Брайан Макклеллан - Blood of Empire

It was during one of these pauses that he spotted Davd. The powder mage had made it all the way around to the opposite side of the fortress, clearly heading toward an unfinished tower that would give him the best vantage point. Davd sprinted across the battlements, carving his way through a small group of Dynize soldiers, catching them unaware.

Michel watched his progress until one of the Dynize spotted him. An alarm was raised quickly despite the overwhelming thunder of the artillery, and a great deal of attention shifted to Davd. The attention, he realized, was both a boon and a bane. It would allow Michel to sneak through more easily, but it may just have ruined their shot at killing Sedial before this could get any worse.

“Good luck,” he wished the powder mage, and descended from the wall toward the barracks below.

He was about halfway down when his head began to hurt. It was a stabbing pain, like the worst kind of hangover, and it made him stumble and nearly plummet from the ramps. He caught himself on the building, rubbing furiously at his temples. For the briefest moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. The confusion passed and he forced himself back to his feet, taking the descent with more caution.

The ramp turned at an alcove that led into a hallway in the outer wall. Michel paused, watching for guards, and then turned down the ramp. Or, at least, that’s what he’d intended to do.

Instead, he continued forward, walking down the hallway at a leisurely pace. The rest of his body still seemed to obey him – his head still turned, his arms worked – everything but his legs. Confusion grew to irritation, and then to concern, and then to panic all in the space of a dozen steps. His adrenaline kicked into overdrive as he fought with his own body, trying to get himself to turn around.

It was in vain. He continued down the hall guided by the light of the godstone until the hallway turned with the angle of the wall. He was presented with a door on his right, flanked by a pair of Dynize dragonmen. The two glanced at Michel curiously, and he tried to scramble backward, only to find that even his arms wouldn’t obey him anymore.

“He’s here to see me,” a voice called from within. Michel felt himself seized with fear as he finally realized what was happening. His body began to sweat and shake uncontrollably, and he strolled right between the two dragonmen and through the door.

It was a small room – meant to be a guard post, perhaps, or maybe an officer’s bedroom. It was occupied by a writing desk and a single stool, the latter of which was positioned beside a slit of a window that overlooked the inner fortress. Ka-Sedial sat on the stool, smiling pleasantly, head craned as he watched something that only he could see. Ichtracia sat on the floor behind him. She was still wearing the same vest and pants she’d had on four days ago. She was covered in bruises, her face a bloody mess, the left cheek marred by a burn scar that extended from her temple down the side of her neck. She wore a strange yoke – a wooden beam that ran behind her neck and held both of her arms up where her hands could be seen clearly. Each individual finger was locked separately in a tiny vise.

“Hello, Michel,” Sedial said pleasantly, turning away from the window. “You may have noticed that Ka-poel is no longer protecting you.” Michel’s eyes darted to the writing desk, where a vial of blood sat beside a purple, withered finger. His blood. His finger. His terror escalated beyond the ability for rational thought.

At his name, Ichtracia’s head rolled and her eyes flickered. A bit of drool trickled out of the corner of her mouth.

“She’s quite drugged,” Sedial said. “Helpless as a babe.” He brushed his fingertips across Ichtracia’s forehead, then briefly touched the yoke behind her shoulders. “The brace is just an extra precaution. What’s wrong, Michel? I’ve left you your ability to speak. No witty reply? No desperate plea to release Ichtracia?” Sedial grimaced, as if realizing how petty he sounded, and glanced back out the window. “I have to admit, when you popped back into the periphery of my senses, I was more than a little surprised that you were coming here . Well, maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise. You’re an arrogant little spy. The powder mage was a surprise… but my dragonmen will deal with him soon.”

Sedial slapped his knees happily and stood up, knuckling his back like an old man preparing for a walk in the park. “It’s almost time, my boy! You’re going to have a great honor, you know.” He grasped a leather cord, tugging it gently until Ichtracia shifted onto her knees and then climbed, awkwardly, to her feet. Her eyes were red and unfocused, and Michel felt his chest tightening with fear and anger at the sight of someone so strong brought so low. He suddenly turned without giving his body instructions to do so, and followed as Sedial led Ichtracia out into the hall.

“You seem to be in a very good mood for someone who’s about to be crushed by the Adran Army,” Michel said as they walked down the hall. It was the best jab he could muster, but it had no strength to it. His voice was dull. Defeated.

Sedial didn’t respond, heading out onto the ramp and descending to the inner fortress, Ichtracia following in a stupor, and Michel unable to do anything but tag along behind. He could sense the dragonmen take up position behind him, but when he tried to turn his head, he found that he could not. He prayed for the crack of Davd’s rifle and a magical bullet splitting Sedial’s skull. It didn’t come.

“We’ve caught up so much over the last few days, she and I,” Sedial said over his shoulder, giving a little tug to Ichtracia’s leash. “She says you’re in love with her. Is that true?”

Michel bit down on his tongue until a pressure deep inside his belly forced him to speak. “I don’t know.” A well of emotion followed the words and, if he’d been allowed, he might have begun to sob.

Sedial looked a little disappointed. “She’s fairly confident. You must at least care if you’ve come to try and fetch her. Ah, well. ‘Care’ is good enough for my purposes.” They rounded the inner keep that housed the godstone and paused beside the big doors while soldiers carried out another corpse, then proceeded inside. Unlike the rest of the fortress, the keep was pristine and orderly. There was no rubble or equipment. The floors and walls were polished white marble. There was nothing inside except the godstone and twenty or so attendants. A wide, bloody altar lay at the base of the obelisk.

Michel fought Sedial’s hold harder, calling out for Ka-poel in his mind. There was no answer.

Sedial stopped in front of the altar, a little frown on his face, blood pooling around his sandals. A blast shattered the air, and one of the gun towers fell silent. “They… you,” he said to Michel, “all think me a monster. It’s so strange to me. All I’m trying to do is impose order, and yet my enemies swarm like locusts.” He gave a little sigh. “It won’t matter in a few minutes. Up you go!” He prodded Ichtracia, forcing her up a little stepladder onto the blood-soaked altar. Michel thought he saw a flicker in her eyes and a twitch in her shoulders. He silently willed her to fight.

Instead, she lowered herself to her knees. One of the dragonmen climbed up beside her and carefully removed the yoke holding her arms and hands, then pushed her gently onto her back.

“She thought,” Sedial said as he watched the proceeding, “that I needed her blood to unlock Ka-poel’s hold on the godstone. I did need blood, quite a lot of it, but what I needed her for? Well, my granddaughter is no ordinary sacrifice. To open the godstone to me, the blood needs power . She has it in spades. She, Michel, is going to help me change the world. It’s a good death. Unlike yours.” He patted Michel affectionately on the shoulder and handed him a knife. “Up you go.”