“Now, where were we? Oh right, your little wielder friends in Rhowynn. I want the names of those on the council.”
“What council?”
“Don’t play coy with me, smith. A city the size of Rhowynn would have a wielder council. I want their names.”
The inquisitor stepped up to the rack and pressed the tip of the nail against the back of Ferrin’s hand just behind the center knuckle. Beads of sweat dotted Ferrin’s forehead as his breathing came in rapid succession. He remembered how painful this was the last time it had been done to him. He couldn’t quite remember, though, how long it had been. Was it last week, or the week before, or yesterday? His sense of time within the White Tower seemed to be nonexistent as the days blurred together. He couldn’t remember one day from the next. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since his capture. Had it been days? Weeks? Months? It felt more like years.
“I don’t have any friends in Rhowynn,” he lied. “I don’t know of any wielder council. How many times do I need to tell you that before you believe me?”
The inquisitor shrugged. “Oh, I guess the same as last time . . . just one more.” His words were punctuated by the ringing sound of metal striking metal. Pain flooded Ferrin’s entire hand and spread out from there. He didn’t dare look down. He already knew what he would see, and the visual would only make it worse.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried focusing his mind on something else. Anything else. He tried thinking about Rae, about what it must be like for her to spend every day watching this over and over and over again. He felt an overwhelming surge of pity, followed by an overwhelming surge of panic when something sharp pressed against the back of his other hand. His defenses were beginning to break.
“Please, you don’t have to do this. I’ve told you everything I know.”
“And yet, I don’t believe you.”
Whack!
Another strike of the hammer sent Ferrin’s left side into convulsions. Tears swelled his eyes and coursed down his cheeks, mixing with the fluids already leaking from his nose. “Please!” he hollered. “I can’t take any more!”
“Good. That’s good, because I don’t want to have to do it anymore.” The bald sadist raised an arm and tenderly stroked the side of Ferrin’s face. “I get no pleasure in seeing you suffer, smith. The sooner you tell me what I want to know, the sooner I can let Rae here heal those wounds and you can get a good night’s sleep.” He watched Ferrin for an answer. “What do you say?”
Ferrin struggled to keep breathing.
He could hear Cheeks over at his table, no doubt grabbing the next nail. Through his tears, Ferrin could see Rae in the corner with her head lowered. The inquisitor returned to the rack with a smug look. It read of a man who had yet another card he had not played, a man who held a winning hand and knew it. It was disconcerting.
“So where shall we start, hmm? With your friends?” Cheeks glared. “No, perhaps not.” He tapped the head of the long nail against his chin in thought. “How about family.” The inquisitor’s mouth twisted upwards and his eyes widened with anticipation. “How about . . . a sister?”
Ferrin’s breath caught in his throat. How could he possibly know about . . .? He almost raised his head, giving away his panic, but then thought better of it as he realized the inquisitor was more than likely just probing for an answer.
Ferrin turned his head slightly and his eyes locked on Rae’s. The guilt he saw in those pale green orbs told him everything he needed to know. She couldn’t seem to pull away, her hands clinging to the front of her dirty dress. She had sold him out to the inquisitor. She had betrayed him. Worse, she had betrayed his sister, his innocent Myriah. He couldn’t believe it. He could see tears in her eyes before she lowered her head.
Ferrin was raging. He was furious with the little healer for what she had done, but even more so, he was furious with himself for having given away the information. It was his own stupidity that had led to this. It would have been better to have let them kill him when he first arrived.
The Inquisitor glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, my dear Rae is quite the treasure, isn’t she?” Cheeks wore his proud look like a leper’s rags, trying to cover what was truly inside, but failing miserably. “You know what,” he offered. “I’m feeling a mite generous today. So I think I’ll let you just sit and ponder our little conversation. Let you roll around in that stubborn head of yours all the wonderful new experiences I can introduce your sister to once we bring her in.”
Ferrin jerked against his shackles but, like every other time, they didn’t budge. His eyes burned with hatred as he met the blue irises of the tattooed inquisitor. “You go near my sister and I promise you, transferal or not, I will chase you all the way to the Pits of Aran’gal, into the arms of the Defiler himself if I have to. There is no where you will be able to hide from me.”
Cheeks lifted himself onto the base of the rack and looked Ferrin in the eyes. With one hand, he reached out and pinched Ferrin’s cheek. “You’re so cute when you get angry.” Holding his sides, he laughed his way off the rack and back over to his bag of tools.
“Finish up with our smith, my dear,” Cheeks said as he waddled his way to the door, “and since we are through for the night, I want to see you in my chambers later on.” Rae’s fingers tightened even harder on her skirt. His words left no doubt as to what he had in mind. The very thought was repulsive. As despicable as it was, though, Ferrin knew this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. She was through for the night, which meant the inquisitor would have no further need for her transferal and, with what possibly awaited her later that evening, Ferrin hoped it would leave her a bit more agreeable to the notion.
One of the guards in the hallway shut the creaking door behind the fat man and snapped the lock back into place, leaving him completely alone with the one person who had betrayed everything he held dear in this world.
It took a while for Rae to move.
Ferrin watched as she crossed the room, not daring to raise her head, not daring to look him in the eyes. Standing to the side, she reached out and grabbed hold of the first nail. The pain was intense, but the thought of what she had done hurt even worse.
“Why did you do it?” When she didn’t reply, he added, “I would have thought you of all people would be the last person to want to do this.”
She held to her silence as she enfolded his hand gently in hers and sent a wave of healing through it. It was somehow calming. Ferrin was at a loss. He snorted his frustration. “I guess I was wrong. I guess you are one of them.” She glanced his way for the briefest of moments before stepping over to the other side of the rack. As fleeting as the glance had been, he had seen remorse in her eyes, or maybe it was hurt. Either way, Ferrin didn’t believe, or at least he didn’t want to believe, she had been a willing participant. Maybe they hadn’t given her a choice. Maybe she was being used as much as he was. He shook his head. Leaning back against the bed of the rack, he closed his eyes.
“Just let me die.”
The words left his lips before he had time to stop them. Her hand faltered halfway through pulling the remaining nail. She was trembling. He opened his eyes and was surprised to find her staring back, eyes filled with tears. In that moment, he almost felt sorry for her, a difficult emotion to embrace after what she had done.
“I . . . I don’t want you to die.” He lifted his head from where it rested on the metal bars. He was stunned by her open admittance, but at the same time he noticed that her words sounded forced, as if not quite sure of her own belief in their accuracy.
She gave one final tug and the rest of the nail slid through. He clenched his teeth. He could feel the warmth of the blood dripping from his fingertips. The soft splatter it made on the stones below was a sound he had grown quite accustomed to. She cupped his hand in hers and softly applied her magic. The lavender glow emitting from her finger tips was beautiful, as was the relief it brought.
“I have a daughter,” she s
aid as if that somehow excused the fact she had sold his sister out to the Inquisition. Instead of berating her, though, he let her finish. “She’s four. She was born here like me, like my mother before me.” Born here? The time he had spent in the White Tower was bad enough, let alone the time Azriel had spent, but he couldn’t imagine having been born and raised into a life such as this. He wondered if she had ever even been outside.
“When my grandmother’s gift of healing was discovered and the inquisitors saw the value in its use, they decided to try making more of us. After I was born and my abilities became apparent, they thought they had found a way to keep an ongoing supply of healers around.” He could hear the utter contempt in her voice. “So, eventually, I was forced to give birth to my Suri.”
Ferrin wasn’t sure how to respond. His anger had begun to subside, but it still didn’t absolve her of what she had done. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive her. Unfortunately, she was still his best chance of getting out of there. He had to be willing to put his anger aside, if for no other reason than to get his sister to safety. Knowing Cheeks, he already had men on the way to find her.
“Why didn’t you touch me?”
Ferrin nearly choked. “What?” He wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. His mind conjured images of their previous encounter when she had tried to remove her clothes and seduce him. It was an image he would like to forget. It had obviously been a ruse to extract information from him, but the question still remained as to why it would matter to her now.
“Why didn’t you lie with me?”
Ferrin was sure his face was as red as a beet. Had this poor woman been so abused that she had no idea what common decency was? “I told you why the last time.”
She glanced down at the front of her dress. “Do you not like what you see? Is my shape not pleasing?”
Ferrin’s eyes widened. He couldn’t tell if she was trying to proposition him again or if she was honestly curious about his lack of physical aggressiveness. “No. I mean, yes. I mean . . . Look, you are very pleasing, but that doesn’t give me the right to . . . you know . . . act on it and such.”
“Why not? All the rest of your kind does.”
“My kind?”
“Yes, your kind!” Her temper rose.
“What, the prisoners?”
“No. Men!”
Ferrin laid his head back against the rack. He could see his hope of escape slipping through his grasp. She wasn’t going to help him. She hated him. Not because he’d wronged her, but because he reminded her of what had been done to her. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember seeing many other women around, and with the inquisitors and the Black Watch being the only example of men she’d ever known, it was no wonder she harbored the thoughts she did. Still, this was his only chance. He had to try.
“I have no idea what it’s been like for you living in a place like this. The horrors you’ve seen, the atrocities that have been done to you.” He paused to take a breath. “I can’t imagine, and quite honestly, I don’t want to. But you’ve got to understand, we aren’t all like that. Men are supposed to protect women, to stand up for them, to help them, not use them like chattel. Where I’m from, if a man did what’s been done to you, he’d be locked up or horsewhipped, and that’s only if her kinfolk didn’t get to him first.”
She watched him in silence. He could see that behind her scowl she was weighing his words and expressions, trying to see the deception behind his statements. “I don’t believe you. I’m sorry for my part in what’s been done about your sister, but I have to worry about my Suri. She’s all I’ve got, and they won’t let me see her unless I help them get what they want. She’s just a little girl.” The tears started down her dimpled cheeks.
Ferrin took a deep breath. What could he say to that? Would he have been willing to do the same if it had been his sister they were threatening? He guessed he might. “I understand that you love your daughter and don’t want her to have to live through what you have been made to endure. You want to save her the same way I want to save my sister.” Rae’s eyes reflected his sentiments. “Lucky for us both, I might just be able to offer a solution. What if I told you there was a way we might be able to save both of them?”
Rae’s didn’t speak, but the desperation in her eyes said enough.
“The catch is . . . you’re going to have to trust me.” Ferrin’s eyes lowered to where her small crystal hung from its tarnished chain between her breasts.
“I’m going to need to borrow that.”
Chapter 65 | Ayrion
THE EVENING HAD passed with more speed than Ayrion would have liked. Dawn hadn’t yet broken through the overcast skies, leaving a pale, dismal sort of feeling in the air. The battlefield had remained uncharacteristically quiet. The Cylmaran army on the other side seemed to be waiting for something to happen.
Ayrion ran a hand down his jaw as he watched the High King stare at the maps and battle-drawn sketches strewn across the table before him. Commander Tolin stood on the far side while Dakaran reclined comfortably in his corner, rubbing his head from what looked to be tedious boredom, or more likely, the after-effect of an excessive amount of morning wine.
“Your Majesty!” One of the black and silver clad High Guards stuck his head in the doorway. “You need to see this!” The urgency in the man’s voice caused those within to move out in haste.
“What’s this about?” Rhydan asked as he stepped into the early morning haze.
The guard pointed north. “There, Your Majesty!”
Everyone shifted their gaze in the direction of the Black Hills. There was a pillar of red flame bursting from the center of the small mountain range. The fire reached all the way to the heavens above.
“What do you make of that, Commander?”
“I’m not a betting man, Your Majesty, but that looks like a clear opening signal if ever I saw one.” Tolin stepped back inside the canvas and grabbed his helm. He held out an arm to Ayrion.
Ayrion clasped it in return. “May your men stay at your back and your enemies at your front.”
“Aye,” Tolin said as he released Ayrion’s arm and took a step back. “They will sing songs of our courage this day.” Tolin raised his fist to his chest in salute. “By your leave, Your Majesty.”
“May the Creator guide your hands, Commander.”
“May He indeed,” Tolin echoed before offering one final bow.
Ayrion stood beside the king and watched as his mentor made his way down the incline and back through the Elondrian encampment. Ayrion wished he could be riding beside him once again.
“I don’t much like what that fire represents,” Rhydan said as he started to lift his own helm into place. The king’s attendants began strapping on the rest of his plated armor. Abruptly, a large shadow slid over the top of Ayrion’s shoulders, blocking the sun from the side of his face. “Guardian.” Ayrion turned to see his Captain of the Guard standing directly behind him. The man was as large as a bear, making it quite difficult to approach with any amount of stealth, but it didn’t stop him from trying.
“Barthol, I didn’t hear you that time, you’re getting better.”
As his captain and best friend, Barthol had been Ayrion’s one and only sparring partner since before the huge man had found someone else to spend his evenings with. Ayrion could hardly fault him for that. Kensey was a wonderful woman, and with a growing daughter, and another on the way, Ayrion and Barthol’s time together had of course dwindled, but it was to be expected. In his own way, Ayrion was jealous of his friend. The big man’s face appeared almost intoxicated whenever Kensey was around. He looked like a giant, blundering fool. Ayrion wished he had reason to look as foolish sometimes.
“Thank you, sir. The High Guard is assembled and awaiting your orders.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Ayrion turned back to the king. “By your leave, Your Majesty, I need to make ready your guard.”
The king, with his arms raised to the sides to allow
the attendants to finish cinching his straps, nodded. “By all means, Guardian.”
Ayrion bowed. He turned to Barthol and slapped a hand on the big man’s shoulder. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”
The two men started down the rise to the secondary encampment below. Ayrion couldn’t help but notice the heavy expression on his friend’s face. It wasn’t like Barthol to be so uptight about an upcoming battle. “What’s wrong?”
Barthol scratched at his thick beard. “I’m feeling a mite uneasy about this entire campaign. Nothing about it makes any sense. And now—" He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the Black Hills. “—with the coming of this dark magic, I can’t help but wonder if we haven’t managed to grab the snake by the tail this time.”
“I won’t lie. I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
Chapter 66 | Tolin
THIS, MUCH LIKE every other battle Tolin had ever fought, demonstrated the same simple truth. It didn’t matter the brilliance of your planning, the effectiveness of your position, the expanse of your siege machines, or the number of your bowmen. Victory balanced on the edge of a single question: which side had the most men left standing. It was this thought, and this thought alone, that was etched into the forefront of Tolin’s mind as he rode toward the mobile command post near the forefront of the battleground.
His men, though well trained, were still men, and although they were managing to put up a good front, he could see the fear in their eyes. It was the fear of knowing what they were about to face, knowing they, or someone they knew, would never see another sunrise. The life of a lancer was a hard one.
Swinging off his horse, the commander handed his reins to one of the hostlers. He could see apprehension in the young man’s eyes as the attendant rubbed the animal with long, nervous strokes. Tolin stepped over and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Loren, there’s nothing wrong with being afraid.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the embarrassed lad said as he attempted to straighten his shoulders. “I don’t know what came over me.”
The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1) Page 48
