Secrets of Arkana Fortress (9 page)

              A rat scuttled across her feet. She recoiled and hunched herself up into a tight ball. No matter how long it had been – a few days or a week – this felt like an eternity.

              Thoughts of a warm bed and a hot meal kept her from the harshness of reality. She wished beyond anything else that she was back at home with her uncle enjoying a juicy steak with roasted vegetables or something; an aperitif for afterwards – heaven.

              She was roused from her forced reverie by the screech of the rusted hinges, the door opening again. Her dreary face, plastered with dried tears and a dying sparkle, looked up. The watch commander entered with two guards at his side, the taller one holding a bowl of something or other.

              ‘I hear you’re not eating, Ms Ranliss,’ sneered the red-headed watch commander.

              She remained mute.

              ‘She ain’t much o’ a speaker, sir,’ said the guard holding the bowl.

              What the hell were they going to do to her? A few of the men had already made lustfully angered moves toward her that they soon regretted. She had made sure they wouldn’t be having children anytime soon. That had been the only amusement she had found in the midst of this dark atmosphere.

              ‘You’ve put three of my men into the infirmary already. This is necessary payback.’ He signalled the third guard to move in on her.

              She squirmed about in his metallic grip and let out a helpless scream. ‘Get the hell off me, scumbag.’

              The commander took the bowl in his hands and nodded for the other man to help restrain her. The tall guard grabbed her face with surprising agility, forcing her mouth open as he tilted her head back.

              ‘You see, Evie, the head honchos upstairs want you alive until the bitter end, so if you don’t eat you’re not going to be in a fit state when it comes to your torture in two days.’ He grunted out a baleful laugh as he spooned out a portion of some foul-smelling gruel. ‘Death by magic constriction is it? Worst possible way to go that is.’ He let out a sickly, guttural laugh that made her skin crawl.

              His words rang true; magical constriction was a painful way to go. Evie had only heard of it from her uncle and some other resistance members. It involved one of the feared magi executioners – people who were infused with a form of artificial death magic, much to the protests of the Academy of Praanoc. Constriction involved prolonged exposure to a set of powers that squeezed your entire body inside and out, giving the victims the feeling that they were being wrapped with razor sharp wires – an excruciating death that could last days or even weeks on end. People who were chosen to become executioners had to be of a certain background – they had to be the ones who had had their magic removed from them; people who had not had a choice in the matter of their future when they were younger than six years; people who desired the return of the abilities they had had ripped out of them. Their bodies had to be of this state – able to take the stresses and strains of magical infusion, but be empty of any active arcane abilities so they could harness the full might of the magic.

Evie shivered at the thought of constriction. She struggled, her shoulders batting about wildly to no avail.

‘Open wide,’ whispered the watch commander as he forced the first spoonful of food down her throat.

***

‘It’s a nice place you’ve got here,’ complimented Mikos as he took a seat opposite the captain of the Donnol guard.

              He had reluctantly agreed to aid Dedrick in freeing his niece after seeing firsthand how effective the old man’s influence was. Word had reached him of a strong rumour that he was dabbling in the women and children slave trade network – a thought that made him feel sick to his stomach. He despised anything slavery, drugs, illegal magic trading, and other forms of underhanded dealings with a resolute passion. How he came to hear of the false rumours was suspect, but he was not one to take chances. Dedrick had allowed him to go around the daily markets dotted all over the districts, giving him the opportunity to speak with some of his trading contacts and acquaintances unaccompanied. Each one had heard the exact same thing, and when asked if they knew Dedrick they shook their heads with unwavering honesty. This troubled Mikos to a point where his forehead was slick with sweat.

              And so here he was in the captain’s study with instructions to lift a floor plan of the jail complex. When Dedrick’s niece was suitably safe he had been promised that the rumours would disappear. Going along fully with this would be the best thing for him to do in order to clean up his now tainted name, he thought.

              He shifted in the cushioned metal chair he had been shown while he watched the captain pour a couple of cups of hot tea out of a solid silver tea service – very posh. In fact the whole room was decorated extravagantly for a Donnol guard office. Paintings of various landscapes and portraits lined the walls, a detailed set of oak shelves housed books and papers, the floor was covered with a fancy dark red shag carpet that looked far-eastern as well as expensive, the captain’s desk was made of some form of exotic stone laced with metal outlines – it was all so grand.

              ‘I’m glad you like my little office,’ the captain said gratefully.

             
Little?
It was like a well-lit miniature palace on the top floor compared with every other room in the building. Mikos took the tea and cradled it on the saucer as it steamed up in front of his face like a smoking wreck. How the hell was he going to pull this off? He had been surprised that the captain had agreed to see him in the first place. The captain was supposedly meeting the man who helped apprehend a wanted criminal so it was obviously worth his time and money.

              ‘So, Mr Valdera,’ began the captain after sipping his hot beverage. He looked at Mikos through deep-set black eyes that lay underneath a broad brow and a mass of neck-length brown hair. There was something about his expression that did not ring all-together true. ‘I’m glad to meet the person who helped my men finally capture that elusive fugitive Evie Ranliss.’

              ‘I was just in the right place at the right time, and purely by chance, sir,’ said Mikos with a forced smile on his face.

              The captain placed his cup on the table and waved his hands in front of him. ‘Please, call me Captain Orellok.’

              ‘
A man who still wanted to be called by his position and not his first name – predictable,
’ Mikos thought to himself as he took a glug from his drink and nodded with acknowledgement. ‘Thank you, Captain Orellok.’

              ‘So…’ The captain leaned back in his reclining chair, made of hardwood and expensive leather padding, and brought his hands up contemplatively in front of his face. ‘You asked for a meeting so we could discuss something?’

              ‘Ah, yes.’ Mikos adjusted his seat again. ‘Well, as you know I am a man of money and profit, being a trader of course, and I know this might make me seem a bit despicable but…’ He paused as the captain raised a hand while he stifled back a knowing smile.

              ‘A reward? A little something to go your way? Something like that is it, Mr Valdera?’ Orellok rocked slightly back and forth, his gaze burning with mystical presence.

              This was a game – of course. If he thought of it like this then he could get somewhere.

Mikos leaned back into his chair, not easily, and returned the captain’s stare as if it were a ball in a game of batting. ‘Exactly that, my dear captain,’ he replied, a still coolness now settling into his mannerisms.

              ‘I suppose a small fee would be appropriate,’ the captain remarked thoughtfully.

              ‘I have something else in mind to be honest with you captain; something that would benefit us both.’ Mikos rested his chin on his left hand and grinned a little. All he had to do was keep the man talking for long enough.

              ‘Oh really?’ Orellok now looked sceptical, his face changing from a welcoming smile to a distorted frown. ‘And what is it you offer?’

              Mikos leaned forward. ‘I’m a trader am I not? I noticed your classy tastes here in this room.’ He pointed to one of the paintings on the wall to the captain’s left. ‘I am unfamiliar with that representation though, but I can see that those are the brush strokes of a master.’

              Orellok glanced at it and sighed under his breath. ‘You know you could just be trying to impress me with all this talk.’ He swivelled around in his chair to face the painting then stood up. He wore a short fur jacket in deep blue with an emblem of some family crest on the back, a set of black breaches and boots. After holding up an indicating forefinger, he parted his lips, mumbling under his breath. ‘This is indeed the work of a master, but not a widely known one in these northern parts.’

              ‘They are the brush strokes of Viscount D’Loria of Traseken – a well revered artist who died a few years ago; murdered by all accounts,’ Mikos explained, tapping into his extensive knowledge.

              The captain’s head turned sharply, the surprise at the trader’s knowledge evident in his face. ‘I’m impressed. Not many people know of him – he’s more of a local legend than a global one. How do you know of him?’

              ‘I am quite the collector of antiquities and fine arts and crafts,’ Mikos began, his body becoming less tense. ‘I have a few paintings back at home which depict some landscapes across Salarias.’

              ‘Do you know anything about this particular representation?’ Orellok asked as he pointed to the painting, a vision of a giant scooping its way through the clouds while its feet trampled the land beneath.

              Mikos examined the picture from where he sat and eventually shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, no.’

              Orellok lifted the piece of art from its hook and took it to his seat. He rested it on his lap after sitting back down. ‘The only painting of the god Seegus to ever be done; he was the god of curiosity and adventure. There are many interpretations of him in the ancient texts of the scholars, but this is the one that was chosen by the Viscount.’ Orellok looked up at Mikos then placed the painting at the side of his chair. ‘Seegus, in this picture, was searching the skies supposedly for another god; a friend or lover, we don’t know; and his journey took him all across Salarias and beyond to the far reaches of non-Salarian lands. He battled creatures of the sky and won. Eventually his quest led him to a void, a magical one by all accounts.’

              Mikos slid forward in his chair, genuinely enthralled by this piece of mythological history. It also helped with his façade to engage his opposition so intently. ‘A magical void?’

              ‘Yes. It was not an easy task, but he found a magician behind it all and crushed him in his hand. This was where magic was first discovered according to the texts. The last note about Seegus was about how he found out that his friend or lover had never existed; that the magician had fooled him with visions of delight for so long then broke his heart in an attempt to topple him. Seegus held the magician in his hand and asked him why, but the crushed little man’s body glowed and disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a weeping god.’

              ‘An amazing little story,’ Mikos complimented. ‘You certainly have a knack for storytelling, captain. It is exactly
this
sort of taste and knowledge I was hoping to appeal to – I can tell you’re a man of refinement at heart.’

              The captain placed the painting back onto the wall and perched on the corner of his desk, his face a picture, in itself, of one who had been freshly buttered-up. ‘You have my attention, Mr Valdera. Please, continue.’

              Mikos took this opportunity to stand up and walk around a little, his hands highlighting various objet d’art as he moved with a knowledgeable grace. ‘As I said, I am a collector of fine arts and crafts. You, Captain Orellok, are a kindred spirit. Tell me… do you go out and get these things yourself?’

              Orellok was statue-like in his reply. ‘Yes I do. What’re you getting at?’

              ‘I could save you the trouble there. I deal with items such as this…’ He held up a small figurine of a water nymph made out of a solid gold and ivory blend. ‘… on a daily basis. I have plenty of items sitting in storage just waiting for the right price to arrive.’

              ‘You have a lot of rare items for sale?’

              ‘They are not for sale to just anyone, Captain Orellok. I appreciate their value and will only sell to fellow connoisseurs, such as your good self.’

              Orellok looked to the floor, his eyes flickering over the posh carpeting with thought. ‘A tempting offer, certainly, but is that all?’

              Suddenly a hawk called from outside the window with an almost deafening screech and Mikos felt his heart slide down into his stomach. He regained himself and smiled at the man while shaking his head. ‘Not at all. To just any customer I would charge full price, however if you agree to take up a regular contract with my service then you would get first refusal on all high quality items that I come across at a generous 25 per cent discount. What do you say?’

              There was a moment of silence.