By the Skin of Our Teeth

[skyler manfield]

“Skyler, stop pacing,� Hawk laughed, “You’re making me twitchy.�

The young assassin paused in the middle of the small room and turned wordlessly to face her mentor, then started pacing again. It was cold anyway and this kept her warm. This damned place was so cold she thought her nose might fall right off her face, even with the fire that roared and popped loudly on the hearth. Her boot heels were loud against the wood planks of the small house outside of town she and Hawk were holed up in.

“Sit down,� he said more sternly this time, “I mean it. If I didn’t think you could handle this I wouldn’t even consider sending you in there.�

Skyler huffed, rolled her eyes, and sat down in the floor right where she stood, folding her long legs lotus style before her. With raised eyebrows, she fixed her grey eyes on Hawk, waiting for the middle aged man to speak.

This war didn’t even interest the girl, the Church didn’t matter or the Rebellion. Who cared who was right, or what the political or religious implications were in this stupid war? One thing she couldn’t argue with though, was the thousands of people left devastated. So many women whose husbands had been murdered in cold blood and children who wouldn’t remember their fathers, simply because they were trying to defend what they believed in. Even at her worst, Skyler had never been asked to take the life of anyone who didn’t deserve it. There were whole villages left burning to the ground, the people freezing and starving, begging for help.

It was the only reason she had agreed to help. Her job this time wasn’t assassination, it was retrieval. Some poor fellow had gotten involved where he shouldn’t have and was now a captive of the Church. Hawk might not have cared, but he was involved in the Rebellion against the Church and they couldn’t have this man releasing names and locations. Skyler was skeptical - he’d been in prison for months, if he hadn’t told by now, he wouldn’t break anytime soon. He might even be dead. Hawk promised he wasn’t.

“You’re the only one who can do this,� Hawk reminded her, “It’s the reason he’s been in there for so long. Nobody else could get in past the guards that we haven’t been able to pay off.�

Skyler frowned, still upset they were willing to risk her neck for a cause she had no faith in and a man she’d never met. There was no money, no pay, only a happy feeling deep inside a heart she questioned if she had. She tried to remind herself it was a challenge, and she loved a challenge.

“And what about him,� she asked indignantly, “How do I get him out once I get in there? I’ve been in that prison before - and yes I know I’m only giving you more reason to send me in - and they don’t feed you nothing but pig slops once every week or two. He’ll be so weak he probably can’t walk. And that’s not counting if they’ve tortured him.�

Hawk nodded as if he’d thought of all her arguments already (he probably had, he hadn’t been the leader of the Radasanth Crime Syndicate for no reason). Steepling his fingers, he looked at his student fondly - dammit he knew she’d do whatever he told her, regardless of her argument.

“We’ve got that covered,� he reassured her, “You’ll take in food and clothing for him, and probably hide in his cell for at least a week until he’s able to walk out under his own strength.�

Skyler could have strangled the man who had been the closest thing she had to a father. He was avoiding her unasked question, and he knew her well enough to know exactly what she wanted to know. Fine, she’d ask it.

“And how exactly do I keep the guards from seeing this prisoner I’m walking out of their prison with?�

“You’ll find that out tomorrow,� Hawk smiled devilishly, “I have a good friend on his way who’ll tell you. He’s bringing everything you’ll need for your mission. We’re not going to set you up for failure my little mouse.�

“You better be glad I trust you,� she growled playfully, standing and going to the ladder to climb to a bed hidden in the loft of the cottage. She’d not sleep tonight, but she had a couple of hours to doze before Hawk’s friend came - after he gave her what she needed, then it would be up to her to get back to that place she’d worked so hard to escape with Malagen only a year before. The commitment was made now, she couldn’t go back.

[Inkfinger]

The Cathedral of Saint Denebriel towered above the city of Knife’s Edge like a spearhead cut from ice, delicate and deadly at the same time. It was a symbol, even in Salvar’s divided times, of the country’s strong faith: a sign of hope, for many, that this tower endured even as the nation’s civil war threatened to split the land in two. Its steeple nearly pierced the heavens, parting the gray clouds and casting a dark shadow almost to the city’s walls.

It was in the depths of those shadows, in the half of the city controlled by those who claimed the cathedral as their own, that the nation’s true strengths lay. Not in the Cathedral itself, not in the Church, but in the things that the church did in the name of the Ethereal Sway; the acts performed not in the shadows themselves, but beneath them, below the layers of tunnels and sewers that transformed the underbelly of Knife’s Edge into a catacomb.

The cathedral’s cells lay even further down than the sewers. Layers of old, moldering stone and warped wood held the earth out just as easily as they held the prisoners in. It was cold, it was damp and, following the winter plagued by civil war and famine, it was nearly full of prisoners, those few who had dared to anger the Church.

Cael Inkfinger was one such prisoner. He’d never planned to be here (though, really, no one plans to become a prisoner). Things had just conspired to make sure he was here, taking the full brunt of his brother’s rebellion gone horribly wrong. It wasn’t a very nice full brunt, either. It had left him clad in the tattered remains of his best (now only) clothes, mere rags that hung from his filthy, too-skinny frame. They did nothing to keep him warm anymore, and they were stiff in places where blood and dust and ill-spent sweat had formed something like mud. He sat curled in the corner, lank blond hair over his eyes, trying to hold his arm still. If he kept still, the iron manacle clasped tight around it wouldn’t bite into his reddened skin any more than it already had.

If only your mother could see you now, the unforgiving mental voice that seemed to have developed in his Familiar's absence purred. I don’t think she’d recognize her little blue-eyed-boy… He tried to ignore the voice around the stripped-and-frayed edges of his mind, focusing on other things instead. Things like the gates talking to parts of his brain he'd never realized he'd had before his imprisonment. Things like wondering how long it would be before he was fed again.

...Things like how he had never realized how much he depended on his familiar, until now; now, when he wasn’t allowed the paper or the ink to raise it.

That's not helping.

He let out a small sigh, trying to shift to a more comfortable position on the hard, narrow cot. The wall of tally marks before him seemed to loom, a fleeting distraction from his discomfort. He’d lost track days (or hours or weeks, maybe, time seemed to change at whim in here) ago and hadn’t made a new mark since, but the slashes there numbered at least five dozen.

He was still staring at the wall when he felt the gentle fingers of a breeze brush his cheek, blowing his matted hair back just a bit. He sat up a little straighter, glancing towards the bars before letting his eyes fall half shut, let his stiff shoulders brush the wall. The air that drifted through the unforgiving iron and into the dingy cold cell smelled of warmth and of things melting. It seemed to pull away the sick scents -the sweet-copper of dried blood, the musk of unwanted sex, the sour filth of human waste and of vomit- and leave a clean, wistful tone in its wake.

As refreshing as the breeze felt, even sullied by subterranean must and mold, it really only meant that there were guards coming. Cael focused on laying still, on appearing asleep, straining to listen to the words floating on that breeze. The conversation that hit his good ear from someplace just outside his bars was as stale and unwelcome as last week’s bread-crusts. But, like bread-crusts are still bread to a starving man, words were still words, and he fought to hear past the whistle of his ruined ear.

“How much longer do we have to bother keeping him alive?”

Cael shuddered, involuntarily curling his hand shut around his thumb, despite the pain it still caused. He knew that voice too well, had heard it day in and day out: Come, just one name, one name and it’s all over… It was only his dead certainty that if he gave that name he would die on the spot that had kept him, all those times, from giving that one name.

With my luck he’s not even in Knife’s Edge anymore, he thought, wryly, of his superior in the ill-fated rebellion. Ulric, more commonly known as the Scarab, wasn't the type to hang around on some idea of nobility. He knew he was better off alive - and Cael knew it too. The thought was mostly to help fill the chinks in his mental barricades that just hearing the voice had caused. He's somewhere long gone, just like the rest of them.

“Surprisingly?” The answering voice Lev Rezník, the captain of the guard. "A week longer. That's all he's got." Cael held his breath, thinking almost against his will, mostly to block himself from thinking of the captain's words.

He knew the captain's voice too well; better than he knew the interrogator's. There was a vast difference between the depths of knowledge. The interrogator's was merely burned into his mind. The captain's had seared his mind, scorched his soul and sunk deep in his psyche, in the same place he'd held the bogeyman as a boy.

“He hasn’t given anything we didn't already know, not in two months. We’ve tried everything short of skinning him alive. What makes them think he’s gonna bother saying another word?” There was the sound of someone exhaling, clearly annoyed. “Why wait a damn week? I mean, if the bastard didn’t break when I was peelin’ his nails off, or when Viktor’s so far up his as-”

Cael clapped his good hand over his good ear with a choked-off whimper, dimly aware that the motion was irrational. Both events had happened. He couldn't help but know that. His thumb throbbed where the wound left behind had gotten infected -it was still angry, raw and puffy though the first sliver of a new nail was beginning to form. The rest of his nails had escaped that fate, at least. His fingers still hurt - but not as much.

The other memory...

His face still flushed from the thought, a wave of revulsion lapping at his belly before he managed to shove it from his mind. He may have kept the crass, humiliating words out of his head, but between his low cry and the clank-chime of his irons when he moved the guards now knew he was awake. The captain moved to the open doorway, a knowing grin appearing on his broad face the moment Cael’s eyes flickered open.

“He’s been listening.” Cael read from the motion of his lips. He shrank back against the cold wall, feeling his stomach sink at the familiar frame. Rezník's voice still chilled him to the core. There was something in it's timbre, the way it vibrated against his skin, the briefest mental flash of him panting breathless against the back of …

Cael blanched away from the thoughts, unable to stop the full-body shudder that lanced down his spine.

Rezník stepped into the doorway, arms crossed, grin lazy; the flip side of Cael's memories flickering in his eyes. He knew, he knew, that he had nothing to fear from Cael: that the chain around Cael’s wrist stopped exactly six inches away from the door. No matter how he stretched, no matter how much he tugged (even if he dislocated his arm, which he’d tried once. They had just set it back in its socket, roughly) the door always remained just that far out of reach. That was why they left it open - just another form of torment.

“Do you want to die?” Cael half-heard, half-read, bad hand clutched to his narrow chest, good hand pressed against his ear.

Do you want to die…well, if that isn’t a loaded question, I don’t know what is. He watched the man in the door with hooded eyes for a long second before he gave a tiny shake of his head. No, he didn’t. Not really. Not yet. Escape, yes, but right now…

Right now that thought seemed so very far away.

His captor laughed.

“There’s a man coming to see you in a week's time. He works for the headsman." He paced forward, reaching out to brush a deceptively gentle hand beneath Cael's chin. He didn't seem bothered to notice his hand came away filthy. "He's got a sword almost as long as you are tall, an' he knows how to use it, too." Cael's skin crawled where those fingers touched, uncomfortably aware of his vulnerable position.

"He could, of course, have your head off faster than you'd feel it, quicker than you could draw the breath to scream...” Rezník went on, his deep voice almost conversational and soothing, for all the predator screamed from his eyes. Cael tried to meet his gaze, but every time he fixed his eyes on that bright green stare the memories threatened to flood back. Even the taunting, cruel words were better than those memories.

"But have you ever seen someone executed with a dull blade? Could take you nigh half an hour to bleed out, if he does it just right..." Cael's mouth went dry, breath catching in his throat as the captain's fingers laced into his hair, calloused thumb tracing his temple. “If you truly don’t want to die in agony, drop by drop," Rezník finished, shaking Cael's head by his handful of hair, "You’ll tell him what you haven’t told us, you understand?”

Cael finally dragged his eyes up, managed to hold his gaze for a fraction of a second before he felt sick, memories and fears colliding like river against rocks. Finally he just dropped his hand from his ear and shook his head as far as he could without yanking hair, slowly.

“Yes,” he rasped out in a voice made hoarse by the contradictory combination of silence and screaming. “I understand.” He managed to put just the tiniest smear of attitude on the rest of his words, though he didn’t doubt he’d pay for it later. “Can’t promise I’ll obey, of course, but I understand just fine.”

Green eyes narrowed to poisonous slits, lips curled in disgust. Cael cringed back, expecting a fresh blow or worse, but the captain simply let go of his hair, wiped his fingers on Cael's ragged shirt. He left without another word. Rare, in Cael's experience, but he wasn’t about to complain. As it was, he could only curl up smaller and try to sleep, try not to think, and dread whatever this new day would bring.

[skyler manfield]

The flaring light of a lantern turned the insides of Skyler’s eyelids to a flaming red and she groaned and sat up, refusing to open her eyes and look at her mentor. Hawk’s associate must have arrived - which meant there were only a couple of hours left before she began her mission. With a deep breath she swung her feet over the edge of her cot and opened her eyes to glare at Hawk. He grinned at her and then disappeared back down the ladder, leaving the lantern behind for her to gather her things. There wasn’t much gathering necessary.

She landed with a crouch at the bottom of the ladder, foregoing the climb down the rungs. A pair of men watched her from the table in the small kitchen area, their eyes wary and probing. The assassin frowned, looking from one face to the other and finally casting a stare heavy with questions at her mentor. Hawk simply smiled a thin lipped smile at her and turned away as he pulled his dark hair into a pony tail at the base of his neck.

“Was there going to be an introduction, or were you going to just be rude?� Skyler finally asked sarcastically, crossing to the kettle that bubbled on the back of the stove and grabbing a cup from the cupboard above. Pouring herself a cup and sipping its herbal bitterness, she raised an eyebrow at Hawk as she waited.

“This is my friend Fox Olssen, he’ll provide you with some tools you’ll need to get in and even more important out of the church,� he directed her attention to a small man with dark hair and darker eyes, pock marked skin and a scar that cut through his lips and down his chin. He looked dangerous, but a twinkle of humor was hidden in his eyes. Skyler had heard of Fox before - he and Hawk had grown up together here in Knife’s Edge.

“Our other friend here, is Ludvik Strandssen. His brother is Cael, the one you’re going to retrieve. He’ll be able to provide you with important information about his brother, and maybe give you some misinformation for his brother to let slip to the guards while you nurse him back to health. Of course, he won’t be providing you with any actual information in case you are captured as well. If that is the case, we will not be sending anyone after you.�

“Good to know I’m expendable,� Skyler quipped, “And such a pleasure to meet the two gentleman who might be the very reason for my death.�

Taking her cup of tea, Skyler pulled a chair out at the table where the visitors sat, and took a seat. One long finger traced the grain of the wood table, her face a mask of mixed feelings. The glow of the fire turned her eyes from grey to molten silver to whiskey gold and back again.

“You are not at all expendable,� Ludvik spoke in a very thick accent and it took her a moment to realize what he was saying, “If you were so unimportant I would not trust you to be the one to find my brother and bring him home to his family. I would not send some child into the bowels of that place if I did not believe she was capable of surviving it. I would refuse to allow it. Enough innocents have died in this ridiculous show of pride.�

His response sobered Skyler a bit. Now she felt guilty for doubting Hawk’s reason for sending her on this mission. Looking up from her cup of tea, she met his pale blue gaze. For a long moment she just stared at him, leaving a pregnant silence in the room as the other two just watched.

“I‘m ready whenever you are - the sooner you can give me any information you want me to have, or whatever tools I need, the better. I’d rather go in around a shift change, makes life easier when the guards are already distracted. They tend not to notice things anyway, and when you fade into the shadows, they forget to look.�

They spent the next hour going over the blueprints of the church for the last time, and Ludvik gave her a packet of papers including a note for his brother. Fox had brought her several vials of poison, although only one type of poison was actually intended to be used in their plan, and only as a sedative for her to steal the keys or any other supplies she may need for the days she was in the prison. He also gave her one very necessary tool which was the one thing that made this job possible to pull off.

“This is a mirror chain - it’s actually made of glass links from Fallien which hold a certain magical quality. In this case, the glass links are cast around steel ones to make them stronger. But the real importance of this chain is that when used to bind two people together it allows the magical abilities of one person to be shared with the other,� Fox explained carefully, holding up the strange length of frail chain with odd looking manacles at each end.

“It’s the only way we can think of to get you and Cael out of the prison alive. You’ll have to bind him to you and use your ability to hide him,� Hawk added quietly, his hand on Skyler’s shoulder as she stood before the fire tucking the packets of paper away into hidden pockets in her clothes, and sliding weapons into their homes. She nodded solemnly, taking the chain and letting it drop into a small bag which she then placed in a tiny box and hid in a pocket by her heart. Hawk nodded approvingly. The poisons were in her leather case in a backpack that laid on the table looking harmless.

“It’s time Hawk,� Skyler said quietly, turning to face her mentor, “No more time to put it off. I have every possible tool to do what I can to help. I won’t be coming out of there alive unless it’s with this man.�

With a graceful movement Skyler put her backpack on her back, and had the door open. A hand on her wrist caused her to turn and look back. It was Ludvik, who stood with tears in his eyes.

“Thank you,� he whispered, “And come back.�

Skyler laughed, breaking the tension in the room, “Well of course I’m coming back - you think I’d let a bunch of brainless guards be the death of me? Not glamorous enough for me in the least. Take care of Hawk for me. He gets worried when I don’t come back right away. Don’t let him pace a hole in the floor.�

Pulling away from him, Skyler winked at Hawk and closed the door behind her, her heart pounding in her chest. Her false bravado was hopefully more convincing to them than it had been to herself.

[Inkfinger]

They say (though Cael had never figured out who, exactly, they were) that there’s nothing like the threat of impending death to focus the mind. Cael had been living with the hangman’s noose (or, as it were, the headsman’s sword) at his neck for months now.

Which was probably why it wasn’t working.

--

He was five again. He knew he was five again with the same certainty that he knew he was dreaming. He knew he was five again by the fact that he had a giant gap in his teeth, big enough to fit his whole tongue through, and by the workshop door in front of him. It had notches carved into it, with names painted in careful, crude letters: Ida. Ludvik. Aksel. Halsten. and there at the bottom, a good three inches lower than the other boys had been at age five (and a half), Caelric.

They weren’t supposed to play near the workshop: the racks for smoked and dried fish, shelves of the jars and bottles their mother used to preserve oil for lamps, and for wool,and for the people from the city who claimed the smelly stuff was good for you if you drank it, fishing nets and lines and lures were all shoved haphazardly beneath the lean-to roof, waiting for the next time the ships came in. They weren't supposed to be playing there, but they were anyways. The lean-to walls were perfect for hiding behind.

He was sopping wet and freezing cold, and he didn’t really care. He slunk along between the wall of the workshop and the wall of the rickety lean-to, a snowball in each fist, listening to the crunch of feet against snow. The footsteps came closer and closer, and he ducked down further, waiting for the perfect moment to attack, watching the late-winter sun play through the green and blue and gray bottles.

His stalker stepped on something with a loud thunk, followed by a whole slew of words that they were not supposed to know. Cael searched his shaky, minutes-old memory of the yard, trying to figure out what the other boy had stepped on, but nothing came to mind. He poked his head up over the top of the short wall. Ah. The shovel. So maybe that hadn’t been the best place to leave it…

He ducked back down, giggling anyways, then froze, one hand clamped over his mouth. It was too late by that point, though – Ludvik (or maybe it was Halsten, or Aksel, some days it was just hard to tell) had heard him. He heard the renewed crunch of snow, heard the movement [u]stop[/bu], just above his head. He held his breath for a moment – and then leapt away from the wall, flinging his snowballs at his older brother’s face.

Not one of them, adult Cael remembered in his sleep, could remember quite what had happened next. One moment, he saw his snowballs flying at their target. The next, he saw both the brother (Ludvik, he remembered thinking, the moment he saw the gap between the older boy’s grown-up teeth) and the shovel, flying at him.

Ludvik reached him first, flattening him against the slushy gray snow at the exact moment the shovel passed through the space where his head would have been. It kept going, slamming into the wall of bottles and jars with an almighty crash of shattering glass, showering them both with fragments and shards and the stink of fish.

They lay there for a moment, both panting and too stunned to move. The other two brothers peered over the wall, wide-eyed.

“Oh, sway-damn,� one breathed. “That was the last month of work…� They were backing away as Cael managed to roll to his knees, golden oil dripping from the ends of his hair, sliding down his nose. He wiped it away irritably as Aksel (or Halsten) shook his head.

“You are in so much trouble…� He sing-songed before they both fled, laughing.

The cold and wet from earlier hadn’t had Cael shaking, but he shook now, looking at Ludvik. Mother’s going to be furious…

Ludvik had fallen far enough away that the wave of destruction had missed him. He was simply covered with snow and slush, and five-year-old Cael watched him warily as the beginning sounds of movement could be heard from inside.

“Are…are you gonna run away too?� Cael was the only one dripping. If Ludvik did, the odds were good that Cael would also be the only one in trouble.

“Don’t worry, Ricci.� Ludvik said, with all the bravado and pride that ten years can give a boy, brushing snow from Cael’s trousers even as the back door to their mother’s workshop creaked open. “I won’t ever leave you to take my falls.�

--

When he woke, slowly, gradually, he was crying; tears drying in cold sticky tracks on his cheeks. He shifted to brush them from his eyes, iron chains chafing against his wrists with the motion.

“Aw.â€� The last shreds of sleep disappeared, burned away by the furnace of fear that flared to life simply at the sound of that voice. Cael sat up, heart pounding, scrambling as far from the voice as his shackles would let him get. ReznÃ*k leaned against the wall next to his bed, all leonine grace and threat. “Is little Ricci scared?â€�

Cael managed not to flinch. He was inordinately pleased with that fact – the simple nickname cut far too close to the dream, and the incongruity of it coming from ReznÃ*k…

“What do you want?� He managed to rasp out with one last swipe at the remains of his tears. He waited, warily, for the answer - the captain of the guard was brutal, sadistic and, above all, manipulative. He would say one thing to lead his quarry off, to lure them into thinking he meant a second thing when his goal was, in fact, the third or fourth thing down the line. Sometimes, he didn’t even use words.

ReznÃ*k moved closer, silently, one hand latched around the chain, holding Cael in place. His other hand ghosted down the side of Cael’s face, brushing his lank, filthy hair away from his bruised jaw, tracing over the fading purples and greens with a gentleness that belied his true nature. The delicate touch stole the breath from Cael’s lungs. He tried, determinedly, not to think about the other places that hand had touched.

“I could,â€� ReznÃ*k finally said, softly, as he drew away, “save you from this. Call off the headsman, set you free…â€� The way he said it, Cael almost – for half a second – believed him, but then he remembered the look in his eyes when he’d first spoke of the execution, the glow on his face…

“Yes, set me free from this just to be your whore, right?â€� He snarled, mustering the courage from some forgotten corner of his soul. He glanced at ReznÃ*k’s face, and this time he did flinch away; away from the naked mingling of hatred and desire dancing behind the green. “And what,â€� he managed to continue, though his throat suddenly felt like fire and his spine like ice, “do I do to earn such an honor? Just…let me guess. Give the names.â€� He snorted in disdain, though his defiance quavered when he started coughing, struggling to catch enough breath to continue.

“What’s so sway-blessed important that you have to keep me alive? You…you killed Kamen, killed Damyan, I’ve been here, what, two months? Three? Anything I told you would be out of date by now, yesterday’s news, the rooster crowing for dawn at noon.â€� ReznÃ*k was just watching, silently, and Cael, dimly, realized that probably was not a good sign. What’s the saying? Anyone will hang themselves, given enough rope… “You could have found what you wanted a thousand times over if you weren’t wasting your time on me. So why in all nine frozen hells am I even still alive?â€�

ReznÃ*k just continued to watch him as he fought to catch his breath, cursing the damp and the cold, robbing him of even being able to breathe normally. The captain seemed wholly unimpressed, running his fingers up and down the length of chain.

“You’re right,� he said, finally, as Cael’s head drooped to rest on his chest, his breathing ragged in his throat. “We could have learned so much about your brother, and about Ulric Havelka…�

Cael’s head shot up as every nerve in his body flared back to painful awareness, shocked to the quick by the casual use of the name he’d spent every waking second of the last few months protecting.

“Yes,â€� ReznÃ*k purred, the cat that has eaten not only the canary, but the canary’s entire flock. “We’ve known.â€�

Two simple words and the walls of his defiance shook; crumbling, like moldering brick placed beneath a waterfall until their edges wore away. What lay behind, in the darkness, Cael didn’t know; but whatever it was, it was mewling - whimpering in desperation-edged whines, an injured hare pinned beneath a fox’s claws.

“You…you knew…?�

They…I…I thought…but…

“That’s what I said. We’ve known. We were hoping they’d think the fact that we’ve not gutted you yet meant they were safe, that we didn’t know who they were, couldn’t get at them… certain parties, myself included,â€� ReznÃ*k had a cat’s grin as well – all flash and gleam and teeth, with no true happiness. “Were hoping they’d come back for you.â€� He shook his head, sadly. Cael watched out of the corner of his eyes as he continued.

“But, see. Ulric’s been seen on the border of Alerar, always moving further south…and that brother of yours, well. He’s fallen right off the face of the world, it seems. You aren't high on their list of priorities, Ricci.�

Cael tried to look at him. Tried to glare, tried to snarl, but all the while the words were going through his head: it’s all been for nothing. The thought made his already pained breathing go heavier, hitching somewhere between his ribs and his throat in a lump.

“And, well,â€� ReznÃ*k didn’t pause. “If they stick to that, and you keep this up?â€� He shrugged, carelessly. “No skin off my nose, at least I know I broke your spirit.â€� He chucked a hand under Cael’s chin. Cael couldn’t even find the strength to snap at his hand, though he could still see the marks his teeth had made last time he’d done that. “Cheer up, kiddo. It’ll be over in six days, one way or another. You should think about my offer.â€� He stroked Cael’s cheek then, fingers rough, heedless of the bruises darkening his jaw. “I mean, almost anything’s better than getting your head chopped off, right?â€�

Except, Cael thought bitterly, it all ends the same. It’d probably happen anyways, soon as you got bored with me. He didn’t voice his thoughts out loud.

ReznÃ*k stood, abruptly, wiping his hands on his trousers. “I’ve a shift change to handle,â€� he said, as if that would mean anything to Cael. As if Cael actually cared. “You stay put.â€�

He missed the rude sign Cael threw at his departing back, but that was alright.

Cael probably wouldn’t have had the courage to do it if he’d been watching, after all.

[skyler manfield]

It was no trouble getting through the city to the Cathedral, even in spite of the curfew and the guards which milled about, supposedly watching for those who would disobey the strict orders of the Sway. The assassin really didn’t even have to stick to the quickly deepening shadows flickering at the edges of the buildings as the torches died down but the dawn hesitated to creep over the horizon. Skyler was so unremarkable to them, so unworthy of their attention, she could have skipped right across their paths and they’d have barely batted an eyelash. She could only hope gaining access into the dungeons of the massive holy place would be just as simple.

The heavy arched door of a two story shop to her right opened and an old woman stuck her head out, dropping a surprised looking orange kitten outside into the alley along with a bowl of milk, glancing up with a polite nod to Skyler. Five minutes then, until the shift change - she needed to pick up the pace. Glancing upward, she craned her neck to view the spires of the Cathedral that towered overhead, impaling the laden clouds above and sending down fitful showers of wet snow. Taking a deep breath, the assassin collected her thoughts and took off walking quickly yet quietly down the street. A left turn at the chandler’s shop where the light still burned within would take her into an alley where a door remained unlocked that led within the Cathedral.

A furtive glance confirmed Skyler’s hope that the guards were all focused on the main entrance and their shift change. This door was only used for access to the dumpster behind a grocer’s shop on the next block. It was well known (although rarely mentioned) that the prisoners of war were fed from whatever scraps the guards laughingly foraged from the putrefying waste of the local grocer.

Unnoticed, the mousy girl slipped through the door and into the unlit corridor. Pausing for barely a moment to allow her eyes to adjust, Skyler settled her backpack more comfortably on her shoulders and then quickly moved forward. Ahead, she had been advised, was a trapdoor in the floor which was an emergency exit from the dungeon should their ever be a riot in the cells below. Supposedly, one of their allies had been hired as a guard somehow, and had managed to unlock the door to the musty dungeon and had left it partially open by lodging a piece of moldy bread in the latch.

Skyler smiled to herself as her foot fell on the uneven surface of the hidden entrance to the next part of her task, and stepped back, sliding her thin fingers into the narrow slot the bread left between the wood of the door and the slate floor. She lifted it only far enough to slip beneath it and onto the first rung of the ladder, stepped down slowly and let it close above her, flicking the rotten bread down the hall toward the door she’d entered through. Anyone who might see it there would simply assume it had fallen from the load of whomever was responsible for gaining food for the prisoners.

The climb down the ladder was quite long, and a few of the rungs were missing, which in the pitch black of this part of the dungeon left her heart pounding while she hung by one hand not certain how far she might fall if she were to lose her grasp. Skyler was quite sure she didn’t want to find out. It was a relief when her feet finally reached the dusty wooden floor of the dungeons instead of yet another of what seemed an endless number of wooden dowels.

There was no hint of the outside world in this place - it was as if she’d entered some other dark land where sunlight was forgotten and fresh air did not exist. With a shudder, Skyler shoved away the memories of her last experience in the Salvarian dungeon with Malagen. She knew they would help her very little in her current goals - besides, she had only remained for less than a week. Cael had been here for possibly months now - and had perhaps a week left before he was tortured once more and then finally executed. If she could not rescue him, then perhaps his execution was for the best.

Keeping her right hand always on the moist stone walls, and her left ahead of her, dagger clenched in her fist, Skyler managed to find her way to the main network of cells at the center of the dungeon. Light from the occasional torch filtered slowly down the halls, and she could see its bronze reflection in the moldy bricks. The smell of fear and human excrement was stronger, and she knew it was more important than before that she tread carefully.

Nobody had been able to tell her which cell belonged to her target. They had assumed he would be closest to the center, and also fairly near to the torture equipment - if they had chosen to use standard torture methods on him. Having read the information on some of the people who held Cael captive, it seemed like they might enjoy alternative measures. The thought left the assassin cold.

As it was, she would have to wait now until either the next shift change, or if food was brought. Often they happened at the same time. Dropping through a hole in the floor into the area where the most highly guarded prisoners were held, and furtively sneaking around the last corner, Skyler caught her first glimpse of the guards who stood before the cluster of cells where she hoped Cael awaited her arrival. None of them appeared to be closed, which was strange, but she thought she saw movement beyond the bars in the center cell. Glancing at the torch on the wall beside the heavy door, the assassin judged how long it had been burning - likely they would bring new torches with the shift change as well. Judging by that - and how fidgety the current guard was - she didn’t figure she had long to wait.

Perhaps it was a risk, but Skyler decided to chance it based on how distracted he was. The assassin guessed he needed to relieve himself (although why he didn’t just piss in the prisoner’s cell or on the poor thing she wasn’t sure), and used the opportunity to stealthily cross the room, carefully placing her feet against the stones, her shadow melding with the shadows created by the dying torch. The guard jumped as a screeching sound notified him that his relief had come, and Skyler took advantage of the moment to skitter the rest of the way into the cell where she felt certain her target now huddled in the corner. She crouched in the opposite corner, still amazed at the open door to the cell until she saw the brutal shackles that chained him to his wooden cot and bit into the pale skin at his skeletal wrists and ankles. Breathlessly, the assassin waited as the new guard brought the tin plate with dried bread and a bowl of cold broth for his prisoner. He did not stay though - there was no reason to; his prisoner would not and could not escape his bonds. She counted to one hundred before making herself known by standing up and stretching her legs.

“Don’t scream,� the assassin spoke in a low voice, “Ludvik sent me. I’ve got medical supplies and better food than that tripe they claim you should eat.�

She tipped the tin plate over with the toe of her boot, spilling the bread and broth onto the dirt floor, which brought a pair of rats scurrying from a hole in the corner. Shrugging, she offered a crooked smile.

“You are Caelric Strandssen, right?�

[Inkfinger]

One moment, he was alone again in the dank cell, staring at the carved bowl and wondering if he would actually be able to keep anything he ate down this time. If the nausea in his stomach and the strange, painful tickle in his throat were any indication, he would guess no. The next moment, the food was all over the floor, spilled out over the packed earth by the slip of a girl that he could have sworn had not been there ten minutes ago – or even ten seconds ago, for that matter.

I must be sicker than I thought, he shifted to sit upright on his cot, chains clanking together loudly. His hip and knee creaked in protest at the simple movement. I don’t usually have fever dreams this early. They usually came after a week or more of being sick – maybe this just meant he was getting worse. There had been stretches of time where his imprisonment felt like one fever dream after another, but this… this felt different. This felt more real.

Or maybe I just want it to feel more real. I’ve never dreamed someone came from Ludvik before…

The thought stung, and he answered the girl, mostly to cut himself off from his thoughts. “That’d, ah.� He thought about lying for all of a second – but if this was another trick, really, what would that accomplish? “Yes. That’d be me, miss,� he replied softly, carding one hand through his hair. The strands literally crunched beneath his fingers, sending a shudder up his spine and his hand to the rough blanket, trying, unconsciously, to scrub them clean (or at least cleaner). Just because she was a hallucination didn’t mean that he couldn’t be polite.

“But I am…curious.� Hallucination or no, she was the first person in months who hadn’t begun a conversation with a promise of pain or a threat of torment. He blinked at her, head tilted just a bit, hand rubbing his bad ear now. She was a small girl, or woman, toeing the line between petite and mousy, but something in her eyes warned of inner strength, like the depths that lay beneath a calm sea.

“Who, exactly, would I scream to? The guards? The church who has me stuck-â€� his voice almost broke, almost sent him squawking like an adolescent boy. He coughed, hard, feeling his breath catch in his lungs before carrying on as if nothing had happened. “-in here?â€� Or ReznÃ*k? He shuddered again at that thought, reflexively, leaving it unspoken; as if ReznÃ*k was a ghoul or spirit, and speaking his name would call him back. But, with that one little thought, the almost-playful mood left him, leaving him empty. Even my own mind had to get in on the action.

He drew the scratchy blanket tighter around his shoulders, venturing another glance towards the door of his cell. The new guard, the one whose food the girl had tipped, was ignoring him, polishing the buttons on his coat with a greasy rag. They never paid much attention to him, not when the Captain wasn’t around to make things interesting. Cael reached out to nudge one of the rats with his foot. The rat tried to ignore him, steadily gnawing at the hard bread clutched between its paws. The other was licking the thin broth off the soil. He could remember them doing the same with his blood…

No. That’s not the point! The voice in his head, the little one that sounded like his familiar, was raging. The rats are there, and you’re not bleeding. What’s that mean?

Well, for one, rats didn’t generally play a part in his dreams. If these rats are different... He cast the strange girl another look before he actually kicked the rat. It dropped the bread with an affronted squeak, scurrying out of his cell and down the hall, light footsteps sending it over the guard’s feet. The guard cursed, shaking the rat off his foot and glaring into the dark cell. Cael managed a weak smile back. The return look was even less friendly than the first had been.

A real guard would not react to hallucinated rats, the voice in his head said, matter of fact and almost smug. Real rats would not react to hallucinated spilled food. And you did not dump the food. Therefore...

A long, awkward silence fell in the cell, Cael taking care to not even move, lest he make a noise and call the guard in, lest he accidentally break whatever it was that let this girl into his cell unnoticed. The guard moved to polishing the hilt of his sword before Cael found his voice again. This time it came as a strained whisper that held none of the giddiness that danced around the edges of his mind. Ludvik didn’t leave me!

“You’re…you’re not r-really a hallucination, are you?�

[skyler manfield]

The poor man didn’t even jump, much less scream when she spoke to him. He seemed to think he was hallucinating, a sad idea, and she frowned, head tilted sympathetically as he spoke. The guard returned and didn’t even care enough about his prisoner to care that he was speaking to someone. Perhaps this would make her job that much easier.

The assassin moved over to his ‘cot’ - a wooden plank that used to be a door, hanging from the wall by chains - and took a seat, removing her heavy backpack and gently settling it on the floor. With care she started pulling things from it as he spoke. He’d been here much too long. There would be no recovery from the things they had done to him now she feared, and it turned her stomach to think what those things might have been.

As Caelric kicked a rat toward the guard, Skyler stifled a laugh and leaned back quietly against the wall lest the guard’s raised attention notice her sitting there. While he was distracted she could move and speak as needed, so long as she was quiet and discreet. Her ability seemed to force a person’s mind to look around her, to attribute any motion or sound she might make to anything but the fact that a skinny little girl was there stealing or killing or otherwise about to make their life hell.

“No,� she replied, grateful that the prisoner was still bright enough not to draw the guards attention into the cell itself - she didn’t want to join him in his torture, “I’m quite real. Ludvik was very excited when my master introduced me to him. He had almost given up hope. I think he might have come in here himself had I not come along - well perhaps if it were not for his children.�

Skyler returned to her task of removing things from her backpack - she’d have to keep the pack on her, or else hide it when she didn’t need to access the supplies within, lest the guards find it and then her. First and foremost was food - then medicine. A loaf of fresh bread, a small block of sharp cheddar, a flask of whiskey, another of still warm beef broth, and a couple of apples. It would have to last the two of them the several days until she was able to smuggle the poor man out of this hellhole.

“Eat first Caelric,� she advised, breaking off a piece of bread and soaking it in the beef broth, “I’ll be here to answer your questions. We’re not leaving yet - it’ll be some time before you’re strong enough. As you can see I’m not quite of a size for dragging your ass out of here alone. Like as you’d bleed to death from some of your wounds once we got moving, I’d rather that not happen.�

Skyler drew out a small bag from within her backpack, all the medical supplies she would hopefully need to get Caelric back on his feet. As she laid out tiny jars of salve and coils of linen gauze, the small assassin spoke - answering questions she knew he must have.

“I’m Skyler Manfield,� she introduced herself, “Former assassin trainee for the Radasanth Crime Syndicate. My mentor and your brother, Ludvik, are somehow acquainted, I think through a mutual friend my mentor called Fox.�

Though not hungry, her descent into the bowels of the Cathedral had left her parched, and Skyler twisted the lid from a flask of her own, one with vodka rather than whiskey in it. Taking a swig, she sighed and leaned back against the wall of the cell, closing her eyes for a moment. Soon she would need to sleep, and she became more vulnerable when she did - her defenses went away and people could see her. It was how Hawk had discovered her unique ability when she was only a child and decided to train her in the art of assassination.

“I swear it to you Caelric,� she finally spoke again, “The only way I’m leaving this place is with you. And I wouldn’t come in here if I wasn’t absolutely sure I could leave.�

The first part at least was true.

[Inkfinger]

Oh, heavens bless, she brought apples. Real apples. That realization was enough to draw Cael’s mind away from the uneasy curiosity of why’d they send an assassin? Only her words, that Ludvik had sent her, kept his mind (mostly) off of all the bad paths that it could wander down.

“I’m glad to hear it,� he said, still quietly, not quite looking at her. “I didn’t make sure I had a way to leave.� Smart people had escape plans and exit strategies for this type of thing. He used the ‘blunder in and get the stuffing kicked out of self’ method of dealing with problems. It hadn’t gotten him killed yet, but that was not for lack of trying. “‘s why I’m in here…�

His fingers twitched, and he longed to grab one of the apples, but it had been so long since he’d actually had real solid food. He reached out for the broth-steeped bread instead, the wholesome scent almost stinging fresh tears to his eyes. The bread was soft, a glaring contrast to the hard crusts he’d become accustomed to. He had to force himself not to shove the whole chunk in his mouth at once, had to force himself to chew every last bite, to savor the rich, healthy taste.

If you just shove things down, you’re only going to get sicker, and no one wants that...

He reached for one of the flasks instead, swigging down a mouthful without bothering to take a sniff first. The contents – whiskey – lit his throat on fire and hit his nearly-empty stomach like a ton of burning brick before it almost came spewing back with his hacking, bone-deep cough.

The guard outside the door smirked at him, clearly interpreting the cough as a result of his illness and not of smuggled alcohol. He dug a pipe out from somewhere in his uniform jacket and moved further down the hall, pointedly ignoring his prisoner’s gasping.

…like that, idiot. His throat and lungs burned and throbbed, and the nebulous space between his eyes and inside his skull felt like it had been run over by a horse cart. If you’ve barely eaten anything, whisky’s not the way to go.

“R-right,� he croaked when he could speak again, “that was stupid.� He slowly uncurled shaking fingers from the flask, handing it back to the young assassin. “Y-you have water?�

The look he received in return was a strange mixture of amusement, disgust and disbelief, but she handed him the second flask. “You’re right, it was stupid.� She recapped the flask of whiskey as Cael managed a weak smile at her reply, sipping carefully this time. She’d said they’d be here some time, after all. They couldn’t run out of provisions.

The small mouthful slid down easy, soothing the burn; so gentle and pure that it did bring the tears that the bread hadn’t managed. Skyler, tactfully, didn’t meet his eyes. Cael cleared his throat roughly, swiping his knuckles under his nose before he looked back at his potential rescuer.

“Thank you.�

She snorted, brushing her hair back from her eyes. Ever that small motion was carefully precise: she didn’t make the slightest sound. “You’re as bad as your brother,� she said, softly, her voice as unassuming, measured and calm as everything else about her. “I haven’t got you out yet. Hold on to your thanks a few days.�

…A few days. The thought drew him back to the fresh, raw memories of ReznÃ*k and his ultimatum, of heavy hands and heavy blades. Cael quailed, taking another sip of the water to hide the fear. The water washed away some of the accumulated dried blood and grit and filth from his teeth, and he managed another weak smile.

“Alright. I’ll s-save the thanks until we’re out.� He rapped his knuckles lightly against the wood of his bed thrice, carefully avoiding his injured fingers. He watched as she took a gulp from her own flask, her eyes drifting closed for a second.

“Will…will you need a place to sleep?� His eyes flickered toward where the guard had disappeared. He couldn’t imagine her going unnoticed for a whole night, or a whole shift. Just because his guards didn’t care didn’t mean they were stupid, and he didn’t know if she could repeat her appearance trick, or if that was a one-time deal. The thought of being alone, again, left him colder than it would have before. “Or are you sneaking back out again?�

[skyler manfield]

With a weary mix of amusement and pity, Skyler watched as the poor prisoner choked and sputtered on the whiskey. It wasn’t even that strong of whiskey, but even weak it was more than his taxed body could handle. Taking the flask, she exchanged it for a slightly larger one filled with spring water. If they ran out, she would sneak back out and find some melted snow or perhaps a well to get fresh water, but at the moment she hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.

The exhaustion was creeping up on her now - or perhaps just relief that she had made it in unnoticed. Her body was telling her that it was time to relax, the first part of her mission had been completed. Sighing heavily, the mousy assassin did not allow herself to curl up on the cot like she wanted to, but instead opened a jar of willow bark and lavender salve, applying it to the linen bandages she produced from the medical kit. Grey eyes didn’t leave the task at hand for a long silent moment, as she allowed Caelric privacy with his first real meal and fresh water in who knew how long.

When she did look back she saw the fear in his eyes, obviously deathly afraid of whether he would escape before the swordsman came for his head. Instead of speaking to that fear, she simply motioned for him to continue eating, and took his free wrist gently into her lap.

The shackles had rubbed the skin almost completely away, the muscle brutally exposed and scabbed over, pussy beneath with infection. She hoped she had caught it in time. From a small velvet bag that hung between her small breasts, she produced a lock pick which she used to gently unlock the rusted iron shackles that held Caelric in this cell. She almost gagged as they fell away and took pieces of his skin with them where they had rubbed his wrists raw. She feared how his ankles probably looked, and was soon able to see that they were no better.

“I’d better let you finish eating and get this cleaned up before I even try to find a place to sleep,� Skyler replied quietly, looking up at him from the floor where she sat with legs tucked under her, “It would be safer if I were to leave and hide somewhere they wouldn’t look for me. But I’d rather figure out how to stay hidden here if I can, you don’t look like you want to be left alone again. Besides, I’d rather not tempt fate by sneaking in and out too many times.�

As she pulled the flask of vodka out again, she handed the captive a piece of leather to bite down on. If he screamed she had to be ready to hide, so Skyler moved into a crouching position before she carefully opened the flask and began to pour the alcohol over the raw wounds that were once his ankles.

[Inkfinger]

Don’t scream, Cael thought as he bit down on the leather, jaws protesting the pressure almost immediately. He had to breathe through his nose, and it borderline hurt, but it also distracted him from what was happening. If you scream, the guards come and she gets to go through what you already have.

The thought didn’t really bear further thinking, and he shoved it away, tightening his hand on the hard edge of his cot and clamping his teeth down, staring at some point behind Skyler’s shoulder. He could see her moving, but not really see what she was doing, and that was quite fine by him. He let his mind wander; only tensing just a tiny bit when he saw her lean forward.

She needs a place to stay while she sleeps. There’s…there’s under the cot… On a floor sticky and smelling of rats and moldering stone and dried blood. He shook his head at that idea, letting his rambling thoughts pull him away from the sudden splash of liquid.

The cell next is empty, but if she doesn’t want to tempt fate…plus it has a door. If they moved someone there, she’d wind up stuck. The vodka burned when it trickled into the ruined flesh, and he barely kept from flinching. He clung to the wood, instead, until his knuckles went white and the joints in his fingers creaked. The fiery pain was a clean pain, however, different than the sorts he’d been put through so many times since his imprisonment began. The scream they had both feared would come was little more than a whimper that didn’t make it past the leather, and then it was gone; washed away with the alcohol dripping off his skin.

He pulled the soggy strip of leather from his mouth, wadding it in his hand as he watched Skyler work carefully, waiting for the right time to speak.

There’s…not a lot of places to hide in here, he slowly realized, visually inspecting every nook and cranny of the cell through watering eyes. He already knew the cell like the back of his hand, even without moving from the edge of the bed.

Unless…

There was the bed. He reached one hand back to touch the thin, rough blanket they’d left him. It itched, smelled like dust, and had the unfortunate off-white coloration of porridge, stained here and there by thin broth and not-so-thin blood, but it was a blanket. It did keep him slightly warmer, and (by some oversight or some small mercy, he wasn’t sure which) it was wide. It’d be big enough for two, with some left over to account for enough wrinkles and bunching…

Well. It was an idea. It wasn’t a particularly brilliant idea, but it was all they had.

Skyler worked quickly and efficiently to bind his ankles, her touches nimble and quick, gentle but firm when needed. She kept working until she’d neatly wrapped every inch of reddened, painful skin, each bandage wrapped wide enough to cover the wound, but not so wide that it would show above the manacles. The pain had grown less and less strident with each drop of vodka until it finally subsided into a simple, dull throb.

“I have an idea,� he said, softly, after she’d refastened the manacles. The thick iron hid the clean white from view, perfectly. She nodded in satisfaction before she looked at him, the question in her eyes as she moved to sit on the cot.

The silence was somewhat disconcerting. On one hand, he understood why she was being quiet: the guards were used to his voice, not hers. On the other hand, it made him feel like he was talking to himself…

She took his arm again, and he hurried to explain, worrying the leather strap between his sore fingers instead of biting it this time. “The bed’s narrow, but if you…� He watched the red-tinged vodka trickle off his wrist, feeling his lips quirk in a small, embarrassed smile. “If you don’t mind the smell, you could just…sleep against the wall?� Skyler swathed the freshly cleaned wrist as well, snapping the manacle closed without really looking at it. The chain didn’t even clink.

“I-I’m tall enough,� Cael continued as she started on the last manacle sores, “that they can’t see past me, and the blanket’s usually lumpy between me and the wall anyways.� He cast a skittering glance at the door. The guard was still out of sight down the hall; he could just barely smell the acrid smoke of his pipe. “They don’t…don’t usually check my cell.�