1Of Tempest and Steel
By Cenowar
Chapter One
It's a strange feeling, opening your eyes and having no idea who you are.
My first sensation was thirst. A longing, desperate thirst, so strong that the back of my throat burned and it hurt to swallow. After that, it was hunger; cruel and stabbing, like a knife twisting and twisting in the depths of my stomach. It was so bad that I curled into a ball reflexively, rolling onto to my side in an effort to curb the pain. It did nothing but make me realise I was lying on a cold, stone floor.
A gasp escaped me involuntarily, the faintest of whimpers on my breath, but it didn't help the hunger - in fact it intensified it, so much so that I closed my eyes and willed the pain away.
I was aware of nothing but the darkness around me, of my body trying to rip itself in two. Who knows how long I lay there, helpless and alone, trying to force myself to breathe. Eventually the stabbing abated and only the thirst remained. It hurt too, in a different way, but that was all right: thirst I could deal with.
As new lives went, this one had to be one of the worst. Where was I? That seemed a more pressing question than who was I, which normally answered itself given enough time.
It was so dark that it made no difference whether I kept my eyes shut or open. My ears strained for a sound, anything, some indication that I wasn't completely alone. I was rewarded with a soft jingling, followed by a clank of metal. Metal upon stone. Clank, shuffle, clank, shuffle.
Then a light appeared at the edge of my vision.
At first I wasn't sure whether I was imagining it. If you've ever been plunged into darkness for any length of time, you'll know that your brain sometimes manifests sources of light even when there are none.
This one was definitely real. It started as a gentle ember glow, barely a light at all, but as the clank and shuffle got closer, so did the light, until eventually I could see... something. Stone walls, some blocked from view by solid bars. Iron bars? A prison cell?
That would make sense.
My stomach tensed again, and my entire body cramped in response. The clank and the shuffle had stopped, but the light was bright now. I squinted through the pain and saw a pair of feet on the other side of the bars. No... not a pair of feet. One foot, and one sliver of shining metal. That would explain the clank, then.
A loud crack of wood upon metal jolted me into a state of alertness, as the guard - I assume it was a guard - rapped a long stick against the bars of the cell.
"You alive in there?" came his gruff, heavily accented voice.
I knew that accent. I couldn't place it, but it was familiar, in the way that a dream is familiar when you have it more than once.
All I could manage in response was a splutter, a cough, my mouth so dry that I couldn't use it to form words.
"Good enough for me," chimed a second voice, from behind a guard who held the torch that illuminated the hallway. This one was rich, well-spoken, and immediately I could tell it didn't belong. "Get her up. It's time she answered for her crimes."
The door to the cell squeaked loudly as it opened, its hinges uncared for and in desperate need of an oil. I was hoisted first into a sitting position, and then unsteadily to my feet.
The room swam.
I staggered, my legs feeling heavy and my arms flailing out to the side as I tried to catch my balance. I hit one of the guards in his breastplate, I think, the sheer metal cutting into my hand. A dagger of pain shot up my arm, but I didn't care.
Neither did the guards. They grabbed me roughly by the arms, keeping me upright against my body's will. I squinted into the torchlight, trying to clear my vision. The light felt so bright that it hurt.
Held at either side by the guards as I was, the third, richly-voiced man surveyed me. He wore heavy, intricately coloured robes, and a number of bangles jingled at his arms when he moved them.
He reached out a slender hand, pinching my cheeks as he forced me to look at him. It probably would have hurt had I any energy left to feel it. My vision, still blurred, meant it was difficult for me to make out the details of his face.
Saying nothing, he released my face, then gestured violently up the hallway.
"Take her," he barked.
And so I was led.
-x-
To say that I remembered nothing of who I was wouldn't be entirely true. I remembered plenty who I had been in the past: a noble child, a farmer's daughter, a priestess of the church, a commander in battle and, most recently, a gallant man's mistress. Those are just a few of the lives I have... borrowed. In each of those lives I had wanted and hankered for different things, and been motivated by a number of variable desires. Yet I was still myself, as I am still myself now.
The issue with those 'lives' was that none of them were truly mine. I don't know which life was supposed to be mine - I lost it, a long time ago, and I think I've been searching for it ever since.
Which is why when I wake in a new life, as I did on the floor of that dungeon cell, I have no idea whose life I have inadvertently stolen. I pick up the basics from clues, and I fall into the role of that person fairly easily. Most people aren't too complicated to figure out.
The difficulty with my new life was that other than 'prisoner', I really had no idea who I was. Which meant answering questions about my crime was much more difficult than it probably should have been.
I hadn't the energy to focus on where I was being led. All I remember is that where once I was stumbling, helplessly trying to put one foot in front of another, eventually I was seated on a rickety wooden stool.
The relief on my back as I sat made me wonder just how long I had been down in that cell. Everything ached. My shoulders, my neck, my arms, my hands, even my ankles hurt.
There was a window set into the wall, open a small amount, and a cool breeze wafted into the room. It was sweet, and fresh, and made me realise just hour sour and stale my own mouth tasted.
In the natural light of day, I tried to evaluate the room I was in. It was difficult to think, my mind foggy and tired. I could see the details, but they didn't quite make sense. I could see that the room was lined with rugs, that there were bookshelves crammed with books, that there was a cabinet filled with bizarre shaped trinkets, that there was a desk covered with papers, that there were woven tapestries on the walls - all this I could see, yet none of it really made sense to me.
The stool I sat on was to one side of the room. Before me there was a table, small but made of solid wood. There was a heavy set chair across from that, wingback and soft, red leather melded to the mahogany frame.
Even with my mind as tired as it was, I could feel questions starting to brim at its edges. Whose office was this? Why was I here? Why wasn't I dead? Questions were good. It meant I was someone curious, someone who noticed things and wanted to find out more. Intelligence was always a welcome change.
A door at the end of the room banged open. The wood cracked loudly against the stone, making me jump from my skin. Beside me, one of the guards chuckled at my response, and I would have glared at him if my head weren't so heavy.
A tall figure strode through the now open doorway, dressed all in black and with a posture of ramrod steel. The fact that I noticed his posture above all else struck me as odd. Immediately I could tell he was the kind of man who commanded all attention no matter how many people were in the room.
He unceremoniously dumped several rolls of parchment onto his already cluttered desk, then waved a hand towards the guards who had accompanied me from the cell.
"Leave us," was all he said. It was all he had to say. The guards left without another word, closing the wooden door behind them. Apparently I wasn't so dangerous that he didn't feel he couldn't be left alone in a room with me.
I then wondered why I should have been dangerous at all. Interesting.
He didn't look up at first. I watched him, partly curious, partly apprehensive, as he peered at several different pieces of paper on his desk, then scratched absently at the back of his neck. He then set about removing his gloves, pulling at each of the fingers and placing them delicately on the side of the desk. His movements seemed precise, and entirely full of thought.
I began to wonder if he had forgotten I was there.
The was a soft knock at the door the guards had exited a few moments before.
"Enter."
There came into the room a woman dressed in servant's garb, carrying a pewter tray. A steaming mug was on it, and a plate of warm food. My mouth immediately craved it, the smell of the meat and gravy the most wonderful thing I could remember experiencing.
She set the tray down on the table in front of me, gave a small curtsey to the man at the head of the room, then left.
The instinct to launch myself on the food and drink made my hands shake. I fidgeted, and realised my breath was short, sharp, so full of desperation was I to fill my stomach. At the sight of the meal before me, it began to cramp again, and I clenched my fists against the pain.
At last, the man lifted his head an acknowledged me. His eyes were dark, and entirely shrewd as they surveyed me.
"Eat," he said, more gently than he had spoken before. "Please."
I could have wept. I think I almost did, the relief of being able to finally satiate my hunger so utterly overwhelming.
I tried not to shovel the food into my mouth. I tried to take it gently, easily, not knowing how long it had been since I had last eaten anything, or how long it would be before I ate again. If the food was to remain in my stomach, then it had to be done gently. Still, it was hard to remember the last time simply feeding myself had felt so good. I was aware of being watched, of the eyes taking in my every movement, but honestly I didn't care. I should have questioned what was happening, in fact those very words probed at my mind as I ate, but I ignored them; nothing seemed as important as revitalising my body with rich, nourishing food.
The nausea shouldn't have been surprising.
Not moments after I had taken my last mouthful did my stomach tremble, and I began breathing deeply, doing my best to keep the meal down. It passed after a few moments and I nodded to myself, reaching for the cup that had come with my meal. As I downed the sweet, fruity liquid I felt it warm me from the inside out. It blossomed from my chest out to my shoulders, arms, legs, fingers and toes. It was comforting, entirely pleasant, and entirely soothing.
I replaced the empty mug and swallowed emptily, wishing for more. Then I looked up into the dark eyes that had been watching me the entire time. He hadn't sat down, instead opted to lean against the wall with his arms across his chest. Unusual.
It should have unnerved me, I suppose, but it didn't. I knew nothing about this life, this woman whose body I had inhabited, other than she was entirely miserable. It felt wrong to have stolen the joy of a hot meal from her, but it did me little good to worry about it.
So I looked back, my gaze holding, wondering what on earth was to happen to me, whoever I was.
"We try to make the last meal a good one," my companion said at last, and he uncrossed his arms.
He crossed the room in five paces, his strides strong and powerful. He stopped by the wingback chair, but did not sit in it. It forced me lift my head to look at him.
His eyebrows rose, clearly surprised by something, but he quickly recovered and regarded me with the same impassioned face he had used for the rest of the time we had known each other. He had a hard face, angled and sharp, and a mouth that didn't smile. A man of power, certainly; it was written across everything about him, in his face, in the way he stood, in the way he gripped the chair beside him, in the way he spoke. He'd barely said five words since he entered the room, yet people obeyed him as though he was their king - myself included.
He blew out a breath from his nose. It was an irritated sound, and it drew his eyes together in the touch of a frown.
Uncertain of what he expected from me, I returned my gaze to the now empty plate in front of me. With the warmth of food and drink in my stomach, I was now able to consider things around me a little more. I had been a prisoner, that much was certain, so clearly I had committed some kind of crime. That or I had been framed. It was nice to think that it was an undeserved punishment, that there would be an easy way out of this situation, but somehow I doubted it.
'Last meal', he had said. Was I to be executed? That would be gruelling indeed, and an end to one of the shortest lives I had ever lived.
A sheet of paper appeared in my field of vision. Surprised, I took it, and considered the words on the page.
"Read it."
I did.
To whom it may concern
Elena Lycroft has been found guilty of the attempted murder of Lord Avon Starke, and is subsequently sentenced to a life of servitude and slavery to the state until such time as:
i. Death claims her body;
ii. Malady claims her mind;
iii. Pardon is granted by the offended party.
This sentence is absolute and irrevocable. It is hereby decreed that Elena Lycroft's life is forfeit and that she become property of state, sovereign and crown with immediate effect.
Signed
It was followed by a list of at least twelve different signatures. A feeling as heavy and smooth as a stone began to descend in my stomach, unrelated to the food I had wolfed down. A strong sense of injustice flared within my chest, a heat that permeated through the thoughts I was having. There were tears in my eyes, hot and stinging. Perhaps I had been framed.
The parchment went limp between my fingers.
On the one hand, I should have been grateful that I wasn't dead. Yet on the other... a life of indentured slavery, for a crime I could not remember committing. I knew nothing of this world, of its rules, of its people, of its expectations. Perhaps living would be worse than death. At least in death I could move to another life. A constant prisoner would be... interesting. To put it mildly.
Still, at least I had a name now: Elena. It was pretty. I hadn't been an Elena before.
The paper was taken from me, but not before one of my tears dripped onto it. It left a dirtied streak on the page.
Now that they had started, they would not stop. I blinked, trying to will them away, and I wiped my cheeks furiously to keep more from falling. It didn't help; a great emptiness had welled up inside my chest, swallowing where my heart had been, as I longed for a life I couldn't remember living.
To my great surprise, a hand rested gently on my shoulder, comforting me. I jumped away from it as though the touch had burned, then looked up into a pair of impassive eyes.
"Here. Take this."
He handed me a plain handkerchief from one of his pockets. I took it without ceremony, using it to dry my face. It came away smeared with dingy stains. That somehow made everything worse.
Taking a few deep breaths, I clenched my fist around the fabric, finding it remarkably soft against my skin compared to the rags I was wearing.
"Thank you," I managed, the first words I had ever spoken, as I handed him back the napkin. It felt strange to speak, as though someone had replaced my voice box with a bird's nest.
I got a brief nod in return, the smallest acknowledgement of my words, before he swept back over to his desk and became distracted by the paperwork across it.
"I've made arrangements to have you cleaned and dressed before your work begins," he spoke, in a way that made it seem like he was talking to an empty room. "You'll find your treatment to be easier than in the cells, but not by much. I'll call the guard shortly to take you to the Brands. Please note that while we're not to kill you, nobody will hesitate to torture you if you misbehave, so try not to. We operate a well-oiled machine around here, and we expect you to adapt quickly to become one of its moving parts."
The stone in my stomach sank lower.
"Please," I begged, though it came out as a half whisper. "I - I have questions."
"I'm sure. You all do."
"Who are you?"
At this, he looked surprised, and didn't bother trying to hide it from his face. There was a pause, as though he was considering whether to indulge me or not, before he gave another nod. He sat back against his desk and folded his arms across his chest, striking a pose that was both powerful and relaxed.
"I am Commander Arlen Vale." He spoke with authority, like a man who was used to having people obey him. "I maintain the smooth running of Lord Starke's household and garrison. I am responsible for his personal safety and the upkeep of his home, hearth, and the welfare of his people."
"I'm in Starke's home?"
My surprise was as evident in my voice as it was across my face. That was the name of the man I had tried to murder; why on earth would they allow me anywhere near him? Nevermind the fact that I was hardly motivated to carry out a second attack as I couldn't even remember the first, but they weren't to know that.
Vale gave me a pinched smile. "That's Lord Starke, if you're ever in his presence. And not exactly. Right now, you're in my chambers at the heart of the garrison. You've been in the cells since your capture. We haven't moved you far."
The questions were exploding into my mind faster than I could manage them, like a meteor shower across a dark night sky. They faded almost as soon as I thought them, being replaced with another more burning. I wanted to know what Starke had done to me for me to make an attempt on his life; I wanted to know why I had been kept in cells near starvation; I wanted to know what was to become of me. That seemed the most pressing, and so it tumbled from my lips without much prompt.
One of the Commander's dark eyebrows rose. "You ask a lot of questions for someone whose life I just spared."
That one gave me even more questions.
"Spared? Why? How?"
He looked almost as though he might chuckle, but instead he simply cleared his throat. "I'll assume that time down in the dungeons has confused your mind, so I'll lay out a brief summary of what normally happens to criminals before I send you on your way. I'll expect no questions after that. Agreed?"
Somehow I knew that what he was about to say wouldn't satisfy me, the man who recently had been so few of words, but I nodded nonetheless.
"When slaves become the property of sovereign and state, they are sent across all parts of the realm to wherever they are needed most. Some are sent to the mines, some to the army, some to the laboratories - you get the idea. In rare cases, when certain criminals have particularly piqued somebody's interests, they are brought in for more specialised work. In your case, the fact that you managed to even reach Lord Avon Starke to attempt an assassination on his life is... well, rather remarkable, actually.
"While we could torture the information out of you to form a defence against it in the future, our energies are better spent learning from you, and using you to our advantage. Trained killers are hard to come by, even in the criminal trade, and it would be better to have one on our side; especially with a reputation like Lady Lycroft's."
Vale eyed me meaningfully, and I got the distinct impression he was trying to pay me a compliment. However, his words failed to ignite any kind of pride in my heart. The woman he was praising was not me. It was becoming increasingly clear to me that the life I had adopted wasn't simply some nobody. Worse yet, they were looking to learn from me, and have me explain how I committed my crime in the first place. Shit.
If the Commander took note of my lack of response, he didn't let it stop him. He forged ahead with his speech, holding his hands behind his back as he began to pace.
"I won't get into the intricacies of what will come next - that will be for Grandmaster Garrett to explain - but I will say that we intend for you to become one of Lord Starke's personal bodyguards. Your previous life is now forfeit, which includes any allegiances you may have forged. You will tell us everything you know about your methods, your accomplices, and you will work, tirelessly, to keep your Lord from harm. Failure in your duties will result in punishment worse than death."
Commander Vale turned as he spoke, his eyes flashing with determination as they met mine. He held my gaze for a moment, then sniffed and drew back his shoulders. "I trust this answers your questions? For now, at least?"
Not trusting myself to keep more of them from spilling from me, I simply nodded.
"Good. Then I will call for the Grandmaster, and your new life can begin."
A new life was precisely what I had been searching for; the problem was, I wasn't sure this was a life I wanted.