As per usual
Jul. 9th, 2005 10:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI totally don't write what I should be writing.
Ah, well. Writing is writing, I suppose, and no one has killed me yet.
It's been a while since I wrote the prologue of this, but hopefully one or two recall it ^_~ Enter two more chars, whom I did not know existed until I accidently opened this up trying to click on something else. It's a shorter chapter than I'd wanted, but I hate addding stuff just for length and it's only a rough draft anyway.
Now for food.
"We have lost him." Dressed head to toe in clothing that seemed to blend into the room around him, a man with dark brown eyes knelt at the foot of a dais, bowing his head at the three men seated there.
The man in the middle, tall and thin and gray, spoke in a booming voice that shook the dark stone chamber in which they gathered. His eyes were dark red, a sign of just how far into the magic he had gone. "What do you mean we lost him?"
The kneeling man shook his head. "We followed him by tracking his magic. He has used it up. Until he takes another dose, we have lost him."
"Nonsense. Yellow lasts for weeks, and we have it on good authority he used at least two orange. He should have the magic in his systems for days yet."
"Not if he pushed himself and burned it all off," the man said quietly.
On the rightmost side, a man with deeply tanned skin and dark orange eyes moved restlessly in his seat. "Why do you think such a thing?"
The dark-clothed man motioned to the door. "I have brought...a guest, who will help explain."
"Bring him in, Tawn," the last man snarled. He was pale and sickly; his hand shook as he raised it to motion the guards to open the doors. His eyes were red, so dark as to appear almost black.
Tawn nodded and rose to his feet, moving with cat-like grace to the doors and motioning to the dark-clothed figures that waited outside in the hallway.
Two men dressed much like Tawn entered the damp, gray stone chamber and threw a figure to the floor in the front of the raised dais.
Gasps filled the room and more than a few of the gathered members stumbled several steps back.
The tall, gray man rose to his feet, voice booming in anger and some fear. "Why have you brought an Illussor into our stronghold?"
Tawn grinned, an expression that made those closest to him shiver, and stepped forward to lift the figure up so that they could see his face.
The Illussor's skin was a pale, almost silvery white in the light of the candelabra that fought off the darkness of the windowless chamber. His hair was the same, shining like fine silver.
The Brothers gasped, breathes hissing out in stunned disbelief.
The Illussor had no eyes.
"How did you manage that trick?"
Tawn laughed, cold and hard. "The trick is to find one that is badly wounded. They are too weak to cast their illusions." He turned the Illussor's head, stroking a cheek still crusted with dried blood. "Take out its eyes, and it will never cast illusions again." He let the Illussor go, and the blinded man fell back down upon the stones, trembling in fear and shock.
The Trio all nodded, and the sickly man leaned forward in his seat. "Why do we need an Illussor? What can it possibly tell us?"
"We found several of them in a battlefield, amongst a great many dead Krian soldiers. Not just any Kria soldiers..." Tawn paused, brown eyes flaring into a deep gold.
"Get on with it," the tall man spoke.
Tawn smirked. "They were amongst fallen Scarlet."
"Scarlet?" the dark-skinned man exclaimed. "You cannot tell me all of the Scarlet was killed."
"Yes," Tawn said, his voice filled with delight. "The Nameless killed at least a hundred of them, and the Illussor Scream wiped out the rest of them."
All around the chamber the assembled Brothers murmured quietly amongst themselves.
The sickly old man shook his head slowly back and forth, unable to absorb what he'd been told. "Incredible. General Dieter has been our greatest threat for years now. To think he was so suddenly done in by a Scream…"
"Yes," the gray-haired man spoke. "He is our nemesis because he is much more clever than that. How did such a General as he fall for an Illussor trap?
Tawn pulled hard at the Illussor's hair. "That is a question for you to answer, Deceiver. Speak."
The Illussor was trembling, and licked his dry lips before responding. "I am merely a foot soldier. Our orders were to devastate the Scarlet. I know nothing more than that."
"You lie." Tawn pulled harder, until the Illussor cried out in pain. "Speak the truth. There is worse I can do than tear out your eyes."
Shaking in pain and fear, the Illussor never the less shook his head. "I can not tell you what I do not know!"
"You had best tell us something, Illussor." The central man spoke sharply, coldly. "Your life is only as valuable as the information you give us."
The Illussor turned toward the sound of his voice, hissing in pain at Tawn's hold. "You will kill me anyway. And I swear to you, there is nothing I can tell you."
The man with orange eyes motioned impatiently. "Lock him up. He will talk after a few days, when dark and cold and hunger begin to really take their toll."
Tawn nodded and departed the room, dragging the prisoner behind him like a sack.
The Brothers turned to one another, discussing the matter in whispers and mutters. The three men on the dais called them to silence. The sickly one spoke. "The Illussor do not simply kill an army; it is not their way. If it were, we would all be dead by now. Sol, attend!"
A man in the dark gray armor of the Royal Army stepped forward. His eyes were dark yellow, bordering on orange. Though he was only thirty-eight years old, his ash blonde hair was almost completely silver. Combined with his uniform, the man had an austere, almost melancholy air about him. When he stepped forward, the whispering in the room faded. "Yes, my Lord Jaspar?"
"You still have access to Kria?"
"Certainly, your Grace." Yellow eyes took on a speculative gleam. "What are your orders?"
"I want to know the fate of the Scarlet, and if they were carrying anything of importance that managed to slip by us."
"Your will be done."
"Excellent," the man said with what could almost be considered glee. On either side of him, his compatriots expressed their own satisfaction. "See that you gather as much information as possible. The Illussor have been behaving oddly for some time now; to massacre the entire Scarlet is a drastic measure. I want to know why they resorted to it."
General Sol bowed low. "Your will be done." Turning sharply, Sol strode from the room to carry out his orders. Behind him, the Brothers continued to argue and suppose.
Outside in the hallway, his respectful mien fell away. He cast his eyes toward the shadow lurking between torches. "How did you happen to be so near that battle, Tawn, yet know nothing of what occurred or why?"
Tawn chuckled and pulled away from the shadows. "What makes you think I know something?"
"You always hold something back. It's a wonder the Council has not figured that out yet."
"They're too busy reveling in their Illussor captive."
Sol strode close and caught Tawn by the scruff of the neck. "Desist, Tawn. I've little patience for your games today."
"You never have patience for my games."
"Then why do persist in playing them?"
Tawn laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant or happy sound. "If you enjoyed them, what would be the point in playing them?"
Sol slammed him against the wall. "Desist, Tawn. Do not forget I know how to kill you."
"Yes, yes." Tawn shoved him away and brushed off his shirt. "You need to develop a sense of humor, General Sol. Or should I call you Lord Grau? It's so hard to remember who you are and when."
Sol backhanded him. "I said desist."
"And you will pay for hitting me, General."
"Idle threats. We both know that you will not kill me for a long time yet."
Tawn's eyes were bright with anger and barely repressed magic. "And on that day, you will pay for every abuse you've laid upon me. Make no mistake." He stepped back into the shadow, away from Sol's anger. "You will pay the usual price."
"Of course."
Tawn nodded. "Shortly before the Illussor attacked, the Scarlet was struck a hard blow by our Nameless brother. He took out a hundred men with his own magic and the back up of few basics that were killed shortly after the fighting began. He was taken as a personal prisoner of General von Adolwulf himself. When the Illussor attacked, it slowly became apparent that they were after Nameless. He and the General were not seen after the Scream; it is presumed von Adolwulf was killed. We of course know that Nameless lives. No doubt that is why his magic burned out so rapidly. It would have taken every shred he possessed to resist a Scream."
"Why would they want a lousy peasant? I doubt the Illussor know he is a Seven Star - but even that is a worthless thing until we name him." Sol frowned in thought. "Keep searching for him, and when you find him bring him to me in Kria. I will take care of matters from there."
Tawn laughed. "Of course."
Sol did not reply, but turned on his heel to finally escape the dungeon where the Seven Star meetings always took place, up winding stairs until he reached a door of dark, heavy oak. From a heavy ring of keys at his waist, he selected a large, plain iron one. The door opened soundlessly into a large wine room, hidden behind several barrels.
From there he ascended into the kitchens, slipping out the back door and working his way around the white stone palace to the royal gardens. Several minutes and winding hallways later, he was back safe and sound in his own room. He woke his sleeping manservant with a sharp clap to the head. "Pack my things, Dal. We leave this very night for Kria. Where are the cleansers?"
Dal lifted a small leather case from the dresser and opened it, holding out a small glass vial filled with a milky white substance. "Here, Lord General."
"Thank you." Sol drank the liquid in one swallow. He swayed for a moment, feeling nauseous, as the cleanser began to take effect."
Dal regarded him politely, blandly, though his pale green eyes were attentive. "Perhaps you should sit down, Lord General?"
"Nay. I'll be fine." And several minutes later he seemed to be, though Sol knew he would not be eating or drinking much for the next three days while the cleanser finished the job it had only begun.
By the time they reached Kria, he would be nothing more than a familiar face at the royal court, a peasant-turned-noble from unexpected fortune. No sign of his Salharan pollution would remain.
Still far below the palace, Tawn strolled into the small dungeon where his blind Illussor was chained to the wall. "Are you ready to talk now?"
"There is nothing I can tell you."
"Let's start with your name."
Despite the blood that caked his face, the dirt and grime that covered him from head to toe, there was steel in the Illussor soldier's voice as he turned his head up toward the sound of Tawn's voice. "No. I know the power that Salharan's place in names. All the power to control a man lies in the name he is given. If you want my name, you will be wanting for a long, long time."
"A name only holds power if you are the one to give it - or not give it as it were." Tawn grinned maliciously. "You're awfully stubborn for a blind Illussor."
The Illussor curled his lip in contempt. "Even blind, I'm far superior to a man who must drug himself to do his job."
Tawn reached out and kicked him hard in the groin, good mood restored when the Illussor tried to bend over in pain, gasping, unable to cry. "You know nothing about it." He turned to leave. "I'll be back in a few days. In the mean time, I'll leave the guards to teach you manners befitting a blind prisoner."
Nothing but darkness surrounded him. After beating him, the guards had taken the only torch in the room.
Not that he could see it, but he had felt it and taken the meager comfort it offered. Now he sensed there was nothing at all. He did not even hear the shuffling and skittering of the things that thrived in dark, moldy places.
He cried quietly, the pain coursing throughout his body paling in comparison to the fact that his eyes had been torn out. Nothing but empty holes now, his precious eyes. And not even a strip of cloth to hide his shame.
If only he could die. But suicide was admired only when Screaming - and he had not the strength for it.
And he wanted revenge against the one they'd called Tawn. He remembered the face, thin and tight, cruel lines etched around the mouth and sick yellow eyes. The pollution had gone far with that one, but not quite past the point of no return.
The voices, though. The ones from the damp room. He bet they were beyond that point. His life he would bet on their eyes being red, or even black.
It made him smile, a dark, unhappy smile but a smile all the same.
The sound of something heavy hitting the floor broke into his black thoughts, followed by a second thump - then the scrape of a key in a rusted door, and the screech as the rusted door was yanked open.
He bit his lip, refusing to speak. Because if he did, he might start to scream and rage.
A gentle touch on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" A voice he didn't recognize - of course he wouldn't recognize it - spoke softly, barely above a whispser. "Of course you're not. Are you at least well enough to move?"
"Who…" he licked his lips. "Who are you? What trickery is this?"
"No trickery, Captain."
"How did you know I was a Captain?"
The soft voice laughed, and he thought it the warmest sound he'd heard since his world was ripped away. Who was this voice? It was Salharan, no mistaking that clipped accent. But why would a Salharan be kind. "You are up to something"
"Yes, but it is something in your favor. Come now, Captain. We've not much time. I've made it look as though your Brethren have come to rescue you, but if we do not depart posthaste my deception will be discovered. I have not your people's gift for tricking the mind - only the eyes. Please, Captain. Come, if you want to live to fight another day."
"Who are you?"
"Later. A name spoken now bodes ill."
"Superstition." But he nodded, and allowed the Salharan with the voice like a summer breeze to help him up. He bit back cries of pain, and tumbled into the stranger.
Strong arms caught him, steadied him, and one slid to his waist to support him. "Can you walk?"
"I will walk."
"Very well." He imagined he heard approval in that voice, and then wondered why he cared if the enemy approved or not. Clearly the darkness was driving him mad more rapidly than he had anticipated. Slowly, painfully, they made their way from the dungeon and up a set of winding stairs. When they emerged, he smelled snow and the crisp winter air.
Then he began to shiver, as the cold hit him. But in the next moment a warm, soft cloak was wrapped around his shoulders and gently clasped at his throat. He touched the cloak pin there, feeling only the cold bite of metal and the hard smoothness of gems. The crunch of boots on snow brought his attention back to his position. He looked toward the sound.
"Come, Captain. We must ride for a while yet before I shall feel we are safe."
"Won't they think it strange when you are gone?"
The warm voice laughed again, and suddenly his bitterness and anguish hit him all over again, as though his eyes were recently torn away and not days and hours gone. Because more than anything at that moment, he wanted to put a face to the voice, that summer laugh.
He never would.
A hand grasped his gently and tucked it into one of those strong arms, and bitterly he realized that for the rest of his life he would be treated as an invalid and not as the soldier he'd been for the past decade. "Careful, Captain. The ground here is treacherous in good weather and the snow makes it deadly to even those with perfect vision."
He allowed himself to be led across the field, until he could smell and hear a horse. A very large horse.
Again with the misery. These things he had not considered, simply because he never though to leave the dungeon alive. And now that the dungeon was gone, and he was free, he wondered if he was more or less a prisoner than before.
But someone, somewhere, had seen fit to send him a second chance on a summer wind. Whether the wind boded ill or fortune, he would not question now. He let go of the hand that had guided him and reached out to feel the horse. This he had done hundreds of times, morning noon and night. Taking a deep breath he made himself move, and managed to mount the horse.
A moment later the man with the summer voice mounted behind him and took the reigns, clicking softly.
Unsettling, to ride when he could not see. He felt he could live for decades and never grow used to his new half life. His exhaustion hit him hard, abruptly, every fiber of his body screaming in abject pain. Dizzily he wavered in his seat, but then a strong arm wrapped more firmly around his waist, and pressed him back against a wide, massive chest.
"It is hard," he said quietly. "To accept help from one of those who took my eyes."
"I am nothing like him." The summer voice took on a winter edge, the contempt and hate so deep it startled him into silence. "You are one more trangression for which he will someday pay. If I thought my apologies worth anything, I would offer them. But for what it's worth, I am not an enemy. I am a comrade."
"Are we safe enough that I might know your name?"
"That is a hard question to answer, actually. A name is a precious thing in Salhara, this of course you know."
"Yes."
"There are two stigma which can be inflicted upon a person, to make it clear they are not worthy of anything but the lowest of servitude. One, of course, is to be Nameless. In being Nameless, a person will do anything to earn a name. Because to be Nameless in our society--"
"Is to not exist," he said softly.
"Exactly. But the second stigma is to carry several names."
"Why is that a stigma?"
"Because the only thing worse than not having an identity is to not know what your true identity is - too many names and you no longer know who you are. This is the stigma given to criminals enlisted to help with the war as spies. Spies must have several names, several identities, and given that one of Salhara's greatest enemies is a nation of deception…to be a spy is a contemptible thing."
"So you were once a criminal?"
"No, actually." The summer laugh turned slightly bitter. "My father was, but he went and got himself killed before they could arrest him. I was made to take his punishment, to prevent my following in his footsteps."
How curious, this rescuer of his. "So what should I call you? Stranger?"
"The Krians know me as Lord Grau, and it is to that country we journey. I have duties there, and by their laws I will gain you a chance to recuperate. Your people, or at least the Illussor with whom I communicate, call me Spiegel.
He gasped. "I have heard of you…but most think it a grand lie. That a Salharan would betray his own to side with the Deceivers.
"It is no lie. And here, Captain Iah - for of course I know you, though we've never met - I will try to earn your trust. For only my Seven Star brothers know the stigma I carry. The rest of Salhara knows me as General Sol deVry."
Iah nodded. "I recall you. Silver hair, eyes like the sun."
"Polluted eyes."
"I thought Salhara worshipped its artificial magic like most do gods."
"It does," Sol said in a soft voice laced with pain. "I would like to change that. Not all of us are lost to the colors of magic."
Iah felt exhaustion overtaking him again, and allowed himself to relax against the general. Though his mind still rebelled at trusting a Salharan, his instincts were quiet - they feared nothing. Iah was willing to trust them. It was not as though he had a choice, really. "Thank you, General, for rescuing me. I don't know why you did it, but I appreciate it."
"I did it because I will need you. Do you recall why you fought the battle against the Scarlet?"
"Yes," Iah whispered "It was because General Lysam thought we'd found the Breaker." And the General was dead from Screaming, and they'd gained nothing by it. A wasted death like all the others. But if he thought of his men and his comrades now, he would lose what remained of his control.
"You might have. He was the personal prisoner of General von Adolwulf. He lives still, though I know not where. But Tawn, bastard that he is, will find him and bring him to me. And then you can tell me for certain if he is indeed the Breaker."
Iah refused to believe it was possible, that their goal was so close as that. "And then what?"
"And then we will take him to the Prince, and gods willing he will Break."
Ah, well. Writing is writing, I suppose, and no one has killed me yet.
It's been a while since I wrote the prologue of this, but hopefully one or two recall it ^_~ Enter two more chars, whom I did not know existed until I accidently opened this up trying to click on something else. It's a shorter chapter than I'd wanted, but I hate addding stuff just for length and it's only a rough draft anyway.
Now for food.
Part One
Chains
Chains
For Crown. For Country. For Sword.
~Krian vow
~Krian vow
Chapter One
"We have lost him." Dressed head to toe in clothing that seemed to blend into the room around him, a man with dark brown eyes knelt at the foot of a dais, bowing his head at the three men seated there.
The man in the middle, tall and thin and gray, spoke in a booming voice that shook the dark stone chamber in which they gathered. His eyes were dark red, a sign of just how far into the magic he had gone. "What do you mean we lost him?"
The kneeling man shook his head. "We followed him by tracking his magic. He has used it up. Until he takes another dose, we have lost him."
"Nonsense. Yellow lasts for weeks, and we have it on good authority he used at least two orange. He should have the magic in his systems for days yet."
"Not if he pushed himself and burned it all off," the man said quietly.
On the rightmost side, a man with deeply tanned skin and dark orange eyes moved restlessly in his seat. "Why do you think such a thing?"
The dark-clothed man motioned to the door. "I have brought...a guest, who will help explain."
"Bring him in, Tawn," the last man snarled. He was pale and sickly; his hand shook as he raised it to motion the guards to open the doors. His eyes were red, so dark as to appear almost black.
Tawn nodded and rose to his feet, moving with cat-like grace to the doors and motioning to the dark-clothed figures that waited outside in the hallway.
Two men dressed much like Tawn entered the damp, gray stone chamber and threw a figure to the floor in the front of the raised dais.
Gasps filled the room and more than a few of the gathered members stumbled several steps back.
The tall, gray man rose to his feet, voice booming in anger and some fear. "Why have you brought an Illussor into our stronghold?"
Tawn grinned, an expression that made those closest to him shiver, and stepped forward to lift the figure up so that they could see his face.
The Illussor's skin was a pale, almost silvery white in the light of the candelabra that fought off the darkness of the windowless chamber. His hair was the same, shining like fine silver.
The Brothers gasped, breathes hissing out in stunned disbelief.
The Illussor had no eyes.
"How did you manage that trick?"
Tawn laughed, cold and hard. "The trick is to find one that is badly wounded. They are too weak to cast their illusions." He turned the Illussor's head, stroking a cheek still crusted with dried blood. "Take out its eyes, and it will never cast illusions again." He let the Illussor go, and the blinded man fell back down upon the stones, trembling in fear and shock.
The Trio all nodded, and the sickly man leaned forward in his seat. "Why do we need an Illussor? What can it possibly tell us?"
"We found several of them in a battlefield, amongst a great many dead Krian soldiers. Not just any Kria soldiers..." Tawn paused, brown eyes flaring into a deep gold.
"Get on with it," the tall man spoke.
Tawn smirked. "They were amongst fallen Scarlet."
"Scarlet?" the dark-skinned man exclaimed. "You cannot tell me all of the Scarlet was killed."
"Yes," Tawn said, his voice filled with delight. "The Nameless killed at least a hundred of them, and the Illussor Scream wiped out the rest of them."
All around the chamber the assembled Brothers murmured quietly amongst themselves.
The sickly old man shook his head slowly back and forth, unable to absorb what he'd been told. "Incredible. General Dieter has been our greatest threat for years now. To think he was so suddenly done in by a Scream…"
"Yes," the gray-haired man spoke. "He is our nemesis because he is much more clever than that. How did such a General as he fall for an Illussor trap?
Tawn pulled hard at the Illussor's hair. "That is a question for you to answer, Deceiver. Speak."
The Illussor was trembling, and licked his dry lips before responding. "I am merely a foot soldier. Our orders were to devastate the Scarlet. I know nothing more than that."
"You lie." Tawn pulled harder, until the Illussor cried out in pain. "Speak the truth. There is worse I can do than tear out your eyes."
Shaking in pain and fear, the Illussor never the less shook his head. "I can not tell you what I do not know!"
"You had best tell us something, Illussor." The central man spoke sharply, coldly. "Your life is only as valuable as the information you give us."
The Illussor turned toward the sound of his voice, hissing in pain at Tawn's hold. "You will kill me anyway. And I swear to you, there is nothing I can tell you."
The man with orange eyes motioned impatiently. "Lock him up. He will talk after a few days, when dark and cold and hunger begin to really take their toll."
Tawn nodded and departed the room, dragging the prisoner behind him like a sack.
The Brothers turned to one another, discussing the matter in whispers and mutters. The three men on the dais called them to silence. The sickly one spoke. "The Illussor do not simply kill an army; it is not their way. If it were, we would all be dead by now. Sol, attend!"
A man in the dark gray armor of the Royal Army stepped forward. His eyes were dark yellow, bordering on orange. Though he was only thirty-eight years old, his ash blonde hair was almost completely silver. Combined with his uniform, the man had an austere, almost melancholy air about him. When he stepped forward, the whispering in the room faded. "Yes, my Lord Jaspar?"
"You still have access to Kria?"
"Certainly, your Grace." Yellow eyes took on a speculative gleam. "What are your orders?"
"I want to know the fate of the Scarlet, and if they were carrying anything of importance that managed to slip by us."
"Your will be done."
"Excellent," the man said with what could almost be considered glee. On either side of him, his compatriots expressed their own satisfaction. "See that you gather as much information as possible. The Illussor have been behaving oddly for some time now; to massacre the entire Scarlet is a drastic measure. I want to know why they resorted to it."
General Sol bowed low. "Your will be done." Turning sharply, Sol strode from the room to carry out his orders. Behind him, the Brothers continued to argue and suppose.
Outside in the hallway, his respectful mien fell away. He cast his eyes toward the shadow lurking between torches. "How did you happen to be so near that battle, Tawn, yet know nothing of what occurred or why?"
Tawn chuckled and pulled away from the shadows. "What makes you think I know something?"
"You always hold something back. It's a wonder the Council has not figured that out yet."
"They're too busy reveling in their Illussor captive."
Sol strode close and caught Tawn by the scruff of the neck. "Desist, Tawn. I've little patience for your games today."
"You never have patience for my games."
"Then why do persist in playing them?"
Tawn laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant or happy sound. "If you enjoyed them, what would be the point in playing them?"
Sol slammed him against the wall. "Desist, Tawn. Do not forget I know how to kill you."
"Yes, yes." Tawn shoved him away and brushed off his shirt. "You need to develop a sense of humor, General Sol. Or should I call you Lord Grau? It's so hard to remember who you are and when."
Sol backhanded him. "I said desist."
"And you will pay for hitting me, General."
"Idle threats. We both know that you will not kill me for a long time yet."
Tawn's eyes were bright with anger and barely repressed magic. "And on that day, you will pay for every abuse you've laid upon me. Make no mistake." He stepped back into the shadow, away from Sol's anger. "You will pay the usual price."
"Of course."
Tawn nodded. "Shortly before the Illussor attacked, the Scarlet was struck a hard blow by our Nameless brother. He took out a hundred men with his own magic and the back up of few basics that were killed shortly after the fighting began. He was taken as a personal prisoner of General von Adolwulf himself. When the Illussor attacked, it slowly became apparent that they were after Nameless. He and the General were not seen after the Scream; it is presumed von Adolwulf was killed. We of course know that Nameless lives. No doubt that is why his magic burned out so rapidly. It would have taken every shred he possessed to resist a Scream."
"Why would they want a lousy peasant? I doubt the Illussor know he is a Seven Star - but even that is a worthless thing until we name him." Sol frowned in thought. "Keep searching for him, and when you find him bring him to me in Kria. I will take care of matters from there."
Tawn laughed. "Of course."
Sol did not reply, but turned on his heel to finally escape the dungeon where the Seven Star meetings always took place, up winding stairs until he reached a door of dark, heavy oak. From a heavy ring of keys at his waist, he selected a large, plain iron one. The door opened soundlessly into a large wine room, hidden behind several barrels.
From there he ascended into the kitchens, slipping out the back door and working his way around the white stone palace to the royal gardens. Several minutes and winding hallways later, he was back safe and sound in his own room. He woke his sleeping manservant with a sharp clap to the head. "Pack my things, Dal. We leave this very night for Kria. Where are the cleansers?"
Dal lifted a small leather case from the dresser and opened it, holding out a small glass vial filled with a milky white substance. "Here, Lord General."
"Thank you." Sol drank the liquid in one swallow. He swayed for a moment, feeling nauseous, as the cleanser began to take effect."
Dal regarded him politely, blandly, though his pale green eyes were attentive. "Perhaps you should sit down, Lord General?"
"Nay. I'll be fine." And several minutes later he seemed to be, though Sol knew he would not be eating or drinking much for the next three days while the cleanser finished the job it had only begun.
By the time they reached Kria, he would be nothing more than a familiar face at the royal court, a peasant-turned-noble from unexpected fortune. No sign of his Salharan pollution would remain.
Still far below the palace, Tawn strolled into the small dungeon where his blind Illussor was chained to the wall. "Are you ready to talk now?"
"There is nothing I can tell you."
"Let's start with your name."
Despite the blood that caked his face, the dirt and grime that covered him from head to toe, there was steel in the Illussor soldier's voice as he turned his head up toward the sound of Tawn's voice. "No. I know the power that Salharan's place in names. All the power to control a man lies in the name he is given. If you want my name, you will be wanting for a long, long time."
"A name only holds power if you are the one to give it - or not give it as it were." Tawn grinned maliciously. "You're awfully stubborn for a blind Illussor."
The Illussor curled his lip in contempt. "Even blind, I'm far superior to a man who must drug himself to do his job."
Tawn reached out and kicked him hard in the groin, good mood restored when the Illussor tried to bend over in pain, gasping, unable to cry. "You know nothing about it." He turned to leave. "I'll be back in a few days. In the mean time, I'll leave the guards to teach you manners befitting a blind prisoner."
Nothing but darkness surrounded him. After beating him, the guards had taken the only torch in the room.
Not that he could see it, but he had felt it and taken the meager comfort it offered. Now he sensed there was nothing at all. He did not even hear the shuffling and skittering of the things that thrived in dark, moldy places.
He cried quietly, the pain coursing throughout his body paling in comparison to the fact that his eyes had been torn out. Nothing but empty holes now, his precious eyes. And not even a strip of cloth to hide his shame.
If only he could die. But suicide was admired only when Screaming - and he had not the strength for it.
And he wanted revenge against the one they'd called Tawn. He remembered the face, thin and tight, cruel lines etched around the mouth and sick yellow eyes. The pollution had gone far with that one, but not quite past the point of no return.
The voices, though. The ones from the damp room. He bet they were beyond that point. His life he would bet on their eyes being red, or even black.
It made him smile, a dark, unhappy smile but a smile all the same.
The sound of something heavy hitting the floor broke into his black thoughts, followed by a second thump - then the scrape of a key in a rusted door, and the screech as the rusted door was yanked open.
He bit his lip, refusing to speak. Because if he did, he might start to scream and rage.
A gentle touch on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" A voice he didn't recognize - of course he wouldn't recognize it - spoke softly, barely above a whispser. "Of course you're not. Are you at least well enough to move?"
"Who…" he licked his lips. "Who are you? What trickery is this?"
"No trickery, Captain."
"How did you know I was a Captain?"
The soft voice laughed, and he thought it the warmest sound he'd heard since his world was ripped away. Who was this voice? It was Salharan, no mistaking that clipped accent. But why would a Salharan be kind. "You are up to something"
"Yes, but it is something in your favor. Come now, Captain. We've not much time. I've made it look as though your Brethren have come to rescue you, but if we do not depart posthaste my deception will be discovered. I have not your people's gift for tricking the mind - only the eyes. Please, Captain. Come, if you want to live to fight another day."
"Who are you?"
"Later. A name spoken now bodes ill."
"Superstition." But he nodded, and allowed the Salharan with the voice like a summer breeze to help him up. He bit back cries of pain, and tumbled into the stranger.
Strong arms caught him, steadied him, and one slid to his waist to support him. "Can you walk?"
"I will walk."
"Very well." He imagined he heard approval in that voice, and then wondered why he cared if the enemy approved or not. Clearly the darkness was driving him mad more rapidly than he had anticipated. Slowly, painfully, they made their way from the dungeon and up a set of winding stairs. When they emerged, he smelled snow and the crisp winter air.
Then he began to shiver, as the cold hit him. But in the next moment a warm, soft cloak was wrapped around his shoulders and gently clasped at his throat. He touched the cloak pin there, feeling only the cold bite of metal and the hard smoothness of gems. The crunch of boots on snow brought his attention back to his position. He looked toward the sound.
"Come, Captain. We must ride for a while yet before I shall feel we are safe."
"Won't they think it strange when you are gone?"
The warm voice laughed again, and suddenly his bitterness and anguish hit him all over again, as though his eyes were recently torn away and not days and hours gone. Because more than anything at that moment, he wanted to put a face to the voice, that summer laugh.
He never would.
A hand grasped his gently and tucked it into one of those strong arms, and bitterly he realized that for the rest of his life he would be treated as an invalid and not as the soldier he'd been for the past decade. "Careful, Captain. The ground here is treacherous in good weather and the snow makes it deadly to even those with perfect vision."
He allowed himself to be led across the field, until he could smell and hear a horse. A very large horse.
Again with the misery. These things he had not considered, simply because he never though to leave the dungeon alive. And now that the dungeon was gone, and he was free, he wondered if he was more or less a prisoner than before.
But someone, somewhere, had seen fit to send him a second chance on a summer wind. Whether the wind boded ill or fortune, he would not question now. He let go of the hand that had guided him and reached out to feel the horse. This he had done hundreds of times, morning noon and night. Taking a deep breath he made himself move, and managed to mount the horse.
A moment later the man with the summer voice mounted behind him and took the reigns, clicking softly.
Unsettling, to ride when he could not see. He felt he could live for decades and never grow used to his new half life. His exhaustion hit him hard, abruptly, every fiber of his body screaming in abject pain. Dizzily he wavered in his seat, but then a strong arm wrapped more firmly around his waist, and pressed him back against a wide, massive chest.
"It is hard," he said quietly. "To accept help from one of those who took my eyes."
"I am nothing like him." The summer voice took on a winter edge, the contempt and hate so deep it startled him into silence. "You are one more trangression for which he will someday pay. If I thought my apologies worth anything, I would offer them. But for what it's worth, I am not an enemy. I am a comrade."
"Are we safe enough that I might know your name?"
"That is a hard question to answer, actually. A name is a precious thing in Salhara, this of course you know."
"Yes."
"There are two stigma which can be inflicted upon a person, to make it clear they are not worthy of anything but the lowest of servitude. One, of course, is to be Nameless. In being Nameless, a person will do anything to earn a name. Because to be Nameless in our society--"
"Is to not exist," he said softly.
"Exactly. But the second stigma is to carry several names."
"Why is that a stigma?"
"Because the only thing worse than not having an identity is to not know what your true identity is - too many names and you no longer know who you are. This is the stigma given to criminals enlisted to help with the war as spies. Spies must have several names, several identities, and given that one of Salhara's greatest enemies is a nation of deception…to be a spy is a contemptible thing."
"So you were once a criminal?"
"No, actually." The summer laugh turned slightly bitter. "My father was, but he went and got himself killed before they could arrest him. I was made to take his punishment, to prevent my following in his footsteps."
How curious, this rescuer of his. "So what should I call you? Stranger?"
"The Krians know me as Lord Grau, and it is to that country we journey. I have duties there, and by their laws I will gain you a chance to recuperate. Your people, or at least the Illussor with whom I communicate, call me Spiegel.
He gasped. "I have heard of you…but most think it a grand lie. That a Salharan would betray his own to side with the Deceivers.
"It is no lie. And here, Captain Iah - for of course I know you, though we've never met - I will try to earn your trust. For only my Seven Star brothers know the stigma I carry. The rest of Salhara knows me as General Sol deVry."
Iah nodded. "I recall you. Silver hair, eyes like the sun."
"Polluted eyes."
"I thought Salhara worshipped its artificial magic like most do gods."
"It does," Sol said in a soft voice laced with pain. "I would like to change that. Not all of us are lost to the colors of magic."
Iah felt exhaustion overtaking him again, and allowed himself to relax against the general. Though his mind still rebelled at trusting a Salharan, his instincts were quiet - they feared nothing. Iah was willing to trust them. It was not as though he had a choice, really. "Thank you, General, for rescuing me. I don't know why you did it, but I appreciate it."
"I did it because I will need you. Do you recall why you fought the battle against the Scarlet?"
"Yes," Iah whispered "It was because General Lysam thought we'd found the Breaker." And the General was dead from Screaming, and they'd gained nothing by it. A wasted death like all the others. But if he thought of his men and his comrades now, he would lose what remained of his control.
"You might have. He was the personal prisoner of General von Adolwulf. He lives still, though I know not where. But Tawn, bastard that he is, will find him and bring him to me. And then you can tell me for certain if he is indeed the Breaker."
Iah refused to believe it was possible, that their goal was so close as that. "And then what?"
"And then we will take him to the Prince, and gods willing he will Break."
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Date: 2005-07-10 02:49 am (UTC)Can I take Iah home? Cause man, I thought I loved Nameless, but he is just as loveable if not more so. I loved that you wrote that part of the scene from his perspective and did it without him being able to see. (Squee! A summer voice! Best description ever. More so because I thought Sol was incredibly creepy up until the point where you revealed he was the summer voice that had rescued Iah.)
Your imagination fucking rocks, man.
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Date: 2005-07-10 02:59 am (UTC)Sol is the one that took me by surprise. I totally thought he was just going to be nasty spy in competition with Tawn - but he's looking to be pretty damn cool.
I know nothing about being blind, so I hope that scene was adequate. I feel so bad doing that to him, but Tawn didn't really give me a choice.
Thanks ^_^ Glad my frazzeled brain is good for something.
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Date: 2005-07-10 04:03 am (UTC)"Thank you." Sol drank the liquid in one swallow. He swayed for a moment, feeling nauseous, as the cleanser began to take effect."
Extra " there.
Oh, and I especially like how Tawn was teasing Sol earlier because I thought it was cool to finally find out why Sol was so sensitive about his names. :) Plus I think no matter what you write, as long as you're writing, it's good. You'll finish things eventually and since everything you write rocks so much you'll get whatever you finish and send away published and you won't have to work for Ikon ever again. The end <3
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Date: 2005-07-10 04:09 am (UTC)Though now it's like a hurricane OF LOVE.
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Date: 2005-07-10 07:29 am (UTC)You're taking revenge for all those mental images, aren't you? ;_;
(That is to say, "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. <3")
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Date: 2005-07-10 09:13 am (UTC)*runs for it* (Not to mention that I'm going to be all ;_; at you. :P)
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Date: 2005-07-10 12:07 pm (UTC)LMAO.
Let me see if I can get to Midsummer today. No promises, as I have no control over what my brain latches onto, but I'll try.
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Date: 2005-07-10 12:08 pm (UTC)Revenge? Me? I would never.
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Date: 2005-07-10 12:29 pm (UTC)I'm really liking this one. Can't wait to see what happens with the newly-named boy and the General.
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Date: 2005-07-10 01:10 pm (UTC)Should be 'breaths'; 'breathes' is the verb.
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Date: 2005-07-10 01:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-10 01:57 pm (UTC)Yaaaaaaaaaaay~ At the moment, "try" is all I'll ask for. ^^;
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Date: 2005-07-10 01:59 pm (UTC)I really like this story. I'm interested in seeing where it goes. At first, I wasn't sure what to think of Sol, but I like him more to know he's willing to be honest to Iah.
*love, love, love*
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Date: 2005-07-11 05:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-11 05:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-12 03:51 pm (UTC)^_^ Thanks!
It amuses me to be writing about a country of drug addicts.
And much icon love.
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Date: 2005-07-12 03:52 pm (UTC)Thanks for letting me know -_-;; I'll try to fix it tonight.
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Date: 2005-07-12 04:52 pm (UTC)You
havewrite such great characters! =Dno subject
Date: 2005-10-15 11:02 pm (UTC)Spiegel! Spike! :ahem:*___* Don't surpose there is more squiriled away...?
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Date: 2005-10-15 11:07 pm (UTC)Only the scrawly, hesitant beginning of chapter two (and a rough write of the very end, which you can't see yet). But don't worry, if I fail completely at getting it published (b/c that' what I'm hoping to do when its done) I'll post it for all the 'net to see ^_~
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Date: 2005-10-15 11:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-15 11:18 pm (UTC)Guilty as charged ^_~ And I'll make sure you lot get it.
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Date: 2005-10-15 11:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-15 11:24 pm (UTC)Cash, chocolate, fics and porn are all acceptable legal tender.
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Date: 2005-10-16 02:39 pm (UTC)And do your best to make sure they do a good front cover. :pet peeve: Though I know authors don't often get the choice. ^___^
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Date: 2005-10-16 02:51 pm (UTC)*grin*
Oh this author is going to have a say. For one thing no one is drawing any of those stupid looking people that look nothing like the chars in the story. I'd prefer to just stick with a relevant symbol, or something like Dieter's Sword and the brotherhood star or something...(my, can you tell I spend too much time daydreaming and not actualy writing?)
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Date: 2005-10-17 08:02 pm (UTC)That's a good idea that, or have more of a landscape picture with little little people.... Lol. Show the scope of the thing. XD;
(and it's gunna be a signed book right? ^__-)