A foot crashed into his side, and he groaned as he rolled over. When he looked up, he saw Melorak glaring down at him with his single good eye.
“Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me?” he asked. He reached down with a pale hand, his fingertips sparking with magic.
“Not near enough,” said Deathmask. “How about you send your little pet somewhere else, and we can discuss this like civil men?”
Melorak brushed his fingers against his mask. It caught fire and burned. Deathmask screamed as he felt his flesh blacken, the smoke stinging his eyes despite how tightly he clenched them shut. He howled as he flailed against his bonds. A foot pressed hard against his chest, and he could only assume it was Haern’s. Once more he felt the tip of a blade on his skin. His jaw trembling, his eyes hopelessly watery, he did his best to smile.
“That was my mask, you asshole.”
The blade pressed into his flesh. It was quick, in and out, and not deep. Just enough to draw blood and send more pain spiking up his spine. He tried not to scream. He did. Damn body felt like screaming anyway.
“You have information I need,” he heard Melorak say. “You’ve done well, tormenting my guards and fostering rebellion, but it ends tonight. But I know you are not alone. The leader of Ashhur’s priests was never found when I conquered this city, and I know he lives. Where is Bernard, Ghost? Where is he hiding?”
“Why don’t you ask your snake-bellied friend, Aaron?”
Another stab, higher up. The blade scraped against his rib bones on its way out. More screaming.
“I have, but Bernard was not there. Perhaps Ashhur warned him, or he sensed deception. Where are your safe houses? I know your kind. You never would have trusted Aaron with every secret. You’d keep one or two to yourself, as leverage should things go ill. Well things have gone ill, you miserable wretch. If you want a quick death, you’ll tell me where he might have gone.”
Deathmask’s mind raced. Bernard wasn’t supposed to have moved positions, but it wasn’t unheard of, given how careful they’d been. But where could he have gone? Where might he hide that Aaron would know nothing of? And even if he did remember…would he tell? Since when was he so hopeful for a clean death? With his life, a messy, brutal execution seemed more appropriate anyway.
He forced open his eyes. His skin felt like a leathery mask shrinking in on itself. What his face looked like, he didn’t even want to know. Through the blur, Deathmask saw Melorak leering down with his arms crossed, while Haern stood nearby, his foot on his chest, his sword hovering just above his heart.
“Fuck you,” he said.
No sword. No stab. Instead Melorak knelt down beside him and grabbed his neck. In his cold grip, he held up his head and forced him to stare into his red eye.
“You may think you’ll never tell,” he said. “But the dead will always talk to me. You don’t have a choice in this matter. Tell me now, or after I kill you and bring back your ghost. Perhaps I’ll even leave you in that state. You certainly deserve it.”
Deathmask felt a sliver of doubt pierce through his pain. Melorak was most certainly not bluffing. He’d seen the rows of corpses hanging from hooks throughout the castle. The man was a master of death, while he himself was only a dabbler. Should his soul be wrenched back into this world, he would tell everything.
“Go ahead,” he said, making up his mind. “I’ll give you nothing.”
“Not yet,” Melorak said, rubbing a finger against Deathmask’s face. He bit his teeth to hold in the scream. “See, when you’re dead, you won’t feel the pain. Oh, there are ways I could make you uncomfortable, perhaps terribly so, but nothing this fierce. Nothing this intense. ”
Deathmask screamed as Melorak’s fingers dug in so tight he thought he’d claw his face off like a mask. His blisters pulsed with agony. Blood seeped down his jaw and neck. Any thoughts of spells or escape fled. All his mind knew was overwhelming suffering.
Perhaps he passed out. He didn’t know. But Haern no longer stood atop him. He rolled to one side, forcing his eyes open. Veliana was on her back, Haern’s sabers against her throat. She remained strong, refusing to even whimper.
“What of you?” Melorak asked her. He gestured to the soldiers around him. “Would you prefer a clean death? Or should I give you to the men? You’ll be anything but clean afterward. Normally I’d frown upon such lewd methods, but you are the Ghost’s Blade, after all. Out of every sinner in this world, I cannot imagine anyone more deserving of such a fate.”
“Besides yourself?” he heard Veliana ask. He winced when Haern kicked her in the face, probably breaking her nose, but he’d never felt such pride. That’s my girl, he thought. Show them you’re not afraid, either.
“Your wit is childish and unimpressive,” Melorak said. He crouched beside her and gently brushed her hair from her face. With his own robe, he cleaned off some of the blood dripping from her nose. “The time for pettiness is over. You know I cannot let you live, not after how many you have killed. Karak demands punishment, and I must give it to him. But it need not be lengthy. It need not be one of pain and blood. A simple spell, a gentle touch of your breast, and I can stop your heart. Tell me where Bernard is. I assure you, no matter my frustration, I would never let these men defile your corpse after your death. Save yourself from them, from everything. Please. Where… is…Bernard?”
She looked to Deathmask, and in her good eye, a bit of dire humor sparkled.
“You want to know?” she asked. “I think you’re about to find out.”
Sunlight exploded amid them, as if a nova had burst into existence there upon the road. Deathmask thought to free himself, but he’d stared directly into that light, and his mind reeled in confusion. He struggled, but his bonds were tight, and the words to spells seemed slippery in his mind, elusive things he couldn’t grab a hold of. Hands wrapped around his chest, and suddenly he was up and moving, his legs running as if on their own accord. The ground shifted unevenly below him, and he started to fall.
“Keep running,” he heard Veliana say. He clutched her tighter and did his best to resume. He glanced back only once, and through the orange and yellow blobs blotting his vision, he saw Bernard standing between them and Melorak, a halo of light circling his feet. Golden lances slashed from his hands, cutting down guards.
“Help him,” Deathmask muttered as they neared the top of the small hill from where they had spied the wagon’s arrival. “We should…”
“He knows what he’s doing,” Veliana said. “At least, I hope so.”
They half-ran, half-stumbled down the hill. Deathmask felt his vision returning, and his steps grew in confidence.
“North,” he said. “We have little time.”
“Time for what?” she asked.
“Hocking…”
“E verything?” Aaron asked the messenger.
“Due to your cooperation and show of loyalty, Melorak insists we return your estate despite how great Mordeina’s need is for taxes to support its people,” said the young man. The symbol of the lion hung from his neck, small and carved of wood.
“When will I receive payment?”
The messenger smiled as if his patience were already tried.
“In time, we will send appropriate funds from our coffers to your estate. Until then, I bid you good night.”
“Excellent. Tell Melorak I am most thankful for his kindness.”
The messenger bowed and left. Aaron shut the door behind him and then pressed his back against it. At last, it was over. He had his mansion, his wealth, and his reputation, all restored. His house guards wouldn’t have to live like beggars in the nearby homes of farmers. His possessions, which had been ransomed off in the name of taxes and fines, would return. His paintings of distant lands, his family heirlooms, his swords and chests and dressings… all back.
Perhaps he’d been a fool to challenge the priest-king, and a bigger fool for trusting Bernard. They’d sacrificed everything for a hopeless task. There was no point. No honor. As Deathmask had made perfectly clear, they would be no heroes.
He poured himself a drink, one of his few luxuries he’d managed to hide from the collectors. It was illegal now, and therefore exponentially more valuable to the right people. With lord Ewes and lord Gemcroft arrested, and Bernard soon to be executed, he felt he needed the drink more than he might need the extra bit of coin.
