“So, one simple question,” the man said. “Are you the bookworm?”
Elaine winced, knowing that her expression had probably answered his question. She’d always been a bookworm – why not, when she’d had few friends at the Peerless School – but he wasn’t asking about her reading habits. The curse on the book from Duke Gama had dumped the contents of millions of books into her head. Of course she was a bookworm. What better name for someone like her?
“Then we have found you,” the man said. He laughed, with a kind of grim amusement. “We send teams of hunters to your city to try and identify you and you walk right into our hands.”
“I told you that she had been charmed to come to Ida – and to think that it was all her own idea,” the voice from the crystal ball said. It sounded vastly amused by the whole concept, even as Elaine shuddered in horror. Inquisitor Dread had pointed out that she might not be acting of her own volition, but she’d dismissed the thought as laughable...and that too might have been part of the spell. “You always had your doubts about the power of magic.”
“This kingdom has been kept safe by sword and archery, not magic,” the hooded man rebutted, sharply. “Sorcery always threatens sorcerers with corruption, doesn’t it?”
“An argument for another time,” the voice said. “I suggest that you prepare her for her role in the plan. And make sure that that Inquisitor is dead. The last thing we need is an Inquisitor poking around.”
The crystal ball darkened as the spell linking it to another faded and died. Elaine braced herself as the hooded man studied her, one hand holding a strangely thin wand. His eyes, the only part of his face she could see, were bright, almost feverish. Whatever he wanted, it wouldn’t be something good. And if they’d killed Dread...
Everyone
knew
that Inquisitors were untouchable. Kill one, or even take him prisoner, and the Inquisition would tear the world apart looking for the people responsible – and then kill them with gleeful abandon. Even the darkest of dark sorcerers preferred to remain hidden rather than provoke a fight with the Inquisition, for backing them was the power of the Grand Sorcerer himself – and all the knowledge stored in the Black Vault. Elaine shivered as she finally drew the lines between her new status as the bookworm and the enemy plan. They wanted the knowledge to even the odds between themselves and the Inquisition.
All of the spells and rituals that could be used to enhance one’s magical power worked – at the cost of one’s sanity. No wonder Dread had been so concerned about her mental state – and no wonder that the dark sorcerers wanted to get their hands on the knowledge in the Black Vault. Dark sorcerers wouldn’t care about madness; they were probably already pushing the limits of sanity as far as they would go. They would use the knowledge to boost their power and then strike before the Inquisition was ready for them. And it would all be her fault. Her fault. Her fault...
The words drummed away in her head as the hooded man placed the wand against her left breast, drew it back...and then struck her with considerable force. Elaine couldn’t help herself. She screamed as the pain lanced through her body, as if she’d been raped by a red-hot poker. Pain seared across her breast; he drew back his hand and lashed her right breast, and then her buttocks. Elaine screamed again, reaching into her head for the mental disciplines she’d learned at the Peerless School, but the magic refused to form in her mind. The cold iron chains wrapped around her hands had to be dampening the magic somehow. It was a prison. Of course they would be dampening the magic.
She cringed back as the hooded man – the torturer, she now realised – prepared another stroke...and then stopped, watching her. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be tortured, provided that they weren’t important; truth spells cost more than torture equipment, after all. And besides, truth spells were finicky. It was far more economical to torture someone, breaking them down piece by piece until they broke and confessed to all their sins. Rumour had it that every nobleman retained his own personal torturer.
The torturer held the cane against her mouth, and then jabbed it sharply into her neck. Elaine yelped in pain, feeling the pressure growing against her throat. He was about to crush it...the pressure grew stronger and her breathing started to falter, just before he stepped back and walked around to her rear. A moment later, she felt him jab the cane into the small of her back...and there was another flare of excruciating pain. And again, and again...
He wasn’t doing it to ask her questions, part of her mind insisted; he hadn’t even bothered to ask her
any
questions. It struck her that he was torturing her for the sheer hell of it, enjoying himself as he watched her screaming in agony...maybe it aroused him. Some of Daria’s more perverse boyfriends, according to her, enjoyed slapping girls or being slapped themselves. Elaine hadn’t believed either until now. How could anyone enjoy inflicting, or receiving, pain?
“Let me explain to you how this is going to work,” the man said, underlining his words with another sharp lash of the cane. “I have worked as a torturer for the king for the past ten years, during which time I have gained experience in breaking hundreds of people, shattering their wills until they become helplessly compliant and obedient. I can read you like a book.”
He chuckled, as one does at a joke that isn’t particularly funny. “I know that you’re not strong, that you haven’t been trained in pain resistance,” he added. “And I know that, right now, you don’t have enough magic to even call for help. I can keep working on you for days, or weeks, or even months until you are completely broken. Do you understand me?”
Elaine said nothing. He reached out and squeezed one breast tightly. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Elaine said, finally. Her entire body felt as if it were on fire. Part of her even found his touch, as repulsive as it was, far more comfortable than the cane lashing her body. Some of the knowledge in her mind hinted that that was the point, that pain would eventually tame her to the point where she would be grateful for every small mercy. She did try to find some advice on escaping torture, but most of the information seemed to assume that she had her hands free. None of the information on picking locks or bare-handed combat seemed useful to her. “I understand.”
“You have been here for a week,” the man said. “Your dreadful friend” – he chuckled, again – “is dead. There is no one who knows where you are, or what you’re doing here – apart from us, of course. If you cooperate, the pain will go away and you can even live a normal life here. It is a shame to waste such a fine specimen of womanhood.”
Elaine tasted blood in her mouth. Oddly, she found his claim that Dread had been killed to be reassuring. The voice from the crystal ball had ordered the torturer to make certain that he was dead, rather than simply informing him that it was done. She couldn’t have been a prisoner for more than a few hours at most, surely. And if he considered her a fine specimen of womanhood...
She swallowed hard, trying to speak. “What...what do you want?”
“We want the knowledge in your mind,” the man said. He prodded her with his cane. “I am going to break you, here and now, so that the knowledge can be extracted. After that, assuming you behave, we will do our best to take care of you. If you don’t behave, we’ll be forced to throw you to the men. I suggest that you behave.”
He was lying, Elaine realised. The knowledge in her head had identified the spell that had cursed her in the Great Library, the spell that had turned her into the bookworm. It
was
possible to transfer the knowledge from one person to another, but except in very specific circumstances the transfer would result in the death of one of the people involved. It was almost certain that Elaine would be killed during the transfer. And even if she survived, her mind would be permanently damaged. It was a terrifying thought.
“No,” she said, finally. Maybe she could get him to talk. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why, for the Cause,” he said, in surprise. “Don’t you even
know
why you’re here?”
Elaine gathered herself. “You could tell me,” she said. “I might decide to help you willingly.”
“You will help us when I break you,” the man said. He lashed out with his cane, slicing across her chest just under her breasts. “Do you think that we would trust you to give us the knowledge we want without suspecting a trick? Or that you might use the knowledge against us later?”
Elaine stared at him. “What Cause?” she said. “Why are you doing this?”
The man smiled. “The greatest reason of all,” he said. “The quest for independence.”
She saw it, as clearly as if he’d drawn a picture for her in front of her eyes. The monarchies resented their subordination to the Grand Sorcerer, even though it was the price they paid for peace along their borders. Ida had better cause to resent it than most; the state had been impregnable, even during the worst of the Necromantic Wars. They didn’t want to pay fealty, let alone taxes, to the Grand Sorcerer and the Golden City. Was that why the Heir to Ida’s Throne had gone to the Golden City and announced his intention to join the competition for the Grand Sorcerer’s position? If he won, would he grant the monarchies their independence once again?
And with the knowledge in her head, his victory would be assured.
It would be disastrous. The Empire had had hundreds of years of peace and prosperity after the end of the Second Necromantic War. Successive Grand Sorcerers and Regency Councils had fostered trade and economic development, building roads and iron dragons that linked states together into a single whole. A war, even without necromancers being involved, would be war on a scale unimaginable to most people. The entire Empire would convulse as state after state tried to secure its independence, destroying all that bound the Empire together in their struggle. And that wouldn’t displease the monarchs. How many of them resented the increasing demands from the traders for political representation in exchange for taxes?
Prince Hilarion and his father had to be mad. Couldn’t they see that such a war would be utterly devastating...or perhaps they
intended
it to be devastating. Ida would survive a war largely unscathed, particularly if Prince Hilarion was as powerful as he claimed and he had a small force of sorcerers backing him up. And when the dust had settled, maybe they would ride down from the mountains and impose their own order upon the ruins of the Empire.
“Listen to me,” she said, urgently. “This is madness...”
She broke off as he lashed her back, again. “I don’t care about your opinion of what you think we’re trying to do,” the man sneered. “I want to break you. Tell me – how do you turn a man inside out?”
He struck her again, and again, firing questions at her one after the other. “How do you make the dead speak? How do you turn the seas to wine? How do you summon demons and bargain with them for power and immortality? How do you...”
“I won’t tell you anything,” Elaine said. She could barely think against the pain, but one thought stayed in her mind. The knowledge in her head could not be allowed to fall into Prince Hilarion’s hands. Even Deferens would be a better Grand Sorcerer than a man who intended to tear the system down. At least he’d sworn the Mage’s Oath. “Do you understand me? I won’t tell you anything.”
“They all say that,” the torturer said. He leered at her as he reached down to stroke between her thighs. “They all say that they won’t talk, that pain itself won’t break them – but everyone breaks in the end. You
will
break and then you will be collared and then you will have the knowledge ripped from your mind.”
Elaine shivered in horror. Collars – slave collars – weren’t completely perfect, as long as they were forced on an unwilling victim. It was possible to break them, although not easy even for the strongest of souls. But if he broke her down to the point where she would willingly consent to be enslaved, there would be no hope of resistance. She would be someone’s property for the rest of her life. Why had she never realised, in all of her life, that slavery was such a great evil? Even the slaves who had the chance to buy their way out of bondage lived lives of unrelenting toil and drudgery. How could
anyone
tolerate such a system?
Of course you tolerated it
, a voice in the back of her head whispered.
It suited you to pretend that the slaves were less than human. Even as a poor woman without a husband, you were superior to the slaves – and you never forgot it. How could you realise that they were your equals without admitting that you were just as hopeless as them?
“No,” she said. “I will not talk.”
Pain seared her body, again and again. She couldn’t tell if he was just whipping her, or if he was using curses and charms to break her resistance. Elaine tried desperately to cling onto some memory, some happy thought that would give her strength, but nothing seemed to work. Hands grasped at her body, humiliating her by pulling her legs apart and touching her most private parts. She was going to break...even the thought weakened her. She would break...
“Step away from her,” a sharp voice ordered. It was familiar, so familiar that it cut through the pain tearing away at her resistance. She heard a yelp from the torturer as a pulse of magic threw him across the room. “Now!”
Elaine opened her eyes and saw a face she’d feared she would never see again.
Inquisitor Dread.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dread stood there, his black cloak swirling around him.
Elaine thought, as pain trickled away from her body, that she’d never seen anything more magnificent. Dread held his staff upright in front of him, staring directly at the torturer and his assistants. Just as he was, he was the most dangerous person in the room and they all knew it. Behind him, peeking through the door, her eyes opening wide with horror as she saw the marks on Elaine’s body, was Princess Sacharissa. Elaine couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was doing there.
Dread lifted a finger and tossed a wave of force at the torturer, knocking him back into the wall. As if it had been a signal, the first of the assistants charged directly at Dread, fists whirling as if he thought he could beat an Inquisitor in a fistfight. Dread didn’t give him a chance to find out; he eyed his opponent, who slowly came to a halt and froze in place. Dread stepped forward as soon as ice had covered the assistant and kicked him in the groin. Chunks of frozen flesh crashed down everywhere.