15
It was damp in the dungeons.
When Port Lorsin was originally built a thousand years earlier, it was nothing but a crude wooden hill fort perched atop a honeycomb of caverns. The height of the hill fort discouraged invaders, but the caverns below provided an escape route to the sea, should invaders not be entirely discouraged. Over time, the hill fort transformed into a palace, a city blossomed in a semicircle against the sea, and the caverns were gradually converted into dungeons, forgotten by all except unfortunate prisoners and the guards who kept them there.
As a rule, Joslyn did not like caves, or, for that matter, dungeons. And her hallucinogenic experiences in the underground city of Xochitcyan, followed by dueling Ty’Tsana in the ancient barrow where Milo had been held prisoner had done nothing to alleviate her general distaste for underground spaces.
So it was with no small discomfort that Joslyn stood beside Tasia in the low-ceilinged interrogation chamber. Joslyn couldn’t help but feel claustrophobic; the room had not been large to begin with, and now it was crowded to the point of bursting. The prisoner was the focal point, strapped to a large stone slab in the center of the room. Around the slab stood Brother Evrart, Brother Rennus, Rennus’s young assistant Udolf, Alric, Tasia, and Joslyn. When Evrart shut and barred the door behind them, Joslyn had a sudden urge to scream.
She ignored that urge, of course, and kept her gaze trained on the prisoner.
The Order of Targhan assassin had been in her prime when she’d attacked them on the docks. She’d looked hungry, to be sure – Lord M’Tongliss had probably tried to weaken her by underfeeding her, and Joslyn knew all too well how to recognize the signs of hunger in a face. But now she looked far more than half-starved. She looked ancient. Her stringy auburn hair had turned snow-white; her skin had the withered appearance of a fruit mostly rotten. The hollows of starvation around her eyes and cheeks had grown even deeper, with the effect that her face overall seemed like a skull only thinly papered over.
Tasia, along with everyone else who’d been present at the dock for the attack, claimed Joslyn had proven herself the Empire’s heroine once again, but Joslyn knew better.
They had been lucky. That was all.
And Joslyn refused to rely upon luck as her primary means of protecting Tasia.
Evrart glanced from face to face inside the cramped dungeon room. “We’ve administered the truth serum. Without the aid of a shadow, she should not be able to resist it. Is everyone ready?”
Solemn nods all around.
The oil lamp hanging on the wall behind Joslyn flickered and sputtered noisily, as though in anxious anticipation of what was about to transpire.
At a signal from Evrart, Rennus unraveled a scroll and cleared his throat. Udolf, the apprentice, readied a second scroll and a quill, prepared to record the woman’s answers.
“What is your name?” Rennus asked.
The old woman on the slab muttered something unintelligible.
“Repeat,” Rennus commanded. “What is your name?”
“Uhak’Ro,” the old woman rasped.
“Uhak’Ro,” Rennus said. “Tell us who sent you to assassinate the Empress.”
Uhak’Ro answered, but not in the common tongue. Her response was in a guttural language Joslyn had heard before. It sounded almost like the language of the small men.
All three Brothers frowned at once, exchanging glances.
“What?” Alric demanded. “What did she say?”
“I’m not sure,” Evrart replied. He looked at Rennus. “Did you …?”
“No,” said Rennus. He faced Alric, then Tasia. “It’s … what she speaks is not quite the Old Tongue. It’s more of … a creolization of Old Tongue.” He hesitated, glancing between Evrart and Udolf. “I caught the word ‘king.’ At least I think it was king.”
Udolf nodded. “I heard that, too, master Brother.”
Rennus glared at Udolf, and the young Brother, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen summers, blanched and looked away.
Perhaps Udolf was not supposed to speak because of his apprentice status?
“Uhak’Ro,” Rennus said again. “You must speak in the common tongue. Who sent you to assassinate Empress Natasia?”
Again the woman spoke. Again the Brothers appeared disconcerted and confused.
“Is the truth serum not working?” asked Tasia.
“It is,” said Evrart. “But she either does not speak much common tongue, or, under the influence of the serum, has reverted to her native language. It does happen sometimes.”
Already on edge from being in the claustrophobic space, irritated as ever that it was necessary to keep the Brotherhood of Culo as close allies, Joslyn snorted her disapproval. “So she’s useless to us. I should have taken off her head when I’d had the chance.”
But Rennus only smiled. “We have a saying in the West, Commander. Perhaps you have a similar one in Terinto. It goes, ‘There’s more than one way to skin a deer.’ Do you know it?”
Joslyn shook her head. She wasn’t in the mood for language lessons.
“It means that when you have an objective that cannot be reached through one route,” Rennus said, rolling up the sleeves of his grey robes, “the creative mind simply finds an alternative route.” He extended a hand towards his apprentice. “Udolf, one of my formulae, if you please.”
Udolf nodded and reached into a bag at his feet. He produced a small clay bottle with a cork in its top.
Evrart’s head jerked back as if he had been slapped. “Brother Rennus? Sure you do not mean to…?” He waved at the prisoner.
“That is exactly what I mean to do.”
Evrart paled. “In front of…?”
“Stop being so beholden to rule, Brother,” said Rennus, uncorking the bottle. “We can only claim to fully understand our Brotherhood’s codes of behavior when we also understand when it is appropriate to break them.” He lifted the bottle halfway to his lips, then paused, glancing at Evrart. “Now would certainly qualify as one of those times.”
Rennus quaffed the vessel’s contents in one swallow.
Tasia frowned, looking from Rennus to Evrart. “To what rule do you and my senior counselor refer, Brother Rennus?”
“Certain shadow arts, such as the casting of illusions and healing, are considered acceptable to be performed in the presence of those who are not initiated into the Brotherhood,” said Rennus. “Other arts, including the one I am about to perform, are considered too powerful to be witnessed by non-Brothers.” Even as he spoke, the pupils of his eyes dilated. Inside the dimly lit underground room, his pupils had already been large; now they expanded until his blue irises were only a thin line containing the black. “But as I see it, the Commander comes from Terinto, a place where most shadow arts are already well-known, and you, Empress, certainly have a right to be informed about the full extent of the gifts the Brotherhood can bring to the Empire.” He nodded at Alric. “As should your military advisor and Chief of Spies.”
“And what ‘gifts’ are those?” Joslyn said.
“In this case,” said Rennus, “skinwalking.”
Joslyn stiffened. He was right; she had heard of skinwalking. It was the more advanced version of beastwalking. A beastwalker could inhabit and control the body of an animal, which was why Terintans tended to be suspicious of any creatures – falcons, cats, hounds, and snakes, usually – kept as pets by shamans.
But a skinwalker could go one step further. A skinwalker could inhabit and control the body and mind of a human.
As far as Joslyn was concerned, she would almost rather be possessed by a shadow than possessed by another mortal.
Alric grunted. “Is a skinwalker what it sounds like it is?”
Joslyn gave a single nod.
“He will be able to control her,” Evrart said to Alric. “And anything she knows, he will know so long as he is inside of her.”
“Well, in that case, ye shoulda just saved our time and done that t’begin with,” Alric grumbled.
A soft whoosh of air, which seemed to originate from Rennus himself, sent the oil lamps sputtering again. The prisoner’s white hair fluttered.
Tense silence.