Felinor waited outside the ornately gilded door of Mender's box at the arena, his stomach churning. He could faintly hear the roar of the crowd outside.
Lady Deshal, a magelord transmuter from Westerness, was guesting with his lordship today. She had brought Kailes with her, her body slave, as it were. He fought down the nauseating pleasure-pain that welled up at the thought of Kailes. Deshal got enormous pleasure from watching Kailes beat, then take, him, then doing the honors herself.
Dumbly, he leaned against the lacquer and gilt-painted wall. T'Keezian had been a horrific master to be sure, but Mender, unable to utilize the potential in his slave, had been, up till now, immeasurably worse. Felinor hugged himself miserably.
The tiny bell outside the door chimed, a cheery, silvery note that brought tears to the edge of his eyes.
Felinor swallowed hard, and raked his fingers through his long dark hair. "Amuse them." he said quietly to himself in a parody of Mender's growling commands and opened the door with downcast eyes.
"Yes, Master?" Mender regarded him coolly with jet colored eyes. Ever so slightly, he caressed the blade of T'Keezian's black Atzthaun. Felinor felt a chill grab his kidneys and ripple up his spine. He forced a smile. "How may this one serve you this day, Master?" his voice shook slightly.
He tried desperately not to look at Kailes, glowering in the corner. The monstrous ogre/warthog-njaa licked his lips and cracked his knuckles. "Felinor." Mender said with a silky resonance. "I do hope you remember the Lady Deshal?"
She had the radiant, translucent beauty of the Kindred, but her eyes had the cold gleam of a reptile's. They were eyes like Mender's.
He bowed as deeply as he could. "Lady. A pleasure to this one's wretched soul that you are here again." The obeisance delighted her and she lounged back, smiling sweetly, on the black silk divan.
Far below, the shouts of those watching the games increased.
Deshal beckoned him closer. In her delicate hands was a thick iron chain with a heavy clamp at the end. Felinor swallowed hard and looked down at the collar he wore.
He closed his eyes and bit down on his lip as she fastened the clamp. The sharp tug opened them again. Kailes held the other end of the chain.
The few other servants in the room averted their eyes. They'd seen Kailes handiwork far too many times before.
Kailes used the chain to drag Felinor, stumbling, across the room to him. For an irrational instant, the njaa looked to his master to save him, but Mender wore a look of undisguised lust on his face, staring at Deshal.
When Felinor was close enough, the ogre's greenish, warty hand shot out and grabbed ahold of his hair, and yanked him up so they were face to face.
The ogre then forced the smaller njaa's head back, and shoved his tongue down Felinor's throat.
No. The voice came from deep within. No. We've suffered this more than a lifetime. No more.
Kailes talons shredded the filmy fabric of Felinor's robe, tearing into the flesh beneath. He tried not to cry out, knowing that would only make Kailes more violent than he already was.
A sound escaped him as the ogre wrenched him around for penetration. Kailes laughed, a hideous, mocking sound.
That small sound tore from his throat as a cry. "NO!" He felt the overwhelming anger break through the binding magic around him as he groped blindly about. His hand closed on one of the pokers for the gleaming sliver braziers that rimmed the room.
With a speed he'd not known he possessed, Felinor whipped the glowing poker into Kailes face. The ogre screamed and fell back, trying to hold his bleeding eye in place.
Felinor simply collapsed, the fury replaced by quaking terror. Without warning, then, something unseen grabbed him by the throat and dragged him to his feet.
He looked wildly over to Deshal, her face twisted with rage and distorted by the shimmering magick in the air around her.
Desperately, Felinor clawed at the invisible grip on his throat, but it forced him, inexorably, across the room to the glowing coals of the brazier.
Mender was salivating like a hungry dog at the spectacle.
Felinor could feel the intense heat of the coals on his cheek as Deshal's invisible grip forced his face down.
Into the coals.
He screamed as the pain burned through him, but the screams were drowned out by the roars of the crowds below.
The room was filled with the stench of burning hair and flesh before Deshal let him go, falling to the floor in a groaning heap.
By now, Kailes was staggering to his feet, the bleeding almost subsided. "Mistress?" he asked groggily. Deshal smiled cruelly. "Have your revenge, my pet."
Felinor was already lapsing unconscious as he felt Kailes sex tear him apart.
He awoke with a sudden, groggy start on his pallet to the sound of his master's angry voice. He was speaking harshly to Celyn, his physician.
"What do you mean, he's not ready for today?" Dimly, Felinor wondered what day it actually was. Celyn's voice shook. "The injuries he sustained from your last. . party, m'lord, were severe. The remarkable ability he has to heal, well, it seems to have given out under the strain. ." she paused. "I have no herbs or poultices that will restore his face or repair that eye."
Felinor knew they were talking about him, but he felt adrift on a shimmering haze. Celyn's painkillers, he realized, and could feel the bandages that covered his face. The last events he remembered came rushing back to him, and he whimpered, involuntarily with the memory of the pain.
He heard sharp footsteps come towards him and a rough hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. "Look at you." Mender's voice dripped venom as the njaa cried out.
Felinor was aware of something warm running out of his mouth and wondered if it was spittle or blood.
"You disgust me, njaa. You're not even worth the waste of my powers to make you pretty again." he snorted and dropped his slave's head, leaden, on the pallet.
Through the haze he heard Mender walking away. "If he's not fully better by tomorrow, send him to the arena for disposal." The footsteps echoed out of the room.
He heard Celyn sit down beside him. Her voice still shook. "I'm so sorry, Felinor. " She sounded ill. "I hope for your sake you die in your sleep, tonight."
And then there was silence.
The guards came early the next day to take him to the arena.
Felinor saw them, just as he was forcing his good eye open in the room's dim light. They were burly, disgusting morons. Felinor remembered seeing them patrol the grounds.
"Look at his wizardship's pretty pet, now." One of them crooned.
"Oi, Harl. Heard he's as good as a woman in bed!" The other one jibed.
Go ahead. I don't care. Felinor thought to himself as they dragged him off the pallet. But his voice betrayed him weakly. "Please, don't hurt. . ."
The one called Harl, the dirtier of the two, laughed harshly. "What says we find out, eh, Jarma? His magical muckety-muckness ain't gonna know if we make a little stop." Their voices echoed as the three moved down the hallway.
Jarma nodded with the eager stupidity of a dog. "Sound's good t'me." He patted the undamaged side of Felinor's face. "Awright laddie. Be a good little puss and we won't hurts you too much." His breath stank.
The two guards took their unwilling companion to the storage bins in the lower corridors. The smell of mold, urine and the rank stench of his "escort" were almost more than Felinor could stomach.
He felt the weight of years of conditioning as he meekly sank to his knees on Harl's command. But there it was again, burning at the back of his skull, seeping from his core. The anger. .No, It whispered seductively. This is not what we are. This is not what we were.
He felt Harl's hot, fetid breath on the back of his neck. "Nice girly-girl," he growled.
No. T'Keezian used you to kill for him. Now kill for us.
Again he drew on the speed. Ignoring the grinding broken bones in his arm, another legacy of Kailes, he twisted and dug his fingers into Harl's throat. Slowly he stood, watching the stunned Jarma out of the corner of his eye.
With a sharp thrust, he shoved the choking and wheezing guard into the wall. "Stay away," Felinor snarled. Jarma looked ready to sound the alarm, but then thought better of it.
He drew his sword and advanced carefully. "Nice puss." he said grinning.
Felinor felt the fear and submissiveness creep back. This time he fought it down. It was if out of nowhere that Harl's fist seemed to come, smashing into the ruined side of Felinor's face.
He staggered, gasping. No, it said. Fight them. But the blows and the kicks came hard and fast.
He was only dimly aware when they tossed him into the arena pit with the fighters.
He became aware of a gentle hand on his shoulder. With a start, Felinor tried to pull away, but the pain stopped him short. Slowly, he opened his good eye.
A man knelt by him, clad in dusty leathers. At first glance, dark skinned and pale haired, a nomad. But Felinor could almost taste the palpable magic running in his veins. Not a mage, but touched with magic.
The silver-white hair, not old man's hair but almost gleaming, fell down in a long tight braid down this stranger's back. His eyes were a piercing, frozen blue, shining out, like the swords on his back, from a darkly tanned, silver bearded face .
His accent was strange and fast and Felinor struggled to understand him. "Shit. Someone got a chunk of you, didn't they, man?" His words were clipped and hard edged as a knife.
As Felinor strained to sit upright, the man supported him. "Whoa. Easy there pal. Take it. . " He stopped abruptly and looked at him with a strange face, something shifting under the ice of his eyes. "Cal?" He asked softly.
It seemed for a long time that the njaa stared at this beautiful strange man. Slowly, a thought came. "Did you know. . . me?" he asked plaintively.
Lightly, the man touched the ruin of Felinor's face. His hands were roughened with use and there was a strain to his voice. "No, Not yet." he said softly. "What's your name?"
"My masters called. . . me. . . Felinor." He pulled his face away from the other man's gaze. He coughed, and felt the warmth of blood in his mouth.
"Who?" The swordsman seemed interested, genuinely, in this information.
"My masters. He who made me, and he who took me. The lord of this place." He wanted to spit on their names, but his tongue wouldn't respond, and he could barely croak out the sentence, so badly did he hurt.
He would have said more but the arena master came up and tapped the silver haired man on the shoulder. "You're up next." He said grimly. "You face off with Nix, you poor bastard."
The swordsman's eyebrow arched. "Nix?"
Felinor went cold. Nix was Mender's warrior njaa. Actually, not technically a njaa, but a whole person. Some poor wandering, wretch that Mender had found and stripped of her will in an effort to emulate T'Keezian's work. He was not allowed near her, and no one spoke of her except in hushed tones. But he felt she was as much as victim of T'Keezian's legacy as he was.
But where Felinor had (although inadvertently) retained a human cognizance, Nix was wholly savage, ferally mindless and quite nearly invulnerable.
The man turned to Felinor. "Do you know this. . . Nix?" The njaa nodded slowly "She is. . .dangerous." The understatement struck him, but it was the best he could do. The man's blue eyes caught the light. "She?" He was smiling thoughtfully. "No problem."
Felinor wanted to scream that he was a fool. There was so much he needed to convey to his strange new friend that he just didn't know how to say. "Careful." he rasped and surprised himself when he added, "Coming, too." The other man tilted his head.
"Look, you can barely sit up. I'm not gonna babysit you outside, there." His tone was sharp.
Felinor simply shook his ruined head. "No. . . .Die quickly. . . Nix has never lost."
The man growled something in a language that Felinor did not understand, and then , almost from nowhere, he pulled out a dagger. "Here. You don't look like you can handle much more than this."
It was cool and plain, unornamented steel.
Parts of his hand seemed to remember the feel of a hilt like this one and he wondered at that. This dagger was not as well balanced as the one his hand remembered. Without thinking, he balanced it, then swiftly flipped the dagger in the air and lightly caught the hilt.
It felt almost good to hold the knife.
His friend nodded slightly then stood up. His movements were spare. "C'mon. Time to meet this Nix chick."
From the gateway, they watched as Nix cleanly disemboweled her opponent with a flashing swipe of her gleaming steel claws.
INTERLUDE
What happened next is utter chaos. I was dizzy from the sunlight and the cold ( I hadn't even known the change of seasons in so long I'd lost track) , the sound of the crowd and the pain that every movement gave.
But, I was absolutely intoxicated by this man, his attitude. I drew a kind of strength from it
How to describe Nix?
She stood at the far end of the arena from us, masked and clad all in tight, shining black leather armor. Her curling dark hair tossing like a banner in the wind. Blood still dripped from her claws.
She threw back her head and howled. the audience roared its approval. I was terrified. I believe it was genuine terror, too.
In the time it took to register that, she had cleared the space between us. A single leap and she was on my friend. He barely unsheathed his sword and danced away from her razors. He was very good.
Out of the corner of my good eye, I saw a commotion in Mender's viewing box. Deep within I felt a gnawing pain. A disorienting, wrenching feeling gripped me. . like a connection being pulled.
Nix had my friend pinned and seemed about to tear his throat out, when she screamed and stiffened. Then she simply sagged to the ground like a broken puppet. Pain lanced through me in the same instant she screamed.
My friend didn't move, except to touch her hair. "Oh, Morgaine. . . " he groaned. There was a miserable look on his face. Carefully, he peeled back the black leather mask. She was a Kindred of like I'd never seen before. Stunning.
There were shouts from Mender's box and I saw two women leap from it, surrounded by a magic that floated them to the ground.
One was a small silver-haired Kindred. She cried "Jack! I've got it! I got the knife!"
In one smooth motion, he gathered up Nix and stood. "We're almost out of time." He began to jog to her.
I sank to my knees. Jack. Jack was leaving me here.
Felinor felt the cold grip his stomach. The Kindred woman had Mender's precious stolen Atzthaun in her grasp.
He felt light headed. She couldn't use the knife's powers, but it exerted a power of its own on him.
He tried to stand but the dizziness wouldn't let him go. He could feel the knife screaming into him, and touched the ragged scar on his throat where he felt it most of all. It was almost as if it was screaming at him, to recover it for his master.
The compulsion was powerful, and he took an unsteady step. He lifted a hand but then, stopped. The knife was screaming at him, a sound like ice shattering in his head, but below it, barely heard below the shrilling of the Atzthaun, was a soft, deep sound. The voices. Let it go. They said, surrounding him in their sound.
The air stank with magic. Flames, some by magic, others from fallen braziers, were springing up all over the arena and people were screaming as they tried to flee.
Jack looked at Felinor as if to say something, but it was swallowed up by the storm of light and sound that swirled up around them.
Then they were simply gone.
Felinor looked around. There was madness all around. His body seemed to move of its own, and without thinking, he tied the dagger in a fold of his thin, tattered robe and staggered off the field.
He slipped into the dank tunnels under the arena, not knowing where he was headed. In the crush of people leaving, no one noticed a ragged slave moving through the crowd.
He found himself in a storeroom. It was lined with small cubicles that held arena fighters personal gear. Felinor quickly shed what was left of the filmy garment and rooted through the gear until he found simple clothing that would fit him. From one pack came sandals. From another, a hood.
He winced as the rough cloth moved over his wounds and his broken ribcage ground. But then he noticed that they tingled. One gash on his arm was half of what it had been before. He was healing, he though delightedly.
He did not realize, though, what he intended to do until he pulled the hood up, covering the slave collar and the burnt wreckage of his face. He arranged some of his long hair to cover it further, then took up the dagger.
One swift slash, and the rest of the length of his hair fell to the floor in a shining black heap.
Tucking the dagger into a stolen belt, he lurched back into the crowd. Then, he let himself get carried by the tide of people, not knowing where to go.
Eventually he ended up in the low city, where he had walked through the bazaar with T'Keezian. It looked strange, different, to him.
The late autumn sky was purpling with early evening as he wandered the streets, glancing about for Mender's soldiers. He occasionally stopped to stare at a vendor or fancy lass or rentboy crying out their wares.
His stomach growled loudly, and he wandered over to a stall where the delicious smell of frying sausages drifted from. The vendor, a small, hairy D'Haarthi, glanced contemptuously at Felinor's dirty clothing. "Go away, filthy beggar." He piped.
Felinor bit his lip and started to walk away, but then turned before he could think better of it and snatched a sausage from the pan. He ran as fast as he could, fighting down the pain, as the vendor screamed "Thief!" behind him.
He ran with the stolen food until he was extremely lost, his hand burning from the red-hot sausage and his aching from exertion. He collapsed in a dingy alleyway, gasping and trying to eat at the same time.
The local constables had not even been able to catch up with him, he realized with an exhausted delight. Still, he had fear gnawing at him. Tucking into the shadows behind a rubbish bin, Felinor curled his knees up to his chin. Nothing actually hurt anymore, which was good, but he was stiff.
Felinor promised himself to stay awake, so that Mender and his soldiers would not catch him unawares.
He was asleep within minutes.
Felinor did not wake again until the next evening, by the cries of the timeskeeper and the fancy lassies. The dream was already fading, but he wanted badly to return to it.
He stirred slowly, basking in the soft warmth that covered him. He murmured something he didn't understand, then opened his eyes.
Cats filled the alleyway, stretching and sleeping and grooming. They were curled around him like kittens.
Slowly, he sat up, some of the cats sleepily protesting. As he got up and stretched, the cats began to disperse, as silently as they'd came. In moments, they'd melted into the darkness as if they'd never been.
As he stood, he noticed the stiffness was fading. Experimentally, he rotated his shoulder and twisted. No pain, no stiffness, just a slight limitation to the movements. Hopefully, he touched his face. He couldn't even feel the right side of it, and there was still no vision.
He fixed his hood and wandered back out into the evening crowds. People were buzzing about the events at the Lord's arena yesterday. One fancy lass was chattering excitedly to a male counterpart. "I heard from Baron Rhuell, y'know the one with the gout? Well I heard from him that those strange people that attacked Lord Mender were actually from Westerness."
The fancy lad, small and dark like the girl, shook his curly head. "No, no. That's not right Delsaala. Constable Waterbeak said that the watch found the Lady Alexina, of Westerness, dead in her carriage with her serving-girl."
The girl, Delsaala, gasped. "Then, who?" Another woman, older, but dressed in the lacy, pale-hued gown of a fancy lass had stopped by them. Her hair was a pale, shimmery gold that bespoke a distant Kindred ancestor, striking against her dark skin.
"Does it matter?" Her voice was rich. Felinor could hear training in it. "Mender is evil. I heard his arena and keep are in utter chaos since the incident." She laughed. It was a beautiful, mellow sound.
The boy looked at her sharply. "Camria! That tongue of yours will get you killed one of these days. Without Mender, who will protect the realm?"
They wandered out of earshot. Felinor felt lightheaded, again. Not from pain, though, but from wonder. At the events and at . . . her. He followed her, not wanting to lose her from his limited vision.
Eventually, they went into a building, crumbling and old, but tucked down a narrow alleyway. Light beamed from its warped windows and the sounds and smells were like the bazaar to Felinor.
To afraid to enter, he leaned against a corner of the crumbling tavern that they'd gone into and waited, lost in thought.
He didn't even hear the man who came up and tapped him on the shoulder.
Felinor looked up in terror. His thoughts were racing against his hammering heart. But this new man made no threatening gestures, he just smiled. He was burly, his skin was lighter than the locals, and his hair was a light, sandy red. He had a homely, scarred face.
He did not remove his hand from Felinor's shoulder. "You, lad. For rent, are ye?" His accent was sharp, northern.
Felinor looked at him and gulped. He was hungry again. And with gold he could get away from this place. "I . . yes. I am." He looked down. After everything else, how bad could this possibly be?
The man cupped Felinor's chin with his big ruddy hand. "Here now, lad. Don't be afraid of me." Gently raising the njaa's face, he said "Now, let's have a look at you. . " He stopped short with a sharp breath.
The hood had fallen away from the ruined side of Felinor's face and exposed the slave collar beneath. The collar bore Mender's symbol etched into it.
The man removed his hand quickly. "By Ihovan. You're a slave. His slave."
Felinor began to panic. "Please. I escaped in the crowd yesterday. Please don't send me back. He'll kill me this time." His voice cracked like a youth's. In the back of his mind he could see Mender's face. He was terrified.
To his surprise, the big man smoothed Felinor's hair. "Don't worry lad. I won't be sending you back to him." He was sure it was a trap, until he looked at the man's bright hazel eyes. There was no malice there.
Felinor felt his knees sag with relief. "I am yours for this night if only for that and a meal, master."
The big man laughed. "I am Telryg'r, please don't call me master. What is your name, or don't you have one, boy?"
"Cal." It slipped from his lips before he could stop himself. "Thank you."
Telryg'r took his hand. "Come in with me, Cal. I believe I have friends who will help you." He straightened the hood over Felinor's face.
He let himself be led like a child into the tavern.
It was noisy and gloriously crowded in the tavern, Mother's Gift. Felinor was aware that he was staring, but this many people in one room, happy, overwhelmed his senses more than any angry crowd could have.
Telryg'r led him to a table in the back of the tavern. Felinor looked around him, frightened that a servant of Mender's would be here and report him still being alive.
At the large table in the corner sat several people, mostly dressed in traveling leathers. He made a small sound when he saw her, sitting at one end, a grey jacket thrown over her shoulders.
Her brown eyes narrowed. "Tel, you're late." She watched as he sat opposite her. "Who the hell is this?"
Telryg'r smiled thinly. "Camria. So nice to see you again after all this time, too." He leaned forward. "This is Cal. He's the former property of a friend of ours." He motioned Felinor closer.
When they saw the mark on the collar, a murmur of conversation sprung up. "Tel, you're an idiot." spat one man, dressed in grey. "This boy is a slave of that devil. He's a spy, can't you see that?"
Camria sat silently, staring at him. Without saying anything, Felinor pulled his hood down.
She nodded. The table had grown silent. The man in grey looked imploringly at Telryg'r. "Brother Tel, can't you see this is a trap. Mender disfigured this slave so we would pity him."
It was hard, with all the people in the room, but Felinor tried to feel these people, in the way he could feel Mender. They were not evil, but something was definitely going on that he did not understand.
Telryg'r turned to him. "Cal. Tell us about yourself, but sit down, please?"
The only open seat was next to the man in grey. I can see why. he thought glumly. The grey man moved away from him as though he was unclean.
"I have no memory beyond my slavery." He was surprised. It hurt to say that. He felt empty. "I have always been a slave and I expected to die, yesterday, a slave." His good eye ached. "Strangers came to the arena, like the gods." He thought of Jack with a longing he'd never known. "I don't know why , but I took the . . .chance . . . I guess, to run." He was afraid to look at the grey man.
Instead, he glanced at Camria. She was toying with a strand of her shimmering hair. "I believe him." A smirk passed the corners of her mouth. "I don't think anyone lying could tell a story so lamely."
The seriousness returned to her face. "We have to get that collar off of him." The group at the table buzzed with conversation.
Felinor sat there with a befuddled look on his face. Telryg'r noticed, and patted his hand. "Don't worry lad. As soon as we finish here, I'll explain things to you."
EIGHT
The discussion at the table seemed to go forever. Felinor started to count the spots of light floating in front of him.
It occurred to him that this was probably the boredom he'd heard Mender's visitor's complain about. He'd always been too busy being terrified for his life to actually get bored.
Occasionally, he would look over at Camria. She was beautifully, if perpetually, angry. She seemed to glow.
No, she's not glowing, he suddenly told himself. The edges of his vision were growing dim. He felt the beginnings of lightheadedness creep up on him. Oh, not again. He really did not want to pass out in front of these people, but he was getting dizzy from hunger.
Hesitantly, he reached out to touch Telryg'r's arm. "Sir?" He ventured meekly. It was not enough to be heard over the din in the tavern.
A bony hand grabbed his shoulder. He turned his head to see the grey man staring angrily at him. "I saw that, you little misbegotten creature." he snarled, just loud enough for the others to hear. "Trying to snatch Brother Tel's purse whilst he's not looking? And he took you in, wretch!" His eyes were as cold as Mender's had ever been.
"N-no. . .I just wanted. . " he was stammering, the carefully programmed fear in him threatening to suck him under.
Camria was rising out of her seat. "What are you saying, Iallo?" Her anger was rising like a wall.
"This little mongrel," he brought the back of his hand sharply across the right side of Felinor's face. His head snapped back from the blow. "I saw him reaching for Brother Tel."
Felinor slumped off the seat, his ear ringing and some deep pain throbbing in the badly burnt flesh. His voice sounded like a squeak to him. "No. . .I'm not. . . I didn't. . " He wanted to scream. Despite everything, his training and the collar kept him docile, afraid. He could hear Camria through the ringing. "Iallo, stop it!"
It was going to be the situation with Kailes all over again. He drew a shuddering breath in. "You lie." was all he could get out without his voice cracking. He wished desperately for the voices to give him the anger and strength to strike out at this man, but there was only silent fear in his head.
Telryg'r eased him off the floor. "What happened, Cal?" It took Felinor a moment to realize he was talking to him. He shook his head to try and clear the ringing. "I just wanted to ask you if there was any food." He blurted out.
Iallo's skinny face was florid. "He lies, Tel! He's a spy, Ihovan be my witness!" Telryg'r raised a big hand warningly. "Be silent, Iallo." But their voice sounded hollow, like they were talking in a tunnel.
Felinor distinctly saw the room tip to one side before all the lights suddenly went out.
When the lights came back on, he was lying down. The bed was marvelously soft.
Felinor thought briefly he'd died.
"Well, good morning." Camria was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair like a waterfall in the early morning light coming through the dirty window. She sill wore the lacy dress of a fancy lass, and held a chipped mug in her hand.
"Where?" He felt strange, light. She leaned near him. "You're in Tel's bed. He keeps a room here at Mother's Gift for all of us to use." He looked around the room. It was dingy, but might have well as been a palace.
Camria was watching him, a smirk, as always, on the corners of her mouth. "Iallo smacked you pretty hard last night." She handed him the mug. It smelled heavily of herbs. "Tel gave him a thorough yelling at."
Gratefully, he took the mug. "Thank you." He sipped at the contents and regretted it.
Camria laughed softly, a sound like rain. "It's some of Tel's special tea. Drink up."
Felinor ran a hand through his short, dark hair, and down the back of his neck.
There was only warm skin beneath his fingertips.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Then, he opened it again. Camria was nearly in hysterics. "You should see yourself," she said gasping for breath.
"The collar?" His voice shook with something he couldn't define.
Camria's smirk blossomed into a radiant smile. "It's gone. Tel and a couple of the other Brothers managed to despell it and get rid of the ugly thing."
Gingerly he climbed out of the bed, testing his legs. Free. The thought breezed through him like the cold air.
She walked over to him, her eyes sweeping up and down. "You certainly aren't a modest one."
Felinor looked down. He was naked. "Oh." He said stupidly. "What happened to . .?"
Camria made a face. "They were disgusting. I tossed them out." Off the nightstand, she took a knife. "Don't worry, I saved your blade."
He felt a queasy mix of regret and relief. Before he could speak, she tossed him a parcel that had been resting on the floor. "Here. Tel wanted me to get these to you."
He caught the heavy package reflexively. She didn't look impressed. "Come on, open it." She made little shooing gestures with her hands.
He tore off the heavy, dark paper. A simply-cut black tunic of soft fabric was on top. He took it and rubbed the fabric against the good side of his face. Below the tunic were deerskin leggings, also black and boots as well. Finally there was a darkish cloak of some heavy material.
"These are for me?" His face felt strange. She nodded, a pale eyebrow arching.
Carefully, he set the clothing down on the bed, then sat next to it. "Camria?"
She wandered over to where he sat, looking down at him.
"Who are you people? I . . " He looked at her, almost timidly. "I just don't understand what is happening lately."
She glanced around the room. "Telryg'r should be the one you ask about that."
Felinor looked down sourly at the floor. "The last time Telryg'r was supposed to explain something to me, the grey man knocked me senseless."
She laughed again and sat next to him. "Alright. Just don't say anything to him, okay?" He nodded. "We're lots of different people, Cal. Tel, Iallo (the one you call the grey man), Jhevan (You haven't met him yet), they're all friars of Ihovan, the truegod. The rest of us, like me or Delsaala or Benja, are just ordinary people. Fancy lassies to farmhands. But we all share a calling."
His one eye, brilliantly green, widened. "A. . . calling?"
She looked at him like a possessed mystic would. "In the book of Ihovan, it says that the magi are the destruction of all, so that Ihovan's children must destroy the magi first."
"The Ihovanites founded our group, the Antimagia, so that we could do just that. We are called."
Felinor nodded, but he really didn't understand.
Camria's rapture seemed to pass. "Go on, now, put the clothes on. I want to see how they fit." She pushed them towards him. "You look to be of an age and size with Benja, so we used him to guess."
He struggled into the tunic, which fit slightly too snugly in the chest, and into the leggings, which fit fine.
Camria just watched, chuckling. "I can see you didn't spend a whole lot of time with clothes on, did you?"
Felinor stopped, midway through pulling a boot on. Several heartbeats went by. "No." He bit his lip and looking down, went back to the boot.
Camria fell silent. Then, "I'm sorry, Cal." She walked up behind him and put her arms around him as he straightened.
She felt his back stiffen at her touch. He was shaking. Small sounds started in his throat.
She did not let go until he stopped sobbing.
It was a long time until his shaking stopped.
They sat on the floor, silent. Camria stroked his hair, unsure of what else to do.
So long was it quiet in the little room, that when he started to laugh, she almost screamed. It was a strange, harsh sound, but it felt good in his throat. That, in itself, made the laughter come harder.
Camria sat back, pale eyebrow arching in puzzlement. "Cal? What's so funny?" She was worried about the strange expression he had on his face, a twisted half-face grimace.
He nearly fell over, gasping. Despite herself, she started to smile. "Well?"
He sat up, the mirth leaving him as quickly as it had came. "I felt something. I really felt something." There was a strange look on his ruined face.
She simply sat there, eyebrow inching up further.
He raked his long fingers through his hair. "As far back as I can remember. . ." The look grew distant. "I've felt things. . . Anger. Sadness. Longing." He focused on her with his good eye, brilliant and opaque. Camria shifted unknowingly. "It was always twisted as soon as I felt it. Turned into lust or adoration or terror. Or that sheeplike contentment that nagged at me. I always had to smile when I wanted to scream." His hand flexed into a fist, then relaxed.
She touched his hair again, wondering at the texture of it. "You're awfully well spoken for someone who's been a slave his entire life." She said it simply, without accusation.
He pulled his knees in and hugged them. "Camria." It sounded like he was tasting her name. "I woke up one day and simply was. Like I am now. I existed in pain and confusion and darkness." She was watching him intently. "But my body. . my hands, my tongue. They remember things I've never known. Sometimes, it's just out of reach, like a shadow. I know I should know something, but I can't remember how or why."
"Sometimes, I dream things I've never seen or understand something I've never learned." He shook his head. "I've been a slave all the days that I can remember, but what about the days that I can't?"
He mouth quirked. "I don't know." The hand she'd been running through his hair trailed down the unburnt side of his face, brushing away the dampness that hung at the corner of his eye. "But Ihovan sent you to us for a reason." Her voice softened. "No human should suffer as you have."
Felinor felt an unused muscle twitch in his back, a familiar twinge of discomfort. "Am I a human?"
Camria smiled radiantly again. "Of course you are! A beautiful one at that." She got up, smoothly and held out her slim, brown hand to him. "There's a mirror in the wardrobe. I'll show you."
He took her hand and rose, ignoring the feeling in his back. It occurred to him, absurdly, that he'd never seen a mirror.
Felinor nearly jumped when the door swung open, its polished glass revealing a stranger standing next to Camria. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the coolness of the glass. "This is me?" he asked, softly. Somehow, it didn't seem right.
He stared dumbly at the black clad figure in the mirror, watching the way his muscles shifted under the close leather and silk. He let his eyes follow the form upwards, to where the open neck of the tunic split, showing the dark, golden skin.
He stopped when he saw the scar encircling his throat. "Oh. ..Oh. . " He touched it, gingerly. Behind his eyes, he could still see the night that Mender had claimed him. There was something older there, too, just beyond where he could see.
There was no pain, but it hurt to look at. He shook his head to clear his eyes of the images piling up in front of them. He no longer saw himself in the mirror, no longer heard Camria speaking to him. He was in the workroom again.
Felinor saw the dull-colored puddle of blood that his brain told him was red. The room lurched wildly, but there was nothing to grab.
His mouth felt very dry and for the briefest instant, he felt the crushing in his lungs. But before he could even cry out, it was gone.
He was back in the sunny little room, staring at the stranger in the mirror. He turned to Camria, who had pity in her eyes. "I . . ah . . I brought you a little something too." There was a forced joviality to her voice, a strain that hadn't been there a moment before. In her hands was a small bundle of dark silk. She offered it to him.
His hands were shaking as he took the fabric. "What is this?" His voice shook slightly as well. He felt cold, despite the sun streaming in through the window.
She took one of the fabric pieces from him. "Here. . " There was a note of impatience to her voice now, as she lifted the fluid length of silk and gently wrapped it around his throat. As she wrapped, Camria watched him stiffen, the muscles in his jaw and neck clenching and unclenching. "Yes. . Yes, I know. . " she said soothingly. "But that's quite a scar. People will look."
He did not relax as she took the other piece, smaller and threaded with cord. She placed it on his face, covering his ruined eye and the burnt, scarred flesh around it. He couldn't feel the fabric on his face, but Felinor's stomach churned slightly, anyhow.
He turned to face her, unable to bear the stranger in the mirror any longer. Raking his hair back with still shivering fingers, he whispered, "Cam. . ." She flinched from the brightness in his good eye, but then drew closer.
"I haven't really seen you smile, yet." She said softly.
"I don't know how." As he said it, she stood on her toes and kissed him. She felt his hands run through her hair.
Abruptly, he pulled away. Camria nearly fell over.
She went to smack him when she realized he was staring intently at the door. Then she heard the footsteps outside the door and the knob turn.
She tensed, letting her hand feel for the knife carefully hidden in her dress. The man she knew as Cal stood statue-still.
The door opened and was immediately filled by Telryg'r's grey-clad bulk.
It was not the first time that morning she'd wanted to scream.
FROM THE DIARY OF CAMRIA RODÁN
12 Athne, 7861
I am so angry right now, I don't know who to take it out on. I
I had to get another quill, I just ruined the one I was using. Ihovan! I don't know where to begin. Yes I do.
Cal. He haunts me, oh how he haunts me!
As I wrote yesterday, I was placed as a "Caretaker" for this strange little foundling. Needless to say, I was not happy about another stray, like Delsaala or Benja, but Telryg'r, in that quiet way of his, got me to agree.
Cal is skittish and his mind wanders sometimes in the middle of conversation. Tel believes it stems from the abuses he suffered. I wouldn't be surprised at that. He is moody and sullen one moment, and like a happy puppy the next. He sat for almost an hour yesterday staring at the patterns of light on the wall through a broken window.
Tel and the other brothers took Cal to a confessional last night. His memory seems to be so fractured that he could not confess anything to Ihovan, but the brothers prayed for guidance and Tel said that Cal was honest and that Ihovan sent him to us that we might destroy Mender. The very sound of that magical bastard's name sent Cal into a facial tic. He is still very afraid of the man. I don't think he needed a magical collar to feel that.
As I write now, I am watching Tel drill Cal in the use of a sword. Tel isn't allowed to use one since he became a friar, but I would still match his mercenary skills against anyone's. Cal seems to be hopeless with a sword, but I've never..NEVER seen anyone as good with a knife as he is.
Watching him drill with Benja and the other young men, I can see why Mender kept this boy as his slave. There's a grace to him that you see rarely in a man, if at all. And even with the scars, he is still the most desirable male around.
There is the root of my problem. I want him, but I can't touch him for fear something might snap in the fragile connection he has with reality.
Ihovan. Tell me what to do.
13 Athne, 7861
Another day, another mystery. It's the cats. Tel has a big old, foul tempered orange tom. Mouser ( and well named, might I add.)
It loves Cal. Hates Tel, even, but loves Cal. None of us can figure it out. But it's the same with all the other cats that hang around this tavern. And there's more every day.
Iallo says that cats are creatures of Plague, the evil god. Tel chastised him for blasphemy. I stayed out of it.
I've
finished my drills for the day, unarmed combat (what can I say? I picked it
up from a client who really liked that kind of thing!) and once again, I saw
where Cal's skills lie. That phey phee
amazing speed. He almost broke Iallo's nose, except he stopped, a hairsbreadth
from Iallo's face and simply said "Don't forget."
He's down there now, Cal I mean, not Iallo. I have to go down and stop him, or else they won't have a dummy to practice on tomorrow. There's nothing but rags left as it is.
Camria stood in the doorway to the basement sally where the Antimagia held their practice drills. It was perfectly secure. She knew that the tavernkeeper would never betray them, being a friar of Ihovan himself.
Cal was there, in the darkened room. She could hear the hits on the dummy, made up to look like one of Mender' s guards. Whump. There it was again. Whump. She couldn't see anything, but the hits, the creaking of the chain the dummy dangled from were rhythmic.
She was just about to open her mouth when the room grew silent. She strained to hear, but there was nothing but the sound of her own breathing.
And her startled scream when she felt the hand on her shoulder.
"Sorry. I really didn't mean to scare you." In the dark, for some reason, she could hear how deep his voice was. Like black velvet, she thought.
"You did." It came out harsher than she wanted. This close to him, with no distractions, she barely caught his scent, musky and warm.
He drew her to him. Camria could feel his warmth.
"Cal, I. . ." She stopped short. For the first time in her life, Camria was at a loss for words.
He touched her hair, lightly. "Cam. I have got to tell you something." She pulled back from him, straining to see his face in the darkness.
They stood there, silently, for long heartbeats. Then, "Well, are you going to stand there or are you going to talk?" She winced at how hard that came out.
She could hear him swallow. "My name was Felinor. I was . . . entertainment for Mender." He bit off the name as though it were something poisonous. "But he took me from my master before." His voice was losing some of the steady, soft quality it had. Camria could hear traces of an accent in it. "He made me kill for him, Cam. He . . ." He stopped and drew in a shuddering breath. "I'm a monster, Camria. An inhuman beast."
She stood there, quietly, in the darkness. She could feel him, still in front of her. Without speaking, she gathered him to her. "Are you still Felinor?" she asked.
He was surprised by the question. "No." The answer came slowly. "I left him in the arena, on the sands."
He could feel her press closer to him. "Then you are Cal. It was a new name for a new beginning". She said it as though it were the most common thing in the world. "I don't care what you were before."
She wrapped her arms around him. "Come here." Without warning, he picked her up, scooping her off the floor like a child. She laughed. It seemed very loud in the quiet, dark room.
His lips were pressed against her forehead. "I don't know what to do." He said softly, holding her closer. She didn't laugh this time. "Set me down and I'll show you."
Gently they sank to the floor. It struck Camria as ironic to be in control of this situation. Her clients only paid to control her. Shoving that thought out of her mind, she kissed him.
He started back, unsure, then relaxed, following her lips and her tongue. He let his fingers run through her hair.
Even as he let his body go to her expert fingers, Felinor (No, Cal, he corrected himself. ) let his mind drift. She was so lovely. . . he couldn't bring himself to correct her misunderstanding. He wasn't calling himself a monster out of some misguided sense of self pity. Quite technically, he was.
He desperately wanted her to like him, to care about him. She seemed to. Camria was kissing behind his ears, now, and he had to consciously stop himself from purring.
I look human, he thought, Everyone thinks I'm human, not njaa. He seriously doubted that they even really knew what the njaa were, aside from glimpses of aristocratic mages' pet grotesques and whispered tales in the marketplace. To the Antimagia, he was just some pretty human boy done terribly wrong.
Cal decided he could live with that.
Life settled into a sort of routine for Cal and Camria.
With some prodding from Tel, Jehvan, the innkeeper (and Ihovanite) took Cal on as a cleaner and handy-man. That way, Cal could be around Mother's Gift without attracting suspicion, and in a job where too many people wouldn't see him.
Camria would visit him between clients.
And all the while, Telryg'r's master plan formulated. The Antimagia spent many of their nights in petty little terroristic raids against the local magehouses.
Although quite a few of the were captured during these hit and run incidents, it was never one of the brothers. They were deemed to important to go on these missions and run the risk of capture of death.
Nothing ever connected those captured with the church, which was on shaky ground for the most part in Southeraa, anyway.
One night, some months after Cal came to be with them, Tel gathered what was left of his flock in the tavern.
They sat around the table, as they had that night, Tel at the head. Cal sat off to Camria's right, his hand resting lightly on top of hers.
Iallo, Jehvan and the other brothers were scattered through the group, but of the others who had been there that night, only Delsaala, and one other lad remained. She'd been bereft since Benja had died on a raid a fortnight ago.
Cal blamed Iallo personally for that.
The greyish, skinny friar had drawn the lot to go with the raiding party against Rhune, a minor mage who swore fealty to Mender and lived in not the best section of town. The plan had been the same one that had gotten them through fifty other raids.
Cal, Benja, a young former farmhand named Nadia, and Iallo were to go to Rhune's shabby little tower and torch it.
The ruse was simple. Benja and Nadia, dressed as ragged children, would wander up to the front of the tower, and would trip the sentry spell that Rhune had set up. They would beg entry, pleading with the mage or his servants to let them in, that they were hungry or cold, or that Nadia was pregnant with Benja's child and they desperately needed some aid and knew not where to turn.
It usually worked. As they tripped the sentry spell, Cal would slip in through the back ways, unnoticed, and steal into the tower as the staff was kept occupied by Benja and Nadia.
Iallo's job was to keep an eye on the situation, chant the prayers begging for Ihovan's protection and to make sure the coast was clear for the others to move in.
Iallo missed seeing one of the guards. The man was on Cal as soon as he crossed over the fence. A huge, burly mercenary, Cal found himself GROSSLY outclassed in the strength department.
The guard dragged him, literally kicking and screaming, into the tower.
Rhune was sitting in his drawing room, a thin, balding older man with a kind face. By the fire sat Benja and Nadia, cups of steaming tea in their hands.
Cal looked around the room, trying to take it all in. Small. Books. Guards: 3. Fireplace big as a cow. Firemage? No. Rhune was a symbol and sigil user. Good. What is that smell? He scanned the room in the time it took to blink. He looked directly at Rhune, opening himself up to the "magick feeling" he didn't dare tell Telryg'r about. Rhune was weak.
Cal immediately felt sorry for what he was going to do to this man.
Rhune got up, he was taller standing than he'd looked to be, his heavy brown robe pulled about him to ward off the chill. "You." he said mildly. "You're one of those people that have been harassing the other mages in the city, aren't you?"
Cal stood there silently until the huge guard slapped him on the back of the head. "Answer the man, little boy."
He didn't want to risk glancing at Benja and Nadia, but the smell in the room caught him again. Bittersweet and pungent, behind the smells of woodsmoke, old books and the rank armpits of the looming man behind him. Rhune said something to him, but Cal wasn't listening.
There was something hideously familiar about that smell. Plaguewort. Despite its name, in small quantities, it was helpful - a mild sedative. In the amount he was scenting now, it was nearly coma-inducing. He'd remembered T'Keezian using it on especially unruly victims in the sedative amount. He remembered T'Keezian sending him to fetch more from an herbmage who lived in the seedy (hah, hah) part of town. An herbmage named . . .Oh, Ihovan. Rhune!
It took barely a heartbeat for him to work to that conclusion.
He couldn't help but look at Benja and Nadia now.
Nadia was weaving slightly in her seat, her eyes glassy. Benja looked drugged, too, until Cal saw the boy's eyes flick over to him, quickly. He turned his head to Rhune. "Drugging children? I thought you were a runemage, not some tatty herbwitch."
Rhune laughed. "My father was an herbmage, little man. He left me quite a few useful recipes. Now, why don't you tell me all about yourself, boy?" he was lazily swinging a glittering medallion in one hand. Cal felt the vague touch of the sigil's power, but it was not enough to affect him.
Rhune was speaking in a monotone. "You shall be relaxed and at ease with me, boy. You shall be my friend and I shall be yours. you shall tell me everything about yourself and the people that you are working for. Now."
Cal allowed himself to slump in the guards arms, feigning relaxation. he felt the guards arms loosen up on him slightly. It was all the opening that he needed.
He pulled under the guard, twisting as he slumped. The plains steel dagger that he carried slipped from his wrist into the guard's belly. The other two guards started forward until Benja sprang off the stool, snarling like an animal at Rhune.
The wizard was not nearly fast enough and Benja had him by the throat, dagger pressed to the hollow. "Call off your dogs, Rhune." he said, his voice cracking slightly under the strain.
Cal extricated himself from the fallen guard. Rhune was genuinely frightened. The njaa frowned as he watched Benja and Rhune. The mage didn't carry the stink of evil. magick, yes. but he wasn't sure if they were same thing.
The mage was waving to his guards, to have them stand down. Cal felt as though he was watching everything in slow motion, then. He saw one of the guards, an eager faced blond youth, release his finger on the crossbow.
The bolt tracked a lazy course though the room. Cal heard himself. "Benja! Down!" but it was too late. By the time the boy's reactions kicked in, there was nowhere for him to go. As he stiffened, his knife bit into Rhune's neck, gouting blood.
nother of Cal's daggers had been long out of his hand by the time he'd called to Benja, finding it's home in the guardsman's chest. The other one ran away.
Benja screamed when the bolt struck him in the skull, and he staggered back, his hold on Rhune more a death grip, now. The two fell back into the enormous fireplace.
Cal was screaming now. "Noooo!" Rhune must have had a vitriolic potion or flammable herbs in one of his many pockets, for the flames shot out of the fireplace as though the wind fanned it. Cal was barely able to grab Nadia out of the way. She was coming around, only vaguely aware of her surroundings.
"Cal?" she asked meekly. He grabbed her roughly. "No time. Run."
The smell of old books and musty fabric was replace with the stench of burning flesh now, and the odor of flaming paper filled the room as the fire swept across the room.
Cal ran, dragging Nadia behind him. She was unable to keep the pace he set and he cursed as he slowed to her speed.
Behind them, orange light flicked from the windows of the tower. People were coming out of the surrounding buildings, now, some screaming but more cheering. They moved though the crowd, hoping to blend in.
Nadia grabbed his arm. "Where's Brother Iallo?" Her eyes were wide, like a frightened horse's. Cal scanned the crowd. "I don't know. Somewhere safe, I'm sure." He felt sick.
With care they made their way back to the Mother's Gift. They were breathing hard. Nadia could barely stand. Cal felt the burning in his side. It was more for what happened back there, than anything else.
He could hear Iallo's voice outside, though he doubted Nadia could. He heard Camria's too.
"You left them there?" she didn't shriek, but her voice was full of fury. "The mission became too dangerous, Sister Camria." He said in his flat, grey voice. "Your . . . friend allowed himself to be captured. There was nothing I could do. I expect by now, all three of them are dead."
Cal pushed the door open. He and Nadia stood at the entrance, sweating, dirty and haggard.
He left Nadia by the entrance. "You bastard." His voice was a hoarse growl. "You didn't watch. You didn't watch and Benja's dead because of it." The words came out in a rush. He felt the old anger seeping into him.
Telryg'r came up behind Cal, dwarfing him. "What happened, little Brother?"
Cal turned to him, his good eye hard as peridot stone.
"Iallo gave me the all clear. I went in after Benja and Nadia. There was a guard on me before I got fifty feet into the compound. They must've have been watching us from the beginning." He felt sick again.
Iallo sneered. "When you got yourself captured, I called off the mission." He let his eyes move over Cal. "What, did you offer yourself to the mighty mage to try and secure release for the two urchins?"
"You bastard!" Camria's voice cracked. She swung at Iallo and connected with a blow to his jaw that knocked him off his feet.
"That's enough!" Tel's voice boomed over them all. Everyone froze. "Cal. Did you kill the wizard?" His voice was flat.
"Benja did. It was his dying act." He cast a searing look at Iallo.
Tel turned his grey robed bulk away from them. "Then you were successful. We shall pray tonight for our valiant Brother's soul." He turned back, to face Camria. His eyes were bright with unshed tears. "And you Sister shall ask for penance for the sin of striking a Brother."
She hung her bright head. "Yes, Brother Tel." She said it meekly, but Cal could hear the anger just below the surface of the words.
"We shall meet for prayer when the clock strikes deepnight. I expect you all to be there." Tel growled and took himself from the room.
The remainder of the group milled about the closed tavern, talking quietly.
Cal moved up alongside Iallo. "Make no mistake, traitor. I will kill you for this." he said it softly and full of malice. The grey man simply smiled. "You are nothing little slave-toy. I will send you back to what ever hell you came from."
Camria touched Cal's shoulder. "Come on." she said quietly. "Don't fight with him."
They went back to his room without speaking.
With care, he pulled out the rough grey prayer robe, and reverently took out the ihova, a small column of dull grey metal on a chain, the symbol of the truegod.
Camria sat on his bed, her face miserable. The smirk that always graced the corners of her mouth was gone. "Why?" she whimpered. "Why? He was a good hearted soul. A brave boy. Why did Ihovan take him?"
Cal sat down next to her, an arm around her shoulder. "I don't know, Cam. The wizard would have let us go, but his guards killed Benja anyway."
She pulled away. "Why would one of those hell-spawns do something like that?" She looked disgusted. "You still can be so naive." Without warning, she started to cry. "Don't you die on me too, damnit."
He felt the tears tracking down the good side of his face. "I'll try not to."
They held each other until the deepnight chimes.
Cal shook himself back to the present. Tel had been speaking, but he'd missed the conversation entirely. It didn't matter, really, he thought. The night that Benja had died, they'd all gone to pray to Ihovan and Tel received a revelation.
The end was coming. They had three weeks to prepare, then they must kill Mender to make way for the new order. Even now, Cal was bitterly unsurprised by that.
He realized he was wandering again. He'd heard his name in the conversation. "Hm? What?" he said, a little dully.
Tel rolled his eyes. "Brother Cal. Please try and stay with us. This is very important." He said it as though he was speaking to a bad child. Cal felt a flare of annoyance, but swallowed it.
Tel paced at the head of the table. "Then we are agreed on the plan?" Everyone nodded or murmured their assent. All except for Cal. He sat silently next to Camria, staring at Tel.
As the rest of the group dispersed, he went to Tel's side. "I really have to speak with you." The big, homely friar smiled thinly. "I thought you would."
The two walked out of the back room and out of the tavern. They didn't speak until they were down to the waterfront.
Cal didn't look at Tel. "You shouldn't be basing this whole thing on me." He said sourly. "I am still so afraid of that man, it makes me ill."
Tel clasped his scarred hand on Cal's shoulder. "Ihovan will protect you." He looked over Cal's arm to the sparkling water. "I know that it sounds strange, or even patronizing to you sometimes, little Brother, but I really am sure that you are one of His special children to deliver you to us as He did."
Cal raked his fingers through his hair. It was unkempt. He turned so he could see Tel with his good eye. "You've never questioned anything I've ever said, even though Iallo questions everything." He had no idea why that slipped out, but he regretted saying it.
"Is there something you need to tell me?" Tel made a symbol of confession. Cal shook his head.
"No, no. Not like that." He focused on Tel's warm hazel eyes. The bigger man flinched.
Cal looked away. "I was Mender's beast, Tel." He said the mage's name as though it were something foul. "He owned me mind and body." He had to stop. It still hurt too much to think about it.
Tel clucked disapprovingly. "You have been redeemed by Ihovan, little Brother. It doesn't befit you to speak like that." He took Cal by the chin, gently, as he did that first night. "You are His weapon, Cal, to strike down the true beast that lives in Mender's keep."
Cal felt a queasy stirring at the base of his skull, the anger stirred there, like a serpent slowly awakening. He was afraid of it. Afraid he'd hear the voices vibrating through his bones again, but more afraid that he wouldn't hear them when he came face to face with Mender.
He heard his name. "Cal." Tel shook him slightly. "You've been wandering alot lately." Cal just shrugged.
Tel looked at him hard, as if deciding something. Then, "I want you to have something and I want you to swear to the truegod on your eternal soul that you won't tell anyone where you got it."
Cal started, off guard. "Uh. . Alright. . " He let the friar lead him to the tiny Ihovanite chapel that they were allowed to keep in the city. They went into Tel's barren little cell in the back. From under the pallet there, he pulled out a chest, as worn and scarred with age as Tel was.
He popped the lock and riffled through the contents, finally pulling out a long object wrapped in oiled silk. "Take your sword out." He said abruptly.
Cal looked at him, a strange expression on his face. His sword was a battered old blade that Jehvan had scrounged for him, figuring that anyone as incompetent with a sword as Cal was didn't actually need a good one.
He handed the worn hilt to Tel, who laid it on the bed. Carefully, almost reverently, he unwrapped the oiled cloth. "When I took the greys, I swore never to raise a sword again, Ihovan as my protector. You are not a priest of the Truegod, Cal, you never will be, I know that. You are his weapon. You will be his knight." From under the cloth showed a gleaming silver hilt, the pommel and crosspiece elaborately worked, the grip wrapped in black leather.
Cal reached out hesitantly to touch hilt. It tingled to his touch, magickal in the faintest way. "It was mine when I wielded a sword for the kings of the North." he said dreamily. "T'was given me by my swordbrother Daern. While I used it, no man was my equal with a blade. I named it to honor his memory. Daernsluck."
Cal pulled his hand back. "I can't take this!" He squawked. "I can't use the junk blade that I have now. I'll ruin it!"
Tel grasped Cal's thin hand in his own huge one. "Take it " he said, pressing the hilt into Cal's palm.
The faint tingle he'd felt before coursed up his arm like a shock of lightning, a strange metallic sound in his ears. It reminded him vaguely of the scream of T'Keezian's Atzthaun when it was stolen. But only vaguely. It hummed almost happily for several heartbeats. Then, it was silent. He stared at the blued blade dumbly. It slid perfectly into the worn leather scabbard at his hip.
Tel looked at him threateningly. "Remember your vow." Cal just nodded, mouth still slack, wondering at what had just transpired.
The air was crisp and the sky blue as diamonds the next morning. Cal stirred as the light cut into the room with razored clarity.
Camria smiled, a little, to herself as she dressed. She was very good at being quiet in the morning, all the better to leave your clients discreetly, before they were faced with their transgressions by the harsh light of day.
She shivered under her thin gown. She would have much preferred to wear her traveling leathers today. The thin lace and silk of her rose-hued gown was not much proof against the cold. The cloak would help, though.
It was softest wool lined with fine grey fur. She was sure that Cal had spent almost every penny he'd made doing chores for Jehvan on it. They'd exchanged Yule gifts the night before, unsure if they'd both survive this day to actually see the holiday, three weeks away.
A hundred snide comments had come to mind when she'd seen it, but for the sake of Cal's feelings, she'd kept them to herself.
The cloak was a screaming orange. Cal had grinned like an excited child when she opened the paper bundle. "See! It goes with your dresses!"
She shook her head. Poor, sweet color-blind man, she thought. He had been beside himself when he opened her gift. It was a dagger. She'd thought he could use a mate to the battered one he hung onto. The hilt was smooth, dark wood wrapped with copper wire. It was utterly plain, but the best she could afford. He treated it like it was made of gold.
Camria watched him sleep a little longer. He slept so rarely, that this was a marvel. He was laying on the scarred side of his face, so all she saw was the unmarked half, perfect and golden against the pillow. She winced a little when she saw the scar on his throat, but made herself look at it. If we live to be a hundred together, I don't think I'll ever get used to that scar. She often wondered how he'd gotten it, but decided she really didn't want to know.
He opened his good eye and blinked owlishly against the light. "Did I oversleep?" he asked groggily.
She smiled again. "No. I was just to nervous to stay abed any longer. You're up on time."
He raked his fingers through his short, dark hair. He was fanatical about keeping it well above his shoulders. "You and me both." He said it with a nervous laugh.
She looked out the chipped little window at the white-coated rooftops. "I've never seen this much snow." She said, a touch of wonder in her voice.
Cal didn't say anything. They both knew why there was the snow.
INTERLUDE
You have to understand, when I say it was snowing, it was snow the likes of which we'd never seen in Southeraa.
The realm was balmy most of the year, turning cool in the fall and chilly in the winter. Nothing like the winters of the more northern lands.
No one was prepared, really, for the snows. Crops died and food was scarce. The few traders that sold winter garments for travelers did fairly well, but most others suffered. People hoarded food if they were lucky and died for it in the streets if they weren't .
What was Mender doing for "his" realm while the snow piled on us?
Not a whole bloody lot. Or, at least, nothing that made a difference.
The way Tel had described the plan to them, Camria had the easy part.
Mender's guards were well paid, and usually took advantage of their "patrols" through the city to enjoy the wares of both vendors and the fancy lassies. With the terrible weather, the vendors were fewer than they'd been. The lassies were out in force, though, a few of the poorer ones willing to work for food alone.
But when two of Mender's guard came down the side street, they all backed off to allow Camria room to work.
When she saw them, she shivered. It wasn't from the cold. They were ugly, bad smelling brutes. The only seeming difference in them to her eyes was their expressions. One had the dull eyes and slack face of a particularly stupid hound dog. The other had nasty, piggish eyes, his lips pulled into a mean line.
She immediately ran over to them.
"Masters! May I humbly serve your desires today?" She knelt in the snow, leaning forward just enough so they could see into her cleavage. She grasped their hands and pressed her face to them, stomach churning.
The stupid one drooled. The nasty one smacked him in the head, then said in a piggy little voice, "You'd better have something special to offer me, wench."
He loved the feeling of power she was giving him. Camria could tell. She was an expert at this. She looked up at him with her brown eyes enormous, the quirk at the corners of her mouth more seductive than snide.
"Oh master, I have more for you than just my body. I have news. information that could make you powerful. Very powerful." She lightly tossed back her shining hair.
He was hooked. "Speak, little wench." He thought he sounded manly.
Gracefully, she rose, still clasping their hands. "You must come with me."
They followed her dumbly for a moment. the stupid one spoke up. "Harl, where's we goin' wit' this trollop?"
They both stopped. "Well?" The one called Harl asked. Camria motioned to the tavern. "Here, my lords. Within sits a man claiming to be escaped chattel of the magelord. He is preaching sedition and treason in there and says he will bring Lord Mender down." she let an eager, pathetic note into her voice and stared directly at the stupid one, her brown eyes melting.
"We'd be well rewarded, Harl, fer bringin' in a crim'nal, eh?" He had a nasty, greedy voice.
Harl nodded, his piggish eyes gleaming dully. "Oi, Jarma, methinks you have something there old son." He turned to Camria, grasping her arm. "If you're right about this, little lassie, Jarma and me'll treat you sweet. But If you be lyin' t'us, we'll beat you dead."
She knelt again. "Oh masters! Youll see I tell the truth!" she cried. The two guards smiled like hungry dogs.
They strode into the tavern like peacocks.
Mother's Gift was nearly empty, save for a few die-hards that just wouldn't leave. Cal sat at the center table, feet up, tankard in hand.
The scarred, cloth-covered side of his face was to the door when they came in. He could hear them well enough. Then, he could smell them.
He dropped the metal tankard with a loud sound when caught their scents. Oh, no. . Of all the guards in all the lands.
In one way, this would be better, though, he thought quickly as his body slowly turned towards the door.
Jarma and Harl stood, as mean and dirty as they'd been all those months ago. Cal remembered the pain of their beating all too well. They held their helmets loosely and puffed up their chests.
For him, the scene played itself out slowly. They were scanning the room, because somehow they hadn't seen him, six feet tall and head to toe black just sitting there.
Cal got up and watched Harl turn to him. Cal felt sick, suddenly, when he remembered the man's stinking breath on his neck. He didn't fight it. "Harl. Jarma. So nice to see the both of you again." He let the disgust he felt into his voice.
From over Harl's shoulder, he could see Camria. Her eyes widening. There was a humming at the base of his skull, an echo of a voice, Felinor's voices. His voice. They were begging the bad people to stop hurting them. Hurting him. They were screaming for him to kill these two, to go kill Mender. Soon, he thought. Soon.
Jarma stared at him "Who the hell're you?" He could almost smell Harl thinking. He was looking at Cal's face. His mouth dropped open suddenly and he made a small, fish-like noise. "Felinor. Little pussy-puss. Thought we got rid o'you like the other trash." He said it with a lascivious sneer on his face. "Little missy wuz right then, hey? Lookit you, all dressed up like a real person."
"I am!" It exploded out of him, as if from nowhere. He spun and kicked Harl so hard in the chest that it sent the bulky man flying .
A group piled onto Harl as he fell. Cal didn't even bother to look. He was on Jarma with Daernsluck in his hand before Harl hit the floor.
He pressed the blade to the sweating man's neck. "Please. Give me a reason right now to kill you." He was growling in the back of throat.
Tel came up behind him. "Easy brother. They are but pawns of the evil one."
He backed off Jarma, slightly. Tel smiled at the sweating guard. "Forgive us for what we do to you, brothers." and without breaking stride, punched him in the face.
Jarma sagged to the ground soundlessly. Cal looked with some surprise at Tel. "Are you allowed to do things like that?" he asked incredulously.
"I beg Ihovan's forgiveness every day for my sins, little Brother. I do it for the greater good." He shook out his hand. "Jaws like stone on that one."
They stripped Jarma and Harl and stuffed them in a broom closet.
Jehvan smiled at Tel, his broad, ugly face beaming. "Been years since I wore armor, Tel." He was a big man, shorter than Tel but with a chest like a treestump.
Tel nodded. "I know. The truegod forgive us for what we do now."
Tel and Jhevan had volunteered to impersonate whichever guards they managed to capture, as both were the only ones as big and homely like the majority of Mender's guard unit was.
With the cloaks and helmets on, they were not perfect duplicates, but so close no one would question them.
Cal wrinkled his nose. "You two stink like them, too, now." Nervous laughter rippled through the room.
"This was the easy part." Tel said somberly. He pulled some leather cord off of Harl's belt. "Cal." he said, holding out the cord. "put your hands behind you." His voice was muffled by the helmet.
Cal turned and closed his eyes as he felt Tel loosely bind his wrists. He heard Camria come up beside him. "I'm going too."
Jehvan gently pushed her aside. "Too dangerous for you to go, Cami. Ihovan knows, 'tis dangerous for us."
She smacked him "Dung. I'm as capable as he" she motioned to Cal. "is of taking care of myself."
Tel shrugged and pulled off another cord. "I agree with her, Brother Jehvan. Sister Camria is unequaled at taking care of herself."
He tied he wrists, loosely. "Ready?"
The two "guards" dragged their "prisoners" through the dingy, snow-covered streets of the city until they came to the arena, over which Mender's tower loomed.
From high up in the milky-grey sky, they could see sparks of energy play off the crennelated top.
At the entrance to the keep, two guards, muffled against the cold stood there. One held the leash of a hideous black doglike creature. It had been a present to Mender from Deshal some years ago and it was fanatically fierce but atrociously stupid.
Cal struggled against "Harl" as soon as he saw the dogbeast. "No, please not that thing." he moaned. Camria looked at him. He looked genuinely afraid, but she was absolutely certain he wasn't.
The guard with the dogbeast approached. Cal twisted to face "Harl". "Please, Harl!" He was practically sobbing. "Don't feed me to that thing!"
The dog-guard chuckled. "What have you and Jarma got yerselves, now, Harly-boy?"
Tel coughed and roughly shoved Cal away from him. The dog-guard took a step back. "Well I'll be. The master's pet! " the dogbeast growled at Cal.
Cal hadn't had to feign terror at the sight of the creature. He and it had a history of not getting along.
The guard clapped "Harl" on the shoulder. "Quite a catch Harl. Who's the little wench?" Camria looked defiantly at him.
"His little partner." "Jarma" rasped though his muffler.
The dog-guard grabbed Cal's chin and forced his face up. "Felly, oh Felly. The master's really gonna love seeing you again. He's been very cross for a long time." He laughed. "Yer gonna wish you did die."
He waved the group into the tower.
They passed through the heavy wrought bronze and iron doors, into a antechamber of gilt and granite. Cal felt the stones pressing down on him, the bile in his throat rising to meet it.
Please untie me. Please. Please don't hurt me. The old fear was coming back from the scent of the place. He was sweating as Tel pushed him around whispering "Where now. Where is he?"
Cal couldn't think. He was Felinor again, feeling the terror of the place force him to his knees. Tel jerked him up, sharply, hissing under his breath, "Stop it, Cal. Where is Mender?"
He cast out the feeling for Mender and touched the sickening presence. "Upstairs, study." He said, voice thick.
Camria was looking at him with undisguised fear. For him, not at him he thought.
As they worked their way up the stairs, Cal began to notice something strange. The fine tapestries were dirty and unkempt, the lamps covered with soot. Only armoured guards wandered about the tower. There was not a servant to be seen.
The very feeling of wrongeness pervaded the tower.
Mender's study was at the top of the stairs. It was part library, part workroom, part charnel house. For Mender, those three things were nearly inextricably intertwined.
The door was heavy oak, inlaid with a grotesquery of ebony and bronze. Tel pounded on it with his huge hand. "Lord Mender?" he called, voice still muffled by helmet and scarf.
The door swung open and all four recoiled from the stench that wafted out of the room. The smell of death.
In the center of the huge room was a pile of bodies. Cal recognized a few, servants and slaves of the keep. Numbly, he looked up.
Mender hovered above the stinking pile, glowing with a dark radiance, like an eclipse. Slowly the mage looked down at them, his eyes ablaze with black light.
It was then that they felt the shock hit the tower. Masonry rained down and books shook from their shelves.
With an angry sneer, Mender descended to the wooden floor.
"Mind your step, you don't want to slip on the blood," he said coldly. He looked at Tel and Jhevan. "You may go now."
"But my lord. . "Jhevan started. Mender raised his hand and the big barkeep started to gasp for air, clutching wildly at his throat.
"Mender! NO!" The scream slipped from Cal. Mender lowered his hand. He looks old, Cal thought suddenly, seeing the lines on the mage's face and the grey in his untidy beard.
"Felinor." He said it with a silky resonance. "I always knew you'd come home again." Jhevan slumped to the ground. Mender smiled coldly. "You love them, don't you? Maybe I should kill them for old time's sakes." Cal felt Mender flick the barest fraction of his power at them, watched his friends stiffen and scream.
"You three were very stupid, thinking you could masquerade yourselves into the seat of my power." He moved over to them, walking past Cal. "I should kill you just for that."
Tel started to speak, but his voice wouldn't come. Mender laughed.
"How did I know? I've known all along, stupid man." He toyed with the ihova around Tel's neck. "A good ruler always has sources of information. Isn't that right, my hound?" He turned and beckoned to a figure that moved out of the shadows .
It was tall and thin, it's grey robes brushing the floor. The figure pulled back its hood with a laugh.
Cal could have spit at the skinny greyish friar. Mender was smiling thinly. "Brother Iallo came to me some weeks ago and offered me information. He told me what your little plan was and asked if could have this exquisite woman after I'd killed you."
Camria's eyes grew cold as she stared viciously at Iallo.
Mender turned away from the frozen group. "Now Felinor. Or Cal, if that's what you're calling yourself these days, which one of these is your lover? Is it all of them? Just that burly friar I sense you worrying about? No. . it is that lovely creature with the golden hair, eh?"
He moved closer to Cal. "I shall take her, I think, as you watch. Yes. Then, I will force those amusing little friars to tear her apart and themselves then. . " he licked his lips. "I shall taste the pleasures of your flesh in the puddle of their blood. Doesn't that sound delightful?"
Iallo sputtered. "Mender! You said the woman would be mine if I helped you to recapture your slave!"
"Oh do shut up, traitor." Mender made a dismissive gesture. "As my slave could have told you, I don't make deals. With anyone."
Iallo collapsed to the floor, his face growing red. Blood started to ooze from his face. Cal watched with morbid fascination as Iallo's head exploded like an overripe cantaloupe.
Camria screamed silently as the blood splattered on them.
Mender shook his head. "Idiot. Ruined my mood. Now I'm just going to have to kill you all."
Cal was looking at Camria. Her face suddenly became ashen and her brown eyes widened impossibly. He turned to follow her line of vision.
The pile of bodies behind Mender began to stir and heave. Even Iallo's newly headless corpse twitched and staggered to its feet.
Tel, Camria and Jehvan sagged as Mender released his spell on them. From her bodice, she pulled her little knife as a look of resignation replaced the terror on Camria's face.
The two burly friars pulled their stolen swords from their belts. Tel whispered a prayer to Ihovan.
The horde of corpses moved with astonishing speed, lurching towards the three. Bright hazel eyes desperate, Tel looked to Cal.
He didn't say a word, but Cal could almost hear the plea for help in the space between them. Mender turned to him.
"Stay, little kitty. You will not have a part in this." Cal bowed his head meekly, screaming inside all the while.
They hacked at the unstoppable tide of dead flesh that staggered towards them. He watched Jehvan get swept under, then Tel and Camria. A sob tore from his throat. Iallo's headless corpse was heaving its way towards the struggling fancy lass.
She was screaming.
Before he could stop himself, Cal reached out and grabbed Mender's arm. "No. This is between you and me." Mender stopped, startled at the sudden contact. He stared at Cal. "It was always between you and me." Without turning away, he lifted his hand again, some invisible force scooping out Cal's friends, slamming the doors behind them.
The corpses sagged like marionettes.
"Fine, little njaa. All grown up, now, eh?" Mender smirked. "The eyepatch suits you Felinor. You look like a pirate. "
Cal looked past him. "You killed the whole staff, didn't you?" There was undisguised nausea in his voice. His heart was hammering. He could hear his friends sobbing in the hallway.
Mender turned to look at the now scattered, stinking pile of corpses and shrugged. "I had to. A necromancer isn't choosy about where he gets his power. Right now, I need every drop." His tone was almost conversational. "We're in a war, you know."
Cal shook his head. "We never knew much on the street, except the hunger, children fighting for bread." Mender turned back to him.
"Who cares about a few mortal children?" He lifted his hands to the ceiling. "This is my realm and those fools from Westerness think a rough winter will starve me out. HAH!" Mender stalked about. "Next will come dragons or something, probably. I have allies, though, my brother. Yes. Allies who are now raising the dead of Westerness to ravage those fertile lands." His voice cracked and he looked sheepish for a moment.
"You're babbling." Cal crossed his arms. Mender looked at him as though it was for the first time.
"You've gotten really bold, little njaa, little slave." He seemed to float across the floor to him. "No matter. I can still feel your fear."
Cal cursed to himself. His bravado was a sham, but he would not, could not, beg to this man again. NEVER AGAIN. It hit him so hard he nearly fell over.
The invisible force that Mender wielded grabbed Cal's throat without warning. He struggled wildly as it lifted him off the ground. In his mind, the horrible scene with Kailes replayed itself. Mender laughed. "Maybe I should burn off the other side of your face, what hey?" He reached into the folds of his stained black robe, drawing out a dagger.
Cal tried to cry out, but the grip was choking him. He was terribly afraid and now his vision was growing dim from the lack of air. He felt the dagger cut through the leather of his breeches and up though the heavy winter tunic, nicking the golden skin beneath. "Beg for your life, child of T'Keezian and I'll grant it." He ran a cold hand over Cal's flank.
NEVER AGAIN! The voice possessed him, filled him with its anger. Cal's foot shot out, connecting with Mender's jaw. As the mage staggered back, his concentration slipped dropping Cal hard to the ground.
Mender rubbed his jaw. There was a look of excitement in his eyes. "So the little cat has claws! This I hadn't expected from you, little lapcat!" He drew his power around him.
Cal felt his face twitch. "Human." he growled He crouched, shaking off the dizziness. "Who was I, Mender?" he spat out the question.
It completely caught Mender off guard. "What?" The power slipped. "You were with him a hundred years before I came along, T'Keezian's child. I imagine it's somewhere in his notes."
It was Cal's turn to be surprised. "A hundred years?" As a slave, time had had no meaning. "A hundred years?" His voice cracked like a boy's as he said it.
Mender seemed genuinely delighted at this. "I'll tell you more, but only because I know it will make you crazy for the next few centuries. You were with me for over a hundred. Your little friends out there have no idea of what you are, do they, njaa?" His voice lingered over the syllable of the word.
Miserably, Cal sank to his knees. "No." He said, quietly. He hung his head, his face hidden by the glossy black hair, and clutched his knees.
"They'd kill you just as soon as me, if they knew." Mender glided over to him, crooning. "There, there, my little lapcat. I have something to make it all better, now." He moved up along Cal, not really seeing him, but lost in the excitement of the moment.
Mender never saw the knife that Camria had given Cal slip out of his boot.
He was on Mender in an instant, snarling. The mage had no time to prepare a spell and collapsed back under Cal's weight.
Mender's eyes were wild. He hadn't been in a physical confrontation in over a hundred years.
"Beg for your life, apprentice of T'Keezian and I may grant it." Cal said in a snarling imitation of Mender. The mage was silent as the cold metal of the blade pressed into his throat. Blood welled up along the edge of the knife.
Cal bent to take a drop of it on his tongue. Mender was shivering uncontrollably. He did the unthinkable for him. "Please. . " the whisper squeaked out of him.
Cal smiled. It was a cold, feral showing of teeth. "Never again." He said it softly. Then, "Thus do I kill thee for my creator." It was said in the flat, ritual tone of the binding ceremony.
Mender's eyes widened further. "No. . "
The blade cut deeper. "Thus do I kill my creator for those who came before me." Mender was screaming as the blade cut through the artery. Blood gouted across Cal's face. He felt a distant, slicing pain.
He ignored it.
The screams turned to bubbling gasps as he brought the knife down hard through Mender's windpipe. "Thus do I sever the bond, now and forever, and free my soul."
Mender was dead before Cal finished the final statement. He felt dizzy, weak.
Unthinking, he brought his hand to the throbbing scar at his throat. It came away red and damp. Bond-wound, he thought vaguely. Distantly, he was aware of a pounding on the door. They were calling his name.
He ignored them. Licking Mender's blood off his fingers, Cal wandered around the room. I should be dead. Why aren't I dead? he wondered. I killed my master.
The knife still lives. The thought struck him between the eyes. Damnit. The Atzthaun is still out there somewhere. He raked his bloody fingers through his hair and watched the blood trickle down his chest from the bleeding wound at his throat.
He was growing weaker from the loss of blood. Still, he ignored the pounding at the door, scanning the library until he found the small tomes that T'Keezian used for his notes. There were only a few of his books. Cal remembered dozens of the little books, scattered all over the workroom when T'Keezian was trying to recreate a spell or an object.
He suddenly felt nostalgic, fingering the worn leather spines of the notebooks.
He flipped the first one open and ran his bloody finger down the page. He read of the creation process in T'Keezian's crabbed script, notes jammed in the margins around his sketches.
As he read down the page, he started to hum, badly off-key, a song he'd heard, somewhere. He wished he could remember the words.
Near death is required for both component subjects of the njaarinn. Even though body tissues can be connected well ahead of time, the union cannot occur until both the subjects are on the threshold. The threshold can be opened sooner by various methods, such as doing body tissue work or bone cutting while the sentient component is conscious
He closed the notebook, slowly, watching the muscles in his hand flex. Cal started to laugh, hoarsely, a broken, wheezing sound.
I really wasn't anybody before, was I? Patchwork. Patchwork man. He was still laughing as he sagged to his knees. He kicked Iallo's corpse. "You were right all along, Grey man, ol' friend! Hah. Monster!" he laughed raggedly.
The pounding on the door was louder. It awoke some instinct in Cal. He got up, wobbling to Mender's body, and riffled though the dead Mage's pockets. "Where. Where. Where?" He was saying in his wheezing laugh.
He found it tucked into Mender's belt, a small black silken bag. He opened it and looked in, made a snorting sound and tossed the notebooks in, closing the strings.
He tucked the tiny bag in his shirt as he staggered over to the heavy door. Tel's voice was frantic on the other side. "Cal! Open the door!"
Camria was sobbing. Camria. He thought about the way her hair smelled like sunlight. "Cami?" he tried to say, but it was barely a bubbling whisper as he slid against the door in a bloody trail, his hand catching on the latch.
The huge door released and Tel and Jhevan shouldered their way in. "Blessed Ihovan." murmured Jhevan as he saw Mender's body.
Tel picked Cal up, as lightly as he would have a feather. "Little Brother?" He asked, a strained note in his voice. "Burn it, Tel. Burn it all." He whispered, reaching for Camria. She took his bloody hand.
Her eyes were hard when she looked up at Tel. "I'll burn it." Gently she released Cal's hand, and lifted one of the torches from the wall. Almost ritualistically, she lit each bookcase in the huge circular room, then the bodies scattered across the floor. "Throw the mage's in there, too, Jhevan." Silently he complied.
They made their way down through the tower stairs, past uncared for rooms filled with priceless art. Halfway down Cal stopped them. "Treasury room." He coughed, tasting more blood. "Take it."
Tel shook his obstinately. "I'll not take any of that demon's tainted gold." Cal struggled to free himself from Tel's arms. "He owes it to the people of this realm."
As he struggled, Cal became aware of the warm tingling sensation running through his body. The healing process was starting again. The pain was fierce as the power struggled to heal the magical gash at his throat.
Whimpering from the pain, he curled up against Tel's massive chest as Jhevan and Camria carried what they could out of the room.
They were unchallenged the rest of the way out.
INTERLUDE
Mender told the truth about a lot of things that day. I found out later that the dead had risen in Westerness, it's peaceful forests and rolling valleys a nightmare of fear for it's inhabitants.
Attacked by one of the undead, an earthmage apparently created a terrible quake, designed to destroy the overrun section of that realm.
As it did. But as the coastal areas collapsed, the sea came rushing. The land even unaffected by the zombies was flooded.
No. The quake was magical, you see. It didn't know to just stop at the Westernize border. It tore through the landlocked realm of Akash right into Ostar, bringing utter devastation. The sea came in, following in the path of the quake.
In outrage, the surviving mages of Akash and Westerness combined their strengths to send a firestorm against Southeraa, perceived as the progenitor of all the woes.
You can imagine what happened.
No?
I'll tell you. It backfired, in a way. It burnt a swath across, reducing once green rainforest to ashen wastelands then careened into Ostar and exploded over section of that realm that had escaped damage, raining lava from the sky.
The weather went berserk from all this, as you could believe.
So many people, people that had nothing to do with wizards or monsters, died in those months. Months!
Hah.
Much of Southeraa that had been borderland near Ostar or Akash was shoreline, after that.
What of Akash? What of the mages of Ostar? Well, Akash was gone. Completely, as though the land from which the Empress had ruled for so long in her pearl palace, was only a dream or a story. As for Ostar, It had tried desperately to stay clear of the fighting. It's mages tried only to defend it.
What no one could have imagined was the final results. The devastation and the death was enormous, but it paled compared to what followed - the fear. The need to survive in a world where Hell had come to visit.
Hm? No, I don't mean that metaphorically.
Really. A major consequence, which would haunt this world, were the gates, openings torn between magical worlds. It allowed the demons to come through. The monsters. Nightmare things to make a Draquos afraid.
Of course, we didn't know any of this would happen. We'd beaten Mender. We'd survived Mender. That was all that really mattered at the time.
As soon as my throat healed, Cam and I were married in a proper Ihovanite ceremony. Tel made this speech about how I was "The sword of Righteousness" for the coming days ahead.
Yeah, right.
People looked to us, you know, for help. We were the ones who'd beaten Mender. When those eternal months of devastation were over, we rode out to try and put the pieces back together again.