Jaret lay huddled in the corner of his cell contemplating ways to kill himself though he lacked the energy to perform the act even if he could think of a way to do it.
Another convulsion hit his quivering body, and he shook for a long moment. Spasms raced through him from Thagas'kiula’s most recent visit. He could not be certain how long the session had lasted, but it had felt like hours. Even with the creature now gone, the pain was still with him and would be until the next visit. The pain was always with him.
Thagas'kiula had been visiting him at least three times a day for what felt like weeks. It delighted in nothing more than torturing him and seemed to do so only for the sick pleasure it derived from the act. Most torture masters that Jaret had known did not relish their jobs. The best wanted their victim’s pain to end almost as badly as the victim and would, thereby, work quickly to break their subjects. That was not the case with Thagas'kiula. Jaret was long past the place where he would tell the thing anything it wanted to know, but it did not ask, and begging only intensified the torture, so he did not plead, he simply cowered against the wall and screamed. He could not help but scream.
Occasionally, Thagas'kiula brought various devices to complement the torment of its bite, but that was the exception. It reveled in using its terrible teeth and the poison they held. That poison set Jaret’s blood on fire and made him think of pain in a whole new way, but it also seemed to heal any physical damage the creature did. It was that paradoxical gift that made the thing so brutally perfect at what it did. It could torture him continuously in the most terrifying ways without any fear of its victim’s death. It had no need for subtlety or skill, was perfectly adapted to its favorite activity.
Which was its own irony. Despite days of continuous torture, Jaret was as healthy as an ox. His ribs were healed, his legs and arms worked as well or better than before, and even the aches he had experienced as a part of growing old had faded. It made the torture all the worse knowing that when it ended he would be even farther from the only thing he still wanted, his own death. Locked in a cell, shaking in pain, he would have welcomed injuries, would have welcomed illness. At least then he would have some hope that death might follow, might have some hope for escape.
Jaret was finally drifting off to the shattered landscape of dreams when the door to his cell swung open with a crash. Thinking it was Thagas'kiula returned, Jaret cowered into the corner with his hand up and his legs tucked to his chest. He could not believe that the thing had returned so soon. If he had any voice left, he would have started screaming in anticipation of what was to come. As it was, he could only await the inevitable, unable to move his hand or open his eyes to see it coming.
The terrible bite did not come. A rough hand grabbed the chain that connected his hands and pulled it to the familiar ring. He did not struggle as he was locked in place, but he did not assist his jailer either. He hung like a corpse, unconcerned with the pain it caused his shoulders and wrists.
A high-pitched twitter a few minutes later identified the arrival of Emperor Nabim. Hearing the nasal laugh, Jaret opened his bleary eyes and stared at the little man in his silks and jewels and the black shrouded monster that stood behind him.
“Your creature has done well,” the Emperor complimented. “I do not think I have ever seen a man so thoroughly shattered. Given that it is the grand Jaret Rammeriz, it is absolutely remarkable. Two weeks ago, I would not have thought it possible, but you have done it. He is a shell.”
Somewhere beneath the deep cowl, an effeminate voice responded. “Thank you, my lord. The Curava Deilei Tuhar’za have not been allowed to use their skills in generations, but they have obviously not forgotten their purpose.” Jaret stared at the black cave of a hood but saw no evidence of the man that occupied it.
“So Traitor Rammeriz, do you now see what happens to those who tamper with the Order?” Nabim asked, bringing Jaret from his contemplation. He strode across the cell and lowered his face to glower at his captive. “Did you really think that the Holy Order would not punish you for your baseless ambition? Now you know what torture awaits those who outstretch their bounds, those who do not listen to their betters, those who do not know their place. Soon everyone will know. They will learn from your example, and they will obey. For fear of being punished the way that you have been punished, Jaret Rammeriz, they will obey.” Nabim clasped Jaret’s chin and smashed it in his fingers as he ranted, voice rising in volume and pitch with each word until he was screaming. The fluttering of his robes and clank of his jewelry formed a chorus to accompany the spittle that rained on Jaret's bald head and face.
When his tirade had run its course, Nabim slammed Jaret’s head into the wall then stood, straightened his clothes, and cleared his throat to show that he was calm. “So Jaret, as you have probably guessed, we have come to rehearse for your trial. Tomorrow you will appear in the Hall of Judgment before the Xi Valati, the Imperial Council, and all the lords of the Empire. I will present your case personally.” Nabim puffed himself up as he spoke, obviously proud of having orchestrated such a spectacle.
“Now, the worst possible outcome is that in your prideful insolence you will somehow ruin my preparation by saying something you should not. Which, my dear friend, is why we must ensure that the few words you say are the correct ones.”
Nabim sat smoothly in a huge chair that had been carried into the room, folding his robes around him as he came to rest. His henchman stood behind him, though his slight height meant that his head just did show above Nabim’s shoulder. His head was tilted toward his shoes. His robe could have been held up by a pole for all that Jaret could see of the man beneath. Relishing the silence, Nabim adjusted his robes as if Jaret did not exist. When he finally brought his head up, he seemed surprised to see Jaret staring wide-eyed back at him.
“As I was saying.” Nabim flashed a belittling smile, obviously amused by the spectacle. “You can tell me anything right now and do something different tomorrow, but we have to be certain that won’t happen. That is why I have had that . . . that creature visit you. Now, if you do as you are told, I will find someone else to keep Yuelle’s pet entertained. If you do not, however, do as you are told, I can give you to that thing and is brethren to play with for the remainder of your pathetic little life, and I am told that they can make that life go on for quite some time.” To emphasize his words, Thagas'kiula stepped out of the hall and took a position on Nabim’s other side.
The sight of the monster sent Jaret back into the wall with his eyes squeezed shut. He squirmed in his bonds unable to control the infantile fear that the very sight of the thing created in him. He was powerless against that fear, broken more thoroughly than any man had ever been.
Nabim and Thagas'kiula laughed, Nabim’s nasal twitter mingling with the creature’s hissing cackle in a hideous chorus of derision. Curled into the wall as tightly as he could manage with his hands chained above him, oblivious to the way he was twisting his elbows and pulling his shoulders, Jaret began to cry. The laugh was always followed by the bite. He waited for it, waited for the terrible pain, crying softly and mumbling prayers to any god that might be merciful enough to listen.
“Are you crying?” Nabim screamed. He held up his hand to stop the laughter and closed on Jaret. “Open your eyes!” he screamed again. “What is this groveling? He can’t even stop. And he has wet himself. He is no better than a beaten dog. I cannot take this to the people. They will not believe that this is the great Jaret Rammeriz. They will not believe that this is the monster that has destroyed the Empire.” Nabim turned and paced around the cell, yelling. “This will never do. Yuelle, you and this mindless beast have ruined everything. I have worked so hard to make it perfect, and you have ruined it.”
Nabim ran out of words, but his huffing made it clear that his anger was far from extinguished. “My lord, do not concern yourself,” the wizard said. He moved to comfort Nabim, placing his skeletal
hands on the Emperor’s shoulders. “Perhaps we underestimated Thagas'kiula’s enthusiasm. I warned you that it has been generations since his kind had been used for this purpose. But this is not an obstacle that we cannot overcome. If you will calm yourself, I will see what I can do to restore our fine general.”
Nabim flopped onto the chair in a great flutter of robes, and Jaret heard the shuffling steps of the wizard. The man closed within inches of him before placing an ice-cold hand on his face. The wizard brought his face around to stare into his black cowl. Jaret could just find the outline of sharp features, the movement of thin lips, and the sparkle of black eyes as the wizard mumbled strange words below his breath. When he stopped, a bolt of power arched through Jaret’s body. He convulsed then fell limp in his chains.
As the power departed, he felt his pain leaving, his fear retreating, and his shattered nerves rebuilding. It was like a wall had been erected in his mind to separate him from the pain and fear that had been overwhelming him moments before. Those emotions were still there, but he was separated from them, protected from their crippling effects. Yet it was more than that. He tried to find his anger but it was out of his reach, hidden behind that same wall. He searched for other emotions – joy, anticipation, sorrow, doubt, frustration – called up memories that he knew would insight them, but he felt nothing. No matter what he did, no matter what he thought, where he looked, he felt only indifference. Even the inability to find his emotions was a curiosity. He shook his head but bemusement was the strongest emotion he could manage for the fact that he had just lost his ability to feel. With that calm, he looked up with clear eyes just in time to see Thagas'kiula’s back as it strode from the room.
“What did you do to him?” Nabim gawked, sounding like a child who had seen a juggler perform a clever trick. “He looks like the stick-up-his-ass Jaret I have always hated.”
“I blocked Hilaal’s gift from him.” The wizard was matter-of-fact. “Emotions are a one of Hilaal’s gifts, and I am able to suppress them just as I am able to use the power they create. There are risks and such is best left to the Caliele, but it should not matter now.”
Jaret did not understand much of what the wizard had said, but neither did Nabim from his bewildered expression. He looked like he wanted to ask a question but shook it off. “But is he still broken?” he asked pointedly. “Will he still do as he is told?”
The wizard sighed like a parent mustering his patience when dealing with a difficult child. “Why don’t you try him and see? I think you will be quite satisfied.”
Nabim huffed. “We shall see. As long as you do not fail me again. Next time, I may not be so forgiving.” The wizard lifted his head at the hollow threat just enough for Jaret to see his smirk. That smirk left no doubt as to who was the puppet and who the master.
Nabim turned on Jaret with a frown. He brought a perfumed scarf to his nose. “By the Order, he smells of urine now. You will have him cleaned before the trial, won’t you?”
“Aye, my Empr’er, we’ll git ‘im all nice an’ clean fir ya,” the big guard answered.
The Emperor nodded without ever acknowledging the guard. “Well, let’s be quick about this then. The smell is dreadful. Where was I? Oh, yes. As I was saying, Jaret, if you do not do as I require, all the fear and pain you were just relieved of will come back on you tenfold, and that thing will suck on your flesh morning, noon, and night. Do you understand me?”
With the allusion to Thagas'kiula, a flash of fear escaped the veil. Jaret quivered as an image of the creature passed before his mind’s eye, but the veil strengthened and blocked the emotion as quickly as it had come. He could feel his fear pushing at that barrier, but it just became stronger and stronger until the fear was barely perceptible in the locked off corners of his mind. “Yes,” he finally croaked. He had screamed himself out of voice an hour before, but the pathetic attempt made Nabim giddy with pleasure.
“This is perfect!” he giggled. “I will not have to worry about this headstrong fool boggling my plans. He won’t be able to defend himself even if he tries.”
“My lord, we do have other business this evening.” The wizard broke Nabim’s humor with a tight, but honey-sweet, voice. “We should finish this and move on. We have already spent more time than we had intended.”
“You are quite right, Yuelle. It just amazes me how the Order has aligned the world to meet my needs. Truly, I am destined to be the greatest emperor in history.”
“I am certain that is true, my lord, but can we please be done with this?”
“Yes, yes.” Nabim fluttered a hand at his advisor. The wizard’s frown was visible even through the cowl. “Now, Jaret, tomorrow I will ask you only one question. I expect you to have saved up all night to give a clear, strong answer. It is really a very simple question with a very simple answer, but it is vitally important that you get it right. Do you understand?”
Jaret could only nod in response. He knew that his voice would be strong the next day – it always was when Thagas'kiula made his morning visit.
The nod seemed sufficient for Nabim. “The question is this: Jaret Rammeriz, you have been accused of high treason against the Empire, gross mismanagement of the people resources, squandering the Empire’s wealth for your own gain, and most gravely of all, of worshiping chaos and seeking to sow its seeds throughout the world. How do you answer these charges?” Nabim looked Jaret in the eye. “Now, traitor Rammeriz, how will you answer that question?”
Guilty, guilty, guilty, Jaret’s mind screamed. He knew that was what Nabim wanted to hear and did not have any reservations about saying it. Despite the calm he had been given, he was still every bit as broken as he had been five minutes before, and he wanted more than anything to satisfy Nabim. He tried to say the word. Concentrated on forming it. . . . “Not guilty,” he mouthed unable to repress the unseen will that moved his lips.
Jaret expected to see Nabim erupt, but the Emperor threw his hands in the air in celebration. “I always knew that you were strong, Jaret, but I never knew you were that strong and that smart. That is exactly what you will say. You will say ‘not guilty.’ You will say it in as loud and proud a voice as you can muster. Then you will continue to look proud as dozens of witnesses are called, days and days of witnesses, to prove that you are more guilty than could ever be expressed by you or I. Finally, when all the witnesses have given their testimony, when you have seen your closest friends and confidants turn against you, when the entire world has come to see the side of you that only I can portray, only then will I lay down your punishment.
“It will seem merciful to a fault. The crowds outside the hall will be screaming for your death, but I will tell them that I still see a way for you to find redemption. You will look like a proud monster, unwilling to admit your undeniable guilt even when it is so obviously laid out before you. I will appear to be a benevolent master who only wishes to lead his subjects to enlightenment. It will be a grand spectacle that will deliver the Empire truly and fully into my hands alone. And all you have to do is say two loud, clear words: not guilty.”
Relishing his plan, Nabim rose from his chair and leered. Jaret could see the madness clearly in his eyes. If he were still capable of such emotion, he would have been more afraid of the Emperor than he was of Thagas'kiula. Fear not for himself, but for the people this man would rule. Yet, as much as he sympathized for what those people would suffer under Nabim’s twisted sovereignty, his fear, his sympathy was locked away. And even if he had it, he now knew that he could only feel his own pain. He knew how intense that pain could be. All the empathy in the world could not elevate the pain of others to match what he had suffered, and he knew that come tomorrow he would do exactly as Nabim had instructed.
Nabim packed up his entourage and started to leave. As he left, he patted Jaret on the head like a dog. “Until tomorrow, my friend.”
Jaret barely noticed th
e attention. He was glad that he had somehow chosen the correct response but was troubled as well. He did not have the slightest idea what power had forced him to say those words despite his every mental capacity pushing for the lie. In that moment, and even now, he was not certain that he was physically capable of lying.