Torian

After Zal left, I moved closer to the fire, settling on the same tree stump he had used. The flames should have warmed me, but they didn’t.

I had no notion how to make my way in this world. I’d nearly died twice over—once by underestimating the power of the river and once in the dark of the village gaol.

I stared into the heart of the fire, where the flames danced orange and blue, and tried to formulate the query that would return the information I’d need to survive in the wilderness on my own, should the outcome of the tribunal be less than optimal.

For that matter, perhaps I should research ways to escape prison. Or methods of self-defense. If I could—

“You’re wearing my cloak.”

My head jerked up at the unfamiliar voice, and I blinked, trying to recalibrate my vision to see beyond the circle of firelight, into the dark at the edge of the clearing.

A male, just shy of full maturity, stepped out of the trees. A quick scan of my short-term memory circuits identified him as one of the crowd in the street the day Zal had rescued me from captivity.

“I… I beg your pardon?”

“My cloak.” He jerked his chin at my feet and his thumb at the male standing at his right shoulder. “And Morvan’s boots.”

“My jerkin, Farren,” said a third, whose face I’d seen more than once peering through the cell’s miserable excuse for a window. “Don’t forget that.”

Two more joined the first three while I was still attempting to formulate an appropriate response.

My gaze pinged from one to the other before returning to Farren, the obvious leader. “But Zal paid.”

Farren sneered. “Oh, aye. He paid the reeves. Din’t pay us, did he? Din’t give us no prosperity stones, nor anything to trade with in place of our kit.” He took a step closer, the fire casting distorted shadows on his face. “You could pay, though.”

Five of them, and no sign of Zal. Now would be a good time to locate those self-defense files. Since my query processor seemed inexplicably offline, I shrugged out of the cloak and removed the jerkin with trembling fingers. I held both out, the wind raising gooseflesh along the edge of my power grid. “Here. You can have them back. I’ll manage without.”

The third male started forward, but Farren held him back. “Leave off, Avram. Go keep watch for Magister.”

“But, Farren—”

“Go!” Farren turned back to me as Avram slunk off into the dark. “Why’d we want ’em after they’ve been used?”

I glanced down at the worn edges of the cloak, and the darker cloth at the seams of the jerkin where it had clearly been taken out at least once. “I believe they’d already been used.”

Farren waved my words away, his eyes glittering with reflected flames. “Second wearing means they’re not worth as much as before, eh? But Comfort House folk pay in trade, same as anyone else. They just got different goods to offer.” He licked his lips. “I was there with Barkon, first time he talked to you in gaol. You’re just like those as work in the Comfort House.”

I let the clothing fall to the dirt at my feet, dangerously close to the fire. “That was different. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Maybe. But out here, looks like nobody’s depriving you of choice except Magister.”

“He’s taking me to the capital. It’s his duty.”

“Aye. Doooty. Know what happened to the last rogue mage he took to the capital on account of duty?”

I shook my head. “No.” My whisper was nearly inaudible over the crackle of the logs and the wind soughing in the treetops.

Farren grinned, the firelight turning his teeth red, and drew a finger across his throat. “Cut off her head, they did.”

Morvan nudged Farren with an elbow. “Don’t forget the…” He pointed to his middle. “You know.”

Farren nodded, pursing his lips. “Right. Slit open her belly and filled it with hot coals. But that was after they tied her up to four horses and whipped ’em up. Ripped her arms and legs right out of their sockets. Left her there in the square, screaming, for a good two days, I hear, with them other mages keeping her from death. Then they cut off her head. Not from mercy, but ’cos they was sick of the noise.”

I hugged myself, hands clamped under my arms, willing the tremors to stop chasing across my skin, the danger alarms to stop pinging in my survival circuits. “He wouldn’t allow it. Not Zal. He’s not like that.”

“They’re all like that, those mages. Say they’re holding up the laws, but who made the laws, eh?” Farren sidled closer. “You don’t have to go with him, you know.”

I shook my head. “I must. Zal wouldn’t compromise his duty, and I…” I have no place else to go.

“We’d hide you ’til he leaves,” Farren said, as if he’d heard my desperate thoughts. “Take you back to our village. Then you could work in our Comfort House.” His gaze was hot enough to sear my skin. “’Cos we don’t got nothing like you there now. Pale as snow, you are. You like that everywhere?”

“I—”

“Farren,” Morvan murmured. “What about choice? Shouldn’t we… you know… ask?”

“Oh, aye. Let’s see about that, eh?” Farren took another step forward. “All you got to do is say no and we’ll be on our way. Leave you to the Magister’s mercy. Well?”

I tried. Oh, how I tried. But when I opened my mouth to refuse, my throat closed up, and nothing emerged. What? Why? I traced the decision pathways and tried again but… there. A block in my programming, diverting it back to the Yes decision node, no matter how I tried to activate No.

But worse, Farren’s obvious desire instantiated the secondary sex characteristics and behavior body enhancement modules, the ones I’d always believed were under my control.

No no no.

I could think it but not say it. Although I fought against it, I pulled in, rounding my shoulders, dropping my gaze to peer up through my tangled hair in the submissive female aspect. I don’t want this. I don’t choose this. Had the Infomancers coerced me after all, and I had never even realized it?

“There, see?” Farren held out his palms as if delivering my fate on a platter. Then he grinned. “Maybe we should make sure though.” He began to unbutton the front of his breeks.

Morvan tugged on Farren’s cloak. “We should go. Before Magister comes back.”

“He’s casting the divination stones. When’s he ever figured their meaning in less than an hour? We’ve got time. Time to be sure.” Farren stared avidly at me. “Go on. Say no.”

My thoughts flew in a dozen different directions, searching for a way around that blasted block, a way to control my own programming, my own destiny. Suddenly, I flashed on Zal as he raised a sardonic brow: “Technically, I’m bespelling the water.”

Could I use my own traitorous circuits to bypass the Yes command? To bypass it, or at least side-step it sufficiently to send Farren and his gang away?

I didn’t know if I’d succeed, but I was determined to try. So I allowed Farren to approach, desperately formulating the question that would turn the situation to my own advantage.