Time passed through the fog of existence.
The Sun rose and fell many times. There were sunnier days. Most were grey and wet. Rain fell from the skies and much of that ran down the cold walls like rivers through the naked windowsill into a puddle under my bed.
There were times guards lifted the accursed circlet off my head, and accompanying a brief moment of freedom came unbearable headaches. I could not decide which was worse--the blunting of my mind, or the headaches. The merciful guards allowed me to eat and drink, which I did with a terrible hunger. Stale dark bread tasted exquisite and water from the wooden ladle invigorated me. It was as if I had not tasted anything so delicious for a long, long time.
While I ate the guards had their drilling eyes on my every move, their side swords drawn and pointed at my naked flesh. Had I done any misstep, I would have been cut down in this very cell, but I was now finally too exhausted to do anything else except for eating and sleeping. All I could remember from my captors were hateful stares and insults. They did not even bother to hide their disgust, and I sensed strongly they wanted nothing more but to punch the light from my eyes. The moment I had finished my meager meal, the circlet was put again over my temples, and I fell into the vile stupor again.
Healers came now and then to tend to the cut. They made quick work and left in a rush having achieved nothing remarkable, and always mumbling why the cut had not been healed. I tried to explain, but my words were wholly incomprehensible to them. And when I talked too much, the guards would slap me silent, and I complied.
I was nothing more than a vile creature to these silent people. Though I saw myself apart from the savages I had seen in that town, my captors seemed to judge me part of them, and regarded me with absolute disgust. I had no strength left to fight against their opinions.
Then, footsteps. I looked up--daytime.
The only times I ever heard steps anywhere close to my cell were when a healer came, or when the guards let me eat, drink and relieve myself into the bucket. They had emptied the bucket a single time, and I was happy it was lying under the window and not in the other corner.
This time, there were more steps and soon a brighter light shone through from under the doorframe. Then the heavy door opened with ease. This time, the rusty hinges did not creak, nor did it seem as heavy as before.
Many shadows entered my cell. I counted over five.
First, they studied me for some time, and then the same familiar hands pulled me up and sat me down, facing the three shadowy shapes a few feet away. And then, for the first time in many, many days, the cursed circlet was lifted off my head entirely.
My mind was scrambled at first as my thoughts organized themselves logically after a long time. The world was clear now, and I saw the bleak stone walls of my cell with alarming clarity. This place was old and worn. Many had been here before me and looking at the scratched door and dark red stains on the walls, they had not had a happy time.
Very quickly, though, my clarity was overtaken by a dull but all-encompassing headache, and many more, smaller pains all over my body.
I looked up and three were staring down at me.
On my right was the same woman who threatened to kill me when I was first brought here. Captain Dion was her name if my mind did not play tricks on me. She had on a clean coat this time, and no armor underneath it. She held a fine silvery lantern, oval-shaped and much brighter than the oil-fuelled one the guards used. And her right hand was continuously palming the spiraling handle of a sword. There was little but disdain in her eyes for me, and her aggression was only kept in check because they needed something from me.
The man on my left was also familiar. He was tall, but of average build, and unlike the Captain, he wore a matt chest plate of dark steel and a rough-looking coat on his shoulders with its collar turned down. He had dark, thick hair combed over and set in a bun behind his head. His eyes were dark and uncompromising, and his chin looked like it was unshaven for many days. I guessed he was the man who found me lying on the rubble - Warden Maore. And while Captain Dion had contempt for me, Maore looked down at me with downright hatred. It was almost like a pulsing heat which I felt as clearly as the piercing cold coming from the glassless window.
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But between them, in the middle, stood a man of average height and flabby round body shape, like someone who had lived a comfortable life.
He had a great gut stretching his long robes, and short and fat fingers he held against his chest. He neither had a weapon on him, nor was he wearing clothes meant for travel or combat, but more for a sitting-down job - the hem of his robe was shin-height and shining silky and with carefully woven yellow and orange patterns. Even his shoes were delicate and graceful, with a muted leaf-life pattern sewn in the top. But ignoring the fine garments, his eyes held back intelligence the other two on his sides did not have.
There was no doubt he was the one in command.
“So… This is him,” said the large man with confident calm.
“Yes,” the Captain replied.
“He looks as wild and brutish as you said. And he smells about as pleasantly as I expected,” he said and covered his nose with a checkered handkerchief.
“We’ve held him here for two weeks now. He’s been muted for the entire time.”
“You’ve kept him muted for two weeks?”
“Yes, Lord Commander. You should have seen what those savages did in Veneiea. My guards and Warden Maore wanted him killed outright. I thought we might as well interrogate him before that. We caught nobody else alive. He’s the only one.”
Warden Maore spoke out with spiteful poison in his voice: “You fucking animals killed ten of my trainees! And then you ate them! I should’ve put you down myself.”
“Warden!” the Lord Commander said firmly. “Leave us. Look into the Rasker case with Warden Regalla.”
“Yes, Commander!” Maore said, and muttered curses as he left with heavy steps.
“My name is Ardovar Verrier, Lord Commander of the Yasman Lodge,” he said, now addressing me. “You are in my prison and under my command to do as I wish. I will find out everything you know and tear from your mind all the deeds you and your kind did in Veneiea. And then, when there’s nothing left in that bestial mind of yours, I will let Captain Dion cut your throat. Do you understand?”
The Lord Commander spoke calmly, leaving no room to guess whether he was lying or telling the truth. And while his words I felt were true, and my life was indeed in his hands, my mind was so overly tired that my impending doom did not seem as real as it should have been.
After frowning his brow, the Lord Commander stared me down for a time. I felt a gentle breeze blow past, and a slight pressure behind my eyes, but pushed it away. Quick, his eyes wandered from my nakedness up and met mine. He recoiled, but held my gaze until I looked away.
I was beginning to feel overwhelmingly tired and in pain, and a weight pulled down on the cursed cut on my side. I could barely sit straight.
“Captain, this one is not as savage as you claim!” Commander Verrier said.
“My Lord?”
He kneeled down in front of me, but leaned away when he smelled my unwashed state and covered his nose again.
“Scribe, write this down: this man has odd scars all over his body, in some form of ritualistic fashion, and a fine web of tattoos on his torso, all over his shoulders and upper arms and on the back of his head and neck. Though the reports say that you saw in Veneiea odd symbols, but these do not seem to match those you found. Have you investigated that, Sofia?" But he did not wait for an answer. "And the shallow cut on his side has not healed during his time here, despite the efforts of my apothecaries. But Sofia, the look in his eyes tells me this man is not a savage. Does he look like a mindless beast to you?"
The ruthless Captain Dion sneered. “I would put him down like a rabid dog, Commander.”
The Lord Commander discarded her opinion with a snit. He stayed kneeling before me for some time, examining me and my scars, until he had exhausted his interest. And even though my strength was spent, I still could sense his potency and his psychic might. It was radiating enough for me to sense it in my weakened state, and I knew Ardovar Verrier was much more powerful than Captain Dion or Warden Maore.
Slowly the Lord Commander got up, sighed, and said to Sofia: “I'm afraid the Veneiea... incident will worsen. I'm sure of it. What happened there was unheard of, and I have Rainier, fucking, Pitties breathing down my neck over it. I need to finish a report soon."
“That impertinent…” Captain Dion said with contempt.
“What can I tell him, Sofia? What can I tell the Royal Advisor? That I don’t know what happened at Veneiea? I can’t. This is why you did good, Sofia, bringing this man here. I'll scour his mind for anything of use, and I will make sure to find something of use. But there's something to this man that I can't put my thumb on. Tomorrow... We shall see tomorrow."
He turned to me and said: “You have magical strengths, brute. I will keep you silenced until tomorrow. Then I will interrogate you myself. Captain...”
With no hesitation from Captain Dion, she took the circlet and forced it back against my temples. The headache disappeared, but also my thoughts, and fell into unconsciousness.