Ten
THE CELL WAS DEEPER IN THE DUNGEONS than most had cause to venture. Rhillian followed her guard through the low doorway, into a wide stone cell lit with torches. There, a man was chained to a slab of wood, wrists and ankles in manacles. On a chair to one side sat Kiel, morose, flipping his knife in one hand. One look, and Rhillian knew the captive had not talked.
She walked over, and considered the captive.
“You were seen at Voscoraine Port,” she told him. “Reputable sailors swear so. Rhodaani vessels have been forbidden by the council from trading there during this time of war. Other honest sources have seen you in Lady Renine’s company. There is much interest in the intrigue of secret messengers in Tracato. You have been followed.”
“Ha!” was all the young man said, with great bravado. He gave the restraints a shake as though to break free with the sheer force of his disdain.
“He will not even tell his name,” Kiel said. “He does not fear our methods. He knows we are gentle. It makes him brave.”
Rhillian dismissed the guard, and waited for the door to close. “My patience runs thin,” she told the young man, coldly. She leaned close, for the effect of her emerald stare. The man tossed his hair and stared at the ceiling. “You plot the downfall of Rhodaan, you and your mistress. I know of what you corresponded with the Larosans, I have so many pieces of knowledge from so many sources, but it does not yet add up to proof. I know there is more correspondence, hidden in the residences we now occupy. I wish to know where it is. I wish in particular to find a token of good will-a Verenthane Star of the ancient Saint Selene, that was granted Lady Renine as a gift from the Regent Arosh himself. Such are the things I desire. I wish you to grant them to me.”
“You know what?” the man retorted. “I wish you to suck my cock!” He glared at her.
Rhillian placed her hands to either side of his restrained body, and leaned close. “My teeth are sharp,” she said softly.
“You fucking serrin, you waste my time!” he exclaimed. And something else, in Rhodaani, that Rhillian did not catch. She looked askance at Kiel.
“Even less polite than the last,” Kiel told her. “Something about your private parts.”
“I think he would truly find me frightening,” Rhillian observed to Kiel, still in Torovan, “if he truly believed I would hurt him.”
“Serrin have been gentle for too long,” Kiel said. “There is much at stake.”
The prisoner stared at her. “You don’t scare me with your talk!” he snarled. “It’s all you serrin ever do! Words and words and words! I grow sick of your words!”
“I have made the same argument myself, to the councils, on occasions,” Rhillian replied. She smiled. “So you see, my friend, we are in agreement. Kiel, show him.”
Kiel flipped his knife, grasped its handle, and got to his feet. For the first time, the prisoner looked alarmed.
“No! No, wait, you cannot…!”
Kiel grabbed the man’s left arm, and sliced off his thumb with a boney crunch. The man shrieked, and thrashed against the restraints, blood spurting over his hand. Rhillian stared in shock.
“That’s one,” Kiel observed. “There are nine more here. Serrin have little art for this kind of thing, so I’ll start with the most obvious. It shall be a learning experience.”
“Kiel!” Rhillian said sharply, barely hiding the shock from her voice. She beckoned him over, as the prisoner sobbed and wailed. Kiel, she was not surprised to note, appeared utterly calm. “I’d thought perhaps a cut, Kiel,” Rhillian said coldly, in Saalsi. “Something that would heal.”
“If he is as guilty as we seek to prove him, then more likely we’ll cut his head off. Why should it matter if he heals?”
“Kiel, I’m warning you, this is not a path down which I intend to-”
“Rhillian,” Kiel cut her short. “The fool is right. You talk words, but you do not mean what you say. This is the time for action. Let me show you something.”
He turned and strode back to the sobbing prisoner. Grabbed the young man’s other arm, and positioned the blade above the remaining thumb. “Are you now prepared to talk?”
“Yes, yes!” came the sobbing reply.
“I warn you,” Kiel said mildly, “if you give me cause to believe that you lie, I shall take the other thumb and begin working through your fingers. Do you understand?”
“Yes! I understand, please, don’t cut me again, please don’t…”
“Kiel!” Rhillian snapped in Saalsi. “You go too far! He’ll tell you anything he thinks you wish to hear!”
“We shall see,” Kiel replied, with a note of intrigue to his voice. The intrigue of a scholar presented with an interesting puzzle. “We shall see.”
The walk to the Ushal Fortress from the Justiciary was short and unsafe. Steel guarded the major buildings, and Rhillian and Kiel’s escort was six strong, shields ready to lock into formation in case of archers. Two days since the arrest of Lady Renine and most senior feudalists, and the streets remained unnaturally deserted.
Central Tracato was feudalist territory, and though most residents were not nobility themselves, many worked for them, or owed loyalty by other means. Money bought not only loyalty, Rhillian had found, but Blackboots too, many of whom had been removed from service, some temporarily, others for good. Many other Blackboots were refusing to work, for sympathy with those dismissed. Night curfews became a necessity, to keep the thieves off the streets, and though some tradesmen had resumed work today, rumours abounded of retribution against those by the noble families who determined that to stop work was to protest. Only the markets were turning a regular trade, partly as people needed to eat, and partly because the markets were run by country folk who cared little for the nobility’s problems.
Clashes had been frequent but isolated, with nothing large or coordinated as yet. Rhillian did not fool herself into thinking those would never come. The nobility had supporters and arms aplenty, they were merely biding their time, waiting until the Steel left for the western front. No, she needed to deal with the feudalists quickly, before the Steel departed. She needed to prove the leaders of this plot guilty, and dispose of them, with the consent of the Justiciary before the gods and all. Then, the nobility may well rise up, but they would have no moral weight. A countryside militia, led by the Civid Sein and perhaps the Nasi-Keth, and backed by her own talmaad back from Elisse, could account for any uprising then, even with the Steel away, and suffer no lasting enmity from anyone for it…save of course the remaining nobility, but in that course of events, they would hardly matter any more.
Across a wall, Rhillian saw, in red paint, scrawling letters that even her poor Rhodaani could read. Kill the white witch.
“I think that means you,” Kiel said with amusement.
Rhodaan for humanity, read another. And, Rhodaan for Verenthanes.
“So the nobility claim to speak for all Verenthanes now,” Kiel observed. “The Civid Sein will be intrigued to hear it.”
Rhillian walked in silence, her expression grim.
The Ushal Fortress was as still as a tomb, save for wandering cats, Steel guards, and the occasional, furtive servant. Rhillian and Kiel left their guard downstairs, and climbed to the top floor of the Renines’ quarters. Once there, Kiel walked to one window and bent to pull aside the heavy rug.
“Now,” he said, “third stone from the wall.” Rhillian watched from the doorway, arms folded. Kiel used his knife, and wiggled the stone until it came free. He reached into the hole, grasped, then pulled on something. From a neighbouring bookshelf came a loud clank. “Good,” he said.
Rhillian watched him remove expensive vases from the shelf one at a time, and place them on the nearest table. She did not assist. “It proves nothing,” she said.