Thrain - Part 11
Chapter 4 - Torture
Chapter summaries if you need them :)
The passing back to Tradavar went smoothly, if slow. Not on account of Serbus, for though he had hated the magic it strengthened and renewed his muscles. It was the Priestess’s horse, but Thrain did not desire to force the magic again, nor was he sure he could. Channeling Weave put a strain on the body, a strain he was yet unaccustomed to given the increase enabled by the Trigrynt.
The Haelstran countryside had a beauty to it, different from the forests of Jarda but beautiful all the same. Flat plains of rolling green undulated beneath Bur Oak crowding the crests like groups of soldiers ready to charge, and Cottonwoods held the valleys and places near streams. Here and there Hawthorns, plainsgrass, and wild flowers grew carefree, or under shade by cool brooks, offering rest to those who sought it.
Thrain was not such a one, and he noticed little as he kept his eyes ahead. The castle walls of Tradavar rose like a shield wall, sun-orange and mahogany black in the fading noon light, then rich marble grey as he got closer, and the reflection gave way to the stone base.
The gates opened for him, and men gaped with open mouths, and gestured to his healed legs. Moreover, the carried captive brought its own whispers, and the men who had not heard of the escaped Priestess at Wrenfeld were told. Those of a keener mind did wonder why the man who could leap from walls and heal broken bones in the hour ever let her slip at all.
“Evening comes,” Haverth said.
“May it hide us,” Thrain answered. He dismounted as he approached the stables of the keep, which had been empty until the Draucht took it for their horses. Riders had likely been sent out when the Priestess passed through, taking the information of his attack to the places which needed it.
“You captured her. What for?”
“I must know if she has seen my true abilities.”
Her eyes fluttered briefly, but neither the General nor Thrain perceived it.
“Kill her. No need to know.”
Thrain finished placing Serbus within a stall. He offered a rich brown chestnut, but Serbus did not take it or look at him. It was not until Thrain placed the nut on the post and turned away that his horse would eat it.
“She may have informed Haelstra.”
“That changes things?”
“It could, if I determine they decide to…” he gave a dry smile, amused. “Prepare a tent, General. We shall find out. Our guest has awakened.”
Haverth’s eyes narrowed, but he did not press the point, and set men to arrange the tent.
***
Thrain entered. A Runelight glowed bright in the spacious area, for his quick arrival with the captive left no time for Haverth to do much more than remove their maps table and tie her to a chair. Keeping her out of the keep was intentional, in case hidden ways or even hiding soldiers had not been discovered in their searching.
"Did you inform the Haelstran Enclave of my attack today?" He felt she would answer at least that.
“Cha fhreagair na fireannaich na h-aingidh.” The righteous shall not answer the wicked. A quote from the Textuals, in their older script.
Perhaps not.
“I did not kill the villagers of Wrenfeld. Tell me what I ask, and I can be quite reasonable.” Dragging the nearby stool across the stone, he sat down.
“Are the bodies lying in the gorge proof of that?” The tent fluttered in a breeze, and then the air was still. The Runelight swayed and shadows danced slow circles.
A misunderstanding of what war required was not much better than having religious dogma thrown at him, but it was something.
“It is proof I will acquire what I am after, and do what is needed, nothing more. Your castle stands, does it not?”
She snorted. “I’ll ask one of the soldiers if they care.”
He folded his hands and sighed. “We have broken against each other for centuries, some friction along the path to unity cannot be avoided.”
At this she seemed incredulous, and after a moment sat staunchly back in the chair, eyes half-lidded in anger. “The only sure end to peace is war.”
The Textuals. A change in tactics, then. He could pursue more than one piece of information, maybe a few she wouldn’t see harm in giving up.
The stone floor clicked against his boots as he adjusted and leaned forward. “You have never been to Jarda, and for preaching peace your Order is in an awful lot of battle. What could a pompous, self-righteous Priestess hope to tell me about my methods?”
She glared, straining against the bonds for a moment. “Your horse can’t even look at you, and you talk about unity? Our cities have sung the same song by Runes since before the Wars themselves. What could I tell you?” She spat. “Much, but I won’t.”
So she had been to Jarda, and seen Ildris. Ildris. Foolish hope rose – did hope even begin to touch that feeling? He laid hope, anger, confusion, and others aside for the present, for he still did not know if she had alerted Haelstra of his power.
“How many men guard Yerickton?”
She stared, unblinking.
“How far is Engelda?”
Nothing. Unyielding as the marble she sat above, though a shadow of confusion passed over her face.
“What is your name?” More to throw her off than anything, for he realized his line of questioning may have shown his hand.
She sneered, and kicked against the rock floor, but it did not move her. The chair was secured at the rear to large wooden struts.
Thrain began to stand. “I am loath to consider my General’s suggestion, but if you cannot be made to answer, then perhaps he is right.”
“Adalyn.” Her eyes were wide for a moment.
So she did fear death. And she seemed to be hiding something. It would be her mistake to conceal it from him, it would be her pain.
He sat back down. “Have you told the Haelstran Enclave of my attack today?”
She let a breath out through her teeth, and a bead of sweat rolled down her cheek. “Yerickton is five miles by crow. Seven for mounted men.”
His eyes narrowed, but he had to admit a begrudging admiration at her tenacity. “I appreciate that information, but that is not what I asked. Do start answering straightly or I may have to resort to other means.”
She eyed him derisively. “I know what methods you would resort to. I will not betray my people.”
“As you wish, then.” Standing he drew a dagger from his boot and the tent ruffled as he moved the still air. He stepped to her and placed the knife at the bottom of her chin. Sweat, mingled with slight blood slipped down the shaft. Her eyes were green.
“Ten miles, with men.” She gulped. “Engelda is ten miles.”
He gritted his teeth. Her nose had a little curve at the end. “That is not what I have now asked twice.” He slid the blade up her left jawbone. Sharp and well-kept, it sliced easily through the skin and met bone. When she went to turn away he would cut down the next. Painful and bloody, but nothing lethal. Then she would know he could bring her to a gibbering mess, that her only choice was to speak.
Instead she turned and he remained, stoic and frozen. Just as he had frozen in Wrenfeld when he saw her first, as he had when she turned on her horse, golden hair blowing like a memory. He stood, and he stared, for even seeing her now and knowing she was different, it felt like looking through a foggy glass, and that by one tiny effort he could push it away, and see clearly what it obscured.
He heard her breath a shaky sigh, watched her eyes darting fast between the weapon and him, but then slow as he let the knife fall away. What words she would say seemed impossible to get out, for her mouth moved but no voice came with it.
“That was a warning.” He felt a slight quiver to his voice, and he slammed the dagger back into his boot. “Think on your answer, when I return I will be far less reserved.”
He strode from the tent, suppressing the trembling in his fingers. He mounted the castle steps, ignoring the heaving in his breath. Crossing swiftly over the ramparts, he did not look down. Had he, the bodies would have questioned him, and he would have wished for some other way.
***
The bastard of Jarda entered the tent. An oddly warm light lit the room from a Rune lantern. Adalyn didn't think that fit, for torture. She wanted to avoid that, though with a man like this he might do it for fun. It would be better than death.
"When did you inform the Haelstran Enclave of my attack?"
Fear surged. “Cha fhreagair na fireannaich na h-aingidh.” The Text came to her by reflex, but she welcomed it. Being difficult could win time, if she played it right. Though, it wouldn’t do any bloody good if she couldn’t escape.
“I did not kill the villagers of Wrenfeld.” He hadn’t? In the odd pause when he had just stared at her, Terim had urged her to leave. As much as it had torn at her heart to do so, with the Trigrynt he would have overpowered her. The Trigrynt he didn't even use, she realized now, acid pooling in her stomach.
“Tell me what I ask, and I can be quite reasonable.” He pulled a wooden stool across the stone and sat on it.
Sure, of course he would. “Are the bodies lying in the gorge proof of that?” It slipped out before she could stop it. Great. Antagonizing him would be a good way to avoid torture. A sharp wind came through the tent and shadows fought across the burlap like soldiers encircling her.
“It is proof I will acquire what I am after, and do what is needed, nothing more. Your castle stands, does it not?”
Did he think himself benevolent? She snorted. “I’ll ask one of the soldiers if they care.”
Thrain folded his hands and had the gall to sigh, like some disappointed parent. “We have broken against each other for centuries, some friction along the path to unity cannot be avoided.”
Some friction? Unity? Her mouth fell open for a moment, before anger closed it and the many hours in front of the Highest Priest spoke from memory. “The only sure end to peace is war.”
The monster leaned forward and the marble floor clicked against his boots. “You have never been to Jarda, and for preaching peace your Order is in an awful lot of battle. What could a pompous, self-righteous Priestess hope to tell me about my methods?”
Letting her fury show, careless for how he’d react, she tried in vain to shed the ropes securing her. It would mean nothing if she had succeeded, but probably she could have punched him before dying. “Your horse can’t even look at you, and you talk about unity? Our cities have sung the same song by Runes since before the Wars themselves. What could I tell you?” She spat. “Much, but I won’t.”
Somewhere deep, a little pin pricked at her memory. Of a fight between her and Highest Kepleor. She had made that exact point. Looking back at Thrain, she found his dark eyes oddly thoughtful, as if he took far more from her barb than she knew. He did seem to love that horse, though the feeling was apparently far from mutual.
“How many men guard Yerickton?”
Yerickton? That would be a significant detour in route alone, and while now she realized he might could take it with so few, why? Well, if he wanted to know, silence could buy more time. She held his gaze unflinching.
“How far is Engelda?”
How far…? Even further away, and unlike Yerickton it didn’t even—oh gods above. He wasn’t heading for the capital at all, was he? He just wanted to provoke Haelstra to—
“What is your name?”
It threw a burr into her line of thinking for a moment, but regaining her wits she sneered at him. Kicking against the floor, the chair continued to hold her prisoner, and reaching for Weave, her vision just blurred. The snouf was annoyingly long lasting.
The warlord began to stand. “I am loath to consider my General’s suggestion, but if you cannot be made to answer, then perhaps he is right.”
Shite. Something about his hesitancy in Wrenfeld, and that bizarre flash of recognition when he threw her from her horse had given her reason to think he might not wring answers from her through pain, but it seemed he might just kill her. And she needed to live, and warn Haelstra. Any random one would do.
“Adalyn.” She was not quite sure why she had given her own, and chalked it up to being imprisoned and threatened with torture.
He sat back down. “Have you told the Haelstran Enclave of my attack today?”
That again. Likely her only true bargaining chip, for as long as he did not know she had been unable to warn them, he might keep her alive. Gritting her teeth, she sought for information that would keep her from blades, but safeguard her people.
“Yerickton is five miles by crow. Seven for mounted men.” Nervous sweat rolled down her face. She would endure. She had to.
Thrain did not seem pleased by that answer, though one eyebrow rose up as though he was impressed. “I appreciate that information, but that is not what I asked. Do start answering straightly or I may have to resort to other means.”
He appreciated it, fah. More than likely he knew it already, and wanted to see what it looked like when she lied or told the truth. She looked at him, hoping he could see how little she thought of him. Hoping, also, that he could not see how much she feared what would likely follow.
“I know what methods you would resort to. I will not betray Haelstra.”
“As you wish, then.” He stood and grew vast like a black shadow and a knife appeared in his hand and then it was under her chin, cutting against her skin.
“Ten miles! with men.” She gulped. “Engelda is ten miles.” There it was again. He looked at her as if he saw something familiar. His eyes were dark, nearly black, with flecks of gold in them. She had never seen them.
His lips pulled back, revealing his teeth, and it was like a wall slid shut over his eyes, purging the gold. “That is not the answer to what I have now asked twice.”
Then hot pain seared her jawline, and she gasped in shock as it tore through her. The blade hit bone and her mind reeled, trying to find retreat. Just when she could bear it no longer and would have screamed and turned away, it stopped.
She found the dagger, and eyed it in terror, before glancing at Thrain. He looked like a man stricken with one himself. His gaze looked the same it had in Wrenfeld, like he had seen her hundreds of times and could not comprehend why she sat there in front of him.
Slowly, she calmed her breath as she watched the dagger lower. Without any understanding of why, she could tell. He couldn’t do it. The blood ran hot and painful under her cheek, but he averted his eyes from it even as he spoke.
“That was a warning.” His voice was odd. “Think on your answer, when I return I will be far less reserved.”
He passed out of the tent, and Adalyn sagged in relief. The room looked like it was under water, and her entire face felt on fire, but she lived.
Three days ago she had been in the temple of Syvalastra, and an innocent letter requesting she help quell a Jardan incursion had arrived. That had been her fight with Kepleor, that the church should not get involved. She allowed herself a rueful grin. If she ever made it back, he would change his mind now.
But she was captured, in the middle of a stolen fortress with an unstable warlord and her only hope was in the narrow time her information would be useful. And, perhaps, in whatever it was that had her certain that when he came back, he would not use the dagger no matter what she said.
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Yessss! It came together so well! My favorite thing about your writing is how quickly you get drawn into the scene. You don't do too much exposition, but you've got just enough to let the reader picture it for themselves. Great work!
I loved this chapter; she is my second favorite now (obviously the horse is still #1).
When you go for the next draft, are you planning of have both accounts of the same scene or are you going to choose?