Alastair Archibald: Dragonblaster

"S-sergeant Erik, Sir!” The boy's voice was little more than a whisper.

Without a further word, Shakkar went in search of the Sergeant, vowing that he would have somebody's head for this.

With sudden panic, Drexelica awoke to a blast of cold on her face. Opening bleary, gummed eyes, she dimly saw a black-clad figure standing over her with a dripping wooden bucket. It took her a few moments to orient herself, but her aching, burning limbs soon reminded her of where she was.

She was in Rendale Priory, a prisoner of the Sisters of Divine Serenity.

"I trust you slept well, bitch,” the Sister hissed. “I just want you to know that you've had it easy up to now. Today, it gets worse; much worse."

Shivering, Drex pulled her now-ragged gown around her in an attempt to preserve her modesty. Her bones protested at the movement, screaming in outrage at the depredations that had been visited upon them.

"Why are you doing this to me?” she croaked, her throat parched.

A whistling sound was soon followed by a sharp, hot pain that bloomed in her shoulders and spread through her abused body. This was a pain she could resist; she was used to such beatings.

"You call me ‘Sister Melana', slut,” her looming companion yelled. “Don't forget that again, or it will be the worse for you."

"Why are you doing this to me, Sister Melana?” she replied, only to feel the unwelcome attentions of the lash again.

"You forgot to say ‘Please', Supplicant; we of the Score expect politeness at all times. You were also impertinent. I won't tolerate that, ever."

I'll kill her; I swear I will. Her bitch mistress, too.

Despite her inner defiance, Drex knew she could not endure a full day of open resistance and punishment. It might be better to go along with these madwomen for the time being.

Perhaps it's best to be a good little girl for a while. I'll play their twisted little game for a while until I learn the rules, and then they won't know what's bloody hit them.

"I'm sorry, Sister,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Please tell me why you are doing this to me."

"That's better, by-blow. You're here to learn discipline; real discipline. The Reverend Mother, beloved of our Order, wants to use you in some scheme or other, and I'm not about to try to stop or question her. She ordered me to ensure you're not permanently marked, but you'd be surprised how much pain I can inflict without marking you. Suffice it to say that I'm going to do all I can to make the lady happy; I'm not eager to make her angry, and neither should you be; and remember: I don't like you. That's all you need to know."

The nun leaned close to Drex and leered. “By the way, don't even dream about trying to play me false, or I'll pluck those pretty blue eyes right out of your head with my own fingers, slut. Right now, you're mine, and don't forget it."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Sister Melana!” Drex tried to act innocent, but the hateful whip descended again on her burning back.

"Don't even try to be clever with me, whore!” Melana's words dripped with hatred. “I'm going to be handing you over to some eager, ambitious Acolytes later on, and you'll find that they're quite keen to show the Prioress just how inventive and imaginative they can be. Right now, we need to get you washed and properly clothed; you're due to see the grand dame Lizaveta in twenty minutes."

Drex, despite her discomfort, suppressed a smile. Melana seemed dissatisfied with her assignment, and she appeared none too fond of Lizaveta, either. Perhaps this might be turned to advantage when the time was right.

"Whatever you say, Sister Melana.” She lowered her head in supplication, her voice low and tremulous.

Let them think I'm cowed and frightened; let's see the lie of the land first.

Drexelica felt awkward and constrained in her new, starchy, white habit. The crisp wimple restricted her view to a small circle, and she began to tremble as she approached the Prioress's chamber.

She's going to flay me alive! She's going to beat me until my bones show through my skin! I'm lost! she told herself over and over, working herself into an access of terror. Drex did not want Lizaveta to see her inner defiance, and she knew the best defence would be an aura of fear; even as a lapsed novice with no more than two years’ teaching in Geomancy, she knew well enough how to hide her true aura.

As she entered the bare room, she saw Lizaveta perched on her polished throne, much as she had been on the previous night. It seemed to Drex more as if it had been a decade ago.

"Greetings, Supplicant.” The Prioress’ unpleasant, abrasive voice almost made her want to scratch herself.

"On your face, bitch,” Melana hissed, forcing the girl to the hard floor. “Lower your eyes before you respond to your superior."

Drexelica obeyed the Sister, trying to portray the image of demureness.

"Greetings, Reverend Mother,” she whispered to the floor, as if she had lost all defiance.

"Have you had any problems with our new Supplicant, Sister Melana?"

"She was an insubordinate little slut at first, Reverend Mother, but I think she is beginning to see the error of her ways. It will take much more training, but I do not believe she is as strong as she pretends."

"That is excellent!” the Prioress crowed. “Now, Supplicant Drexelica, I do not want you to think that we are unnecessarily cruel here. We want only the best for you, and for us. Do you truly believe that?"

"Y… yes, Reverend Mother.” Drex kept her head lowered.

"However, my dear, we will tolerate no deviation from our plan. Do you now acknowledge your fealty to the Order?"

Drex realised this was a trick question. If she answered too quickly in the affirmative, Lizaveta would suspect she was lying, and this would surely bring another round of Melana's unwelcome attentions. There seemed to be only one way out of this.

"I don't know, Reverend Mother,” she wailed, allowing tears to run from her eyes as she dared to look up at the woman. “What do you want me to say? I hurt so much that I don't know what to think! Please help me, Reverend Mother!"

From Lizaveta's expression, the girl knew she had responded correctly.

"I want you to say what you feel, Supplicant, and you appear to have done so. This is good. The acknowledgement of uncertainty is the first step to enlightenment."

Lizaveta turned to Sister Melana. “For the new Supplicant, I recommend a day of standard training in the lore and customs of the Order. No punishments beyond Level One, unless the Supplicant truly warrants it, in which case I shall demand proof of the transgression in the form of sworn testimonies. Let us show her that we are reasonable folk who wish only for her spiritual advancement."

"As you command, Reverend Mother, it shall be."

Drex noted the sour expression on Melana's face, even if the Prioress did not. The Sister would be a handful, suspicious as she was, but, as a former street vagabond in the almost feral town of Griven, the unwilling Supplicant felt more than able to allay the disaffected nun's vague suspicions. Drex had lived on her wits for most of her life.

Should I thank the wizened old shrew for her bounteous mercy? No, the cow would never believe that-at least, not yet…

Instead, Drex lowered her forehead to the floor, as if inviting a headsman's axe. The cool stone comforted her, easing the dull ache in her head.

She would prevail; these people had no concept of the resilience of a Grivense street-child! They were blind, and she would have them fooled in no time.

"Take Supplicant Drexelica to a training room,” Lizaveta intoned, “and train her in the First Principles of the Order. Remember: use no disfiguring or disabling punishments, or you will answer to me. Is that understood?"