The Trial of a Tyrant: The Assassin of Acreage Book Two

by R. L. McIntyre

“This isn’t over, Serena.” He scoffed before walking through the image of Altara to the door. The other guard followed as they took the torches with them, drowning her in darkness.

  Everything hurt. Every breath expanded her lungs and inflamed her ribs. Her visions flashed in and out as she tried to breathe through the waves of pain.

  Despite the pain, the image of Altara calmed her. The figure bending before her reached a hand to her cheek. A cool breeze touched her as Altara frowned.

  “Poor child. I am sorry you suffer so.” She said, her voice comforting.

  “Go away. I will not die today.” Serena gasped. Altara smiled.

  “Not today. Your pain is not over.”

  Her touch warmed as the pain lessened even a fraction.

  “Sleep, child,” her voice cooed as Serena fell into a deep slumber.

  The pain woke her again. Rough hands held her arm and twisted it behind her back so hard she knew it would pop. She remained mute. Her eyes looked into the darkness, finding solace in its cold. A hard pop filled her ears, followed by a burst of pain, but still she remained quiet.

  “Talk!” growled the General, yanking her by her hair. She refused to look at him, still focused on the wall behind him.

  “Do you think you’re going to win this? I will kill you!” he growled out.

  “Shut up and do it then.” She returned her voice steel knowing well he wouldn’t. He’d use her against Wesley. Against her friends. If that wasn’t his plan, she’d already be dead.

  He laughed and nodded, pulling her by her hair across the ground. She grabbed his wrist, trying to ease the pain as her body dragged across the uneven stone cutting her skin. Her eyes looked around again, searching for signs of her whereabouts, but the monotone gray stone gave nothing away.

  Perhaps this was a dungeon in the castle. Perhaps she wasn’t in the castle at all. She needed to be close enough for him to visit and not be noticed. Wesley would be searching. Someplace hidden, but close. She prayed Wesley knew the castle and its grounds well enough to find her, for she could not even guess where on the grounds she was.

  The General kicked open a door, drawing her attention. A host of torture devices laid out around the room. Devices of all kinds with their twisted and blood-stained metal hung on the wall. Sharp edges and strange forms reflected both shadows and light into the den of danger she found herself in. Serena resigned to her fate, knowing well her body was already broken. There would be no way for her to escape until she healed.

  If the General gave her time to.

  He pulled her towards a wooden table with a large wheel. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight. She knew well what this was. Adrian used one on her before in training. A way to train her not to break even when torn apart. Her limbs were already sore as the General tossed her up onto the table. The hardwood creaked under her weight as he grabbed her limbs, securing them to the shackles. Each limb sat strung apart as she laid looking up at the ceiling, waiting. The pain would come. She hoped to distance herself from it, even mentally.

  The General said nothing. He walked to the wheel and watched her. She knew he enjoyed watching the anticipation build in her. Her breaths ragged before were even more shallow. He turned the wheel slowly, the shackles pulling her limbs from the four edges of the table. They grew taunt. Just enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to cause pain.

  She refused to look at him or plead him not to. Begging would not stop him. She knew this, and yet she still wished she could. He pushed the wheel, the metal clicking reminding her of each rotation as the chains pulled her limbs further and further away. Pain rippled through her, but her previously hurt arm screamed with pain. She bit it back, trying not to give him the satisfaction of her scream.

  The General snorted and quickly rotated the wheel twice more. Serena felt like they would tear her limbs off. Terrible screams erupted from her lips as tears caressed her cheeks.

  He laughed. A throaty laugh as he watched her wither in pain. Again, she tried to be stronger, but another click of the wheel released another scream. She felt ready to succumb to the pain when the tension released. The General refused her even that mercy and threw a bucket of cold water on her. She gasped, sputtering on the water that entered her mouth.

  “Let’s try again, shall we?”

  Questions poured from his mouth. Questions she’d rather die than answer. Her words could sign the death warrant of her friends, and she refused to be the reason one of them died. She ignored his words, looking up at the ceiling as he yelled at her. He punched her again in the face, his ring cutting her lip, but still, she held strong. Frustrated, the General let out a yell. He kicked over a chair, running his fingers through his hair.

  “Fine. Tomorrow. You’ll either answer me or I will kill you.”

  He unshackled her and for a moment she thought she had the strength to stop him. For a moment she spotted the blade at his waist and tried to will her body to move and snatch it. Plunge it into his throat and end him, but her limbs were lifeless. Too much pain and tension left them useless.

  He dragged her form back to her cell, tossing her in and slamming the door, leaving her in darkness. She laid crumpled on the ground for many minutes, focusing on each painful breath. Regaining some sense of strength, she crawled away from the door and straightened her limbs. They relaxed, aching as the icy floor soothed them. Her mind quickly assessed her mobility. Poor. Piss poor. She thought, raising an arm. The pain was incredulous, but at least she could still move. If she lost mobility, it was all over. She’d never escape.

  Laying on the cold stone, she stared at the ceiling, feeling weariness take over.

  “My daughter,” whispered a voice as again the specter of Altara bent next to Serena. Her face was solemn as she looked over Serena’s wounds. “You are so strong.”

  Angry tears rose in her eyes at those dreadful words. She never wanted to be strong. She had to be strong. The only other option was death. Her whole life was one terrible decision between death and cruelty. Each time she chose to survive cruelty over death and still, she needed to make such decisions. She fisted her hands, glaring at Altara.

  “Why are you here?” Serena managed to growl. Her hoarse voice burned with pain from screaming.

  “I come to all my children in their time of need.” She explained simply. Serena tried to shake her head no but could not even manage the strength.

  “I don’t need you.” Serena returned. Altara chuckled.

  “Such a child. You look at me and only see death. I am both death and life. Both can be true.” She returned, her warm hand touching Serena’s cheek. “I have no wish to travel with you yet. I am only here to help.”

  As if her words alone conjured magic, Serena felt some pain fade.

  “Sleep, my daughter. Rest,” she whispered as again everything faded into black.

  She was unsure how long she slept. There were no sounds. No one around, and even though the pain was manageable now, it still impeded her movements.

  Time became an illusion as the pain became constant. A cruel reminder of a past she preferred to forget. For the slim chance of escape, she got to her feet and pressed against the door. It did not move. It did not budge an inch. No light came into her cell from underneath, confirming her solitude.

  Her mouth felt dry, and they provided no provisions. Perhaps the General’s next attempt would be starvation. It too easily reminded her of the prison camp.

  She sat back against the cool wall, letting it soothe some of her aches. Alone in the silence, her mind wandered. She thought about Wesley and the pain he would feel at her disappearance. Would he think she left him? That she turned her back on him? Would he search for her? She could imagine Helen adding extra mead to her tea just to calm her nerves.

  What Serena would give for a seeping cup of Helen’s tea right now. The door opened suddenly, and her eyes landed on the shadow of the General.

  “I’m surprised at how quickly you heal.” He scoffed. “We’ll fix t
hat.”

  He started towards her and snatched her again by the hair, pulling her down the hall. This time, however, he brought her to an unfamiliar room. Inside, bodies of Acreans hung from the ceiling, their blood dripping down into bowls. The bodies did not seem alive.

  He tossed her to the ground in front of a man dressed in black.

  “Is this another one?” he grinned, looking at Serena with delight. He licked his lips, looking up at the General.

  “You can’t string her up. I want her alive but weakened. I have more plans for her.” The General said.

  “Like what? Do you think Wesley will do your bidding for my life forever? How much do you honestly think my life is worth?” Serena growled. The General cackled, looking at her.

  “To me nothing but to dear Wesley, you’ve ensnared him enough that you are his world. He will do anything I ask of him as long as you’re alive. He even defended me at yesterday’s trial. The way he spoke, I honestly didn’t know he had it in him.”

  “He will grow weary. At some point, my life won’t be enough to motivate him.” Serena returned.

  “At that point, I might just have to remind him how much he cares about you. If not, well, you’ve served your purpose. We’ll drain your blood and toss you on a pyre like any other witch. You won’t be alive to see what happens to Wesley.” He grinned. He nodded to the other man.

  “This shall be fun.” The man said grabbing the shackles. He dragged her towards an iron chair. She tried to thrash and overpower what seemed to be a weaker man than the General. The man’s speckled hair did not equate to his strength.

  He tossed her effortlessly into the uncomfortable chair. Small grooves in the chair meant to bite into the skin annoyed her as he snatched her wrists. She pulled them forward into a pair of shackles that forced her wrists upwards. She shifted in the seat, trying to kick out her legs, but the man slammed her head back into the iron back. A new shackle, a collar for her neck clamped around her throat holding her back. The man pulled out a small stool, putting it under her wrists and looking at the General, who watched with a grin.

  “Come back in a couple of hours.” The man commented as he pulled out a thin blade. With quick precise movements, he sliced at her wrists, creating small cuts that slowly bled down towards the bowl. However, the heat in her veins quickly told her it was another of those black iron weapons.

  The heat rolled through her veins as she struggled in the chair, causing the grooves to bite in deeper. The General snorted, amused.

  “I’ll be back later.” He smirked before leaving her to this new torment.

  The pain continued, intensifying with every breath as if this poisonous blade fed on the air. The man sat and watched. His intense eyes scouring her body.

  “He beat you up good.” He commented. “So, who are you? Why does he want you alive?” he asked. Serena ignored him.

  “He hates witches. Enjoys letting me kill them all slowly. Yet he’s taking special care of you. What do you have to do with his son?” She remained mute. He laughed almost manically as he got to his feet, waving his arm out in a grand gesture. She flinched at the blade’s movements.

  “I know you won’t tell otherwise you wouldn’t be here, but I promise the longer this stuff is in your veins, the worse it gets. Each small cut may not bleed a lot, but it poisons you. Funny how your own magic is toxic to yourself.”

  Her head would’ve sunk if not for the collar holding her back. Her eyes drooped, but a new quick cut woke her. The added pain rippled through her as once again she struggled in the iron chair. Her breaths grew ragged as her eyes settled onto the man; a rage ignited. Flickering amber power illuminated the fire in her eyes as he stared.

  “You’re different,” he said, moving closer and grabbing her chin. He pushed her hair aside, looking at her eyes. “Your eyes. What ancient power do you possess? Which God named you their Champion?”

  She could feel a piece of power grow in her hands as the specter of Altara reappeared.

  “Fire to ash,” she whispered, the words ringing in Serena’s ears. Altara showed a slight gesture with her fingers. Pulling threads of amber between her digits before releasing it towards a wall. She raised her eyebrow as she waited.

  Serena concentrated on the magic at her fingers, mimicking the small movement as golden threads appeared. The man stared at her fingers. She tried to throw the flame that left her hand at him, but he sidestepped a laugh leaving his lips.

  “Who do you see?” he asked, almost giddy with excitement as he neared.

  “Who do you think I see?” her hoarse voice asked. He grinned, clapping his hands while missing the movement of hers. Again, she pulled the threads, releasing a sharp burst of flame into his stomach. He fell back laughing.

  “You’ll regret that.” He said picking up a club and slamming it into her head. Everything went black, but the pain soon pulled her back to her body.

  “She’s a Champion.” The man’s voice whispered. “Her magic is more powerful than most of the savages. A God chose her!”

  “Their Gods are myths.” The General began.

  “That is wishful thinking. One comes to her. Speaks to her. She can use magic without words!” the man exclaimed. “I want to study her. Learn what I can-”

  “No!” snapped the General. “She is my prisoner. Until I have my answers, you cannot have her. When I finish, then you can do your little experiments. Not before. Now, why isn’t she withering in pain?”

  “She is. I just had to give her a lick for throwing fire at me is all.” The man said. Serena heard the steps grow closer as she looked up at the General who grinned at her.

  “You must think you’re special.” He glowered. “Do you want to be my special little girl?”

  A shiver ran up her spine at his words, reading the meaning behind them. He let out a chuckle as he unbuckled the shackle. He eyed the collar.

  “I like the look of a collar on you. Perhaps it’s motivating.” He said reaching behind him. The man walked over and placed something in his hand. “That’s why I brought you this.” He grinned. She stared at the spiked collar. The spikes were not sharp, but no doubt pressure on her neck would be incredibly painful.

  The new collar replaced the cold iron on her neck. He pulled it tight, causing her to gag. A grin covered his face as he attached a leash like she was a dog. The reminder of Graven flashed through her mind. She would not allow that again. She reached up and grabbed the leash, yanking the General closer. She landed a knee to his groin and got up, knocking over the stool with its bloody bowl. Her feet told her to run, even though every part of her body screamed. She saw the open door trying for it when the collar suddenly pulled.

  The spikes crushed her neck as it pulled her backward. She slipped on the ground, her footing weak to start. Falling through the air, she felt hopelessness sink in.

  No escape. She thought as her head crashed into the ground once again, knocking her out cold.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wesley

  Wesley stood in front of the mirror in his room, dressed in his uniform for the continuation of the trial. His heart pulsated with pain every second. His lungs constricted, fighting against his every breath. He should be looking. He needed to be looking. Serena was still missing and searching found nothing.

  He looked down at the heavy medallion on his neck. The strange dream of Midhor came into focus. Serena believed in Gods. Michalina had the same reverence for them. He pulled his dagger from his back, holding it in hand. Even if it was a desperate dream, any chance was enough.

  He prepared to slice his hand when the door opened.

  “Wesley!” yelled Daryl, startling him. “What are you doing?” he asked, looking at the blade. Daryl eyed it, holding out his hand. “May I?” Wesley saw the look in his eyes. Daryl worried about his sanity, but he’d never leave this world without finding her first.

  He slipped it back into its sheath.

  “I’m fine, Daryl.”

  “You had a
dagger in hand pointed at yourself.” Daryl returned. “Doesn’t seem like you’re fine.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I figured we could walk and look again before the trial. I’m restless and I can imagine you are as well.”

  “I’ll have to lie and defend him. If I don’t-”

  “The Lords know. They won’t hold it against you. Aldemo still has more tricks. We gave them what we found in my father’s office. Play your cards, but they will still win. Trust in the plan.” Daryl said, gripping his shoulder.

  “If the plan kills her-” his voice broke.

  “It won’t.”

  “You don’t know that.” Growled Wesley pulling away.

  “Come on, let’s walk.”

  Wesley followed as the pair walked in silence, circling the castle. “I don’t think she’s in the castle. I know it too well. My father wouldn’t hide her here.”

  “No hidden rooms?”

  “I’ve checked,” Wesley sighed again, looking at the gold metal.

  “What is that?”

  “Michalina gave it to me. If I offer it blood, their Gods might help me find Serena.” Wesley sighed. Daryl pulled out his dagger.

  “Then try it.” Wesley stared at his friend’s blade. “What is there to lose?”

  Wesley took the blade. He hesitated for a moment before he sliced his hand. He gripped the medallion in his bleeding palm, praying.

  Midhor please hear me. Help me find Serena. He prayed.

  Daryl helped him wrap his hand.

  “Anything?” Hope filled his voice.

  “No.” Wesley sighed, looking at the bloody medallion.

  “Well, you said, she’s likely not in the castle. Search the grounds after the trial.” Daryl offered, leading them towards the throne room. Wesley hid the medallion under his shirt as they entered.

  Everything seemed normal. People arrived preparing for the spectacle. Wesley watched the Ladies enter, noticing the empty seat. His chest constricted at the sight.

  Guilt settled in, stealing his breath. His breaths grew shallow as his legs felt weak. Wesley looked around the room, trying to busy himself with other thoughts when he spotted the General speaking with Patrick. He noticed his father’s knuckles, broken, cut, and purple. His heart nearly shattered at the sight.