A King's Caution

by Brennan C. Adams

  Kheled illuminated the night in response. Warily backing away, the sergeant gestured toward the door.

  “Knock yourself out, master primeancer.”

  “My thanks to you.”

  Opening the warehouse’s door the barest sliver, he glided inside. The first enemy immediately attacked, a blow Kheled easily avoided. He tripped the man in the middle of his second swing and instead of following through with a decapitation, released a short burst of Ele, revealing each enemy’s relative position.

  Satisfied, Kheled shot eight darts of light at multiple angles. Five Kiraak hit the ground.

  Three remained. Kheled pushed Ele from his feet as he leaped, and instantly, he landed on the opposite side of the warehouse, dragging his saber through a woman’s neck. His dagger plunged into the temple of the man beside her, and he twisted his victim in front of his body to catch the throwing knife speeding for his chest.

  Dropping the incapacitated Kiraak, he flipped his own throwing dagger at the last enemy. It bit into the man’s shoulder, causing him to stumble, and by the time he’d regained his footing, Kheled’s saber parted the flesh and tissue of his throat.

  He stalked to the Kiraak left breathing despite the steel in his brain, beheaded the unfortunate soul, and retrieved his dagger. Carefully wiping each blade on clean cloth, he sheathed them, pulled bodies away from the door, and opened it.

  “Three dead, five prisoners,” Kheled reported to the astonished sergeant. “I’ll come by later to replenish the Ele keeping them docile, depending on what Raimie wants done with them. Please don’t touch them in the meantime.”

  “O-of course,” the sergeant stammered.

  “If anyone here is willing,” Kheled called, “I could use some help dragging this fort’s Overseer to my friend.”

  Uncertain murmurs answered him.

  “Where is Raimie, by the way?” he asked when it became clear no one would volunteer.

  “I believe the King has taken respite at the top of the tower,” someone called.

  “Thank you!” Kheled shouted.

  Perhaps he’d check on his friend before retrieving Nessa. The detour shouldn’t cause a long delay, and he’d suffused the Overseer’s body with plenty of Ele. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  Kheled hadn’t realized he’d begun moving toward the tower until a hand tugged on his cloak. He halted, rapidly blinking at the short soldier who’d caused the stop.

  “I’ll re-retrieve her, sir,” the young soldier stammered.

  Kheled struggled to understand before he remembered his previous request for assistance. How had he forgotten in such a short time? Was his memory slipping? Had a lifetime spanning millennia finally surpassed his mind’s capacity to hold information? He shuddered at the terrifying thought.

  “I suppose the task would be somewhat less excruciating between the two of us…” he murmured.

  “Oh! No, sir! I don’t need your help. I can handle one female by myself,” the short soldier replied.

  Kheled’s eyes skeptically ran up and down the man’s scrawny figure, but he supposed allowing the kid an attempt wouldn’t cause any harm.

  “I left Overseer Nessa at the forest’s edge where the assault began. Don’t touch her bare skin unless necessary since the Ele holding her hostage will bleed from her to you. Are you sure you can handle the task alone?”

  “Of course, sir,” the soldier smirked. “And may I say, it’s an honor to meet you.” He shallowly bowed. “Two primeancers in my lifetime,” he murmured, shaking his head. “How did I obtain such luck?”

  Turning on his heels, the short soldier sauntered toward the gate.

  That was… strange. Kheled had never come across anyone who'd wanted to meet him after they'd discovered his primeancy, let alone one who’d volunteer to help him.

  Enough delays. Raimie awaited.

  Jogging to the tower, Kheled sprinted the stairs two at a time. By the time he reached the top, he was desperate for air, but whatever kept his body in perfect health quickly kicked in, and normal respiration chased away panting.

  Once more the tower’s top room glittered with resplendence, and once more its opulence made his stomach turn. He controlled a grimace with difficulty

  “This bed is awesome, Khel!” Raimie shouted from a monstrous four-poster. “Its softness is glorious! And the bounce! I’d love to jump on it, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t look very dignified. Come, join me!”

  “Thank you, but I’d rather not,” Kheled replied. “Who knows what vile acts Teron performed there.”

  “Suit yourself!” Raimie fell into the massive cloud of pillows which concealed the headboard. “Good gods, I could sleep right now!”

  Kheled kept silent, content to give his friend a moment. Within seconds, Raimie groaned and climbed from bed.

  “Did you get her?” he asked as he stretched.

  “I did. I sent someone to retrieve her for interrogation.”

  “You didn’t drag her here yourself?” Raimie asked. “Relying on someone else for such a task isn’t like you.”

  “She’s covered in a form of Daevetch, Raimie,” Kheled replied. “Touching the stuff makes me physically ill. I carried her as far as I could.”

  “Huh…” Raimie trailed off, unreadable thoughts flashing through his eyes.

  “What?”

  “Sorry.” His friend flushed and ducked his head, his characteristic response to embarrassment, “I’d simply never considered what encountering an opposing primal energy would be like when only controlling one.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m the only one to have such a violent reaction to Daevetch.” Kheled rubbed his neck. “Me being Champion of Ele and all.”

  Coughing, Raimie practically sprang to the desk on the opposite side of the room. Reports covered it, some already drifting to the floor. The curtain behind the desk had been drawn back, and the safe was cracked open, papers trailing from it as well.

  “Seems Teron and Nessa were diligent about destroying missives once they'd read their contents. They left behind some useful information, but most of this is pure drivel.”

  So, Raimie hadn’t quite accustomed to having a friend with a godlike force supporting him. Kheled wouldn’t coerce the kid into discussing it. The subject made him decidedly uncomfortable as well. Instead, he joined Raimie on the opposite side of the desk.

  “Perhaps Nessa can provide the intelligence we seek.”

  “Which is what exactly?” Raimie asked, his frustration palpable. He rested palms atop old reports. “We don’t have any grasp whatsoever of Doldimar’s reign. How does he run his kingdom? Are there centers of commerce? Does trade even exist within Auden anymore? What about the Kiraak? Where are they trained? How many are they-?”

  Kheled clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll handle the interrogation, Raimie. Focus on preparing Da’kul for Gistrick and the Zrelnach’s arrival come the morrow.”

  “And sleep at some point?” Raimie asked, gaze trailing to the bed.

  “Hopefully for us both,” Kheled laughed. “Can you handle a span of solitude until I return with my report?”

  “Oh, if only it would be for that long.” Raimie rolled his eyes. “Oswin left to gather some people he wants me to meet, but he’ll return soon enough.”

  “Seems you’ve something to look forward to,” Kheled commented with a wicked grin. He cracked his knuckles. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to have a long conversation with an Overseer.”

  * * *

  Kheled tugged once more on the ropes binding Nessa to her chair. She was secure. He'd prepared the room. The instruments he hoped not to use rested on a nearby table. Nothing else could postpone what came next.

  He squeezed his eyes closed, and when they opened once more, the mask fell away. Releasing the Ele keeping Nessa unconscious, he patiently waited for her to rouse.

  Soon enough, she stirred, mumbling incoherently.

  “Welcome back,” Kheled intoned.

 
Nessa’s head sprang up, jerking side to side. Her eyes landed on plyers and sharp implements before flicking to his unmasked face, and she immediately tried to rip her hands free of restraints. She struggled far longer than Kheled would have liked. Interrogations which started in this manner never ended well or quickly.

  “Stop it, Nessa,” he wearily commanded. “You’re not escaping those ropes, and even if you could, where would you go?”

  “Don’t call me Nessa!” she snapped, red face twitching toward him. “Only Teron called me that! My name is Nessaira!”

  “Fine. Nessaira. Can you guess why you’re here?”

  “You wish me to betray my Dark Lord. I won’t!” she screamed her refusal. “Do you hear me, whoever listens? Nothing will ever make me do that!”

  “It’s only you and me, my dear,” Kheled chuckled. “Don’t think of it as betraying your Lord, more giving me information I need to provide entertainment for the bastard. He’s waited for his favorite playmate for, what is it? Nearly three centuries now? I’m sure boredom has eaten through whatever pathetic remnants of sanity remained after Corruption took hold.”

  Nessaira tried to spit on him, but the saliva came nowhere close to where he stood.

  “Please just give me what I want,” Kheled asked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Do your worst,” she hissed.

  Why did no one relinquish the quested for information before pain began? He’d eventually extract what he needed, and his victims ended up enduring suffering for no reason.

  Their resistance couldn’t be a desperate attempt to stay alive. Most people captured by an enemy understood their lives had ended the moment shackles were donned. No, it was only ever out of loyalty or stubbornness.

  Kheled longed for the one person who relayed every desired item of interest from the start. Someone who’d allow him to quickly end it.

  “Remember,” he said as he advanced on Nessaira, “this can stop whenever you’re ready.”

  The same warning every enemy received. She sneered, the characteristic response of his victims.

  Lifting her pointer finger, Kheled bent it back toward her wrist until the expected snap and howl filled the room.

  The crooked finger gnawed at the healer in him. He wished to offer anesthetic, set the bone, and brace it, but this moment didn't require a healer. Kheled locked that part of his personality away, intent on using the same knowledge to break rather than mend.

  He quickly breezed through her left hand’s fingers and had begun the right when moaning and laughter started. Kheled twisted her middle finger hard enough the bone separated from the joint, and Nessaira screamed not from pain but pleasure. The finger swung, unhinged, from the armrest.

  Kheled stepped back, confusion overriding his next planned action. Nessaira’s reaction was… strange. Unexpected. She seemed to be-

  “Please,” she pleaded, “hurt me more.”

  Interesting. A person who enjoyed pain. Kheled had heard of such individuals before, but never, in all his years, had he encountered one. The experience was… disconcerting.

  Contradictory to his present circumstances, people of Nessaira’s persuasion were supposed to appreciate solely superficial pain, not agonizing damage. Slaps and bites were desired, not broken bones. If she took a shine to something like this, however… His chosen task had become near impossible.

  Even if the Overseer relished what he inflicted upon her, a threshold or torturing method always existed which surpassed pleasure. The problem was, in the process of discovering those requirements for Nessaira, Kheled risked killing her. The woman couldn’t die until he’d gathered what he required.

  Her hungry eyes stared at him, a distraction which threatened to disrupt his thoughts. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t handle…

  Kheled had learned long ago how to negate his emotions when circumstances called for torture. While he was in the room with his victim, he was cold, methodical, precise. Afterward, he became a shivering mess for hours on end, the floodgates restraining his emotions lifted with great hesitation and care. Nessaira’s longing face ripped against his control, threatening to release those floodgates before he was ready. He fled the room.

  “Don’t leave!” she called after him. “It was just getting good!”

  Kheled massaged his temples. What should he next try? Strangulation? Denailing her feet? Peeling away skin?

  His stomach rebelled, and he swallowed bile.

  “Let me try.”

  Kheled laughed, the babble high-pitched and jittery. “When did you arrive, Raimie?”

  “Soon enough to gather you’re having trouble.” His friend nervously grinned. “In all seriousness, though, let me have a go. You can have her all to yourself if I fail.”

  Kheled hesitated. “You know this isn’t like killing to save your life, right? Any screams you inflict in there will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

  “Needs doing, yes?” Raimie asked with a shrug. “What should I ask for?”

  Kheled shouldn’t let his friend do this, but… “Troop distribution, food sources and supplies, and any existing trading towns.”

  “Understood. Relax, Khel. I’ve got this.”

  Raimie entered the room, and Kheled slid down the wall to sit cross-legged on the floor. His friend’s head stuck around the corner.

  “You’ll wait for me?” he asked.

  Gods bless the youth. “Of course, I will, my friend.”

  Chapter Three

  Diary,

  Today marks a momentous day in history.

  That’s the pronouncement Kinlith made when my brother was born this morning, but the odious man seemed so sad when he said it. I don’t see why everyone’s in such a tizzy about the new baby. Plenty of noble families have more than one son. Why does it matter if we do too?

  I know, for now, my brother will be nothing but a squalling ball of flesh and excrement, but he’ll grow soon enough. When he does, maybe I’ll have a friend who doesn’t always go out of his way to please me.

  Please don’t take offense, diary. You’re my friend, but unfortunately, you don’t have a mouth. That deficiency makes it very difficult to play with you. Also, you are not alive. That probably has something to do with it as well.

  Until next time!

  Kheled descended the stair, and Raimie absently lifted a report from the desk. It composed an extensive list of troop distribution within Da’kul. Useless. He let it slip through his fingers and flutter to the floor. The glorious four-poster bed stole his attention once more, and Raimie reluctantly stopped his feet from moving toward it.

  Exhaustion accrued as a result of closing the tear nipped at the heels of his mind like a dog. Kheled’s touch had eased the burden somewhat, but for whatever reason, weariness refused to lift unlike every other physical infirmity his friend had taken from him. It was a miracle he still moved.

  Maybe he should sit to alleviate the strain on his body. The armchairs situated before the fireplace certainly looked comfortable.

  “You two mind explaining why you failed to mention the tear?” Raimie asked as he sank into cushions.

  Bright and Dim slid to center stage, their guises once again broken and cracked.

  Raimie bit his lip. “Are you all right?”

  “We will be soon enough,” Dim answered in a buzz.

  “We didn’t say anything because we thought we could control ourselves near the reality break, a false hope as it turned out. Dim held his focus even with our wholes calling to us. Not so I. I’m the one who slipped, and I apologize for that,” Bright said as explanation for his human’s other question. “We also feared you’d cut us from the whole again, which you did. Not that we can blame you, considering the circumstances.”

  “Did either of you consider what the tear would do to my men?” Raimie murmured. “None of them can function near one, you know. Without a splinter to partially mitigate, the dread completely overwhelms them. Wouldn’t have been conducive to a successful
assault…”

  His eyes drooped, and Raimie propped them open with force of will alone.

  “Tell me whenever we’re near a tear in the future, yes?” he yawned. “I promise I’ll only close one if I absolutely must.”

  He missed his splinters’ responses.

  For a brief moment, he floated at the bottom of a well, but he didn’t drag mama from the water. He lifted Nylion instead. His other half’s screams deafened him, Nylion’s mouth pressing against his ear.

  “Your Majesty.”

  Someone shook Raimie’s shoulder. Gasping, Raimie sprang to his feet, pulling Ele to his hands.

  Sleep receded, and the room at the top of Da’kul’s tower snapped into focus. Oswin cautiously watched him, his hand hesitantly extended.

  “Is something the matter, sir?” he asked. “You were thrashing.”

  Dispelling Ele, Raimie lowered his hands. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Nightmare. Please forgive me if I caused you concern- Who are they?” he asked.

  Four familiar faces occupied the room with Raimie and his bodyguard. A burly man scanned the reports and missives coating the desk. At the balcony’s broken, glass door, a slender man dressed in black observed the view, and on the bed, a lovely, red-haired woman and a small… man? teenager? reclined.

  “You’ve met them before, sir, although I’m not surprised you don’t recall,” Oswin remarked. “We were the first to discover your magic.”

  “Ah. The soldiers who watched me repair Bright,” Raimie muttered when recollection dawned.

  “Who’s Bright?” the small man-child asked.

  “Little, mind your tongue,” Oswin reprimanded. “Not the time for such a question.”

  Rolling his eyes, Little flopped into pillows.

  “I remember you promising to introduce them if we survived the beach,” Raimie prompted. “Well, we survived, gods know how. Do I get to meet your friends?”

  “Indeed,” Oswin nodded. “You know Little. He’s our youngest, our infiltrator, and the one to claim the honor of wriggling into and out of tight spots for us.”