“All it takes is a single word, Erissa. Not even a word, just a nod of your head, and this will all be over,” the man said, purring with a soothing and sinister voice. “You can go back home, back to your life, and so can this innocent woman.” Erissa Caedron shuddered, hugging herself tightly in the cool, damp basement.
That it was sunny and clear outside on this spring day mattered little; not a ray of it dared peek into into the old house, whose windows and openings were covered carefully with foul, heavy cloths. The only source of light inside was the glow of candlelight, unnaturally purple with the odd substance from which the candles were made.
“Just agree to my terms, Ms. Caedron,” the man said, drawing a knife closer to the neck of the woman who was bound to a wooden chair and gagged; the cloth stuffed in her mouth only muffled her terrified scream. The point of the dagger made contact with her flesh, and a crimson bead formed and trailed down skin pale with terror. A scream once again pierced the silence; there was, however, no one to hear. The little farmhouse was surrounded on all sides by rich brown fields awaiting seed in Corone's southern agricultural area. “You know as well as I do that your father is as corrupt as the blasted Red Forest. Why do you protect him?”
This foe was beyond the high elf arcanist. Erissa could not hope to overwhelm him in battle; the bruises and torn flesh across her body were painful reminders of his prowess. Even now, she was aware of the creeping and powerful magic he used, meant to make her more pliable to his will, and she felt it working. Her tongue felt thick and heavy, her limbs as rocks, and her thoughts congealed like cold gravy. Erissa's eyes were locked with those of the bound woman, Abigail, a dark-haired beauty with whom the elf had formed a fast friendship in the Radasanth market only three days prior.
“I... I cannot,” Erissa began, the assault on her mental faculties robbing her of words.
“Here, Ms. Caedron. Let us see what this young woman has to say.” The man removed the gag from Abigail's mouth; the woman began to beg pitifully for her life, for her children. “I know enough of your past, Ms. Caedron, to know the havoc your father has tried to wreak upon your life, the way he has tried to control you to better his position among his political peers. I say again, why do you protect the one who has no regard for you? All I ask is for a little information; no one would blame you for giving it to me. In fact, you would be a hero, Erissa, for saving this woman's life and helping to dispose of a corrupt politician. Is his life worth more than this innocent woman? Is it worth more than the lives of her children, who will be without a mother? Will you you ever scrub the blood of this woman's death from your hands? Because surely, it is in your hands to prevent.”
Erissa felt her resolve weakening; the words of the dark man began to make sense. She knew not from which organization he was sent; nor did she know why he had singled out her father, when Ellear's office in Raiaera was rather insignificant. The high elf's eyelids fluttered as she felt herself slip more deeply under the sway of the spell; she sunk to her knees, hands splayed to keep her balance on the stone floor.
“Listen to reason, Erissa. I ask only for a nod, confirming his schedule for tomorrow. Be rid of him, the one who looms in the back of your mind, still trying to use you and your valor among the Ixian Knights to propel himself to heights, heights from which he could do even greater damage. Will you allow that?” To punctuate his point, he let the cold dagger in his hand dig more deeply into the woman's neck, a hair's breadth away from the exposed and pulsing jugular vein. Another scream threatened to snap the last thread of resolve to which Erissa still clung.
How had she come to the tiny farmhouse? The waves of confusion began to wash over her; the arcanist vaguely remembered buying Abigail's medicine when the woman did not have enough gold to do so; it was for her sick son. The woman was poor; her means of travel was by foot, and she fretted she would not make it home in enough time for the medicine to do its work. Had I been followed then? Erissa wondered. I brought her here in my carriage. Still, the elements of the situation did not make sense. Where were the children? Her train of thought was interrupted with a sharp pain to her cheek; the man had slapped her, and Erissa was on her side on the floor.
“Not yet, Ms. Caedron,” he said as her eyelids fluttered again; she began to lose consciousness under the weight of his spell. “I see you choose to be difficult. It was noble enough to be willing to give your own life, but are you truly willing to be responsible for the death of this innocent woman?” The man, though very composed, was showing signs of impatience; his eye twitched and he rubbed it with habitual exactness. Erissa felt the spell beginning to relent, and the man turned his back to her. Erissa's throat and mouth were dry from stress and dread.
“No,” she croaked. Her enemy turned on her, eyes bright.
“Then where will he be?”
“No,” Erissa repeated. “I will not agree to your terms. The dagger is in your hands; it is you who would take a life, and you think you can force me to decide whose it will be. I leave you to choose your own victims. The blood,” she coughed, “is on your hands, not mine.”
“You self-righteous little bitch,” the man spat. “You put your rickety little morals above life?” He kicked her in the gut, and Erissa heaved and coughed.
“No,” she wheezed. “But now you know I will not be an agent of your malice. It is pointless to continue trying, and pointless to threaten other lives around me. You have no power over me.” The man laughed cruelly.
“Is that so, Lightbearer?” At his words, shock when through the elf's body like a bolt of lightening, from her gut to her mind. Lightbearer? Erissa had heard that name before. As she reeled, the man paced to the woman in the chair; with a quick stroke of his knife, she was freed from her bonds.
“Master,” Abigail said reverently.
“Thou hast played thy part well enough,” he said as she took him by his outstretched arm. “As for thee, Lightbearer, I will see thee broken. Perhaps next time thou will not have such an easy decision when it is someone about whom thou truly cares. Until we meet again.” The demon paced ascended the stairs into the light-filled world with his servant, and Erissa was left with the dread of his ire; she had ousted him from her realm once, and it would seem he carried the grudge.
Her body broken, the high elf lay on the floor. Her mind was intact, and so too was what separated her from her from the likes of demons - and her father.
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