The Silent Tempest (Book 2) (4 page)

At least, that’s what the townsfolk said.

Her grandparents had told her different things about
their son—about her father. They had told her of a young man frightened by a
gift he hadn’t understood. A man who had made mistakes before being enslaved
by cruel beings who were not fit to be called gods at all. And now she was
trapped with him.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” she began, “You’re Daniel,
my…” She let the sentence trail away. It was just too strange to say aloud.

He nodded, “That used to be my name, but I don’t
deserve to be called a father. My name is Tyrion now.”

Haley couldn’t speak. She opened her mouth, but no
words would come forth. It closed while her mind struggled to present
something to her other than a blank void. There were a million questions, but
she could not give utterance to any of them. Fear and surprise, had robbed her
of the ability to communicate.

Tyrion waited patiently, wondering if she would curse
him when the shock wore off. Eventually her lips moved again, and a few
halting words emerged.

“Did you really…? Why did you do…?” She stopped,
afraid to accuse him. After a moment she started with a simple statement, “I
have a lot of half-siblings.”

“You’re afraid to ask me if I raped her, or the
others? You want to know how much is true?” he asked bluntly.

Haley nodded without looking at him. His answer was
not what she had expected.

“I did. I can make no excuse for that.”

“Why did you want to hurt them?”

Tyrion stared up at the ceiling. “I didn’t. I can’t
excuse what I did, but I didn’t consider the fact that I was hurting them.
Deep down I think I knew, but I wasn’t fully conscious of it. They weren’t
either, at least not until later.”

His answer confused her. “How could they not know?
Are you saying you didn’t force them?”

“No,” he responded. “I coerced them. I used magic to
alter their feelings, overwhelming them with a passion that they thought was of
their own making.”

“Then you seduced them, but you didn’t actually rape
them,” said Haley.

He could see her youth and naiveté trying to put a
more positive light on his past actions, but Tyrion had come too far to try and
cover his sin with such a thin veil. “It was rape, Haley. I didn’t hurt them
physically, but the lack of a choice is not the same as choosing. I am certain
that if they had been in control of themselves, none of them would have lain
with me. I regret it now, but I cannot pretend it was not an evil act.”

She paused for a minute, absorbing his words before
speaking again, “They said she was—that my mother, Emily, that she was in love
with you. That she killed herself, not for shame, but because of a broken
heart.”

His chest tightened. “That’s the sort of thing people
tell a child to paint things in a better light. She was obsessed with me,
Haley, because of what I did to her. We were friends before that, but
afterward—I’m sure shame had as much to do with it as any affection she may
have felt for me.”

“Why am I here?” she asked, giving vent to the
building, hopeless frustration that the fear and terror of the last few days
had instilled in her. “Why is this happening? I never did anything terrible
like that. I didn’t hurt anyone. What did I do to deserve this?”

“It’s going to get worse,” he cautioned.

“Why?! This isn’t fair,” angry tears began to slip
down her cheeks. “I’m not like you!”

“Because of your power—the power you inherited from
me. This world isn’t fair. It’s full of evil and suffering. The creatures who
own you now have no understanding of kindness or compassion. The other humans
here, their slaves, are worse than animals. They have been raised on cruelty
and torture.”

She looked at him with wet eyes, but a tiny spark of
hope remained in them. “Are you going to help me escape? Will you take me
home?”

He shook his head, “I cannot.” Touching the
spell-woven collar at his neck he then motioned to her own throat. “These
prevent our escape. If you go too far without their permission, you will die.
If they decide you are being disobedient, they can simply order your death.”

“Can’t you use magic to remove it?”

“I can, but it would still kill me. Nothing you can
do yet will even damage it.”

“Then what is the point of this? You should just kill
me,” she returned.

“No. I cannot stop them, but I can help you. I can
give you what I never had when I first came here.”

“What?”

“Knowledge.” He stepped toward her, moved by the
surge of emotions in his heart.

She shrank back and he stopped, reminded of her fear
of him.

“When I was first taken, I was alone, frightened, and
ignorant. No one talked to me. I knew nothing, and I barely survived that
first year. Now I have some small amount of hope. I have bargained for
twenty-four hours, to teach you what I can. With luck it will be enough to
keep you alive. I will show you…”

“Why only twenty-four hours?” she interrupted.

“The Grove that owns you is different than the one
that owns me. They are competitors. They are reluctant to let me have much
time with you, for fear I will weaken or kill you,” he explained.

“But why? You’re my father, why would you hurt me?”
she said, aghast.

“The She’Har, the forest-gods, they don’t think like
us. They don’t understand familial bonds, just loyalty to the Grove. The
Mordan have claimed you, while the Illeniel Grove owns me. That is enough to
make them cautious,” he explained.

“None of this makes sense,” she exclaimed.

“I will teach you as much as I can. They will force
you to fight. I will show you how to make a shield, how to defend yourself,
how to kill…”

“No! I won’t fight, I won’t kill for them. They
can’t make…”

“You will!” he interrupted. “You will kill, or you
will die.”

“I can’t do it. I’m not a fighter. I wouldn’t hurt
anyone,” she argued stubbornly.

Seeing her, listening to her, Tyrion felt his anger
growing. His years struggling to survive, and the torture that had gone with
it, had taught him otherwise. He wanted to help her. The girl standing before
him now was his own flesh and blood. She had even been raised by his own
parents. He cared for her, yet the words coming from her now were nothing but
weak complaints. She might as well beg for death.

His hand itched, and he felt his shoulders tense. He
wanted to strike the words from her mouth.
Teach her pain, teach her anger,
before they teach her fear and death.

It took an act of willpower to restrain himself.
That
was not how I was raised. Why would I hit her?
Those thoughts were not
enough. He was no longer Daniel Tennick. That person was too soft, he
couldn’t help her. But Tyrion could.

“Say what you like,” he said after a moment. “I will
teach, and you will learn. First you must learn to create a shield around
yourself.”

“I’m not going to—ow!” her sentence ended in a sudden
shout.

“A shield will prevent me from doing that. You will
learn, or I will continue and the pain will grow more intense and powerful each
time,” he said through gritted teeth. “Do you understand me?”

Haley stared at him, her face suddenly pale. Sweat
was starting from her brow, and her eyes had changed. Where there had been
defiance, now there was fear. She nodded.

“Good. Your mind,” he tapped his temple, “is the most
effective defense, as well as weapon, that you have. You must train your
imagination. To create a shield, you have to visualize a barrier between you
and the rest of the world. It can be any shape or form, close against the skin
or farther away, like a bubble. Try to create one, close your eyes…”

Tyrion worked with her for hours, until one of the
nameless appeared to bring food, a small tray with two bowls. The nameless
were human slaves who had been deemed unworthy of fighting in the arena. The
She’Har only granted a slave a name once they had been blooded, killing their
first opponent.

The young man who entered was thin and awkward. Like
all the humans living in Sabortrea he was a mage, but in Tyrion’s magesight he
appeared to be a very weak one. It was no wonder he had been relegated to his
role as an errand boy. Tyrion stepped in front of him before he could withdraw
after delivering the food.

“I need you to take a message for me,” he told the
man.

The nameless one kept his eyes on the ground, mumbling
a response that was too soft to be heard.

Tyrion already knew what it would be. The slave
wasn’t supposed to interact with them, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to be
taking on extra tasks from other slaves. Tyrion also knew how the She’Har
slave cities worked in the real world. There was always a hierarchy, and the
slaves traded favors with one another.

The She’Har stood above all of them, but beneath them
were the wardens, slaves who had fought long enough to be released from the
endless killing of the arena. Wardens were allowed to wear clothing, and they
commanded considerable respect amongst the other humans in the slave cities.
They acted as trusted servants for the She’Har.
Among the wardens would be one feared and respected more than the others, one
with considerable ability to affect the treatment and consideration shown to a
new slave such as Haley.

Tyrion didn’t respond with words, instead his power
lashed out, enclosing the nameless one and pinning him to the wall. “You will
find the one called ‘Gwaeri’ and tell him that I wish to see him.” He had
learned the name while interrogating his opponent in the arena. “Yes?”

The nameless one nodded fearfully, but not with the
same terror someone from Colne might have shown. Fear and intimidation were
part of daily life in Sabortrea.

Tyrion released him, stepping aside so he could pass
through the door. “If he doesn’t visit before the next feeding time, I will
find you,” he added.

Haley had shrunk back, terrified by the violent
exchange.

“Stop that,” said Tyrion calmly. “Straighten your
back. Keep your head up. I told you before, do not show fear or weakness.
You will wind up like that one otherwise.” He jerked his thumb in the
direction of the doorway the nameless one had left through.

She nodded, sitting straighter and trying to look
calm. The effort wasn’t enough to disguise her timidity, though.

“You saw the difference in strength, didn’t you?”
continued Tyrion. “You could see how weak he was. I cannot see my own aythar,
but I am guessing he looked like a candle beside a bonfire. Is that right?”

“Y—yes,” she stuttered.

“You are the same,” he responded. “Your aythar shines
like the sun, even compared to one of the wardens.”

“Wardens?”

“The ones who are allowed to wear clothes.”

“Oh.”

“You must wear your strength with pride. You are a
hunter, a predator. They can see your power; act like you know it, and they
will fear you,” he told her.

“I d—don’t want p—people to fear me,” she struggled to
say.

“Your old life is gone,” said Tyrion mercilessly.
“These people are animals. The only thing they understand is fear and power.
Strength is everything here; without it, you will be abused, but with it, your
lot will be much less unpleasant.”

His words had the opposite effect of what he
intended. Instead, Haley began to cry.

The sight of her tears was so different from the
reactions he was used to from the slaves of the She’Har that it made his mind
reel for a moment. It reminded him of his old life. The emotions that
followed threatened to destabilize him. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to
cry with her, for what he had lost as much as for what she had lost.

But he had not survived among the She’Har for the past
fifteen years by giving in to such feelings. Viciously, he suppressed the
sorrow that rose within him, shoving it back down, pushing it into the darkness
where it must forever hide. Anger replaced it, and reaching out with his mind
he touched her skin, sending a jolt of burning pain through her.

Haley gasped, choking on her tears.

“Put your shield back up. We aren’t finished,” he
informed her.

***

The man who entered was not what Tyrion had expected.
He was short and stout, neither of which was particularly unusual. What was
strange, was his hair.

It was gray.

Tyrion stared at him for a long moment. In all of his
years among the She’Har, he had not seen anyone with gray hair. People simply
didn’t live that long in the slave cities. The closest thing to gray was the
shining silver hair possessed by the Illeniel She’Har, which was almost
metallic in its hue.

The old man stared back at him, appraising him with
cautious eyes, mentally assessing the danger that Tyrion represented.

Tyrion had already recovered from his shock and had
made his own mental calculation. The Mordan warden was strong, his aythar far
brighter than most of the Mordan mages he had seen before, but it was not
strong enough to concern him. “You are Gwaeri?” he asked.

The old man nodded.

There was little reason to delay the point. “I want
you to see that the girl gets good treatment.”

Gwaeri listened but didn’t respond.

“No one is to harm her or seek favors from her. I
want her treated as if she were your ‘friend’,” continued Tyrion. Friend was a
word with a different meaning among the slaves of the She’Har. In essence, he
was asking Gwaeri to make sure that Haley was treated as well as if she were
one of his sex partners.

“I care little for favors anymore, certainly not from
one so scarred as you are,” responded Gwaeri. “You have nothing to offer me.”
One of the few currencies in the slave cities was sex. There was little else
for slaves to trade, since they were allowed almost no personal possessions.

Being from outside of Sabortrea, there was little
Tyrion could offer the man. His influence was non-existent there, and since
Gwaeri was already at the top of the limited slave hierarchy, his good will
meant nothing to the old man. “Your continued well-being should be of some
value, even to one as old as yourself,” said Tyrion.

“I am Mordan.”

A simple statement, meaning that he couldn’t hope to
threaten one who could be gone with a thought. The Mordan gift of
teleportation made it difficult to threaten them.

Tyrion skirted the issue, “You think you could deny
me?”

“I know your legend. I am not such a fool to think I
could face you, but you have no way to keep me here. This is not the arena.”

He had expected that line of reasoning, but what the
old man didn’t know was that he could render him helpless in less time than it
would take the Mordan mage to teleport. He didn’t want to offer that threat,
though, for it would end their negotiations. “You know what happened to the
other warden. I have some influence among the She’Har. You could be sent to
the arena.”

That was a complete fabrication. Tyrion had never
discussed such a thing with Lyralliantha, nor did he know that the Mordan would
even consider selling their most senior warden, but based on recent events, he
judged it to be a credible threat.

Gwaeri laughed, an uncommon thing among the humans
kept by the She’Har. Reaching up, he stroked the coarse gray hair that crowned
his pate, “I have lived longer than most. I do not fear dying.”

Tyrion stared at him. Torture was his next option,
but he had hoped to find a more amicable solution.

Gwaeri spoke again, “You have given away the
importance this girl has to you. Perhaps we should consider how you will
appease me so that her condition does not become worse after you leave.” The
old man gave him a grin, showing a mouth full of rotten teeth. The glint in
his eyes spoke of pure evil.

“You seek to extort
me
?” said Tyrion, surprised
by the old warden’s boldness.

The old man sensed the flicker in his aythar. Gwaeri
was wily as a fox and had only survived to such an age by trusting his
considerably well-honed instincts. The Mordan mage raised a shield and then
turned his mind to escape. A half-second would be all he needed.

Tyrion didn’t bother raising a shield himself. His
first action was to lash out, crushing the warden against the wall with such
sudden force that his shield collapsed. The backlash didn’t quite render the
other mage unconscious, but it ruined his effort to teleport. Tyrion’s second
attack was more precise, clamping down on the other mage’s still reeling mind.

He held Gwaeri trapped, his aythar crushing the old
man’s will. He nearly missed the movement of the warden’s hand. The warden
had somehow hidden the moment he had drawn his wooden sword.
Eilen’tyral
was the material it was made of; a special heartwood grown by the She’Har
father-trees to produce weapons that were as strong as steel and just as
sharp. The blade shattered as Tyrion’s rune-sheathed arm swept across,
destroying the weapon.

Tyrion expanded his mental hold, paralyzing the
warden’s body as well as his aythar. “Now that we understand your situation
better, perhaps we can have a more meaningful discussion.”

Gwaeri’s eyes rolled wildly as he stared back at
Tyrion. He was unable to speak or even scream as he saw the younger man
produce a long red line of power from his hand—the red whip used so often by
wardens to discipline their victims. It struck his leg first and then his
mid-section, sending burning pain tearing through his body.

The old man’s body shook despite its paralysis, and
tears ran from his eyes. The expected scream that filled the air though, came
from Haley.

Tyrion had forgotten about her. The girl was frantic,
with a look of stark terror in her eyes. She was frightened beyond reason, and
not of the warden; she was afraid of her father.

If she only understood,
thought
Tyrion. “I am doing this for your benefit,” he told her.

She stopped screaming, but her fear was no less.
Haley continued to cower, her eyes searching the room, hoping against reason to
find some way to escape the horror.

Sighing, Tyrion dismissed the red whip. Obviously,
Haley had been treated to its use a few times already, and the sight of it
would only make her state of mind worse. Instead, he loosened his control of
the old man’s throat, returning his power of speech.

“Please!” begged Gwaeri. “I’ll do anything.”

“Of course you will…” sneered Tyrion. “…now. But I
have to make sure I can trust you after I have gone. You are obviously too sly
to make a simple bargain.”

“No! I was just testing you. I never meant to
offend. I will make sure no harm comes to her…”

“Yes,” interrupted Tyrion. “Yes, you will. After you
awaken, I will explain precisely, why you will do anything and everything I ask
of you.” Reaching out with his aythar, he drove the older mage into
unconsciousness, forcing his mind to sleep. Then he relaxed his hold.

Haley stood at the door. She had been trying to force
it to open, and now she shivered when she saw her father’s gaze fall on her.

“I need your help,” he told her. “Carve a small
sliver of wood from your bed, then burn it. I need black ash to mark him, and
a bit of urine.”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly, her mind in
shock.

“Use your power to slice a small piece of wood off,
then make a small flame to burn it. I’ve already shown you how to do both.
Snap out of it!”

Startled, she jumped, but after a moment she moved to
do as he told her. Her aythar was rough and untrained, but she managed to cut
a small piece of wood as he had asked. She wasn’t sure where to burn it
however, “Where…?”

“Use the food bowl,” he said, indicating the bowls
they had recently emptied.

Haley dropped it in before producing a small flame and
carefully burning the wood. She scorched the bowl as well, but that was of
little consequence to Tyrion. After finishing, she held it out to her father.

“Mix a little urine in with it,” he commanded, “but
crush the charred wood first.”

“Uri…” She stopped without completing the word.

“Piss in the bowl, or your hand, however you think
best. Just a little bit mind you. I need it to be more fluid than a paste,
but not much.”

Haley went to the farthest corner of the room, but it
took several long minutes before she managed to complete the task.

I should have done that myself,
he
thought. Haley had been scared, and her body ill-equipped for the job. Her
hands were a mess and her face was red with shame. Hesitantly, she brought him
the bowl, retreating as soon as he had taken it from her hands.