Bargaining Chip

Jistan held himself still with all the mental concentration he could muster. He resisted the urge to draw his sword or shuffle from foot to foot, instead attempting to mimic the calm, relaxed posture of the more experienced soldiers around him.

He was stationed in the supplementary force about a half mile outside of Ranteel. The main core of Mind Scythe along with about a hundred highly skilled soldiers were leading the main strike, punching holes in the borders of the barricade around Ranteel in order to let in the main body of soldiers. Jistan and the others waited for the signal-three sharp whistles-to call them to charge.

He could hear his heartbeat thudding, the sound echoing in his ears like distant drums. It was a frantic, pulsing rhythm, and it did not comfort him.

Distantly, he thought he could make out the sounds of conflict. Faint screams, the clash of weapons, the shouted commands. He flexed his hands briefly before relaxing the muscles, then allowed himself to shake his hands a couple of times, trying to release the tension in his body. It only made his fingers tingle.

Flames, I’m going to either pass out or throw up, he thought, suppressing another bout of dizzy nausea.

His dire thoughts were cut off as a sound pierced the air around him, followed by two more. The signal.

“Alright soldiers,” Captain Ragel bellowed. “March!”

Jistan’s group began to move as a coordinated unit, following the predetermined path. His group was attacking the eastern side, supporting Sackrin and Jaridin’s Mind Scythes as well as twenty-five elite soldiers.

He was positioned at the back of the formation, so his view of the city was obscured as they approached. He could hear the sounds of conflict, though, and Ragel shouted for them to prepare to fight. He fumbled at his sword, hands suddenly shaking. Oh, gods beyond, he thought. What is wrong with me? This isn’t my first battle. In fact, I wasn’t nearly this panicked then.

But this felt different. Here, he was at the center of Manicoti civilization. He would be surrounded by innocent civilians. Not only that, but the brutal nature of battle would demand the army use any means to succeed. If that meant trampling through houses, gardens, and markets, then so be it. Ranteel would not come out of this fight a winner, even if its army was victorious.

Before he knew what was happening, the front line of soldiers slammed into the enemy. Jistan felt a yelp die away in his throat. His mouth was too dry and he was too nervous for sound.

“Held steady, back ranks!” the rear captain, Eldrit, yelled. “Don’t crush the front ranks into the enemy.”

Jistan held his sword in white-knuckled fingers, hearing soldiers die just a few paces away, their backs to him and faces to the enemy.

They weren’t supposed to use Will from this position. Will was hard to aim unless you had a clear line of sight to the target or you knew who they were specifically. At least, that’s what everyone said.

Jistan ground his teeth together, pent up energy and anxiety rising to an unbearable level inside of him. He just had to follow orders. Fight when told to fight, stand when told to stand. Stay in ranks. Be alert for sneak attacks from behind.

He switched his sword to his other hand so he could flex and stretch his sword hand, which he had been clenching so tightly the muscles were stiff.

People continued to scream and die.

I can’t do it, he realized, feeling his shoulders sag. I can’t just stand here.

He quested out with Will, pushing past the Manicoti ranks and seeking the Kritons. He could feel the differences in their minds, somehow. The intent-the emotion of their Will-was different.

Since joining the Mind Scythes, his capacity to doll out mind strikes had increased dramatically. Where he had once been able to deliver a devastating blow to a single enemy at a time, he could now focus on up to five targets at once with the same level of power.

Or, he could send out a general pulse of Will, and slightly influence nearly everyone within a quarter mile radius, which was his current Will range. Will range was the upper limit of how far away someone could be for you to still affect them with a mind strike. Jistan’s was, according to Sackrin, unusually large. Greater than Sackrin’s, even.

Jistan attacked. The wave of Will that washed out from him seemed to flow like water, rushing out from him in streams and rivulets, moving around the rocks that were Manicoti and straight into the permeable Kriton minds.

The battle pivoted. Kritons stumbled or paused for just a split second, their attacks losing power mid-swing and their flowing movements faltering. The Manicoti did not hesitate. They took advantage of the moment with a disciplined sort of brutality, cutting the enemy down with sword strikes and mind strikes alike.

All around Ranteel, soldiers continued to fight. But in Jistan’s section, the Manicoti broke through to the city before the back ranks even needed to engage.

***

Aniah glared at the short woman as she dropped off her meal. No matter what Aniah tried, she couldn’t get the velching girl to say a single word. No amount of insults, threats, pleading, intimidating silence, or genuine questions managed to draw out even a peep. Perhaps she was a mute. Or an idiot. Probably not though.

Aniah flopped back onto her bed. This was ridiculous. She was the Heir to Manicot, the most powerful nation in the world. She shouldn’t have to deal with unruly peasants. At least that Flame-cursed Abicotta could’ve given her a decent servant.

“You know,” Aniah said loudly, glaring at the ceiling now. “When I was first captured, I imagined torture, or prison, or some sort of dark, terrible fate like that.” She raised one finger. “I have decided that this is far worse. I have been stripped of my pride and dignity and left to waste away. I have been insulted to the core of my identity, and treated as though I were less than refuse. I shall very much like to be thrown in prison now. Could you tell your King that for me? Assuming you talk to him, of course. Maybe this silence thing is a universal treatment.” Aniah sat up halfway to cast the girl another glare.

She was watching Aniah with a bemused expression, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. Aniah’s scowl deepened. This wasn’t funny. It was tragic, and depressing, and completely and inexplicably unfair.

“I’ll let him know.”

Aniah almost jumped. The woman had responded. Her voice was surprisingly deep, not unfeminine, but not what Aniah had expected at all.

“That’s what you respond to?” Aniah demanded, sitting the rest of the way up and throwing her hands in the air.

That faint smile played on the woman’s lips again as she turned to leave.

“Hey!” Aniah exclaimed. “Don’t you even think about it. Get back here! I’m not done with you.”

But she left without even glancing back.

***

“What in the names of each and every god is taking you so long?”

Noman Aluri bowed deeply. “Your Majesty. We simply do not know enough about his power to perform the procedure safely yet. It will take time.”

“Safely?” King Abicotta scoffed. “No one is asking you to keep the boy safe, Noman.”

“I’m not talking about his safety, your Majesty.”

“What, are you afraid something will explode?”

Aluri shook his head patiently. “Hardly, your Majesty.”

“Drop the formalities and get to the point, Noman.”

Aluri inclined his head briefly. “We are concerned that rushing that process could damage the product. We think it unlikely that the boy will survive the procedure, and that means that we would have no means of recreating the device. Seeing as we have no other viable subjects, I assumed you would want us to take care to ensure that this one chance works.”

Abicotta did not seem pleased, but he did appear to accept the explanation. “How much longer would you guess?”

“It depends on many factors. It could be as short as a few days, as many as another month.”

“That’s not what you indicated before,” Abicotta said, face darkening.

“There have been complications. First of all, the boy still refuses to talk. That makes it difficult to know what to test in the first place. Secondly, the power is completely foreign to us, especially since we don’t know what we are looking for. I promise, we are working as quickly as possible.”

Abicotta leaned forward on his throne just slightly, eyes flashing dangerously. “I see. For your sake, I hope that ‘as fast as possible’ is fast enough.”

Aluri bowed again. “I as well.”

“And what of the other problem?” the King asked.

Aluri frowned. “It seems our intelligence was correct. The Highness is as stiff and callous as purported to be.”

Abicotta sighed. “It was a slim hope, anyway. The girl will still work as a bargaining chip, I believe. Not as powerful as we had hoped, perhaps.”

Aluri hesitated. “Perhaps…perhaps we simply haven’t given the Highness enough reason for concern yet.”

The King cocked one thick eyebrow. “Oh?”

“The girl is truly the only disposable one in this scheme, your Majesty,” Aluri explained. “She has no real power, no information of value to give us. It is her mother and the boy that we need something from. She is only here to be, as you call it, a bargaining chip. Well, I think we need to use her as such. She makes a rather poor cleaning maid, even if forcing the Heiress of Manicot to wash my socks does have a certain appeal.”

Understanding dawned in the King’s eyes, and he smiled slowly.

***

Joree tried very hard not to scream. Screaming meant opening his mouth, and that meant cracking open the numerous cuts on his lips and irritating the bruises on his face.

Someone let out a stream of Kriton curses. “Just give us the answers, you little whelp! What good does remaining silent do you?”

Joree wasn’t sure anymore. He couldn’t remember much. All he knew was that these men wanted something from him that he shouldn’t give them. So he just lay in the pain, keeping his mouth and eyes shut. Occasionally, they would pry his eyes open to force him to look at his scarred and sliced body. At that point, he sometimes passed out. He should have welcomed that, but the pain followed him into unconsciousness, haunting his dreams and chasing him back to wakefulness.

“This is not going to work. He will die before he speaks. He may be too far gone now to speak, in fact.”

That voice was familiar. It was the voice that spoke to him while he slept, that laughed in the darkness. It held the knives and the burning brands that torn his body and scalded his flesh. Sometimes, he thought the knives were its teeth and the heat was its breath. This was no man, but a monster.

“Allow him to regain sentience,” the voice said, distant and hissing. “Then we will try something new.”

***

Aluri approached Aniah with his usual air of composure. She pointedly ignored him, continuing to brush the dust off each and every vase on the overloaded shelf. They were all hideous looking creations, covered in creatures that looked to be drawn by a particularly angry toddler. Using his feet.

“You are to follow me, child,” Aluri said. She held in a growl. She hated it when he called her ‘child’. She wasn’t a child. She was a powerful, important woman with a destiny beyond the comprehension of his puny status.

She followed him anyway. Puny status or not, he was the one with a sword strapped to his belt.

They made their way down several flights of stairs. She frowned. They seemed to be moving below ground level. She’d never been sent to clean down here before. The walls contained no decoration. Everything was made of a grey concrete: floors, walls, and ceiling. The hallways were lined on both sides with closed doors. It looked almost like a prison.

“May I ask where we are going?” She didn’t try to keep the disdain from her voice.

“You may,” Aluri replied.

She waited, but he didn’t seem inclined to continue. “Well?” she snapped. “Where are we going?”

“You may ask,” he said. “I never said I would answer.”

Instinctively, she tried to send out a pulse of Will at him. Just a little slap, enough to give him a headache. Of course, nothing happened. That made her want to scream.

Aluri stopped and knocked on one of the doors. Aniah fumed, arms folded, while someone inside opened the door.

Her anger died away as the lanky man in the doorway stepped aside. A sick, mind-numbing sense of horror struck her more powerfully than any mind attack. She stumbled back, gagging at the sudden smell of something burning mixed with other unfamiliar and rancid stenches. But the smell was nothing compared to the sight.

The floor was splattered with red, some of it dry, some of it still wet. A table in the corner was covered with bloody knives and other terrible instruments.

And lying in the very center was a bloody corpse.