“Birler of Greens.” Birlerion’s voice slurred.
“Where is the Captain?”
“Not here.”
“But you know where? Tell me, you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone else,” the voice persuaded. There was silence. “Tear the Veil. You know you want to; you need to. Reach for the Veil. It’s calling you, Birler of Greens.”
There was the sound of a fist hitting flesh and Birlerion’s groan broke the silence. Tagerill’s face went flat.
“This is taking too long. He should have been under by now,” a smooth voice interrupted.
“We will continue until we break him; he can’t hold out forever. You can’t stay here, Var’geris; you don’t have the time. Leave him to me. I’ll get it out of him.”
“He has silver eyes. Only the Lady’s Guard has silver eyes,” Var’geris said. “There has to be a Captain to wake the guards; either it’s him, or he knows where he is. Make sure you find him, Ain’uncer, we must have the Captain.”
“Don’t worry. I will. Guard him. I’ll be back in shortly,” Ain’uncer said as the door opened and two tall, dark-haired men left the room.
“A Captain after all these years. It is a sign that our time is nigh. Well, well, a treasure indeed.” The man was gloating.
Jerrol and Tagerill shrank back into the darkness. The men strode down the stairs, black robes flaring. They didn’t even glance towards the alcove where Jerrol and Tagerill were hiding.
Tagerill waited until the men exited the tower and then barreled into the room. He took in the two guards beating up his brother, and he struck, fear driving his arm. Jerrol hovered over Birlerion. He lay restrained in one of the reclining chairs, and he stared glassily at the ceiling. His shirt was ripped and spattered with blood, his jacket lost.
“Birlerion.” Jerrol gently touched his shoulder. Birlerion groaned and instinctively strained against the leather straps. Jerrol began unbuckling them.
“Birlerion, it’s Tage.” Tagerill hissed at the sight of his battered face and carefully helped him to sit up, an arm around his shoulders supporting him. Birlerion leaned against him, his body trembling. Jerrol passed a jug of water, and Tagerill trickled it into Birlerion’s mouth. Birlerion gagged, and most of it dribbled back out again and down his neck, mixing with his blood.
Birlerion coughed. “They are after the Captain. They want to shred the Veil.” His chest wheezed. “We need to leave. They are using Mentiserium.” He paused to cough again and spat out blood, wincing as his chest grabbed. “They are very good at it.”
“Not good enough, fortunately,” Tagerill murmured.
“Tagerill, what is Mentiserium?” Jerrol asked, gazing at Birlerion in concern. From the amount of blood down his shirt, it looked as if his nose might be broken; both his eyes were blackened and swollen, and his lip split and puffy.
“It’s a mind spell. Controls people’s actions, forces them to tell the truth. Once enspelled, keywords control their actions. In theory, saying the word wakes them up, then saying it a second time is the reset. It should negate whatever suggestion they planted and allow you to replace it with another. Though that was then; whether it’s the same now, who knows,” Tagerill replied, his face grave. “The difficulty is being able to tell if a suggestion has been planted.”
“How would we know?”
“There are no obvious signs that a person has been enspelled. The only protection is to call on the Lady.” Tagerill checked out of the tower. “We need to move. It’s starting to get light.”
Jerrol froze. “Then how do we know Birlerion isn’t enspelled?”
“He’s not,” Tagerill said. “There’s no way.”
“But how do you know? You said there was no sign.”
“I’m not,” Birlerion said, holding his chest. “I hold the Lady close.”
Jerrol frowned at him, concerned.
“We need to leave,” Tagerill said.
“I’m not sure Birlerion is quite ready to move.” Jerrol folded a damp pad and dabbed it against his bloody face.
“I’m fine,” Birlerion said, flinching away. He stood with their assistance, swaying unsteadily as he peered at Tagerill through swollen eyes. “What took you so long?”
“We admired the scenery on the way,” Tagerill said.
“We should have gone with you. I am sorry, Birlerion.” Jerrol gripped his shoulder.
Birlerion shrugged and then winced. “You couldn’t have known. Can we leave now?”
“We haven’t found Torsion yet. Do you remember if they mentioned him?”
“No idea,” Birlerion said, squinting at the slumped bodies of the guards. “What happened to them?”
“Tagerill,” Jerrol said with a slight laugh. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Voices rose across the courtyard, loud in the stillness of the early morning. Jerrol drifted down the stone stairs, and Tagerill supported Birlerion as they reached the ground floor.
“We can’t leave yet, looks like the guards are changing over.” Jerrol peered down the stairs as they spiralled onwards into velvety darkness. “Maybe we should wait down below, just in case they check up here.”
The stairs curved down into the dark where the air was a lot thicker, almost claustrophobic. The lower levels were deserted, unused, full of shadows. Tagerill helped Birlerion sit on the stairs. Their voices were low as Tagerill questioned him further.
Jerrol extended his hand in front of him, carefully feeling for the next step with his foot. The air resisted, and then, just as quickly, he was through, and he was drawn further down the stairs. He jumped as a single drop of water plopped on the stone beside him.
Jerrol strained to see in the soft green light the walls were emitting. The steps levelled out, leading into a narrow passage, and a tiny glow drew him on. The walls dripped with green slime coating the surface of the stones. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of rotting vegetation and algae, trying to avoid brushing up against it.
The passage was a lot longer than it looked. The light drew him on. Frowning, he stopped as a flash caught his eye; something glinted in the wall. Jerrol reached out to trace its edges and pulled his hand back with a gasp; it was sharp.
