Terchin languished in his cell deep within the bowels of Fortress Stahrcote. Tight manacles bound his wrists together, linked with a rusty chain anchored to the stone wall behind him. This afforded the freedom of movement for a distance of almost three paces. This was just enough for him to reach the hole in the floor that served as his privy, but not enough to come within touching distance of the door to his cell. There was no window, and the only source of light was the scant amount that came from a barred aperture set in the upper half of the door.

  The door was bolted and locked on the outside. Doubtless he could easily have picked the lock – if he had the implements of his old trade on his person and had physical access to the lock. But he could neither reach outside the door to touch it nor even step close enough to attempt it. No, in his current circumstances he was well and truly stymied.

  As dungeon cells went, this was more spacious than most. Doubtless he was occupying one for “special” prisoners, he thought ruefully – either those of high status, great strategic value, or who warranted creative and extreme punishment that discretion dictated was best conducted in isolated conditions. He did not know which of those types he was. Perhaps all three.

  He consoled himself that at least Oreus had escaped. He had succeeded in the objective of his quest and no one could take that away from him. It was a worthy bargain. Oreus had the prospect of a long, fruitful life in front of him - provided he didn’t do anything rash or stupid. Like trying to rescue his old man. Not for the first time, his satisfaction at finding and freeing his son curdled as worry gnawed at his vitals. He fretted as he considered that Oreus would almost certainly feel honor-bound to return the favor. Out of all the ways of his old life he failed to inculcate in his son, he never thought the one that would come back to haunt him would be the adage: “There is no honor among thieves.” He began to wish that he would be disposed of sooner rather than later, just so whatever ill-advised rescue attempt Oreus might mount would be ended before it began. If his demise were conclusively demonstrated by putting his severed head on a pike for everyone to see, all the better.

  Terchin almost laughed. This was hardly the first time he had been imprisoned by an enemy. But it was the first time he had ever preferred his hour of doom to be hastened rather than seeking to cling to life as long as possible. He reflected that such was the lot of a parent. If his speedy execution prevented his son from going into harm’s way, then he was all for it.

  He sighed. It was out of his hands now, he might as well take a moment to solicit his favored deities and make peace with his fate. He was whispering an appeal to Letressa when he heard the jangling of keys. Here comes the torture! He quickly backed against the far wall, his chain leash going slack as he retreated into the darkness the feeble light did not penetrate. Wild thoughts of possible escape gave him a surge of nervous energy. Perhaps he could lure the guard in close, assault and subdue him, retrieve his keys, unlock his restraints... The flame of hope kindled as a dozen tactics, each more far-fetched than the last, occurred to him.

  The lock was undone and the bolt slid back with a screech of protest. Then the door was flung inward. Terchin caught a glimpse of a burly guard but this was blocked as a lady strode into the cell. She only ventured a single step over the threshold and then went into the right corner, where Terchin knew he could not reach. She was carrying a lit lantern and she reached up and hung it on an iron hook that he had not been able to see before. Terchin involuntarily blinked as he adjusted to the increased illumination. She nodded at the guard in dismissal and the man turned away and trudged off.

  The woman was richly attired, obviously of noble birth. Jewels about her neck and woven into her hair caught the light and sparkled intermittently. She was no longer young but poised on the cusp of middle age. Terchin decided she would be considered comely if her face didn’t have a harsh expression of barely contained rage.

  She stood with an erect posture, regarding him with narrowed eyes. Terchin could almost feel the waves of ill will emanating from her lapping over him like waves battering the seashore. What did he ever do to her? He had a feeling that he would find out very soon. Still, he said nothing as she glared at him. She would reveal her intentions when she was good and ready. Anything he did or said would probably exacerbate the situation.

  Finally she broke the silence. “I have been informed,” she said through gritted teeth, “that as unlikely as it may seem, you are one of the triumvirs of Eskemar. You may think that one of your minions may be able to find you and mount a rescue, but I would put those thoughts out of your mind. You hold no power here. No one has ever escaped from these cells, and no one ever shall.”

  She looked away from him and idly examined the sides and ceiling of the cell. It was feigned nonchalance, but Terchin nonetheless thought it served its purpose. His sense of isolation and helplessness deepened. He certainly felt powerless.

  “This chamber has had a powerful enchantment placed upon it. It is a ward that shields it from scrying or other means of clairvoyance. It, and by extension its contents, simply do not register to the magical eye, which skips right over it to whatever is beyond. It is a veritable blind spot. As far as anyone searching for you is concerned, you might as well be floating through the Astral Realm – or in one of the hells, which is where you belong.

  “However, before you are sent there, I must have some answers from you. And they will be truthful ones.

  “Before we begin, some truth from me: I am Baroness Issret of Dhozney. My father is Duke Tolthurdine. And he bade me to dispose of you in any way I see fit since you are the killer of my son, who you waylaid and slew.”

  Ah, there it is, Terchin thought. The grieving mother, out for revenge. He thought of the young man he had knocked out and put in the casket in place of Oreus. Surely that was the son in question. How convenient for the duke. He could expect little mercy from this lady, he knew. She would feel justifiably implacable and harbor no qualms in subjecting him to the most extreme depredation. He wondered how she would do it. Did she have a dagger concealed in the folds of that dress - up the puffed sleeves of her blouse? Would she slowly flay his skin and prolong his suffering to savor each moment of agony? Or was she a mage – would she take out a wand and zap him with a bolt of energy, fry him with a spell, wrack his body with pangs of agony, or summon monsters to rip him apart limb from limb and devour him? Or would she just order some guards to behead him or hang him from a meat hook? He involuntarily gulped. But still, he did not utter a word. This was not a foe to banter with.

  Issret drew out a scroll from her girdle and unrolled it. “This is a variation on a classic divination spell devised by my court magician. He calls it ‘Truth or Consequences’. For the duration of the spell, you will be compelled to answer my questions. Any falsehood you knowingly utter will result in ‘consequences’- that is to say, excruciating pain, or so I am told. If you tell the truth you are spared. If you refuse to answer any of the questions put to you – more consequences.”

  Having said this she read the scroll aloud. Terchin tensed as she recited the incantation but felt nothing. Aside from a brief orange glow emitted by the scroll as its magic was activated, there was no sign a spell had taken hold. But Terchin had no doubt some kind of magic had been wrought and it would behoove him to behave accordingly. He resolved that he would say the bare minimum and avoid embellishment, and furthermore that he would answer readily so as to give Issret no cause to suspect him of being evasive.

  “We shall now begin,” Issret declared briskly.

  “Ask away,” Terchin challenged her.

  Issret frowned, trying to decide if he was being complaisant or defiant. Then she shrugged. She paused, considering her words. Then she began her sharp questioning.

  “Did you kill my son Lantalus?”

  “No,” replied Terchin emphatically.

  Issret’s eyes flashed in reflexive anger. Then she started in surprise as Terchin remained still and composed before her, obviously not suffering from telling a lie. Recovering her composure, she resumed her interrogation.

  “Did you see him while he was alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have seen his withered body. The condition of his remains is...unnatural. Did you employ sorcery against him?”

  “No.”

  “Very well, then. Did someone in your employ or in league with you kill Lantalus, or at your behest use magic against him?”

  “No.”

  “Did you watch him die?”

  “Not directly.”

  “But you were there when it happened”

  “I was in the vicinity, yes.”

  “Were you trying to assassinate my father?”

  “That’s not what I was there for.”

  Issret stopped again as she considered how to redirect her interrogation. Finally she said, as if disclosing something she did not care to admit, “My father is a man of subtlety, with carefully laid plans. There is much he has done over the years which has been inexplicable to me. And I suspect there is much that he does of which I am unaware.”

  “I am hardly his trusted confidante,” Terchin said, with the barest hint of insouciance. Of course, he knew a great deal of Tolthurdine’s schemes now, as the man had divulged much. But how would Issret react to the truth? It was best to muddy the water as much as he could while yet steering clear of falsehood.

  “We shall see. Why did my father travel with an armed escort to the lands of my late husband?”

  “I surmise that he required a particular location to facilitate a ritual.”

  “A ritual to restore my brother back to life?”

  “That was the intention, yes.”

  “Well whatever he did, it worked. But my wonder at his appearance after all these years, looking like he hasn’t aged a day, is spoiled by the death of my son. And aside from my father’s gesture at giving you to me, his own grief is not discernible, so it seems I must mourn alone while he proclaims a celebration.” Then she gritted her teeth and stifled a sob. More anger flashed on her countenance. Terchin knew such a proud noblewoman would be mortified to display a lack of control in front of a stranger – and in particular, an enemy. Despite his confinement, he felt badly for her. A moment later, she had steadied herself. She looked the picture of resolve and grim determination. Only her reddened, puffy eyes betrayed the depth of her travail.

  “You know how Lantalus really died, don’t you?”

  “I can infer it with confidence, yes.”

  Issret took a deep breath, steeling herself for exposure to truth she knew she would find deeply unpleasant and disturbing.

  “Tell me why you were there and what ensued.”

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Terchin took his own deep breath before responding. “The duke had been collecting young men – compelling them with magic – for use in a ritual to drain them of life and transfer portions of it to your brother, who he had kept preserved all these years while he made his plans. He selected youths of similar age and status, reasoning this would enhance the prospects of success. One of them was my son.”

  Terchin caught Issret looking startled for an instant while he paused to let the import of that piece of information sink in.

  “I had been tracking him since he disappeared from Eskemar one night,” he resumed. “I ended up in Rosscaster and as fortune would have it, witnessed your father and his retinue leave. So I followed him. At the destination I managed to free my son and get him to safety before the ritual was to take place.” Now Terchin knew he had to choose his words with the utmost care. “Since your father was now missing one of his sacrifices, he used your son as a substitute. I guess he felt he couldn’t take any chances.”

  The color drained from Issret’s face and she took a step backward until she was leaning against the wall behind her for support.

  He went on. “Your son was one of many who were used to further your father’s scheme. I’m sorry. I suppose depending on what kind of person you are, you can blame me anyway for the part that I played. But I will never regret saving my boy.”

  Issret dispensed with any further effort to maintain decorum and broke into wracking sobs. Terchin fell silent for a bit, letting her weep. Eventually, her expression of anguish subsided. Only then did he speak. It was time for a gamble. How intact was her familial loyalty?

  “I was wronged,” Terchin declared. “But as it turned out, you were also. Your father’s obsession has come with a heavy price. The question is, what will happen now?”

  For a long time they stared at each other. Issret’s eyes searched him, but for what, he could not say. She sniffled. “If I hadn’t invoked a spell to confirm it, I never would have believed you,” she managed at last. “In truth, I cannot fault you for acting as you did. Any parent with the means would do the same. Mayhap I see a spark of humanity in you that is lacking in my own father.” This was said with unmistakable bitterness.

  “What would you do if you were able to walk out of here? Remember – the truth now!”

  Terchin thought it over. The need for retribution still burned within him, but he really just wanted to go home. “I would reunite with my son and return to Eskemar as soon as I could.” He halfway expected to feel pain course through him; he was that ambivalent. But nothing happened.

  “And you wouldn’t take his abduction as an act of war and come back at the head of an army?”

  “I...don’t think I would,” Terchin said uncertainly. “But I can’t say that I would never attempt to retaliate in some way if given the chance. In any case, whatever my friends decide to do in my absence will be at least as severe as what I myself would do, of that you may be sure.” He raised the possibility that letting him go would actually provide a tempering influence on Eskemar’s response. And that may actually be true, he conceded.

  Issret wrestled with indecision. She turned abruptly and stepped to the door and looked down the hall. Apparently satisfied, she nodded to herself and took a deep breath.

  “Hold up your hands,” she ordered him. “I am releasing you.”

  A moment later Terchin was rubbing his bare wrists in relief and following the briskly striding baroness. “Let me do all the talking,” she instructed him. “I will get you past the jailor and you will accompany me. No one would dare question that, though it may raise a few eyebrows.” She furrowed her forehead in consternation, trying to anticipate what her father’s reaction would be when he learned that Terchin was released, as he assuredly would.

  “Could you fake my death somehow?” Terchin suggested.

  She considered it, then nodded. “A few well-placed bribes should do the trick. But that means you really must keep a low profile – the fewer people that see you walking around, the better.”

  “Agreed.”

  Issret dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. She reached up and checked her hair. Then she smoothed her dress.

  “Do I look composed?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” Terchin declared. “You look ready to take on the world.” Immediately pain shot through him, and the unexpected jolt of agony sent him to his knees. What do you know, the spell really works, he thought as he grunted, struggling back to his feet.

  Issret snorted. “I told you that there would be consequences for lying.”

  “That’s what I get for trying to be encouraging,” he said wryly. “How much longer will this spell last, anyway?”

  “An hour or so.”

  “Fantastic. Well, hopefully I won’t have to say much.”

  A few moments later they were ascending stairs that offered increasing amounts of light and fresh air, leaving behind them foetid darkness and a well-paid jailor. They emerged into a foyer of sorts.

  Issret motioned with one hand for Terchin to stand behind her. She looked around nervously. One of her ladies-in-waiting was sitting nearby on a bench flanked by pillars that framed a view of a courtyard lined with a series of alternating doors and small windows. She rose to her feet and noted Terchin’s presence with confusion.

  “My lady?”

  “Khelsee, you must say absolutely nothing of this man who accompanies me to anyone, do you understand? Now, see that guard by the fountain?” Speaking softly, she gestured to the armored man in the courtyard nonchalantly wiping his boots with a rag he had dipped into the water. “Bid him to conduct you to my father. When you get the opportunity, inform the duke that I must plead exhaustion and retire to my rooms. I am drained from my trying encounter, but after resting I shall join the festivities for my brother when I am able. I’m sure he will understand.”

  “Mistress, I know the way. I won’t need the guard to -“

  “Nonetheless, do as I bid you,” Issret said firmly.

  Chastened, the young woman bobbed her head in deference and hurried to comply. They watched her accost the guard. The man seemed pleased enough to escort the attractive young woman to anywhere she wished to go. Issret waited to speak until the two were out of sight. Terchin noted all this with approval. This one has a tactical mind, he thought.

  “That was well done, removing a potential witness.”

  Issret did not acknowledge the compliment. “This area is a barracks with workshops. If it was the stables we could contrive to get you a horse, but there is nothing but danger here for you. Come, let us hasten up these stairs. They lead to galleries that connect to other parts of the palace.”

  They were traversing one of these galleries when they came within view of the main audience chamber where Tolthurdine held court. Most of the galleries bordering the audience chamber were packed with various onlookers who had gathered to witness the proceedings. Terchin was concerned about being seen, but the galleries were swathed in shadow and everyone’s eyes were directed elsewhere. Issret and Terchin, who had been deftly shouldering their way past a row of gawkers stopped, overcome by curiosity and joined them in their rapt attention. The expansive view that opened below showed that the ducal court was fully mustered, an impressive assemblage of officials, vassals, visiting fellow aristocrats, dignitaries, courtiers, and other assorted men and women of rank. All were arrayed in their most resplendent finery and every direction offered a glittering spectacle of silks and fur trim, jewels and precious metals worked with painstaking craftsmanship. There were intricate lace and sparkling bangles, towering headdresses and blouses of brocade, oiled beards and coiffures of complex braids. All were striving to look their best on the august occasion. It was quite the presentation. Terchin could not help but marvel at the venue presenting so many abundant opportunities for pickpocketing.

  On a dais stood Duke Tolthurdine, wearing his dignity and pride like ceremonial robes. Atop his head was a coronet with delicate golden spires topped with lustrous pearls. Directly before him stood Eymund, also facing the throng. Tolthurdine had both hands resting on his son’s shoulders as he triumphantly displayed his dearest prize to the crowd. Terchin assumed that they had just missed an initial address and the duke had formally presented his son to the court. Everyone seemed riveted to the scene.

  The youth’s eyes looked glassy, his expression seemed confused yet languid. Terchin wondered if he had been drugged, though he could not imagine why that would be the case. Maybe this was normal for one who had been hovering for years upon the very edge of death?

  Nonetheless, he had a nagging inkling that something was seriously amiss with the youth.

  As they watched, an elderly priest in embroidered vestments shuffled forward.

  “That’s Vissavald, the house cleric,” Issret whispered to Terchin. “I wonder what he thinks of all this.”

  “Perhaps it is telling that he was absent from the ritual,” Terchin offered. Clerics were often – although not invariably – principled and wary of straying even a little from the tenets of their faith. It was a reasonable assumption that distorting the boundary between life and death as the duke had done would be cause for a priest’s censure rather than an endorsement.

  They watched as Vissavald raised his gilded staff and offered a blessing. He then turned to the court.

  “Now is the time for the swearing of oaths!” he cried in a reedy voice.

  “Pay Eymund homage and pledge fealty to him as my heir!” Tolthurdine commanded.

  A queue began to form as one by one, members of the court approached, knelt and made the pledges required of them. Terchin knew he should be moving on, but he became fixated on Eymund. An occasional fit of trembling would come over the lad, like a shiver, though the air was quite warm. It was subtle but indicative of...what?

  A burly man decked out in parade armor was now at the front of the line.

  “That’s Vadus,” Issret murmured, “he’s in command of father’s army.”

  Terchin thought the man deserved closer scrutiny. After all, he might be facing him on the field of battle one day.

  The weather outside had been turning sultry, and with the throng of people, the audience chamber was even warmer. As such, Vadus had dispensed with wearing a cape and his head was bare. Terchin’s past as a thief had sensitized him to valuables of all types, and he noted that while the ornate armor of the man was a matched and bespoke set, Vadus wore a gorget of disparate and curious design.

  It hung on a gold chain set too low to properly function as protection. It had the appearance of great age, and Terchin wondered if it was an artifact imbued with arcane power. And though he fancied himself something of an expert in jewelry, its style was not reminiscent of any region or period he had encountered. Nor did it seem to be of elven or dwarven make. Set upon its burnished surface was a serpentine figure composed of polished jade, surrounded by an interwoven design hammered into the surrounding metal. The metal was a mysterious alloy that displayed hints of iridescence.

  Terchin was still considering the provenance of this item when Eymund, without preamble or provocation, emitted a throaty gasp. This was followed by a hiss which carried throughout the room, which otherwise had been stunned into silence by this outburst. Terchin managed to catch sight of Eymund’s eyes as they flashed, briefly changing color to chartreuse. His face wore an expression of savage rage.

  Vadus only had time to raise his head in surprise before Eymund pounced on him. He seized the gorget while bending his head, mouth opening. Then his teeth clamped down on Vadus’ neck hard enough to draw blood. Eymund gnawed briefly at the flesh of his squirming victim, then he withdrew, eyes rolling back into his head in a semblance of some perverse ecstasy. All the while, his hands still grasped the gorget. As Vadus instinctively raised his own hands to his throat and began to back away Eymund tugged at the gorget. The chain snapped and it tore free. Clasping the ancient item to his bosom, Eymund lifted his head and yowled at the ceiling. Then he seemed to notice the crowd for the first time. He growled and uttered sibilant sounds that had the semblance of an alien language. After these strange utterances, he darted around Tolthurdine’s throne and crouched behind it.

  Most of the people in the audience were immobile with shock. Some were dazed and in the throes of confused disbelief, others had been rendered mute and frozen by terror. Several women of the court fainted, collapsing on the floor without anyone attentive enough to catch them. Meanwhile, Eymund had lapsed into insensible quiescence, apparently content to hug the gorget to his chest.

  “What accursed work is this?” asked Vissavald. His eyes bulged as he regarded Eymund. His evident alarm seemed to grow the longer he looked.

  The duke recovered a semblance of composure and took command of the situation. He disregarded the scandalized priest. With one hand he grabbed an officer of the guard by the shoulder and he propelled him toward Eymund with a rough shove.

  “Get him to his feet and put him in my chambers. Drag him if need be. Make sure he doesn’t have any ready access to weapons and put him under guard. Move!” Then he located the chief healer who had been awaiting her turn in the queue.

  “You – see to the commander.” He gestured at Vadus, who was pressing a handkerchief against his bleeding neck. Ignoring the gawking faces taking in the disturbing spectacle, Tolthurdine addressed his mage.

  “You,” he pointed at Ivar, who was standing nearby. “Come with me.”

  Without another word he strode off the dais, leaving the old wizard to belatedly follow in his wake.

  After he left and a squad of retainers had hurried away with Eymund, the various courtiers and officials began to murmur. The murmur became a din as they began to disperse in meandering confusion. Terchin looked over at Issret. She appeared as disturbed as everyone else. Unsure of what his next move should be, he waited for her to react. Finally she shook her head as she gathered her wits.

  “He’s gone mad!” declared Issret in alarm. “My brother is not right in his mind. Whatever happened to him must have traumatized him beyond understanding.” She shut her eyes and shook her head in dismay. “But my father can’t accept any contrary views, nor is he capable of facing the truth: that my brother’s spirit should have been left in peace, and that he tampered with things beyond mortal understanding.”

  “That was quite the scene – and in front of the entire court,” Terchin said in wonder. Tongues would surely be set to wagging after this, though discretely, he was sure. If he had learned anything, it was that Tolthurdine was a man who was capable of anything. Those who valued their lives would measure their words carefully.

  “Doubtless there will be mutterings of unease regarding Eymund, but Father brooks no defiance.” Her mouth was set in a hard line. Her face betrayed little, but she had the appearance of someone now resolved to carry out drastic deeds. “I have no idea what is going to happen but whatever it is won’t be good. You had better go. Flee from here. I am going to try and gain an audience with my father. May Fortune be with you, for surely she has shunned our house.” And without saying another word, she left him.