...

"What do you know about Lord Ambrose?"

“Nothing… I know anything, until yesterday"

"Why are the houses moving troops into the city?"

"I don't know anything about any of that",

Elrik's voice sounded ragged even in his own ears

"Are you working for house Vimara?"

"No. I don't know anyone from house Vimara. I'm just a corporal in the city watch"

Elrik closed his eyes and felt the throbs of pain dance through his body. It felt like a kind of internal sonar, like submarines had back on earth. He felt the little pings of pain - his leg, his ribs - the injuries echoed through him - letting him know they were still there.

Then the angry red throbs of his finger.

The air was dank. Elrik knew, distantly, that it stank of sweat and the rusty dark scent of blood, that hung stale in the air.

"Are you working for house Akela?"

"I'm just a watchman, my captain asked me to work with Akela's son"

"Are you working for house Swaingriud?"

"I'm just a watchman..",

Elrik's answer came out in a tired whisper, "I'm just a watchman"

But the questions kept coming

...

The sallow faced man sat perched on a little wooden stool. He had the stool pulled up close, right by the table that Elrik was strapped to, so he could catch every last word.

His pockmarked face was always expressionless, wooden.

In a dull monotone, he read off a piece of parchment, droning on, asking the series of questions.

"When did you first meet Sherlot Akela?"

"A week? Two weeks now? I’ve told you this"

"What does the watch know about Lord Ambrose?"

“Nothing. Nothing in the records I’ve seen anyway. Just like I said last time. Or the time before”

But the sallow faced man was already on to the next question.

He was like a little wind up machine man. Mechanically asking each question from his little list on the piece of parchment he held in one hand. After each question, he would bend down and write down the answers that Elrik gave, on his other piece of parchment. Then he would ask the next question.

He wouldn’t answer Elrik questions, talk to him, or say anything else. He didn’t look at Elrik, or look anywhere else but the pieces of parchment.

He would just read from the parchment, asking the next question and the next and the next. He would write down what Elrik said with a simple charcoal pencil.

Over and over and over again.

Until he didn’t.

Until he came to the end of the questions.

"No more questions? Come now!", Elrik shouted out, "Give me something new!"

But of course, the sallow faced man ignored him.

There was a small chest of drawers, just a little out of reach, looking out of place in the dungeon. The sallow faced man carefully got up and put away the pieces of parchment.

He walked over to the wall, where a set of aprons hung. Then he picked up one of the aprons and wore it, taking care to tie the strings of it about himself.

Then he walked back and open the other drawer in the small cabinet, and drew out a small, roughly made pair of pliers, and sat back down next to Elrik.

"You don't have to do this"

The protest came out despite himself. Elrik had sworn to himself, sworn, that he wouldn't do this. He’d told himself he wouldn’t protest or beg or give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.

But here he was

"You don't have to do this again! I've already answered all your questions! Every single one of them, thrice over! Don't do this!", Elrik hated how his voice rose in pitch as he shouted.

The man's pockmarked visage could have been carved from dull stone, for all the effect Elrik's words had on him. He stared down at Elrik's injured hand, then shifted, pulling his stool a little closer.

"Fuck you!", Elrik's voice rose, "You motherfucker! Stop!"

Painstakingly, the sallow faced man took Elrik's bound hand and placed the pair of pliers so that they gripped the nail of his ring finger.

Despite himself, Elrik could feel the fingers of his bound hand scrabbling, as if trying desperately to escape their fate. He felt his back arch in anticipation of the pain. His lips curled viciously back.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"Stop it! STOP IT! DON'T YOU DO IT! I'LL FUCKING MURDER YOU! I'LL FUCKING MURDER YOU, YOU FILTHY PIECE OF SHI-"

When the pair of pliers gripped, twisted and tore the nail from his finger, Elrik's shouting was cut off by the roar that tore itself from his throat

[Warning! Pain levels reaching threshold!]

[Warning! Pain levels exceeding threshold!]

[Warning! Shock is highly likely!]

"FUCK! FUCK! FUCKING JESUS MARY JOSEPH CHRIST! I WILL RIP YOU APART YOU FUCKER! I will.. I will"

Elrik's breath left him all at once and he felt himself collapse back onto the table.

"Fuck.." that last one came out in a near whisper

The sallow faced man, carefully pulled out a piece of cloth and wiped down the pliers. Then pulled open the drawe and put away the tool.

Then, he got up walked over to the wall, untied the apron strings and hung the bloody apron on the wall.

He turned and walked back to the stool, still at that same patient pace.

He stopped at the drawers, taking out the sheaf of parchment and his charcoal pencil that he'd put away earlier.

Then he sat down, scrupulously adjusting the stool so he could hear Elrik better.

Then he started again.

For the third time.

"What do you know about Lord Ambrose?"

...

Green eldritch characters danced across Elrik's screen.

Elrik glanced down at his hands, examining his fingers. Then he looked down at the rest of his body. He looked good as new. Immaculate.

Nothing hurt.

"They're going to kill you"

El sat in an armchair, watching him. Elrik's mirror self looked, well, just like him. He was dressed in his usual get-up - black tee and a hoodie - with cartoonishly pointy ears. El's face was entirely devoid of any humor now.

Elrik spoke evenly, ignoring the remark, "How long before I passed out? It’s a bit of a haze"

El shrugged, "You got through four rounds of questions. Your left hand's a bit of a mess... They're dragging you back now, to another cell. I think it'll be a few hours before they come back for more. They’ll probably let you rest, then start fresh"

He watched Elrik for a minute, a strange expression on his face, before he spoke again.

"You know, they're just going keep taking pieces off you. Asking the same questions, again and again and again.

They don’t really think you have much more, they just want to sure. Protocol.

They’ll keep going until your body gives out from shock. Or until they get tired of it. Either way they're just going to dump you in the Yitka in a week"

Elrik sighed. He just sat there, in his comfy office-chair going round and round, examining himself. He was still marveling at the absence of pain. It was something he'd always taken for granted, but in this moment it felt like.. like a miracle. Like all of his wishes granted.

He looked up at his mirror self, "Do you think I don't know that?"

El frowned, "I don't know.. do you?"

Elrik's expression hardened, "You think I'm.. what? Doing this to myself? Not escaping from this place because I don't want to?".

He felt his jaw clenching, "Do you think I like getting my fingernails ripped out?"

El rolled his eyes, "I'm you, asshole. I know every thought in your head. You think I don't know what you're thinking? What you’re thinking right now?"

Elrik dropped his gaze, not meeting El's eyes. When he spoke his voice was a whisper, "The second soldier, in the passageway, behind the tavern. She had a mole. On the left side of her face. The rest of the description matches too. She was.. She was Sesara. The Swaingriud girl. And I killed her"

The elven eared mirror-him got up from the armchair and started to pace as he talked.

He shrugged, "Yeah. The girl we were looking for turned out to be a brainwashed soldier. Or mind-controlled.. or something. Whatever the deal is with this Ambrose guy. She rushed you in that dark passageway and you defended yourself. Big whup."

Elrik's knuckles tightened as he gripped the arms of his chair.

"I killed her. I killed the person I was supposed to protect. Again."

When El spoke, his voice was soft, "So.. what? You think you deserve to be tortured to death for that? Because you defended yourself in a dark hallway?"

Elrik closed his eyes, "Sesara.. Sara.. Agrisu.. Yena.. Lacaani..

I just.. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't belong here. Or anywhere. All I do is get people killed. Maybe I'm better off gone."

There was ice in El's voice, "You're better off gone? That's what you have?"

"You know what? Fine. Die"

Elrik opened his eyes to see El standing there, holding out a hand to him. In his hand was what looked like a gun.

"Go on", El's inflection was flat, "go ahead. Put yourself out of your misery."

Elrik stared back at him.

"Go on", El pushed the gun at him, waving it near his face, "Take yourself out of the equation. Put a metaphorical bullet in your head. Maybe I'll have a go at living your life instead"

Elrik looked down. He ran his fingers through his hair, letting his head fall into his hands.

El sneered down at him, "You think Agrisu's death was your fault? You think Sara was? You think this Sesara girl would be doing peachy if you weren't around?"

El turned and threw the gun across the room, it hit a wall and clattered to the ground.

He continued, "Did you forget what happened that day? Did you forget who was really responsible for Sara? Did you forget what you promised yourself that day?“

Elrik whispered almost inaudibly, half to himself, “The strong do what they can.. and the weak suffer what they must. And I promised I'd remember.. weakness is a sin."

El's tone was gentle, "That's right. Earth, Aruth.. it's all the same in the end. Power.

Power moves the world. Vimara, Akela, the dirty bastards on Sand Hill road.. whoever this asshole Ambrose is.. They sing the tune and the rest of us dance.

The only difference is here and now - you have a chance."

El crouched down now, to look Elrik in the eye.

"You landed here, in this strange place - with magic and wizards and druids - and you have a cheat code. The life expectancy for the average peasant in this world is what - twenty? This place runs on swords and cows - and you're walking around with a supercomputer in your brain"

"What have you been doing, here, on Aruth, this whole time? You've been running around this city for half a year, playing watchman. You've been following this precocious little lordling, with 'my lord' this and 'my lord' that.

Why? For some captain of the watch to give you a medal? To fit in?"

Elrik smiled ruefully then, at El, "I thought this place would be different. I wanted this pace to be different. I wanted to try"

El stared back, "Well. You tried. Look where that got you."

Look at where that got him...

Elrik got to his feet.

He felt a quiet fire alight somewhere inside him.

Strength. Power.

He'd made a promise to himself once. A long time ago, when he'd had a chance to see the real face of the world laid bare. When he'd lost his best friend - by being too naive - too trusting - and too weak.

He'd promised himself he'd never commit that most cardinal sin again - the sin of being too weak.

It was time to keep his promises.