. What use will you be?”
“None.”
Break over.
57
Breaking fingers, setting fingers, healing fingers. It almost became routine.
“Serve. Teach. Spy.”
“No,” snap. “No,” snap. “No,” snap.
Boring. Maddening. Setting them was worse. Healing them only made me feel bad that I'd have to go through the same process again. And again. Different torturers had different methods. I must have gone on for days, I suppose. I lost track of time. There was no sleep.
58
I came to and found Ormal's face close to mine, healing something. “Why are you doing this?”
“Stop fighting them and they will stop hurting you,” Ormal
hissed fiercely, keeping his voice to a whisper, his furtive eyes dancing.
“What did they do to you?”
His eyes bulged and he started shaking. “Give in, before it's too late.”
“No.”
“It's pointless, believe me, I know, there's no fighting him, no winning, give in, he will have what he wants, no matter what it takes, no matter what…”
Maybe he said more. Maybe I passed out. I don't know. Things tended to run into each other. Faces, people, questions. And then it was over.
59
I woke up with a start, shaking. More accurately, I was shivering. It wasn't cold. It was light. The surface under me was soft, really soft, not soft because I was too hurt to tell the difference. I was lying in a canopied bed and nothing hurt. But I was shivering and shaking uncontrollably. Fear. It was fear. Not adrenaline fear, but blind blank panicked terror. They were coming to hurt me, I knew it.
For a long time nothing happened. I couldn't recognize the noises coming out of me as human.
I moved. I couldn't stay still. I needed to run. Anywhere. Far from here. Far from me and my memories which were flooding me, filling me up with madness. I jerked the curtains aside and came out of the bed, then froze.
I wasn't alone. There was a girl sitting at a desk, writing. She wore a loose robe, revealing one breast as she leaned forward, pen in hand. She looked up at me, smiling with pleasure.
“You slept a long time,” she said, rising. “I'm glad you are awake.”
I stumbled forward, legs like water, and fell, an explosive noise coming from my mouth that sounded like nothing I'd ever heard before, then spinning darkness.
60
Warmth. A sharp deep breath as I woke, moved, muscles stiff with readiness for anything, and froze. The girl was in bed with me. I recognized her hair. She lay close, but facing away – I'd been spooned up against her, feeling her soft skin on my legs, belly and chest. The smell of her was in me and the memory of her skin as I moved away slowly, trying not to wake her. She stirred and I gasped silently. Don't wake up, don't wake up, leave me alone, don't touch me. Oh gods, I was mad.
No. I thought the word loudly, fiercely in my own head. Gritting my teeth I repeated the word with more care, forming it and every other thought with care lest their fragility hurt me. No. I am not mad. I am hurt. That's all. Hurt in my mind. They did this to me. Then I was weeping. They did this to me. She woke and rolled over languidly in the bed, smiling, then seeing my face cried out softly, “Oh!” She reached for me and I threw myself away.
“No! Don't touch me!” I half fell out of the bed and staggered backwards until my back touched the wall, steadying me. “This is a trick, they are still trying.”
“What?” She looked puzzled, concerned. “What are you saying, my love? Who? What trick? Did you have a dream?”
Did you have a dream? Was it a dream? Where was I?
“Who are you? No! Don't tell me, it doesn't matter.” I stood with my back to the wall, looking around frantically for some route out of here. There was a door but I didn't dare use it. Who knew what horrors lay out there?
“Doesn't matter?! Sumto, Sumto, what's the matter?” She came to her knees, as naked as I was and shuffled to the edge of the bed.
I laughed, but stopped myself in time. Tears and snot were on my face, I could feel them but I didn't care. “Leave me alone.”
“Oh you poor baby, what is it? What can I do to help you?” She stepped off the bed, putting one foot on the floor, displaying her femininity casually.
I turned and moved across the room, fast, unsteady, looking for something, I didn't know what. There was a robe, big and comfortable and dark blue. I made a grab for it and put it on. Naked I was vulnerable. I needed a shield, something between me and her, between me and madness. I hugged it closed, hugged myself. Sick. I felt sick. What warped and twisted mind would think of this contrast.
Shivering I paced around the room, blindly, thinking. It had almost worked. I wiped my eyes and nose on one sleeve, careless of the cost of the material.
“Darling, what are you doing?”
“Don't call me that. It is a lie and I hate lies.” My voice was still strained, tight, words jerking out of me. “Damn, this is sick,” I was angry somewhere and it helped. Not anywhere near as angry as I could be. Anger seemed to have been stripped from me and all that was left was weakness. But my mind was okay, my mind worked.
“A lie? I don't know what you mean. Sumto, come back to bed and sleep.” She was up, had walked around the bed but came no closer.
“What were you writing?”
“What? Now what are you asking me?”
“Just tell me!”
“My diary, Summi, I always write my diary in the evening,” she sounded wounded, almost petulant, “you know that. Why are you being mean to me?”
Me? Me being mean to her? I had turned only my head her way, head cocked to one side, mouth open, aghast. How could she say that, this party to torturers? This torturess.
“Tell him it won't work,” I said it calmly, softly, not much more than a whisper.
“Tell who? Summi, what is the matter with you, silly!” She walked forward, relaxed, smiling, arms open and I held up one hand open against her advance. She stopped several paces away. “I don't understand.” She looked like she was going to cry.
“Leave me alone,” I reiterated. “Just leave me alone,” I walked away, heading for the desk, paying no more attention to her. She was a ruse, an actress, an attempt to rob me of my sanity. Well, no thief was coming into my mind to steal my very self from me. I was Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian, a patron of the city, better than any king, and better than this… this man Kukran Epthel. His tricks would not break me. The resolve settled over me. My self came back to me. And now I was a little warmer, my anger only an ember but better than nothing, it brought me calm. Idly I flipped open the book she had been writing in and read a few words.
This afternoon Summi and I went riding, the meadows were full of flowers and when we stopped Summi made me a chain of them for a garland, it was so sweet of him I…
I snorted and closed the book. He wanted me to live in a fantasy, to be a lie. I hate lies.
Near the book was a bowl of fruit. I picked up an apple and then thought better of it. I couldn't trust anything while I was in this lie.
“Are you hungry?”
“No,” I tossed the apple over my shoulder where it landed on the soft carpet with a thump. Decorum and civility did not matter in this lie. I would piss on the floor as soon as the pot. I would do nothing to maintain it or accept it or support it.
“Thirsty, then?”
“No.” I was, hellishly thirsty. And hungry. But that was a far away thing, as though I had been hungry for ever and was used to it. I ran my hands over my belly to find no belly worthy of the name. Hell, I hadn't been this slim since I was a boy. When had I last eaten? Days? How much time had I spent unconscious? I had no idea. It could be weeks since I was captured, since I had lost the battle by my rash decision. 'We could take them now,' I'd said. Fool. Well, never a fool again. Facts, think, decide, act. My old mantra came back to me. I'd read it in a book of philosophy long ago, years anyway. I'd liked it and taken it for myself. I thought it was right. Belief has no place in the mind of a sentient creature. Feel has no place in decision making.
“Yes,” I said aloud. “I am okay.”
“Of course you are, darling, of course you are, now come here and let me hold you.”
She was coming across the room toward me and I let her. I even smiled encouragement. She stepped right into my fist, crossing fast and hard and connecting with the side of her jaw. She dropped like a rag doll thrown to the floor. I felt crap about it but she had to be a willing part of this evil attempt to crush my will, to break me, to make me a tool. They thought they had pushed me into madness and mad, I would surely accept this fantasy as better than the madness. Doubtless if I had I would find that I was some lieutenant of K
ukran Epthel, dedicated to his cause. In time she and other liars would make me believe the role. Insane, I would become what they wanted. But sane I would never succumb to their lies and manipulation.
I crossed to the door and found it unlocked. Gritting my teeth I opened it and stepped out into a corridor. Two barbarian warriors leaned against the far wall at their ease.
They came to attention. “Sir?”
“Forget it. I'm not playing.”
They exchanged glances and shrugged.
“Wait inside.” One of them said. “Someone will come.”
“No.” I launched myself at them.
I was weak but I threw myself into it with everything I had and they were surprised. They were not armored so my blows hurt them. I didn't hold anything back. One was down but rising, the other now recovered and putting up a fight. I snatched for his weapon but failed. He made no move to go for it himself. A door thudded open behind me and heavy footfalls thundered down the corridor.
I backed away, glanced over my shoulder. A half-dozen men were running my way. I gave it up, lowering my fists and relaxing. If they tortured me they tortured me. I would take it and the next trick. My mind was my own. But I was scared of it, scared of the torture. Terrified. Had Ormal been through this? Is that what broke him?
Everything slowed down. Not in some mystical sense; just that everyone relaxed. I wasn't putting up a fight now. It was over. The barbarians coming my way slowed to a stop and Sheo limped through their midst to stand in front of me. I was glad to see him and smiled. But he wasn't smiling and what he said took the smile from my face.
“Kukran Epthel will see you now,” he said.
61
“What happened?”
Sheo didn't answer. The style of building was familiar to me, plush but functional, palace and administration building in one, of the kind we build everywhere and that are copied further afield. Plush but not over done, functional but not bare, with public and administrative and private rooms spread evenly throughout.
The Last King's Amulet pof-1 Page 17
