“There are those who believe that all magic hails from Elven heritage, meaning to wield magic you must be from a direct bloodline. No matter how diluted, the power of magic can be unlocked. They are however considered fanatics of a forgotten age. And so the band of Elorash and their banners are exiled from society, their membership only revealed by a tattoo of an eye, believed to represent their god of power Rayandregor. They believe that one day, he will return to the lands that humans walk and unlock the power of magic within all those who hold the once great bloodline.”
Reitu Tvesh, The Codex Of Elorash, 186KR
The quality of torture implements I have on hand are disappointing, far from the collection that I have amassed in the dungeons of Askela. The black, rough stone walls shine as dampness clings to them, a yellowish green moss cultivating on its surface.
I inhale deeply to focus my mind and reach down to the bucket of water by my side, emptying the stagnant water over the bound woman’s head. She is hoisted into the air by her arms, her head stooped forward, still unconscious. Congealed blood trails from her mouth, her shoulders looking displaced by the weight they are bearing. The water splashes over her, soaking her to her skin, and she begins to murmur, slowly lifting her head up until her amber eyes meet my own.
“What do you want with me?” Her voice is taut with pain, and her accent is like what I have become accustomed to from the locals. There is a roughness to her words, as though she has swallowed glass. Now there is some food for thought. Maybe dining on some glass will teach her for her cowardly assassination attempt.
“Who is it that sent you?”
The woman stares me in the eyes before pulling her head back, then spits at me. Thick mucus mixed with blood splashes against my face. My temperature soars and I grab hold of the woman’s wrist with gritted teeth and squeeze. I focus some of my power to my hand, and soon her skin begins to crack and sizzle. The smell of her singed flesh flares my nostrils. It is a repugnant smell that I am still not used to.
The woman screams, flailing wildly where she hangs. I make sure I keep eye contact with her as her wails echo throughout the chamber. She will pay for her insubordination.
After a few agonising moments, I let go of her arm, and her eyes are drawn to the blackened skin around her wrist.
“Test me again, and I will remove your eyes.” I wipe her blood from my face with the sleeve of my dress. Her face is already swollen and bruised from her beating, but I would love nothing more than to add to her list of ailments.
“Are you sorry?” I ask.
The woman smiles at me and doesn’t answer. I strike her across her face with an open hand. The familiar crackling noise of skin burning starts to escape from under my hand, but this is quickly eclipsed as she screams far louder this time.
“Stop, stop!” she cries, tears cascading down her face. I remove my hand and the droplets turn to vapour as they reach her torched cheek.
“Are you sorry for spitting at me?”
“I am,” she mumbles.
“I didn’t quite hear that.” I stretch out my fingers in front of her face before moving to grab her arm.
“I’m sorry, please just keep your hands away from me.” She winces as I move my hand away. At least I have her cooperation now. Even by my standards this one has broken far easier than I imagined.
I raise my hand gently to her face, and she flinches under my touch, her breathing becoming shallow and quickened. I wipe away the tears on her cheek with my thumb and lean in towards her. “Who was it that sent you to kill me?”
“I can’t – I can’t tell you. They will kill my family,” the woman answers in a panicked state. She fears me, but she seems to fear her employers more.
“Have you not learned your lesson?” I yank her hair back, snapping her neck away from me. She strains against me, so I clench my fist harder, tightening my grip on her hair. “You have no idea the depths of depravity I will go for the answers that I want. You have seen what I can do with magic, but you would be equally terrified if you saw first-hand what I can do with tools.”
“Please, don’t.” Her voice quivers as I cast my eyes over the small table besides us. I reach for a dagger and stare at the blade for a moment before wrapping the palm of my free hand around it. I take a sharp intake of breath before I begin to squeeze the blade tightly. My skin tears and the sensation feels soothing for a moment before a sharp stinging pain engulfs my hand. I linger on the pain for a moment, savouring the throbbing feeling. Blood escapes through my fingertips, and for a moment I get lost, staring at my blood as it drips onto the cold stone floor.
Closing my eyes, I channel my magic. A dark, eery glow emits from my closed fist. I look at the prisoner and begin to murmur an incantation under my breath. This is one that I have near perfected over the last year. Slowly the throbbing sensation subsides, and I release the knife. My blood remains, but my wound is gone.
The woman begins to scream as the cut is transferred to her. She jerks wildly, confused by what is happening. As she looks up towards her bound wrist, thick, crimson blood begins to trail down her arm. “What witchcraft is this?” She shakes her hands as if to break free of her chains.
“Do I look as though I am here casting curses and boiling brews in a cauldron? I am a sorceress, not a witch. A spell caster unrivalled by any man that walks this world. Now, who was it that sent you?”
“Please, I didn’t want to.” She continues to writhe, suspended in the air. “I didn’t have a choice. They told me that if I assassinated you, they would absolve all my debts, that me and my family would be free. My husband wouldn’t need to fight in the pits anymore.”
“The pits?”
“It’s where they get people to fight for money, a way of entertaining people but also giving others the opportunity to win rations and coin.”
“And who is they?”
“You already know.”
I step towards her and slice her arm with the dagger, a light laceration becoming visible through her torn tunic.
“Please, stop!”
I add three more cuts, two to her arm and one to her stomach.
“The Wyverns!” she finally cries out. “It was the Wyverns that sent me. Breyton wants you dead.”
I smile. So, I have already gotten his attention.
“Was it worth it?” I tease. “Was it worth all this pain for what you were promised?”
“It was either that or we starve, while watching my husband lose all his dignity in the pits.”
I consider my prisoner, pondering her words. “I can make all your pain go away,” I tell her. “I can make your debts disappear, too. And I will give you fresh coin to leave Eltera and start a new life.”
The woman furrows her brows. “What is it you ask of me in return?” she asks, her voice quivering.
“You will tell me everything that is going on with the Wyverns. If you deceive me, however, you, your husband, and your children will all suffer a fate far worse than what I have introduced you to today. Do you understand?”
The woman nods. “I’ll do it.”
“What is your name?”
“Delaya.”
“Now, my little sparrow, the first thing I need you to do is report back on what Orjan is up to. He is a man I already have on the inside. You will know who I mean. He doesn’t exactly blend in.”
“I know of who you speak.”
“Let him know he has an ally in you, but do not let it be known it is I who sent you.” After all, I do not know the beast’s true allegiance. It will be good to have eyes on him, just in case.