Path of Honor (40 page)

Suddenly it leaped at her, and she wrenched back, stumbling against her companions, who caught her. The
nokula
peered at her through the grille. Its long, pointed snout dropped open in a slow yawn, revealing dozens of sharp teeth. Reisil gasped and stepped back, allowing Kebonsat and Yohuac to look. She leaned against the wall. Her stomach heaved. She retched, sliding down to the floor, her head bent between her knees. Saljane pressed close against her. A moment later hands caught her up.

“Come on. We’ve seen enough.” Kebonsat sounded shaken. He and Yohuac helped Reisil up the passageway, settling her on the edge of the hearth.

“What’s this?” Yohuac’s fingers whispered over her brow.

She shook her head.

“You let him touch you. The tongue. He didn’t break the skin, did he?” Sodur bent over her, grasping her chin and turning her head from side to side. “Lucky. Poison.”

“You could have warned us,” Kebonsat said.

“Wasn’t sure he’d let you see him.”

Reisil rubbed her eyes, his careless, detached tone scraping over her skin. “Where are the wizards?” she asked, rising to her feet.

Sodur cocked his head to the side and smiled. “Ah, now there’s a question.”

“Where?” Reisil insisted.

“Near Mysane Kosk. Outside of the ring of danger. Close enough to see their handiwork.”

“Where?”

“Thirty leagues south, in a high valley between Sapriim’s Peak and the Aavrel Range. Don’t know much else. They’ve taken precautions against casual discovery. The few
ahalad-kaaslane
who’ve gone closer have never been heard from.” His tone on the last was almost merry, and Reisil’s hand balled into a fist.

“Who?” she managed to squeeze out.

“Felias was one, as I recall. And Bethorn. Derkiin.” He shrugged. “They are missed.”

Reisil lunged to her feet. “Don’t you even care? Bethorn was your friend. You taught Felias . . .” She trailed away.

Sodur’s eyes narrowed to slits. He dipped his head low. At his feet, Lume growled. “You little know my pain, Reisiltark. Do not presume to judge. I have been
ahalad-kaaslane
far longer than you. We all do what we must. Our purpose is to stand like reefs, meeting danger before it can harm those we protect, so they may sleep sound at night when demons hunt in the darkness. We are not meant to have friends. We are meant to walk alone so that we can do as we must when we must, unblinded by ties of the heart.”

“You’re wrong,” Reisil retorted softly. “Ties of the heart give us the strength to stand between those we love and the evil that would harm them. And it is our trust and faith in one another that remind us we are not alone, that we serve the Lady and Kodu Riik together.”

As suddenly as he’d become menacing, Sodur’s mood shifted, and he smiled again. There was a wild edge to his expression, an alien shrewdness that made the hair on Reisil’s arms prickle. “Yes. True.
We are never alone.
But it is too soon to mourn. Perhaps they yet live.”

Juhrnus and Metyein stumbled out of the passage to the Iisand’s chambers, their faces white and clammy.

“By the Demonlord’s warty horn, what happened to him?” Metyein demanded, one hand clutching the hilt of his sword.

“You know. Mysane Kosk.”

“How can you be sure?” Juhrnus pressed.

“He went there shortly after the wizards destroyed it. To see for himself. Couldn’t get very close. Even then there was something. . . . There wasn’t much to see. The city was hidden by an unnatural mist. Changes started after that.”

“But how do you know that that is what caused it? That it wasn’t something else?” Reisil asked.

“He wasn’t the only one, and he wasn’t the first. There were the scouts. We didn’t know it until it was too late. They turned into a pack and slaughtered an entire squad before disappearing into the mountains. That was the first incident. Soon the pattern became clear. It was then Geran realized it was happening to him too, and had us lock him up. He hoped we could find a cure, of course. It was more important to him that he didn’t go about killing his own people, and that we would be able to see what happened to him. So we’d know.

“Back then you didn’t know how close was too close to Mysane Kosk. Some men changed; others didn’t. Didn’t seem to be a pattern as to who got struck. But now—Now you go to Mysane Kosk, and you can see. Can’t you?” He looked at Juhrnus, who nodded. “There’s a growing circle of light about the place. You can see inside the edges. Grass, trees, insects, animals—it’s all changed like him.” He jerked his head in the direction of the Iisand’s cell.

“He’s gone, isn’t he? There’s no way to bring him back. To bring any of them back,” Juhrnus said quietly.

“Who knows? It’s magic.”

“I’m going to find out,” Reisil said.

“Yes, it’s time,” Sodur said, startling her. “I’ll help you all I can.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled that queer smile again and said nothing. There was something else here, something more he wasn’t saying. Did she dare trust him? Did she have any choice?

 

Sodur led them through the passages to an empty set of rooms in the west wing. “Don’t let anyone see you leaving. The walls have eyes.” He chuckled and motioned Kebonsat back into the wall passage.

“I’ll come too. I’d like to know the way,” Juhrnus said, following after.

Sodur turned back to Reisil. “If you will accept an old man’s last words of advice, you may find that those ties of the heart may be painful indeed. Friends will die. You may even have to kill some. But whatever comes, you and your allies are all that stands between Kodu Riik and that.” He waved his arm in the vague direction of the Iisand’s cell. “Don’t ever forget what you’re meant to do.”

Reisil watched the panel in the wall slide shut. She dropped onto a divan, her arms wrapped around her waist.

“Reisil?” Yohuac squatted beside her, grasping her hand. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“You’re shaking.” Yohuac sat beside her, pulling her against his chest.

“Here.” Metyein thrust a glass of brandy into her hand, and she gulped it down, clutching the glass with both hands, grateful for the fire that burned down her throat.

Slowly the tremors subsided, and after a few minutes she pushed herself away from Yohuac. She looked at the two men, feeling the magnitude of what must be done, and wondering how it was to be accomplished. How this tiny handful of people were to do it. They were on their own now. Sodur had given over the reins, and she didn’t know if she could do any better than he. Both men returned her regard with complete trust. They believed in her. She quashed the voice inside that laughed at their foolishness.

“Mysane Kosk is the key,” she said. “It all began there. If the wizards won’t reverse what they’ve done, we’ll have to destroy it. With luck, that will end the plague. And then we’ll hunt down every
nokula
it spawned.” She stood up. “Even the Iisand. It’s the only way.”

S
oka jogged back and forth in his cell, the rough stone frigid beneath his bare feet. His wounds were all but healed. His skin showed pink scars, and beneath them the flesh ached, but he was a whole man. For now. Soka spat at the windowless wall. He hadn’t seen Aare in more than a week. It wasn’t like him. He enjoyed taunting Soka too much. The Verit had been in every few days since Soka’s capture to mock and threaten him, bringing bits of news, none of which Soka trusted. Even Aare’s revelation that Metyein still lived might have been a ruse, though Aare’s fury certainly seemed real. Hearing it, Soka couldn’t resist getting a bit of his own back.

“Hard to find good help these days. Course, you don’t trade in loyalty. Who’d give it to the likes of you, after all? Did you forget to pay him? Bed his wife? Murder his children?”

“Pelodra is a worm, and shall soon be returned to his native home,” Aare said malevolently. “As you may be. Though I could solve much of my aggravation by simply removing another useless part of your face. A shame for the women though,” he mused, tapping his finger against Soka’s lips and flicking out his tongue. The threat had silenced Soka. He could still hear Aare’s laugh, loud and hearty.

Then Aare had ceased to come. Soka’s meager food continued to be delivered once a day, and his chamber pot had overflowed two days ago. His cell reeked, and he could hardly contain himself with the isolation and monotony.

In an effort to warm himself and restore his wasted muscles, he’d begun a regimen of exercise. It helped. He no longer wheezed from two minutes of jogging, nor did his muscles scream protest when he performed various exercises. But he was still weak as a kitten and found himself pounding against the walls in frustration. He slept little, the nightmares circling, waiting to pounce. He had no sense of night or day, and the moments it took to take a breath seemed interminable.

He squatted, waiting until his legs burned with the effort, then straightened with a lurch and repeated the motion. Next he lay facedown on the floor and pushed himself up until his arms screamed. Afterwards he began the warm-up motions Metyein had taught him for swordplay. His body was stiff and jerky, and he sank to the floor, propping himself up against the wall and striving to collect himself. Sooner or later Aare would be back. And sooner or later he’d finally get around to telling Soka what he had in mind. And then what? Soka knew as well as he knew his own name what Aare would demand. Betray Metyein. Spy on him. Spy on his father. Soka tipped his head back and glanced at the walls of his prison. He could take it here for months. Maybe years. But Aare wouldn’t wait. Torture would come next, and soon.

The day they took his eye came back with a rush—the smell of sage sausage and stale ale on the healer’s breath, the dreadful itching, Aare’s cool instructions. And then afterwards, the appalling ache that bored through his head. Then Aare had been merciful, allowing Soka a measure of relief from the pain. Soka could still taste the drug: lemons and something akin to walnuts. He still couldn’t abide either. But this time Aare would not be so benevolent.

Soka scrubbed his hands over his face, scratching at his filthy beard. Losing his eye would be a fond memory compared with what Aare would do next. The question was, could he take it? Could he withstand the pain and refuse Aare’s demands?

Soka bounced his head against the wall, staring up at the heavy plank ceiling, tears tracking out of the corners of his eyes. He knew himself. Much as he loved Metyein, he would give in. He made an inarticulate sound. If that was the way of it, why not just cooperate? Why not just stay whole if there was nothing to be gained by fighting? He thought of Metyein, and his head fell forward onto his arms, and he sobbed in earnest.

 

It was another two days before Aare returned. He walked in, his face contorting at the stench. He covered his mouth and nose with a lace-edged handkerchief.

“Bring him,” he ordered the two guards.

Soka struggled; he didn’t know why. He’d do anything to be out of that cell. One guard cuffed him on the side of the head. Soka sagged between them as they dragged him along.

He was taken up several flights of stairs and down a long curving corridor. There were no decorations but for iron torch brackets spaced every twenty feet. At last they came to a wooden door. Aare pushed it open and motioned for Soka to enter. When he resisted, the two guards thrust him inside forcefully.

Soka’s mouth went dry, and his bladder clenched. The room was wide and spacious and brightly lit, dominated on one end by a fireplace large enough to stand a horse in. Stone tables formed regimented double lines down the middle. A few were occupied, groups of two and three brown-robed men leaning over each. There was an unearthly hush, as if the snip and grind of the metal tools made no impact on the pitiful victims strapped to the stone slabs. Someone whistled a merry tune.

“You were expecting this, I should think.”

Soka didn’t answer, unable to tear his gaze from a sudden spurt of crimson that fountained up above the heads of one group of torturers. The man on the table neither moved nor screamed.

“They do good work. Reliable results,” Aare said, following his gaze.

“Why doesn’t he scream?” Soka choked out, the pressure in his bladder growing.

“I do not care much for the noise. This is my home, after all. No, there are ways to remove that annoyance, though it has its price. It is sometimes difficult for the subject to communicate his capitulation, and he suffers more than he ought. Still, a price I’m willing to pay for peace and quiet. Come, have a closer look.”

Aare guided Soka around the room, walking slowly so that he could see the ready instruments in careful rows on trays, the bloodstained tables, the restraints, the forest of burning, biting and cutting devices hanging in orderly racks. And finally he came to the victims and their torturers.

There was an easy, casual pace to the torturers’ movements. They spoke in muted voices, humming quiet tunes as they severed bones, dismantled feet, burned skin from flesh. In between they discussed what they were doing, how far they could push before their victims passed out, how to keep them on this side of life.

Last Aare walked him down a line of cages along the far wall, beside the hearth. Soka hadn’t seen them before. The things inside were hardly to be recognized as human. Like those on the tables, they made few sounds, but their breathing was pained. They smelled of old blood,
skraa
, vomit and piss. A trickle of vile liquid wound from the cages and into a drain set in the floor nearby. Aare lifted his robes and stepped over it, peering inside a cage.

“Not yet, Kedriles? I thought we’d have broken you sooner. But not long. Not long now.” Aare caught Soka’s eyes. “He wanted freedom—then he pleaded for death. But those never come. Now he will choose to submit.” He
tsked
. “In the end, everyone does. Imagine what a man could save himself if he just answered reason.”