The Silent Tempest (Book 2) (20 page)

The Illeniel Grove had historically been
opposed to keeping humans as slaves or pets. Lyralliantha had broken that
prohibition when she had collared him to save his life. His success in the
arena had given them a taste of competitive victory again. Now the debt he had
created had forced them to go even further.

“I know this isn’t what you want,
wildling,” said Byovar, “but my people change slowly. There is a great debate
among them now, a debate that you created. Do not give up hope. Someday we
may find a common cause between us.”

Byovar was one of the most understanding
of his kind. He had originally been chosen to become a lore-warden because of
his interest in humanity and his research about them and their language. That
was why he had been chosen to tutor Tyrion in Erollith. If there were any
among the children of the She’Har whom Tyrion thought might have a chance of
understanding his emotions, aside from Lyralliantha, it was Byovar.

Tyrion glared at him now. It was a look
that would have filled a human with fear, for there was death in his eyes, but
it hardly fazed the She’Har. “I would like to be alone now, Byovar,” he told
the lore-warden.

The She’Har nodded and turned, walking
away without the need for a farewell.

“How long do I have?” Tyrion asked his
back.

“A week.”

The wind picked up as he stood there watching
the lore-warden walk back to the edge of the god-trees. The skies had been
clear before, but now they darkened, as if the sky were brooding. Heavy clouds
passed overhead, and Tyrion struggled to control his anger.

Breathing deeply he chanted silently to
himself,
I feel nothing.

When Tyrion walked back to his white-stone
house, it was with a heavy heart. The simmering hatred he felt for the She’Har
had returned, coloring everything he saw and filling him with bitterness.
Brigid, Jack, and Sarah were returning from the opposite direction, bringing a
pair of does with them, levitating the bodies of the deer in front of them.
Their faces were cheerful, almost bright, more so than he had seen from them
since he had taken them from their homes.

They were beginning to see that perhaps
living here wouldn’t be as terrible as they had feared. Good food and a
semblance of some self-determination could go a long way in making someone
believe that, even when they were being held as slaves.

He had wanted to do even more. He had
hoped the Illeniel Grove wouldn’t make them fight.

The day before, with Ian, his actions had
been cruel and excessive. He had felt guilty, but now he knew he had been
right. He could not afford kindness, not now, not yet. Someday perhaps, but
by then their hatred would be fully ingrained, etched into their hearts like a
scar that would never fully heal.

And he would be the knife that carved it.

What kindness they seek, it
must not come from me,
he told himself. Kate
emerged from the house even as he thought it, and when his eyes fell on her, he
knew the role she would be forced to play.
You will be their mother, Kate.
You will love them where I cannot. I will break them down, but you will keep
them sane.

She walked toward him purposefully, as
though she had words for him. The music from the night before had told her
more than it should. She had caught a fresh glimpse of his suffering.

She wants to forgive me, if I
will just give her some small sign that I am not insane. Even now, after
everything, she wants to believe.

“Daniel, I’ve been thinking…” she began.

“Stop,” he ordered.

Kate frowned, “But I…”

“I don’t care,” he told her harshly. With
his magesight he double checked their surroundings, making sure no one was
within earshot. “I need to address everyone. I will explain how things will
work.”

She closed her mouth, looking at him with
eyes that seemed to bore into him.

“You aren’t going to like it. You’re
going to want to argue about it with me, and you’ll probably be right, but you
will need to keep your tongue,” he warned.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

He ignored her question. “Later you’ll be
angry. They will too,” he said, waving his arm to indicate everyone else, even
though they weren’t nearby. “They’re going to want to talk, and they’ll need
someone to listen. I don’t care what you say, so long as it’s not within my
hearing.”

She gave him a confused look. “You really
have lost your mind. Have you been having a conversation by yourself? Because
it sounds as though you’re talking to someone who knows what the hell you’re
thinking.”

He nodded, “I probably have lost my mind, and
that’s a good way for you to think about it. There are just two rules you need
to remember. Never talk about the madman where he can hear you, and never
argue with him in front of the others.”

“Or what?”

He leaned in closer, “Or you’ll wind up
like Ian.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t
particularly good at being threatened. Straightening, she took a firm stance.
“Alright, if that’s how you want to act, fine, but don’t expect me to play
along. I’m sick of your bullying, and I don’t care what you do to me.”

“Get the others together, I need to talk
to them. You have fifteen minutes.” He brushed past her, ignoring her
bravado.

Burned out ashes remained from the fire
the night before. Stepping around them, he took a seat on the same log he had
used then. He didn’t have to wait fifteen minutes, within five everyone was in
the yard. Some of them started to sit at the other logs, but he stood and
waved them away from the log benches.

“This isn’t a ‘sit down and chat’ kind of
discussion,” he told them seriously.

“Is this a meeting?” asked Abigail.

Tyrion glared at her, “From now on, when I
call everyone together, you do not speak to me. Only two people will speak to
me at one of these gatherings, the warden Layla, or Gabriel Evans. The rest of
you will only speak to me if I address you first.”

The girl swallowed and nodded, afraid to
reply.

He looked over the rest of them, “Next
week, those of you whose powers have awakened will begin fighting in the
arena.”

Everyone grew still, and even the small
sounds that had been filtering through the group disappeared.

“The arena is a place wherein mercy does
not exist, and therefore you will not give it. Nor will you find any mercy
here at my hands. Before I brought you here, you had something that the slaves
growing up in the pens have never had—a family. You had parents. Your
mothers, and your fathers, or whoever the hell raised you, those people loved
you. Those people nourished you. They fed you with kindness and love and
helped you become the strong, vital, intelligent, young men and women whom I
see here today.

“But love will not keep you alive.
Kindness will not keep a violent death at bay. That is why I am here. I will
teach you the things your parents never wanted you to learn. I will teach you
the art of violence. I will teach you to kill, and I will give you the cruelty
to make you enjoy doing it. I will teach you to hate your enemy with a burning
passion, a passion that can only be quenched in blood.

“You will be the disciples of my hatred.
I will teach you to hate me, and when you step into the arena, it will be my
face you see before you as you annihilate your enemy. You will cry yourselves
to sleep at night with no greater desire than to see me dead at your hands, and
when you enter the arena you will turn that anger loose upon your foes.

“Your parents’ love has made you strong;
now my hatred will take that strength and make you powerful. Your hearts will
become weapons which will destroy anyone who stands before you.”
And
someday I will turn those weapons against those who have done this to us…

***

“You wanted to see me,” said Layla,
staring evenly into his eyes. She was a tall woman, big boned, she stood
almost eye to eye with him. It was easy to see why Garlin had been so obsessed
with her. She personified strength, although it was tempered with the native
cruelty of her upbringing.

“Thillmarius has sold you to the Illeniel
Grove,” he answered. “From today forward you are my slave,
my
warden.
Do you understand?”

She frowned, “But you are a warden…” She
left off the ending, “…like me”. But he was sure she was thinking it.

“No, not any longer. The She’Har have
chosen to elevate me. I am one of their children now, and
you,
along
with the others, belong to me.”

“How could such a thing be possible?” she
said, her mouth gaping.

“The ‘how’ of it is not your concern,
Layla. Obeying my orders
is.
”

The tall woman lowered her head in
submission, and he could see her wetting her lips as she did. Her heart rate
was quickening as well. “What orders would you give me, Tyrion?”

“It’s about Kate,” he began.

Her eyes lit up with understanding, “She
is yours also. You wish me to stay away from…”

“No, Layla,” he said with some
frustration. “I’m not trying to keep you away from her. I want you to protect
her from the others. She’s the only person here who will never have the
ability to manipulate aythar. Eventually the young ones will realize how
powerless she is, especially once I begin teaching them.”

“We shall be yours alone, if that is what
you wish, my lord,” the warden answered dutifully.

“That isn’t what I mean,” he replied with
exasperation. “I just want you to protect her. What the two of you do
otherwise is not my concern.”

The female warden was confused, but she
held her questions. She could sense his frustration, and long experience had
taught her the danger of questions when they were not wanted. “It will be as
you say, Tyrion.”

“There’s one other thing,” he continued.

Layla smiled then, she had expected this.
Stepping forward, she pressed herself closely against him, “I have seen your eyes
on me. I will do whatever you command.”

He shoved her roughly back, “No, damn
you! That’s not what I’m after.”

Layla colored with embarrassment, an
unusual thing for a warden.

“I want you to help me train them,” said
Tyrion. “As a warden you have a lot of experience in the arena. It will be
useful to have someone else to assist me in their education.”

She sniffed, “You have shown them enough.
I did not understand your speech before. Why waste your time on this?”

“I don’t think of it as a waste. The more
prepared they are, the better they will be able to survive the matches.”

“You shouldn’t coddle them,” insisted the
warden. “Let the weak die. What remains will be those who deserve to live.”

He shook his head, once again reminded of
the difference in their worldviews. Training, even cruel brutal training, was
an expenditure of time and energy on people who might not deserve it in her
eyes. To her, that was coddling. “Pay attention, Layla. Even the meekest
child out there will become a terror in the arena when I am done with them.”

***

Emma Phillips had her awakening that
evening, so the next morning there were eight young faces lined up for the
first lesson. Of course she was nauseous and ill from the onslaught of new
sensory information, but Tyrion ignored her discomfort.

He worked with them on shields first,
having them practice close personal defense. Gabriel and Brigid, having had
more time and some practical experience, did best, but the others improved
quickly. Emma’s effort was sloppy, but that was to be expected given her
discomfort.

After two hours he called a stop.
“Alright, that’s enough for a while. Some of you were barely passable, but the
rest of you were pathetic, particularly you, Abigail,” he focused his attention
squarely on the girl. “That brings us to our next lesson.”

Stretching out his hands, he created a
bright red whip between them. Most of them had seen it before in Ellentrea,
although thanks to Thillmarius none of them had experienced it personally.

“B—but Emma did worse than I did!” shouted
Abigail, realizing what was about to happen.

“It was Emma’s first day,” said Tyrion.
“I expected her to do poorly.” The red whip licked out and wrapped itself
around the girl’s ankle, causing her to fall as her body convulsed. She
screamed for ten seconds before he withdrew it.

“Get up, Abby,” he told her coolly. “It’s
time for lunch.”

She looked up at him with red eyes filled
with fear. Her legs shook when she stood, but she found her place quickly.

“We will start again after lunch. Until
then you are free to do as you please,” turning quickly, he marched away,
heading for the house, for his room. It was the one place he could be alone,
without eyes on him.

Shutting the door behind him, he shivered,
fighting the urge to vomit.
I feel nothing.

He hadn’t expected it to be that hard. He
had used the whip before, of course, but only when he was truly angry, and only
on those whom he felt deserved it. His mind replayed Abby’s screams in his
ears.

“They need it,” he told himself, but he
couldn’t fully make himself believe it. “They have to learn the fear. From
the fear comes hate, and from that will come the desire to kill. Without that
they’ll hesitate, and if they hesitate they’ll die.”

Liar. You just want to
torture them,
his inner observer accused
him, using Kate’s voice.

“Shut up,” he shouted at the air. After a
moment he sat down, trying to force himself to relax.
Maybe I
am
going insane,
he thought. This time his inner voice sounded like his own.

Twenty minutes later he reemerged. He
knew he needed to eat before resuming the training. Kate was standing in the
kitchen area with Piper and Blake, and her eyes found him the moment he stepped
out.

“You!” she growled.

Not now, please, not now,
he thought.

“Do you feel better now? Was it fun
torturing that poor girl?!” barked Kate. She looked ready to launch into a
full tirade as she advanced on him menacingly.

He had warned her, but the last thing he
wanted just then was another confrontation.
Not Kate, I can’t.
As soon
as she drew close enough, his hand darted out, slipping past her head to catch
her by the hair. Twisting her head around painfully, he dragged her toward the
bedroom. “I’ll feel better after I’ve taught you a lesson,” he said, trying to
fill his voice with more conviction than he felt.