David Wells - Linkershim

Anja nodded. “I’ll try to do better.”

“Good,” he said, turning to the men watching the exchange. “We’re a few minutes ahead of them but we still need to be quiet.” He opened the door to the Wizard’s Den and everyone filed out.

It wasn’t especially cold, but the rain fell steadily. By midday, they were miserable. By dark, they were exhausted and shivering. The warmth and safety of the Wizard’s Den was a welcome reprieve from the elements.

When Alexander opened the door the following morning, he was relieved to find that the pirates were nowhere to be seen.

He’d spent the better part of the previous day trying to formulate a plan, and in every course of action that he considered, the first step was to elude their pursuers. With that urgent task accomplished, he could start focusing on getting these people safely to Ruatha.

They set out moving farther inland through the rugged foothills of the coastal range. It wasn’t long before the sensation of danger flooded into Alexander’s mind.

“Threat!” he shouted, taking cover behind a tree and stretching out with his all around sight. What he saw made him catch his breath. He’d walked them into an ambush. A hundred or more pirates lined the ridge to the right of the trail and the only place they could go was into the ravine to the left of the trail.

Before he could react, Tyr’s wizard cast a spell. A blue sphere only an inch in diameter streaked into Alexander’s group and froze in space for a fraction of a moment before almost instantly expanding to a diameter of fifty feet, blowing everyone away from the center point of the spell, sending men flying into the woods, breaking small limbs off nearby trees and hurling loose rocks and branches in every direction.

The last thing Alexander remembered before plunging into the dark oblivion of unconsciousness was the sound of the wind in his ears as he flew through the air.

He woke slowly, confusion and pain competing for his attention. He was being carried over the shoulder of a very large man. Reality and the severity of his situation slowly seeped into his awareness. His hands and feet were bound tightly, a gag cut into the sides of his mouth, and he hurt all over. Each hasty stride of the man carrying him jarred his body, revealing new bruises, each vying for his attention. He remained limp, reaching out with his all around sight, hoping to find something that he could use against his enemies but finding only confirmation that his predicament was indeed as bad as it seemed.

“Are you there, Little One?”

“Yes, My Love. Are you all right?” Chloe’s voice was fraught with worry and fear.

“I’ve been better. What’s happened?”

“We were ambushed. The wizard’s spell knocked everyone down and then they were on us.”

“The Stone … did they take it?”

“No. Jack told me to hide it in the aether along with your belt pouch. It’s in …”

“Stop. Don’t tell me. If I don’t know, they can’t make me tell them. Where are Jack and Anja?”

“Anja was taken, but Jack got away. He’s following in the forest.”

“Good. What about Kalderson and his men?”

“The pirates left them when their scout reported that Lancers were coming.”

“How long have I been out?”

“About an hour. What are we going to do, My Love?”

“I’m not sure yet, Little One.”

The pirates entered a clearing and Tyr called a halt. The man carrying Alexander flopped him onto the ground, insulting his bruises and reigniting his agony. He moaned slightly, trying to rein in his pain, not willing to let his enemies see even a hint of weakness.

“He’s awake,” the pirate said, rolling him onto his back with his boot.

Tyr stepped up next to Alexander, looking down at him with a mixture of malice and triumph. “You put up quite a fight. I have to say, I’ve never faced an adversary quite as resourceful as you.”

Alexander ignored him, focusing instead on the pain, taking it in and enduring it, facing it in order to master it, setting it aside and regaining his composure and some measure of control over his wounded body.

“Set them up against that tree and build a fire,” Tyr snapped to his men. “Where’s my scout report?”

Alexander let his head loll forward as he was propped up against the tree, feigning exhaustion and despair, an easy enough task given his circumstances. They put Anja next to him … she was still unconscious and bound much more tightly than he was.

Tyr had about thirty men with him, including his wizard.

A man trotted out of the woods and stopped to catch his breath before giving his report.

“Well, where are they?” Tyr snapped.

“Still at the ambush site,” the man wheezed, breathing heavily. “You were right. Leaving the sailors alive gave us a good head start.”

Tyr snorted, muttering, “Idiots. We’ll rest and eat while we wait for the fire to burn down.”

His men spread out, some taking positions on the perimeter of their camp while others sat near the fire warming their hands.

“The coals are hot, Lord Tyr,” another pirate said after several minutes.

Tyr turned and looked at Alexander, smiling almost fondly as he drew his knife and buried the tip of the blade in the hot coals. “It won’t be long now,” he whispered, staring into the flames.

Alexander felt his soul quail for just a moment before he steeled himself to endure the coming torture.

“Little One?”

“Yes, My Love?”

“If I don’t survive this, promise me you’ll help Jack get the Sovereign Stone to Abigail before you join me in the light.”

“Don’t say such things. I can’t bear the thought of you dying.”

“Everything depends on the Stone. Promise me, please.”

“I promise,” she said very quietly in his mind.

Tyr withdrew the knife, the tip glowing orange. He walked slowly toward Alexander, turning the blade this way and that, kneeling in front of him and smiling as he laid it against Alexander’s forearm.

He tried not to scream, tried to control the agony, but it was so sudden and so intense that he simply couldn’t. His wail carried through the forest, and then the stench of burning flesh reached his nose and he vomited, choking on his own acid and bile. He lapsed into a fit of coughing and heaving that filled his already pain-wracked body with spasms of suffering.

Tyr sat back and watched Alexander try to regain control over his wounded body. “Do I have your attention?” he asked in the same tone one might ask another to pass the biscuits at the dinner table.

Alexander nodded, still trying to regain his composure.

“Good. I thought I might. You don’t have to suffer anymore. If you give me what I want, I will make sure that your journey to Phane is comfortable. If you don’t give me what I want, well …” He held up the still-glowing blade, turning it with suggestive malice.

“So, I’ve already recovered my sword,” he said, patting the hilt of the Thinblade at his hip. “But we didn’t find the Sovereign Stone, and quite honestly, I think Phane actually wants that more than he wants your head. Tell me where it is and we can be on our way … and all of this unpleasantness will end.”

“I don’t know where it is,” Alexander said, clenching his teeth in anticipation of the pain he knew his answer would bring, and he wasn’t wrong. Tyr slapped the hot blade against his forearm again, this time an inch from the first burn. Alexander tried to scream, but he couldn’t draw breath, the pain paralyzing him, overwhelming his senses and threatening to undo his sanity. Then he found himself floating over his body, his limp form slumping over into his own vomit.