The Silent Tempest (Book 2)

  “What I’m doing is necessary.”

  “Fuck you. There’s absolutely nothing necessary about this. You can train them without torturing them. You can teach them to fight. If you showed them the least amount of kindness, you’d get far more from them. You’re wrong! You don’t have to play evil to get what you want. You could do far better by being their mentor. Don’t you understand that?”

  Tyrion closed his mouth, thinking. Deep down, he wanted to agree with her. He believed in the strength of the human spirit, of cooperation, of love, and family. He had spent years considering the reasons he had survived the arena, and in the end, he had decided his greatest advantage over the slaves of the She’Har had been his upbringing. But he also knew how hard it was to kill.

  His first kill had been born of desperation and luck. It was afterward, when he learned to truly hate the She’Har and their wardens, that he had found the will to destroy his opponents without hesitation, without compunction or mercy.

  And he knew the teens he had brought back from Colne were far from understanding that sort of brutal reality. They hadn’t been tortured the way he had. They hadn’t experienced what he had, and while some of them might survive their first fights in the arena, some most definitely would not.

  But he had no way to convince Kate of that.

  “When we leave this room, you’ll keep your eyes on the ground and give every appearance that I’ve done something terrible to you…”

  “No. I won’t cooperate with your sick plan. If you want me to look like I’ve been beaten, or raped, or whatever… then you’re going to have to do it.” Kate raised her chin defiantly.

  For a moment he was tempted, but he was too heartsick to go through with it. Instead he had another idea. “You have two choices then,” he told her. “You can walk out of here and show me for a fraud, and I’ll double the number of painful lessons I give them. Or, you can lower your head and pretend you’ve been beaten, and I’ll limit myself to one object lesson a day.”

  “Coward,” was her reply. Turning, she walked to the door, but she came up short when she found herself unable to open it. “Let me out.”

  With a word, he released the enchantment that sealed the room.

  Kate threw the door open and ran out, head down and sobbing. She seemed entirely convincing. If he had not known the truth for himself, he would never had disbelieved her performance. Even her aura was in turmoil. She was an actress down to her very soul.

  “What happened Kate?” came a worried voice. “What did he do to you?” It took Tyrion a moment to identify the speaker. David.

  The young man hurried with her, trying to soothe her as she quickly left the house.

  He won’t have trouble finding reasons to hate me, thought Tyrion, but it gave him no satisfaction.

  Chapter 21

  The days passed in a painful parade of training and misery. Things weren’t completely dark for Tyrion’s children, though. They had one another. They had meals together and a growing sense of comradery. They had Kate, a reminder of home and now something of a surrogate mother, but most of all, they had a common enemy.

  His lessons were hard. He gave them new tasks and then pushed them until they failed. Sometimes the failures were bad enough to be a punishment in and of themselves, such as when he drove them until their shields collapsed, and they experienced first-hand the shock of feedback. Other times the punishment came at an unexpected time, when he determined that someone had performed too poorly.

  In between lessons they watched him. He could feel their eyes on him whenever he was outside of his room. Fearful glances and occasionally hate-filled stares had become the norm. As he had predicted, their fear was blossoming into a bumper crop of anger and antipathy, except for Gabriel Evans anyway.

  Gabriel had taken his new authority seriously, and even though Tyrion made a point of putting him under the red whip at least once, the boy had remained serious, perhaps even loyal to him. He excelled at the exercises they were put to, and he exhibited a strong focus, but he still worried Tyrion.

  “He wants to please you,” said Layla as they talked one evening.

  Tyrion nodded, “That’s what worries me.”

  “He is strong, and the first matches are against younglings from the pens,” reminded Layla. “Most of them are weak, he will probably win.”

  “Probably isn’t good enough,” said Tyrion. “I want to be sure that all of them make it.”

  “Why are you so obsessed with making sure all of them win?” she asked.

  “They are my children,” he told her.

  The warden shrugged, “You have many, one, more or less, won’t make much of a difference.”

  “If you had children, you might understand better.”

  “I have given birth twice already,” she answered.

  Tyrion gave her a look of surprise. “I never knew that. How long did they let you keep them?”

  “An hour,” she replied. “Once they’ve had their first-milk, they are taken to be nursed by the nameless.”

  “Are they still alive?”

  Layla looked down, poking at the ground with her finger, “I don’t know. Once they enter the pens, only the trainers know where they go, or whether they even survive to adulthood.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Tyrion.

  “Don’t be,” said the warden. “I disliked their fathers.”

  He knew that the pregnancies had been deliberate. The She’Har slave collars prevented anything like normal intercourse, to prevent their stock from breeding unsupervised. If Layla had gotten pregnant twice, it meant she had been chosen for breeding. From what Tyrion had heard, the process was unimaginative; the mother to be was simply ordered to lean over a rail and the chosen sire, frequently a warden or occasionally one of the She’Har males, would then provide his contribution.

  “Were they wardens?”

  “She’Har,” she replied.

  Tyrion left the conversation alone after that, unsure how to continue.

  ***

  The week was almost over, and Kate stood at a table, chopping vegetables, preparing for the evening meal, even though they hadn’t eaten lunch yet. Lunch was finished, except for the eating, and there was much yet to do before supper, so she had gotten started early.

  The window before her showed the yard in front of the house, and she could see the teens practicing, their faces intent. The level of concentration they displayed was hard to believe, unless one knew what sort of punishment awaited anyone deemed unsatisfactory. Her gaze fell on the man circling them, and her eyes narrowed.

  How did it come to be like this? she wondered.

  Daniel had been the gentlest of boys, a kind soul—once. He had been her inspiration when they were young. The way he had handled young lambs, his care with the sheep, the way he had handled dogs, all of it had shown her a man possessed of uncommon compassion. That was why she had loved him, his music had only been a wonderful extra.

  When he had returned the first time, after years away, he had been different, but his heart had still been there, tightly bound and well hidden. What he had endured had changed him, but despite it, his kindness had still been there. He had worn his anger like a cloak, something that had covered his weaknesses, but without consuming him.

  Now it’s more the opposite, his occasional kindness is like a thin veil, hiding the rage of his inner self.

  A sound made her turn, Layla stood not far away. “Shouldn’t you be out helping?” asked Kate.

  “My turn will come after lunch,” said the tall woman, moving closer. She ran her hand down Kate’s hair before tracing a line down her shoulder.

  Kate felt a mild thrill at the touch. “That’s something then,” she observed. “At least you don’t torture them.”

  Layla shrugged, “I prefer not to get worked up. I save my energy for—other things.” Leaning in, she nuzzled the smaller woman’s neck, inhaling deeply.

  “Stop,” said Kate. “I have too much to do, and b
esides, I’m not in the mood.”

  The female warden let out an uncharacteristic whine, “but I’m horny.”

  “I smell like onions.”

  The other woman wrinkled her nose but didn’t give up immediately, “Onions smell much better once you simmer them over the fire.”

  Kate pushed her away, “I’m serious. I have other things to do. Find something else to occupy you.”

  Layla sighed, “But no one else will play with me.”

  Kate had no illusions regarding what the warden meant by ‘play’, but the statement gave her pause. She knew the warden had had many ‘playmates’ before, but she hadn’t considered the possibility that the woman might continue her polyamory now that she lived under Tyrion’s roof.

  “Who else would you play with?” she asked curiously.

  Layla pursed her lips, thinking about the question seriously. Looking out the window, she smiled, “Hmm, Gabriel looks like he would be fun to train.”

  Kate was a bit shocked, “He’s a child.”

  “Tell that to his shoulders,” retorted Layla. “My people don’t pay attention to such things anyway.”

  Kate still didn’t approve, “Whether they do or not, it’s still wrong.” She had never forgotten what her own mother had done to Daniel once, long ago. She was also already aware that she was unlikely to change the other woman’s opinions on pretty much anything. Layla was stubborn, nor was she given to reflection or deeper thinking.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said the warden. “I’m pretty sure Tyrion would kill me if I took to playing with his offspring. He’s almost as strange as you are when it comes to such things.”

  Uncomfortable with the subject, Kate tried to shift the topic, “I thought you preferred women anyway.”

  “I get bored easily,” said Layla. “Women usually entertain me longer.”

  Kate considered her marriage and then her infrequent trysts with Darla Long, and she had to admit that Layla had a point, but her experience was too limited to really judge. She hadn’t felt the thrill with Seth that she had once felt for Daniel, but then she had never really fallen in love again. Darla had been lonely, and a kindred spirit in many respects; her marriage had been dull and lifeless, much like Kate’s.

  “Tyrion seems like he would be interesting,” continued the female warden. “I like the dangerous ones, but I wonder if he prefers men.”

  Kate was startled, “What?”

  Layla gave her a look usually reserved for slow children, “Some men prefer only men.”

  “Why would you think that about him?”

  “Well, over the years he rarely came to Ellentrea anymore, but when he did it was exclusively to visit Garlin, and he has already told me that they were friends. Since coming here, I have yet to see him show any favor to any of the girls, or you,” explained Layla. “He even turned me down when I offered myself to him,” she added.

  “You what?!”

  “Like this,” said Layla slyly, pressing her full body languidly against Kate’s. She ran her nails lightly down her back.

  Kate pushed her away, frowning angrily.

  Layla sighed, “That’s exactly what he did, no reaction at all. How did he get so many children? Did the women of your village force him?”

  Exasperated, Kate picked the knife up again and turned away, “Let me do my work.”

  “You’re so dull. I may have to start punishing the students to entertain myself,” teased the warden.

  Kate pointed the blade at her, “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Layla laughed, “Relax, I like breathing more than that.”

  “Huh?”

  “Tyrion,” explained the other woman. “He hasn’t forbidden it, but I can feel it. If anyone else were to touch one of them, they wouldn’t live long. I certainly wouldn’t risk it, not after what happened in Sabortrea.”

  Kate had heard enough to know the name of the camp that Haley had been taken to, but she hadn’t learned much else about it. “What happened?”

  “He killed two of the wardens there. The story is that he attacked one of them in the presence of the She’Har. They should have killed him for that, but his owner paid to preserve him, and then paid to buy the ones he wanted to kill,” said Layla.

  He really is going insane, thought Kate. “What set him off?”

  Layla shrugged, “Who knows? They say he came across them taking favors from the girl.”

  “From Haley?” asked Kate.

  “If that is what they called her. I have never understood your custom for giving names to unblooded children,” said the warden.

  Kate could understand his reaction, even if it seemed alien to Layla. Every day was making it plainer to her just how different the thinking of the people who lived among the She’Har was. Things that should be abominations to them were commonplace, while things that should be normal were frowned upon.

  She was questioning her perspective of Daniel when the screaming started. Glancing out the window she could see David on the ground, writhing in pain. Daniel stood above him, holding the red whip in one hand, while his face possessed the coldest, most impassive expression that she had ever seen.

  Kate’s hand slipped, nearly taking off the end of her finger. She stared at the blood welling from a shallow cut, but then Layla lifted it, putting it into her mouth.

  “Mmm,” said the female warden. “You should let me fix this for you.”

  She tried to jerk her hand back, but Layla held it tightly. Withdrawing the finger she took her other hand and traced the cut, sealing the skin so that only a small silver scar remained.

  From the yard David’s scream trailed off, ending in a soft whimper. His punishment was finished. Kate pulled again, and this time Layla released her hand.

  “I can’t understand how that doesn’t bother you,” she noted.

  “In Ellentrea such sounds are as common as birdsong in the forest.”

  Chapter 22

  “Stay here,” said Tyrion as Kate automatically started to follow them.

  “I want to see this,” she responded.

  He shook his head, “No, you don’t.”

  He was standing next to Byovar. The eight teens whose powers had already manifested stood behind him. Today was the day they would be blooded.

  “I would like to come as well,” put in Layla.

  Tyrion glanced at her. “You have to stay here…,” his eyes passed over Kate briefly, “…to keep an eye on things.”

  Kate frowned, “So I need a babysitter now?”

  “I just want to be sure no one disturbs things around here. The She’Har have very loose concepts when it comes to property.”

  “They seem to have slavery down to a fine art,” she retorted.

  He nodded, “Slavery yes, livestock yes, but inanimate objects are a different matter. They don’t really understand the owning of ‘things’ as well as they do people.”

  “Everyone will be at the arena today,” observed Byovar. “No one will molest your stone building.”

  “I am bored. Let us come see the fights,” said Layla.

  Kate nodded in agreement.

  Tyrion shook his head, “Nameless servants aren’t allowed to attend…”

  “You can bring whoever you wish, Tyrion,” corrected the lore-warden.

  “I’m coming,” said Kate before leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Unless you want to discipline me here and now, and I don’t think you’re up for that, are you?”

  “Very well,” he relented. “It will do you good to learn the truth.” Inwardly he seethed at her impertinence, but once again he found himself reluctant to call her bluff.

  An hour later they were at the Ellentrea arena, a place that Tyrion knew intimately since the majority of his matches had been there. Thillmarius greeted them with a smile.

  “The holding cells for your participants are over here,” he said genially.

  “I would prefer to let them watch,” answered Tyrion.

  “I’m afraid that
’s against the rules,” replied Thillmarius. “It gives the watchers a potential advantage.”

  Tyrion dipped his head in acknowledgement. He had known that was the most likely response, but he still had hoped it wasn’t something set in stone. He led them over to the wooden outcroppings that rose from the earth near the edge of the arena. Each one was a knobby part of the root from one of the neighboring god trees. They each contained a small room and a door. The walls were covered with a spellweave that blocked magesight.

  Gesturing at them, he ushered each of his eight children who were to fight into a room of their own. He stopped then.

  “What of the others? Their powers have not awakened yet. Will they be permitted to watch?” he asked, indicating his remaining children and Kate.

  Thillmarius smiled again, “The rules only state that participants may not watch. Nameless without ability are not regulated. If they are with you, then they may observe.”

  Tyrion nodded. Much of what happened in the arena would be invisible to them without magesight, but they would see enough to understand. He wasn’t sure whether it would help or hurt them in the future, though. Seeing a fight to the death might help them find their resolve, or it could fill them with a paralyzing dread of the future. He hoped it would be the former.

  The She’Har who was overseeing the arena came over, a male by the name of Koralltis. He spoke directly to Tyrion, something he had never done previously, “You have eight to be blooded today, which of them is your strongest?”

  He hadn’t expected that question, or even to be spoken to. Koralltis was treating him as an equal, or at least as a trainer. Still, he wasn’t sure of the purpose of the question, and he glanced at Byovar for guidance. The Illeniel lore-warden simply shrugged.

  Thinking for a moment, he considered his reply. He could easily choose either Brigid or Gabriel, both had shown more progress than the others, and both were strong. Hesitating for only a second, he pointed to the cell which contained Gabriel, “That one.”