FOUR FIGURES STOOD AT the centre of the chamber atop a raised stone dais. Three were men, two with red cloaks draped over their shoulders – Inquisitors – and one with black – a Battlemage. The fourth figure was a woman, her dark hair tied in a knot at the back of her head, garbed in grey robes over leather: a Scholar. Before them were three elves, their wrists and ankles bound to large metal platforms that were tilted vertically. Two of the elves were alive, if barely, but the third, on the rightmost platform, looked as though he had been starved and trampled by a horse. His limbs were twisted and broken, shattered bones piercing through the skin around his knees and forearms. Runes had been carved all over the elf's body, his skin almost entirely stained crimson from the dried blood.
One of the Inquisitors was examining the dead elf while the Scholar leaned over a large leather-bound book that rested atop a wooden stand, her hand moving quickly from side to side, a pen gripped in her fingers.
The chamber itself stretched almost two hundred feet wide and even more across, its walls rising to an arched roof supported by buttresses and thick stone columns. Cast iron sconces were set into the columns, washing the chamber in an orange-red light.
Dayne counted fourteen Lorian soldiers in total, including six Praetorians, the orange-red light of the sconces shimmering off their burnished red plate. Five stood beside the cells on the eastern wall, one between each cell, swords at their hips, shields slung across their backs. The other nine stood at the foot of the dais, including all six Praetorians, thick shafted spears gripped in their fists, axes hanging from weapon belts.
Not one of the chamber's occupants seemed to notice Dayne, Belina, and Therin slipping through the doorway and crouching behind two of the columns that framed the entrance.
"What's the plan?" Belina whispered, peering around the column, knives still gripped in her fists. "I count four mages and thirteen soldiers, six Praetorians among them."
"Fourteen soldiers," Dayne corrected.
"Still, good odds." There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in Belina's voice. They had faced far worse on many an occasion. But Dayne didn't like the idea of facing down four Lorian mages. Belina turned to Therin. "Any suggestions?"
Before Therin could answer, a blood-chilling shriek ripped through the chamber. The sound sent a shiver rippling through Dayne, his stomach twisting. Up on the dais, one of the Inquisitors had begun to carve runes into the elf on the middle platform. The shrieks were like nothing Dayne had ever heard. Pure agony, as though the elf's soul was being rent along with their skin. As the Inquisitor sliced his blade through the elf's flesh, the hilt of the dagger in his hand began to pulsate with a vivid red glow.
"We kill them all." Therin pulled his curved sword from its scabbard and strode from behind the column, reaching out for the Spark, fury burning in his eyes. The sheer power that radiated from the elf thrummed through the air, threads of Fire, Spirit, and Air whirling around him. Striding towards the dais, Therin held out his hand, streaks of blue lightning surging from his fingertips, cracking against the stone floor before tearing through the Inquisitor who had been carving the runes. The Inquisitor collapsed in a lifeless heap on the dais, smoke drifting from his charred body.
The other mages turned, shock etched into their faces. Dayne slipped his bow from his back, nocking an arrow, scanning the chamber one last time. Six Praetorians, nine guards, three mages. The Scholar and the remaining Inquisitor were still standing by the dead elf, their feet planted. The Battlemage stood to the left, his gaze shifting from the body of his fallen companion to Therin. Dayne felt the mage begin to reach out to the Spark. He needed to take the man down before that happened.
Dayne drew back his bow, feeling the tension build in the string, his muscles pulling reflexively. One more step on the path. I'm almost home. One more step. He lifted his fingers, loosing the arrow, nocking a second arrow even before the tip of the first had plunged into the side of the Battlemage's head. The man stumbled sideways as though hit by nothing more than a stone, a look of shock on his face. He held for a moment, then collapsed in a heap, motionless. Shouts rose about the chamber, the clink of metal boots on stone.
Dayne loosed a second arrow, but the Inquisitor it was intended for turned just in time. The arrow collided with a thread of Air, skittering harmlessly against the ground. Dayne felt the air change. Both the surviving mages were pulling from the Spark, as was Therin.
Dayne had never been in a room with so many mages before. He had always been taught to hide his affinity, to shield it from those who would seek to control it. He used it only when he needed to. Now, however, as its influence seeped into the air, it was almost as though the Spark was calling to him, urging him to draw from it.
"Keep them away from Therin!" Belina flashed past Dayne, sword in one hand, knife in the other, her feet eating the ground towards the dais.
Take the strongest first. Pivoting, Dayne nocked and loosed two arrows into the thick of soldiers at the front of the dais who were now charging towards Therin. One Praetorian crashed to the ground, the arrow slamming into his neck, blood spraying. A second stumbled, dropping to their knees before collapsing on their side. The arrow punched into the plate that protected their chest – not an instant kill, but they wouldn't be rising again. Dayne charged, loosing one more arrow as he did, before slinging his bow across his back. A third Praetorian dropped, the arrow passing through the slits of their helmet.
Dayne ripped his sword from its scabbard, reaching out to the Spark. He pulled on threads of Earth, feeling them drag through his mind, coarse as sand, solid as stone. The smell of loam filled his nostrils. Allowing the Spark to flow through him, he funnelled the threads into the floor, letting them seep through the stone beneath the charging soldiers. Then, just as he was within striking distance, he clenched his left fist, cracking the stone. Fissures spread through the surface of the floor. Shouts rose as the soldiers lost their footing, tripping over raised ridges of stone, stumbling through cracks as Therin glided past them towards the dais.
Do not hesitate, do not contemplate mercy. Marlin Arkon's words.
Dayne drew in a deep breath, tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, then pushed off his back foot, launching himself into the group of staggering Lorians.
He crashed into the first soldier, knocking the man off balance. Twisting his back foot, Dayne drove his sword upward through the man's neck, pulling it free, using the momentum to swing himself around, his blade colliding with a Praetorian's spear tip that was meant to take his head. Swinging his sword back around, Dayne carried his blade down, cleaving the soldier's arm at the elbow before driving the sword through her gut, feeling the grate as steel dragged against steel. The woman howled, Dayne pulling his blade free, blood sluicing from the wound. The screams faded into the back of his mind, the fever of battle taking over. I am the blade.
He moved swiftly, weaving between the soldiers and Praetorians, not allowing them even a moment to recover, hammering them with threads of Air, driving steel through their flesh as they stumbled. They were well trained, but he was Valtaran, and he wielded the power of the Spark.
The soldiers who had guarded the eastern cells had reached the dais. Belina sliced through them, her hands a whir of steel.
Flashes of light erupted from the dais, screams. Dayne turned, catching sight of Therin's blade cleaving through the neck of the remaining Inquisitor, the ground around them scorched and smoking.
A streak of pain ripped through Dayne's side, forcing him to release his grip on his sword. He howled, steel clattering against the stone. As fast as his hand could move, he slipped a knife from the strap across his chest, twisted, and drove the blade down through the slits in his attacker's helm, calling forth a stream of blood and clear fluid. Letting go of the handle, Dayne lifted his hand, then slammed the flat of his palm down on the knife's pommel, driving the blade deeper into the man's skull. The Praetorian's body shuddered, then went limp. Dayne grasped the shaft of the man's spear, ripping it free from his dying grip.
The smooth wood of the spear felt at home in his hands. It was oak, not the ash wood of a valyna, but it would take a life just as well.
Spinning, he cracked the butt of the spear against a charging soldier's helm, feeling the vibrations resonate through the wooden shaft. Shifting his feet, he flipped the spear and drove the blade through the man's neck, splitting the links of his mail, spilling his blood onto the stone floor. Only one soldier and one Praetorian remained, both moving to circle him.
Dayne reached out to the Spark once more, surging towards the Praetorian on his right. The woman struck her spear towards Dayne's chest. Dayne twisted, shifting his own spear into his right hand as the Praetorian's slid past him, slicing through the fabric of his coat and grazing the leather beneath. Bringing his left hand down, he swung the butt of his spear upward, slamming it into the underside of the Praetorian's jaw before ramming it into her throat with as much force as he could muster. He heard the distinct sound of bone breaking. The soldier crashed to the ground, her hands clasped to her mail-clad throat.
Pulling from the Spark, Dayne launched thick threads of air towards the last remaining soldier, sending the man careening through the chamber, crashing into the base of a column, body going limp.
Dayne's chest heaved, his heart pounding, his lungs dragging in air. He could feel the Spark sapping him, draining the strength from his bones as it always did when he drew too much. He turned to the soldier who lay on the ground, her throat crushed. Raising his spear, he drove the blade down through the woman's plate, feeling the resistance, then pushing through. The soldier's eyes bulged, her body twitching. Dayne pushed harder. The twitching stopped.
Pulling his spear free, Dayne turned to find Therin standing with his foot on the Scholar's neck, threads of Air holding the mage in place, threads of Spirit weaving through her body, encasing her. Blood dripped from the length of Therin's curved blade, bodies lying lifeless on the ground around him.
Only a foot or so to Therin's right, Belina pulled her knife free of an imperial soldier's throat, pushing the body away as it slumped to the floor. Sweat glistened on her skin, she limped slightly on her right leg, and blood dripped from a cut at the side of her head.
"What is this place?" Therin roared down at the Scholar, a fury burning in his eyes, veins bulging on his neck. The elf had seemed the epitome of calm up to that point. But what they had seen in this keep could have turned the steadiest of hands to bloody murder.
"Dayne, a little help?"
Reluctantly, Dayne pulled his gaze from Therin and the Scholar, turning to find Belina standing beside the elf who lay on the middle platform, cutting through the leather straps that bound the poor wretch in place. The elf was still screaming, tears carving through weeks' worth of dirt and grime, blood streaking from the runes the Inquisitor had carved into her chest. With the last of the bindings cut, the elf slumped into Belina's arms, sobbing and twitching. Belina lowered the elf to the ground and laid her against the base of the metal platform. She turned to Dayne, nodding towards the last elf, who lay unconscious on the third platform, wrists and ankles bound. "Cut him down."
Dayne nodded. He lay the spear on the ground and pulled a knife from its sheath, slicing through the leather bonds that held the elf in place. The elf fell forwards, collapsing into Dayne's arms, mumbling incoherently, his eyes glazed over. He was only a child, and he looked even younger than Alina had when Dayne left.
Dayne lay the elf on the floor, resting him beside his companion. "It's all right," he said, placing his hands against the elf's cheeks. How could the empire do this to children? "You're safe now. We've got you."
Reluctantly, he left the child to their sobbing and rose to his feet. "Therin, we need to go. We don't know how many more of them are here, and these two are in a bad way."
"We'll go when I'm done!" Therin roared back, not taking his eyes from the Scholar who lay trapped beneath his foot. "Tell me, now! What are you doing to my people?"
The woman coughed and spluttered, blood spraying over her bottom lip, her hands flat against the ground, bound by threads of Air. She was laughing. "You do not scare me, elf. The Saviour will take me into his arms. The Chosen will be called. There is nothing you can do. Your kin died for a higher purpose. They should be proud."
"Efialtír is no saviour," Therin growled. "He is The Traitor, the great deceiver, the devourer of souls." Dayne felt Therin draw deeper from the Spark, pulling on thick threads of Earth and Spirit.
What is he doing?
"You will talk." Therin tilted his head sideways, his eyes cold, measuring. "And you will feel pain for what you did here. The sooner you talk, the sooner I will release you from your misery."
Therin funnelled the threads of Earth and Air into the mage's body. Dayne watched as the threads sunk into the mage's skin, coiling around her limbs like snakes. The mage let out a chilling scream, her body convulsing, blood-tinted foam forming at the corners of her mouth.
"Speak!" Veins bulged in Therin's neck, his chest trembling, his boot pressing down on the mage's neck.
Dayne looked to Belina, who knelt beside the two elves. She shook her head. Dayne knew what she meant – don't do it.
Dayne ignored her. "Therin, this is not the way. Not like this."
Therin rounded on Dayne, cold fury in his eyes. But it wasn't his stare that unsettled Dayne. It was the calmness in his voice. "For what she has done here, I would shatter her bones and not think twice. There is no pain she could bear that would balance the scales. When you have seen the centuries I have, then you can think to question my judgement."
Therin's eyes bored through Dayne, daring him to challenge. The sheer power that radiated from the elf rippled through the air like lightning, threads of Earth and Air swirling around him.
"I think I know what they were doing here." Belina's voice sheared through the tension-thick air. She stood by a wooden stand that held a thick, leather-bound book – the one the Scholar had been writing in. Belina ran her finger across the page, reading the words aloud. "Subject four hundred and fifty-three. Male. Elf. Fifteen summers. Result: deceased. Note – the results of this runeset seem promising. Subject four hundred and fifty-three showed increased aggression and strength, lasting four days longer than the previous subject before expiration. Though it seems the elven constitution is not as suited to the gift as that of the Uraks, I maintain strong belief that this is the path to the Chosen. Sufficient information has been gathered to progress to the next stage. Subjects four hundred and fifty-four, four hundred and fifty-five, and four hundred and fifty-six will be trialled. The remaining subjects are to be terminated."Silence hung in the air as Belina's words trailed off. Therin stared down at the Scholar, his chest rising and falling in heavy sweeps, power radiating from him in pulses of rippling energy. "You sacrificed them to try and create Bloodmarked…" His voice didn't rise higher than a whisper, but pure hatred seeped through every word. "You tortured them. You twisted their bodies and burned their souls." Therin lifted his foot from the woman's neck, threads of Air still holding her in place. He knelt beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "You are nothing. Nobody will ever remember you. I will burn this place to the ground. May The Mother leave your soul to float adrift in the void."
With a visceral roar, Therin's power surged through the threads of Earth and Air that coiled around the Scholar. A physical shockwave erupted from the elf, crushing the mage's body, cracking the stone beneath her. The force of the blast swept vibrations through the stone, releasing plumes of stone dust from the roof. The woman's screams rose to a pitch that turned Dayne's stomach. But he forced himself to watch. If she had been Sylvan Anura, he would have done the same thing. This woman had earned every drop of pain that Therin poured into her. She had violated these elves. Torn them to pieces.
With one last pulse of energy, the mage's chest collapsed inwards, her arms and legs twisted, bones snapping and tearing through her skin. In an instant, her screams were gone, remembered only by the echo that lingered in the air like a ghost.
Therin knelt over the woman, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched. Slowly, Dayne felt Therin release the Spark, the threads of Earth and Air fading from existence. The elf lifted his hand from the mage's shattered body, blood and bits of bone smeared across his skin. He stumbled sideways, Dayne catching him beneath the arms before he fell.
"I'm fine." Therin pushed Dayne away, his voice only an absent whisper as though he was talking not to Dayne, but to himself. Grunting, he dropped to his knees beside the two elves who lay on the metal platforms. The child looked relatively unharmed, if a little bruised and malnourished, but the other elf was not so lucky. Her chest was a mess of knotted flesh, blood seeping from the runes carved into her skin. Therin ran his hand along a jagged rune carved just below the elf's collarbone. "What have they done to you, my child?"
Belina moved to touch Therin's shoulder, but Dayne shook his head. Belina must have seen the sorrow in his eyes, for she pulled back her hand, a grim look of recognition on her face.
After a few moments, Therin rose to his feet, his eyes wet with tears, his hands shaking. "Help me release the others from their pain and take these two from this place. Then I will take you to Aeson. You have earned this and more, Dayne Ateres." Therin grasped Dayne's forearm. The tears that had been welling at the corner of his eyes began to fall, rolling down his cheeks in steady streams.
Dayne nodded. Releasing Therin's grasp, he knelt beside the elven child, took a deep breath, and scooped him up into his arms. Dayne could feel the child's chest rise and fall, dragging ragged breaths into his tired lungs. "It's all right," he whispered. "You're safe now."