Banished (34 page)

My magic pushes into the chamber and I crouch low, letting it be my eyes. The room isn’t very big, maybe the size of our conservatory at the Manor. Thorn is shackled with iron manacles to
a solid piece of rock jutting from the ground. A strip of metal, probably iron, is cuffed around his throat like a dog collar and his skin looks red and swollen where the iron’s chafed it.
There are bruises that weren’t there before and the cut along his cheekbone looks inflamed. His bottom lip is split and I watch him spit out a stream of blood and saliva.

‘How about now?’ Istvan says, prowling around before Thorn. He’s no longer wearing modern clothes, but instead is dressed in a dramatic carnelian-coloured robe with a high
collar. It highlights his tan, making him look like a crazy emperor from a far-off sun-drenched land. His long dark hair’s scraped back from his forehead and tied back neatly.

Thorn answers, dropping his voice lower. ‘Never, in a million years.’

Istvan extends his hand and a line of darkly alive smoke snakes from his palm. It solidifies, then suddenly lashes out to strike Thorn’s chest. There’s a smell of burning flesh and
Thorn gives a muffled curse but maintains his defiance. ‘Torture me all you will, Istvan. None of this convinces me to help you.’

I’m about to move forward into the room when a movement in the gloom at the back of the chamber catches my attention. I recall my magic. I don’t want to alert anyone to my presence,
however small the risk of detection, so I skulk in the shadows and stare but there is no movement now, just a half-suggested shape of something tall and spindly.

Reluctantly I play a thread of magic out. I send it along the side of the room, creeping slowly, so slowly, so as not to draw Istvan’s attention.

My sight creeps past cages with rotting carcasses of half-made things. Aborted experiments, I realize. There’s a workbench with all manner of tubes and glass vials. I see a silver tray
containing various implements that look like torture tools. I try not to focus on these, or the way the light from the torches on the wall reflects off their rusted blades, or how I can see
globules of dried blood and what looks like bone still caught in the teeth of a broken saw. The thread creeps past another opening in the wall, where I saw the movement.

Apparently, not all Istvan’s experiments failed.

The thing lurking in the shadows is a good six feet tall and for a second my mind is completely blank as I try and take in what I’m seeing. My first thought is scorpion
and my second thought is
Oh crap
. I see a carapace, pincers set above a human mouth, a row of four round large black eyes across a human brow. It has four segmented arms on either side of
its body, ending in obscenely large hands, but a top pair – the fifth pair – end in claws. And of course there is a tail. The sting is viscous looking with venom glistening on its
curved tip.

‘I have someone to show you,’ Istvan says, and his voice sounds particularly gloating. ‘I think you’ll be very pleased to see him.’

He makes a gesture to the scorpion creature, who disappears down the dark passage. I hold my breath, watching Thorn. The cuts across his chest aren’t bleeding any more, which is good. From
the look of hatred on his face he’s ready to tear Istvan apart if he could get loose.

Istvan moves a few things around on a small table to the side. ‘We were lucky enough to capture him right at the beginning of the campaign. It was all so very exciting.’ He looks up
at the movement by the door. ‘Ah, see? Here is my guest. I have some interesting plans for him, but first I thought I’d show you.’

I bite my lip as the scorpion hauls a man dressed in tatters into the room. He is in very bad shape, with an arm dangling uselessly by his side. His face is a mask of bruises and cuts and his
hair is matted with blood and gore. There are cuts across his body, revealed by the filthy torn shirt he’s wearing. His feet are bare and his leggings are dirty and full of blood. He’s
leaning heavily on the scorpion creature, favouring his left leg – the other one looks broken.

‘Kieran?’ Thorn’s voice is hoarse with horror.

Istvan walks to Thorn’s older brother and grabs his face, forcing the half-conscious prince to look Thorn in the face. ‘Guess who’s visiting, Prince Kieran? Your baby brother.
Say hello.’

With that he nods to the scorpion chimera, who lifts Kieran in the air and hurls him at Thorn. Kieran hits Thorn’s body like a sack of potatoes, head-butting him in the process, and slumps
to the ground at his bound feet with a moan. Distantly he must be aware that no one is around him because he vainly tries to get up but Istvan stalks over and kicks him in the side, rolling him
over onto his back.

‘Aren’t you happy to see your brother?’ he asks Kieran, bending close. ‘It took me some time to find him and bring him here. I know you’ve missed him so. Are you
not grateful?’

‘You son of a motherless goat,’ Kieran grinds out. ‘You will rot in the lowest of dungeons of the Citadel for all eternity.’

‘What is it with Aelfric’s sons?’ Istvan asks no one in particular. ‘You excel at making threats you cannot possibly keep.’ He stands up and casually lands another
kick to Kieran’s unprotected stomach.

Kieran makes a dry retching sound but watches Istvan narrowly.

‘You were our confidant,’ he grinds out. ‘Someone we called a friend.’

Istvan looks pityingly at Kieran. ‘Unfortunately, that friendship was merely to serve a grander scheme. From when I first entered the household of King Aelfric the Great, the noble, the
illegitimate ruler of Alba, I ostensibly became the perfect servant, the perfect adviser.’ He pauses. ‘My family sat on the right hand of the Elder Gods and we did their bidding. Why
would your father assume I would be happy to serve him?’ He rubs his face, the strain starting to show. ‘The gods were banished, locked away because of treachery but we kept our long
watch. We have worked tirelessly to bring this day about and, without realizing it, Aelfric delivered to us the perfect vessel.’ He points at Thorn. ‘Your baby brother.’

‘You are insane, Istvan.’

Istvan looks surprised. ‘No, not insane, Kieran. Realistic. For years I’ve done your father’s bidding. I’ve seen the way Alba’s lost its heart, working with humans,
with the likes of the Blackharts, signing treaties. Even Suola, the feared Queen of Air and Darkness herself, dare not steal human children for revels. Now we hide in the dark and humans think of
us as stories told at bedtime. No longer. It’s time to let the Elder Gods walk again. Human and Fae will once more have living gods to fear.’ I glimpse a parody of a smile. ‘And
fear they shall.’

‘How have we never noticed how twisted you are?’ Thorn asks him, his voice incredulous. ‘All these years . . .’

‘Because, little princeling, I only let you see what you wanted to see. As a servant, no one notices us, no one takes us seriously.’ He narrows his eyes. ‘Do you know how much
your family is disliked? It was easy to find supporters for Eadric’s little rebellion.’ He lays his hand against Thorn’s cheek. ‘And not just in the Citadel but within the
Courts too. Our people are tired of having to skulk, Thorn. Once more we want to walk freely between both worlds. Have humans see us and fear us for what we truly are.’

My mind is reeling. The thought of this happening is horrifying. Hearing this little speech of his, there is no doubt in my mind that Istvan has gone over to the dark side completely.

I wonder how long it will take him to lose his patience and stop his grandstanding in front of the two brothers. I’ve seen him control Thorn with his powers and I worry that maybe, just
maybe, Aelfric’s sons could be swayed if the magic used against them is strong enough.

‘Let us go,’ Thorn says, keeping his voice low, friendly. ‘Let us go and my father won’t order you into the cages with the griffins.’

Istvan doesn’t reply. He strikes Thorn’s face, raking his nails across his cheek. ‘Shut up,’ he says, wiping his hands on his robe. ‘Unless, of course, you are
prepared to sing the Elder Gods home.’

‘Don’t . . .’ Kieran’s managed to crawl a few feet away and is bracing himself against the table leg. ‘Thorn, don’t do it.’

I’ve seen enough from a distance. It’s time to act. I rein in my magic and move to the other side of the passage and, keeping to the shadows, I enter the room, my back pressed
against the wall. Istvan and his familiar’s attention is focused on the two princes and I take full advantage of that. I creep around the room and notice Thorn’s eyes widen slightly
when he sees me, but he concentrates on Istvan.

‘There is nothing you can do that will make me be part of this ritual.’

‘Not even when I promise I’ll keep some of your friends alive, perhaps?’ Istvan’s voice drips with insincerity and he’s standing close to Thorn now, right up in his
face, unaware of anything else in the room. His servant’s watching too, facing away from me. Kieran’s doing his best to try and stand upright but not having much success.

I draw a breath, ground myself and let fly a wild shout that has all my pent-up anger and frustration in it. As I yell I run at the scorpion as it turns to face me. My blade slices air as it
neatly pirouettes out of the way and I land heavily. There’s a scraping noise behind me and I catch Kieran’s eye as he manages to grab hold of something on the table above his head and
hurls it at Istvan’s head.

I duck beneath the scorpion’s pincers and drive a wild cut upwards, catching it beneath one of its arms/legs, whatever. As I withdraw the sword a gush of black blood and goo arcs through
the air. I’m too slow and don’t manage to duck the solid blow it lands me on the side of the head with one of its giant hands. I reel a few steps but steady myself against Thorn, who is
doing his utmost to free himself from his shackles.

‘Hi,’ I say to him, flashing a smile. ‘We should stop meeting like this.’

‘What are you doing here?’ he gasps out, but he has a smile for me. ‘You’re crazy, you know.’

I launch myself at the scorpion again, perhaps proving he’s right. Its tail is up and it’s got its arms (I’ll call them arms) spread wide, making it look even bigger. Kieran is
wrestling with Istvan but, to be honest, it’s more like flailing at him with all the finesse of a wet towel.

My blade leaps forward and I execute a perfect cut across the scorpion chimera’s abdomen. More goo spills out and I watch in horror as it sizzles when it hits the floor. Oh great, acidic
blood. I whirl aside, conscious of the engorged stinger swaying above its head.

I see Istvan punching Kieran repeatedly in the face until the prince drops to the floor in a crumpled heap. There’s a truly ugly expression on Istvan’s face as he stalks to Thorn. He
rains blows on Thorn’s face and unprotected body. Black shadows are everywhere now, all around Istvan, circling Thorn, whispering to them both. I see them climbing Thorn like vines and he
writhes in pain.

‘I am getting sick of you now,’ Istvan grinds out between blows. ‘You and your entire family. For once in your disgustingly futile lives, will you just do as you are
bid?’

I run from the scorpion and dash at Istvan, my sword raised. Istvan turns to look at me and lifts a negligent hand and a ball of black light hits me full in the chest. I fly through the air,
crashing into the wall in a tumble of legs and arms. The scorpion is there within the blink of an eye and I lift myself up, shaking my head to try and clear it, grasping for the handle of my
sword.

My sword is gone. It’s lying between the scorpion and Istvan. Another blow rocks me as the scorpion punches me in the gut. I double over, using it as cover and trigger
the mechanism of the rod strapped to my arm. It whips out with a satisfying
snick
and as I straighten I lash the rod forward in an aimed blow. It catches the scorpion across its face and I
hear an eye pop. I follow it up with another swipe, back-handed this time, and am gratified to see a gash opening across its neck as the iron rod connects with its skin. I drive my fist hard into
its abdomen and am repaid by being lifted in the air and thrown. As I fly through the air, before I fall, I wonder if the amount of airtime I’m getting during this adventure qualifies me for
a pilot’s licence.

I hit one of the cages with its mouldering contents hard and for a moment I’m tempted to just lie there and quietly bleed but then I’m up and flinging myself at the scorpion again.
This time things go badly wrong. It catches me mid-air, as if I’m a ballerina – a bloody and sore one – and the stinger descends in a rapid arc, delivering a pulse of venom into
my upper leg.

I can quite honestly say that I have never in my life felt such pain. I let out a scream that for a moment even stops Istvan in shocked surprise. The poison burns – dear heavens, the pain
is surreal. It pounds through my veins, tearing at me as it goes. The scorpion drops me, losing interest, knowing the poison will make short work of me.

I curl into a tight ball and sob as the fire rages through me. I can dimly hear Thorn screaming something but it’s Istvan’s voice that penetrates the fog clouding my brain.

‘Do you swear?’

‘Yes, you worthless pig, just let her go.’

Istvan’s laughter is ugly. ‘You will promise thrice. A thrice-spoken promise is binding, even for a son of Alba.’

‘No . . .’ My voice is raw. ‘Thorn, you idiot. Don’t do it.’

‘I will sing the Elder Gods awake for you,’ Thorn said clearly. ‘If you let her and Kieran go. This I promise. I promise, I promise.’

‘What will your family say, to know all it took for you to turn on them, is the sight of a pretty . . . oh wait, a dirty, bruised, once-upon-a-time pretty face?’

‘Die. Just die,’ Thorn grinds out between bloody teeth. And for full effect he spits at Istvan’s face. For his trouble he gets a slap that rocks his head back.

‘Ah, my time is not yet decreed.’ Istvan’s unpleasant smile is smug. ‘Come, now. I need to go and prepare for the ritual.’

He clicks his fingers at the scorpion and it scuttles forward. ‘Just drag them into a cage for now.’ He walks over and hunkers down next to me, pressing his face unbearably close to
mine. ‘You will have a perfect view of your handsome boyfriend calling forth the destruction of humanity. Isn’t it exciting?’