Beyond the Hell Cliffs (21 page)

“Thank you, Lady Councilor,”
Pyrrhus said, taking a long pull from her glass.  “You flatter me.  I did flee in fear, however; fear for my comrades.  Falfa went mad when the boy, Raegith, attacked the men in his regiment.  He executed a Paladin right before us all, caused the death of a Faeir and had the others tortured.  I had to endure it all, stone-faced, to keep from joining the others, or else we would all be in Galveronne and the mission would have been doomed.”

Isidora
listened intently, barely containing her excitement.

“You mean the envoy is not at Galveronne?  You res
cued them?”

“Indeed, Councilor.  By the time I broke away from Falfa and came upon the escort, the Sabans had brutalized the men, including the king’s son, and even defiled a poor girl who had been masquerading as a Paladin.  It was a repulsive sight and the Sabans were slaughtered to a man when I freed the envoys.  The three survivors continued on to the Hell Cliffs and, Flame-willing, are with their Greimere escort
.  They do not carry any loot, but I was able to get the Declaration from Falfa and put it in the boy’s hands.  I left them in order to catch up to Falfa, but when I realized how much ground he had covered, I knew I had to get word to the King as quickly as possible.”

“Amazing… simply amazing,
Pyrrhus.  Your perseverance has provided our lands with a success where there should have been a debacle.” Isidora turned back to Pyrrhus and placed an inquisitive finger to her lips.  “I am curious about something, Pyrrhus, if you will indulge me.  I was told that a certain incident caused Falfa’s wrath to be brought upon the group… an incident involving the bastard and a Stone Seer.  Is this true?”

Pyrrhus
hesitated, growing more guarded about the inquisition.  “The Stone Seer is dead now and the boy is traumatized enough by it.  No matter his indiscretion with the girl, he is still the king’s son.  The Council would benefit best from leaving the boy alone upon his return.  He knows little about the world and even less about our customs.”

“So it is true!”
Isidora replied.  “The half-breed stuck it to a Faeir woman and a Stone Seer at that.  Then he attacked an entire squad of trained soldiers for her?”

“He was quite taken with her,”
Pyrrhus continued.  “When she was killed, I saw darkness in his eyes; eyes that before were full of innocence and chivalry.  I would not wish to see such corruption in my lifetime again.  Now if you will excuse me, I need to see the king.”

“See the king in such a
state, Pyrrhus?” Isidora asked.  “Ride with me to the Council annex at Thromdale, clean yourself up while we make our report to the Council and then I will personally escort you to the palace so that you may…”

“Respectfully, Lady Councilor, King Helfrick needs to know the situation with as much urgency as I can muster.  I will give the Council my full report in time, but this is news about the king’s son!  Excuse me.”

Isidora struck quickly.  The motion began in her shoulder and rippled down her arm fluidly, like a wave that moved from one arm to the next without breaking, until it reached her other hand.  As the hand closest to Pyrrhus flipped up at the end of the wave motion, an impact hit Pyrrhus, knocking him backwards.  It was Tidal Magic, the offensive technique of the Aqua Sect and though no water hit him, the power of a wave was still there and it knocked the air from his lungs.

As
Pyrrhus rolled to his feet, water from the nearby pond shot forward and coalesced around his head, enclosing it in a bubble.  He was without oxygen and he had barely taken a breath from the first attack.

Isidora
cackled as she watched the Mage struggle with her execution technique.  It was a skill she had practiced in darkness, away from her colleagues.  Sages were not supposed to harness combat techniques like these, especially ones who were on the fast-track to Councilor.  Combat techniques were for Mages, those who served along the Saban soldiers and the Twileen hunters.  Scholarly Sages like her were supposed to be diplomatic, but diplomacy had never gotten her as far as fear and punishment had.

“Just let it go and breathe in,
Pyrrhus!” she laughed.  “You’re exhausted and I am too skilled for you…”

A fireball slammed into
Isidora, sending her spiraling to the ground.  Her robes ignited instantly and she struggled to get clear of them.  There were flames all around her, burning her skin and scorching her hair.  She rolled on the ground, but they would not go out.  She had to refocus her concentration on survival, which meant her Death Bubble would drop.  Letting her magic dissipate, she found purchase on some cloth and ripped the blazing robes from her body and threw them at Pyrrhus. 

Flames erupted from his fingers and destroyed the robe, then came for her.  Having nothing left on her but a garter, boots and a pair of lacey panties,
Isidora had no physical protection from his attack.  Throwing up a small shield of moisture, she bolted away from the blast and dove into the nearby pond, the magic flames barely grazing her.

He’s not as tired as he looks!
  She giggled with glee under the water as she realized how much she underestimated the prodigy Mage.

Bubbles began forming around her body and she realized that
Pyrrhus was not done with her.  He was boiling the pond water around her. 
He’s really good!

Isidora
shot out of the water and threw another wave blast at Pyrrhus, this time fueling it with the heated water surrounding her body.  The flames were doused, but Isidora could not right herself in the air and blast Pyrrhus at the same time.  She landed hard on her side and she heard a crack in her ribcage when it hit a rock underneath the moss.  Pain exploded in her chest and her first breath was like breathing in electricity.  She tried to get to her feet, but another rib snapped with the effort and she rolled back to the ground.

Pyrrhus
stood over her, flames dancing in his open palms.  She was not completely sure the Caelum Loyalist would abide by Faeir law in this circumstance.  Faeir did have the right to defend themselves against any fatal threat, but she was no longer a threat to him in her condition.

“My ribs…”
Isidora said, grunting with the effort of speaking.  She hated pain almost as much as she hated Loyalists.  “No fair… I broke my ribs…”

“Luck has a lot to do with victory, my Lady,”
Pyrrhus said, seething.  “Councilors and Mages alike are equalized by it.”

“You can’t!  I’m Faeir… no longer a threat!”
Isidora said, holding her arms aside to show her concession.  She saw Pyrrhus’s eyes briefly dart to her exposed breasts and she smiled.  “I’m at your mercy, Mage.”

“You’ve certainly retained your beauty from our days at the College
, Lady Councilor, but if you think that such an offer would… wait, where is your…” Pyrrhus said.

A slender piece of shiny metal burst through
Pyrrhus’s chest, just under his heart.  The space behind him rippled and Filth appeared from the ether.  Pyrrhus’s eyes fluttered and he looked behind him, bringing his flames to bear.  Without ever looking up at the Mage, Filth pistoned his blade back and forth.  Several holes were punched through the flame-haired Faeir rapidly before his hands dropped to his sides.

“Cursed magic?”
Pyrrhus whispered through blood-stained lips.  “You allow your Stone Seer…”

“Filth has a talent that I simply could not ignore,”
Isidora replied, letting the Stone Seer help her to her feet.  “The ability to simply disappear and reappear at a whim; it’s beautiful magic.  I saved him from execution to use that magic and he is completely loyal to me.  You see how he killed you with so little hesitation, just to protect me.”

“Not even the Council will forgive this,”
Pyrrhus said.

“You might be surprised what the Council is willing to overlook.  Why do you think they sent me to Galveronne? 
To rescue a bunch of incompetent Sabans and the living reminder of the king’s immorality?”

“If your devotion to the Council is strong enough for you to break Faeir law, to kill a peer and acquaintance,”
Pyrrhus sputtered.  “Then may that devotion be your undoing, Isidora.”

“Enough drama,
Pyrrhus.  Our past relationship notwithstanding, I was given the extremely unique opportunity to kill another of my kind, consequence-free.” Isidora knelt down close to him and looked him in the eyes.  “You and I are participating in a historic event.  Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

Isidora
pushed her lips to his and kissed him hard.  Filth grunted, as if he objected to the action, but Isidora paid him no heed.  Water gushed from the corners of her mouth around Pyrrhus’s and he struggled, but could not break the kiss.  A bubble slipped over the Mage’s head and Isidora broke away, spewing water and laughter to the sky.  She dropped her weight against Pyrrhus and bowled him over, straddling the writhing Mage as he drowned inside the bubble.  She groped herself and moaned as she rode his death throes, but her injured ribs got the better of her and she fell off of him in pain before he finally went still.

“Great Tides, that was everything I
could have imagined,” she said, wallowing in her bliss.  “Oh Pyrrhus, you were the best I’ve had… the best kill, anyways.  I can only say so much of that other thing we never shared.”

Isidora
rolled over and crawled up to Pyrrhus, looking down on his lifeless face.  “Don’t feel bad, Pyrrhus.  With all of your jostling and jittering, you’ve come closer than anyone else.”

She rolled off and looked up at Filth, who made sure to keep his eyes averted from her nearly naked form.  She scowled at him, looking him over.

“You sure as hell took long enough to intervene, Filth.  Three different times he had the opportunity to broil me.  Is that the Twileen dagger I gave you?”

Filth lifted the silver knife to show his master, giving no other affirmative gesture.

“It needs cleaned and inspected.  I don’t want it falling into disrepair.  I spent a lot of money on that for you, of which I now appreciate.” 

Isidora
looked over at Pyrrhus.  “Strip the robes from him and see what you can make from them.  I cannot ride back into Thromdale giving every citizen an eyeful.  Then get his body to the pond.  I’ll do the rest.”

Chapter 18

Raegith did not want to open his eyes.  He did not want to get up off the stone slab that was his bed.  He did not want to eat or leave his cell and he most certainly did not want to face Torga again.  He could still feel the pain and humility of his last confrontation with the Rathgar.

The breakfast that Raegith ate tasted just as horrible coming up as it had going down.  The blood that followed it made it worse.  Torga had called him out as the entire population filed ou
t into the arena after eating.  The guards explained nothing to him on the way in and as far as he knew, everything was regulated by the inmates inside of the Pit, which meant that he had to abide by the rule of might.  When Torga pointed at him and beckoned him toward the center of the arena, everyone spread out and began chanting.  There was nowhere for Raegith to go as he looked around.  He was blocked in and everyone was looking at him.  The faces were all yelling and grinning; most were Rathgar, but there were some that were the dark-skinned, long-eared type and some of the fur-collared type.  All wanted to see them fight.

They were all to be disappointed, however.  Raegith was jittery, scared and half the size of the Rathgar.  The first three blows crippled Raegith with pain.  He could not dodge or retaliate.  The Rathgar was so strong and powerful that it was overwhelming.  As Raegith braced himself against the ground on his hands and knees, vomiting blood, Torga walked around soaking up the applause and cheers of the others.

“Torga don’t know what the fuck it is, but Torga know it bleeds!” Torga exclaimed.

Raegith tried to get up, but he was kicked back down.  Torga dropped on top of him, raining blows down on him.  Raegith’s vision darkened and his teeth rattled in his head.  Blood was everywhere
and all he could hear was a loud, dull ringing.  The others laughed and cheered and Raegith tried not to think of the meaty object slapping against his cheek and forehead at the delight of his attacker.

When he awoke he realized he was still in the Pit and smelled like piss.  No one had removed him or taken him back to the cell.  No one had come for him at all.  That was when the realization hit him.  No one would ever come for him.  All of his allies were dead and his own father had doomed them all.  At least Zakk and Ebriz and Boram were all free of this world.  He was still there, to feel the pain and anguish of betrayal in the land of his enemies.

Land of enemies… how ridiculous.
  How could he call this place a land of enemies when his own country would just as soon see him dead?  Little more than a week ago, Raegith was on his way to another prison, being tortured along the way.  He had thought himself rescued.  He had thought himself free, all the way through the deserts and dead fields of the Greimere Empire.  Had the Declaration not had those few sentences at the very end, the Empress might have treated him to a night within the palace and then sent them on their way with a completed mission.  A few written words later, his two best friends in the world were both dead and the Empress was addressing him as if the entire fate of their empire were directly his fault.

It had been three weeks since that first day in the Pit, but h
e was no longer beaten on by Torga.  That did not stop the others from constantly harassing and torturing him.  In case he did not figure it out on his own, it was made clear by a single individual.

The bell for evening meal rang and Raegith went to get his food.  When he returned he found an older Rathgar and three younger, more intimidating warriors with him.  He was well dressed for an inmate and looked as if he lived more comfortably in the Pit than others did.  He was sitting on Raegith’s bed and did not even rise when the prince entered.

“You cost me today, Grass-hair,” the old Rathgar said, rubbing the back of his head nonchalantly.  “You were supposed to take your life in shame after Torga beat you, but like all Northerners, you continue to insult us.  I’m not even sure what sick, twisted plan the acestors had to send you here instead of killing you.  Maybe they meant for me to beat a thousand years of suffering into you, I don’t know.”

The Rathgar finally got up from the bed and approached Raegith.

“You’d better believe it’s coming for you, Grass-hair.”

The old man took the bowl of gruel from Raegith as his henchmen stared holes through him, daring him to react.  Deliberately, the man tilted the bowl up over Raegith’s head and emptied his evening meal in his hair.  He shook the remainder of the gruel out and clapped the empty bowl onto Raegith’s head and stared at him.  Raegith clenched his teeth and took it, knowing full well that the four of them would tear him apart if he tried to fight.

“It’s coming for you.  You will be made an example of.  Pleasant dreams.”

Hugar made good on his promise, coming to him every other night with his men and beating him sensless.  The old Rathgar knew enough to stop before Raegith died.  He was skilled enough in torture to avoid any permanent damage; always making it to where the boy would recuperate just in time for the next punishment.  Oddly, a few times he had woken up in his bed with cleaned wounds.  He doubted Hugar was doing it, but could not
rule out the possibility that the old Rathgar was sending some woman in to keep him healthy enough for torment.

Despairing and without any companionship, Raegith took his beatings without fighting back, hoping each time that Hugar would lose interest and finally put him down for good.  He stopped eating, hoping the lack of energy would expedite his demise and in the times between visits, he thought of Zakk and Ebriz and Onyx.

“Soon, we will all be together,” Raegith whispered as he lay there and hoped his stomach would finally just collapse and take the rest of him with it.

“Raegith?”

Raegith looked up at the first voice he had recognized in almost a month.  Standing in the entryway of his cell, encased in the dull light of morning, was his only love.  Her light blue skin glimmered and the blackness of her eyes caressed him.  He had longed for her for so long in that place, wishing he was back in her arms.  So many times he had let his mind drift back to that night he spent with Onyx, whispering to her in the dark of the tent after making love.  Now here she was, beckoning him to the afterlife, to be with her once more.

It had taken weeks for word of the Northerners to reach Helkree, but only a few minutes for her to act on the information.  It did not take much to get into the kind of trouble that they would imprison her for.  She ran the risk of the Empress finding out, but the Citadel was too large and there were too many going in and out of the Pit for the ruler to be made aware of every detainee.

When she got through all of the security and found the boy, he was already in a horrid state.  When she called to him, he barely responded.

“Raegith,” she repeated, worried that the inmates had done something to cripple him.  “What the fuck are you doing?”

Raegith flinched
and began calling her a weird name.  He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes.  He was not crippled, so she grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him violently.

“Get up!  Get up right the fuck now!”

Raegith snapped out of his stupor and looked up into her eyes.  She nearly slapped him.

“Is this some kind of Northerner bullshit you’re pulling right now?  Do you need sunlight or flowers or your mother’s
tit or some shit or else you get like this?”

“Who?
  Helkree?” Raegith moaned, staring at the woman before him.  “What the hell are you doing in the afterlife?”

“Holy
Hellspawn, is that where you think you are?” she asked.  “If this is your idea of the afterlife up north, then you fools need to find a new religion.  You’re not dead, Raegith, but you will be if you don’t get out of this cell.  Now come on!”

Raegith let Helkree ease him up to a sitting position.  He took a few drinks of water from his
pail and looked her over.  His cheeks were sunken and he looked sickly.

“I’m too far gone, Helkree.  Just let me die here.”

“I’m not waiting that long, you idiot,” Helkree said, smirking at the confused look on his face.  “It will take weeks for you to starve yourself to death.”

“
I was hoping to go out on my own terms instead of being beaten to death by Hugar.  I can’t even control my own death in here!”

Helkree replied dryly.  “
Lack of food and torment from an inmate won’t kill you as quickly as what you’re doing right now.”

“And what is that?” Raegith asked.

“Giving up,” Helkree stated.  “I can see it well enough, we have enough of it in the Greimere than anyone here can.  It’s why no one has killed you, yet; you’re not worth the effort.  No one here feels any pity or remorse for you, Raegith.  They won’t kill you because they all suspect that’s what you want and in here, you don’t get what you want unless you take it.”

“All of my friends are dead.  My father… the king, betrayed me.  He sent me here to die, away from anyone who might raise a fuss, to be forgotten.  Hell, he’s probably already executed my mother in Rellizbix and erased my entire existence.  I have nothing.”

“You’re still alive.  You’ve still got that mane of grass-colored hair that pisses everyone around here off.  You’ve still got that monster hiding in your pants unless it’s become as shriveled up as you are.”  Helkree stood up before him.  “And you’ve still got me.”

“What are you doing here, Helkree?”

“I can’t stay out of trouble.  I may have gotten caught skipping out on an enormous bar tab a little bit easier than I should have, but I’m just as much of a criminal as anyone else here… more so probably.”

“You got yourself arrested and imp
risoned to keep me company?” Raegith asked.  “Are you going to share the cell with me, too?”

Helkree laughed at him. 
“You’ve been beaten, starved and your companions are all dead, yet you’re still trying to get a piece of ass.  Too bad you don’t have that determination when it comes to defending yourself against these assholes in here.”

“I’m a prisoner here, Helkree.  I’m locked away to be forgotten by all.  What’s the point in anything I do here?”

“You’re in a bad place right now, I can see that,” Helkree answered.  “I tell you what; I would have ended up in here one way or another, so it’s no big deal that I got myself thrown in prison to come find you.  So since I still kind of owe you one, I’ll do you a favor and snap your neck right now.  It’ll probably get me beaten to death by the ass-lickers that have it in for you, but you’ll be dead and won’t have to worry about that.”

Helkree was in his face now, staring hard into his eyes with fire in hers.

“I don’t want to die, Helkree… but they aren’t going to let me have any peace in here, no matter what I do.”

“I heard Hugar
claimed you,” Helkree said. 

He did not even look up at her.  “He said
I have it coming; a thousand years of pain that my kind have inflicted on yours.”

Helkree paused, looking at him undecidedly.  Then she sat down beside him and leaned back,
laying down behind him.  She grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back into her.

“Lay with me, Raegith,” she said, pulling him close to place his head I the crook of her shoulder.  “The old man was right; they will come for you
and they won’t stop for years.  I’ll do what I can for you, but you have to harden yourself, Raegith; harden yourself against this whole place… like I did.”

He did not respond to her, but he did not pull away either.  After some time, she felt him start to doze in her arms.  She looked down at his
battered, innocent-looking face; his long, green hair and his pointed ears.  He looked so foreign; so much like the dainty races of the north that somehow managed to defeat the Greimere army time after time, despite their decadence.  She had always hated the north and had thought she hated the people there, even though she had never seen one.  Then Raegith was there, just as she went through the worst moment of her life.  When she was alone and helpless and wishing for death, he appeared and barely hesitated to free her.  He was nothing like what she imagined a Northerner to be.

She used to take pride in being a wanderer without purpose; she thought that it made her freer than the others.  She was always lonely, though.  With her attitude and refusal to abandon the warrior life, she had no friends.  There were only business partners and sex partners; no one willing to share a beer over common interests and certainly no one willing adore anything deeper than her flesh.  Maybe that’s what always got her into trouble; what always saw her in the bed of a psychopath, drenched in his blood and bawling her eyes out.  She always found the worst ones when she was vulnerable, but she would not submit to their twisted demands.  She would kill them before submission.

Then there was Raegith, who clothed her, spoke with her and relied upon her.  She did not know how to handle it, so she did what she had always done with any male who treated her with something other than disdain: she fucked him.  She could have screwed it all up, the way she went about it.  He was young and inexperienced and practically unconscious and when he came to he was furious with her; but then it was fine.  She was not discarded or abandoned.  She was not forced to kill him in self-defense.  He kept her against the protests of his companions from his own home.  He was compassionate, but compassion was a weakness in the Greimere.  He needed a warrior to protect him and she was chosen for him by Fate or the Ancients or whoever was out there pulling the strings.