• • Raydorn: The War in the Black
• August 10, 2024

Raydorn: The War in the Black (Chapter 63)

“If you keep placing limits on what one should say, you will hear nothing at all.”

The Presence, 448 A.C.A.

---

When they first left the Icy Pearl Isles, Quintus and Jack had much time to talk alone, and yet they rarely spoke a word. 

When they hit the Secan shoreline and had to trust in Malum to guide their wayward people across the sands, Quintus did not tell Jack of his worries. 

As they trudged across the sands to Artis, within earshot to hear each other’s thoughts, their thoughts remained unheard.

As they ventured through Artis, procuring boats and ships themselves, they traded conversations on how to tackle the market and make the most of the coin they had. They spoke of the food, made mention of their worries for Andy, and spoke of other things they knew other than what was eating at them.

He didn’t keep his promise, Jack couldn’t help but remember. 

It could have been lost amongst the shuffle of events, but the tree remembers what the axe refused to. Quintus had promised his help to Jack, and when Jack needed it, Quintus took his help and gave it to the pirate.

But Quintus wasn’t quite an axe, but more of a child, desperately trying to ignore the loud sound of glass he broke. 

When it came time to separate, Quintus on a ship to Oren with a rowboat in his future, and Jack still waiting on the rowboat he settled for to cross the Secan Sea. 

Quintus bid him, “Good luck.”

All Jack had for him was, “Hmmhmm, you too.”

And they left it at that.

*****

Andy’s cell did not look like any other cell in Raydorn. After Amidala was done dissecting her brain on her table, Andy was placed in a room as big as the one she grew up in. It had a queen-sized bed, fitted with silk sheets and new wool comforters that did not itch.

There was even a desk with edible make-up and a mirror to do her face, as if such a thing were ever in Andy’s interests.

The wardrobe was full of clothes for a woman of her stature and a man of similar taste. Best to have everything to prepare for anyone.

If you were to look only at the room from the inside, you wouldn’t even see a singular sign that there were locks on the other side of the door keeping her in. If you were to look only at the room from the inside, you’d never think it was a cell at all.

It was the collar around her neck and the chain to the ceiling that gave it away.

The collar was of magic, hardlight that Andy felt squeezing on her neck, but light that phased through the pillow as to not interrupt her sleep.

Best for dying well-rested.

‘Rest is for the dead,’ the grim voice said, a new voice from the monolith that was the Light.

You’re already my favorite of the voices in my head.

‘It’s concerning that it’s not your own.’

Even half-asleep, she had the ability to grind her teeth in frustration. The little sleep the comfy bed afforded her was cut short by the tug of the chain, made of the same translucent material born from an incessant warlock’s spell. 

As Andy sat up, the door was unlocking and opening. Rather than a doorway, there was only blue light that completely blinded her view of the other side.

‘It’s a trap, no doubt, but a trap that cannot be avoided nonetheless.’

Stating the obvious is not much better than riddles.

‘If you keep placing limits on what one should say, you will hear nothing at all.’

Promises, promises.

Having had her fill of snarky morning dialogue with herself, Andy walked towards the door. Her trousers and tunic, smell as they might, were fit enough to wear for their host. 

Showering and dress-up was for dates, not kidnappers. I am not about to sympathize with my captor, Andy thought as she walked through the door, and was struck by the scent stemming from the glazed ham on the table.

“I thought you would like a final meal,” the warlock said from the other side of the long table, a table full of food fit for kings and queens, but only two chairs at opposite ends.

Andy didn’t hesitate, she walked over and sat down, which drew a glance and arch of the brow from the warlock. She seemed to have expected more opposition.

The warlock gestured over the mashed potatoes, the lobsters legs, spicey meatloaf, and more with her knife, encourging Andy to, “Dig in, I cast a spell earlier, the plates will levitate to you if you call for them. My magic is much more effective here.”

Nice to know.

Andy didn’t say word though, and Amidala didn’t either. The warlock was busy stuffing her mouth, waiting for her captive to make a sound, but Andy hadn’t made a move, not even for food.

It wasn’t as if she was being starved. By most standards, Amidala would have been considered a most gracious host if not for the collar and the magically binding chain. Andy had likely eaten more food in the few days captive under Amidala’s thumb than she had in the past few months on the Icy Pearl Isles.

Yet, even a fool would not believe that her stomach was sated. The warlock was more concerned with whether her mind was.

“What is this?” 

It was then that Amidala had a smirk to hide. The food in her mouth helped. 

Through chewed food, the warlock asked back, “Pardon?”

“What. Is. This?” 

Even through long pauses, Andy was able to sound calm and direct without a threat. That made the silent threat even louder.

Amidala shrugged. “Shouldn’t you get decent food for your last few meals on this mortal coil? It seemed only fair, I always feed the sacrifices, why make them die devoid of joy? It’s unnecessary, and I’ve never known any of them long enough to hate them.”

Then she stopped to look at the ceiling, and consider the truth of what she said. “Actually, there was this little pre-teen shit who-”

“Why are you doing this?” Andy interrupted. 

Amidala kept staring at the ceiling, loudly chewing the ham, the sound of juices shifting in her mouth something Andy could hear from across the barren and empty dining room. 

As she sank her knife into the meat and cut another piece for herself, Amidala asked rather nonchalantly, “Kidnapping you or having breakfast with you?” 

“I’ve figured why you’ve kidnapped me, to sacrifice to some ancient door or box or whatever you doubt believe holds some kind of ancient power that will somehow fix all your problems.” 

“It’s a door,” Amidala corrected, before stopping her consumption, and looking across the table at Andy. She had such an unthreatening squint, it was filled with curiosity more than anything. You’d be forgiven for thinking that the warlock was simply asking a peer for her opinion, rather than an abrasive captive. 

“You don’t think so?” Amidala asked. 

“No magic power will fix what’s wrong in your head.” 

Amidala rolled her eyes, and went back to her food. 

“No, but it will be a start.”

I’m sure I’ve said nothing she hasn’t heard before.

‘Ah, the difference between hearing and listening.’

Andy scofffed. 

Amidala did not look from her food as she spoke, treating the circumstances of Andy’s upcoming death as little more than dinner talk about their hobbies.

“You don’t think so?” Amidala repeated. “You don’t think power will help me get what I want? Power is usually the answer to problems we mortals make for ourselves. One day I bet, even the ocean typhoons will be our fault.” 

Andy didn’t shake her head, her eyes remained upon Amidala, her tongue still unfamiliar with the food before her. Her tongue only knew the words coming out of her mouth. “Power doesn’t fix anything, it just causes more problems.” 

It was Amidala’s turn to scoff through the food. “Mortal power maybe, but I seek something… higher.” 

“Aiming to be another myth in the making,” Andy guessed, which only garnered a smile that could be hidden, and could not be anything less than smug. 

“See you get it, and what do you want to know about breakfast?” 

Andy missed the innocuous question. 

“Andy, what do you want to know about breakfast?”

Andy blinked and twisted her head around. “What?” 

“You asked *gulk* why I’m doing this, *gulp* and if you already knew why I *kid-apped* you, you *rearly* meant why I was *mak-king* you breakfast.”

Amidala spoke with food in her mouth, forcing Andy to listen intently to her loud, yet gargled meandering. Conversation with the warlock was beginning to prove to be an active challenge, with the warlock forcing Andy to turn her ear, crane her neck, and spend more brain power than necessary. The conversation had to be as difficult as the woman herself, something to make the other person breath heavily when over, as if they had finished a workout.

She’s doing this on purpose.

“Oh yeah,” Andy mumbled, trying to reining in her burning temper, “I do.” 

Amidala took the loudest, most disgusting gulp her hostage had ever heard, but said captive didn’t let it show.

As she proceeded to pour herself another glass — one of several that have already stained her teeth — she had to keep stopping to flap her hand around as she talked. 

At the same time, the warlock deftly talked and talked between gulps, and never once developed a slur. She proved to think herself growingly familiar to her captive, who felt a sinful sense of kinship creeping up her back the way a spider would.

I know it’s you, she told the presence in her head.

‘Is it always what you expect?’ 

Fuck off.

‘No, it can’t always be me, no matter how much easier it makes this for you.’

Amidala’s cough into her fist regained Andy’s attention. “As I was saying,” she began again, having acquired the necessary spotlight with which to continue, “my point is that I thought I answered your question before, you’re going to present me a great gift, so why torture you when you’re so well behaved? I have a better question, why are you so well behaved?” 

Well-behaved?

The comparison drew an arch of Andy’s brow upon her head.

“Excuse me?” Andy responded dryly. “I didn’t realize I was a dog.” 

Amidala’s first response was to roll her eyes. Then it was to set her glass wine down like a sword lined up against her throne. 

“Let me rephrase,” she said in such a calm tone, that she coudn’t being doing anything other than mocking Andelyn, “why are you so… calm. 

“The ones before you awoke screaming, they fought tooth and nail each and every day before the inevitable, but you? You were little more than a bit jumpy.”

‘You were calm under pressure.’

I was utilizing past experience.

‘A weakness of the past has become a strength for today.’

To Amidala, Andy only told her, “It wouldn’t be the… first time I’ve woken up tied down.”

Despite the monotone voice and dripping rage behind it, Amidala chuckled. “I’m not gonna touch that with a five-foot stick.” 

Andy’s brow twitched.

Amidala turned to the side as she looked at Andy with one eye, her smirk looking like a smile from that angle the warlock was showing.

“Come on, the fact that I have a sense of humor at all should be the least surprising thing about me. But enough about me-” 

“More about me?” 

Amidala’s smirk twitched in turn. It only took a moment for the facade to form a crack, but when the mutual goal has been to shatter, cracks would mean little.

“Nobody likes someone who interrupts,” Amidala said, as if she weren’t even a little annoyed.

That’s her pet peeve? Grow some thicker skin, bitch, Andy thought to herself. 

“Nobody likes being kidnapped either,” Andy snapped at her, “but you still did that.” 

“You’re one of those people who uses logic in their arguments,” Amidala muttered, as if using logic was precluded only to a type of people. “Now I know why a part of me hates you.” 

Despite one being trapped in a Tower during peacetime with all the knowledge and luxury one could ask for, Andy could go anywhere for any reason. Despite one being able to go anywhere for any reason, Amidala had everything one could want in one place. Yet, despite all that…

… they were very much alone.

Despite the warlock’s best efforts, Andy was not going to be alone with her in what they both seemed to believe were the mercenary’s final days.

“You wanted to ask me why I’m not freaking out?” Andy asked Amidala. 

“I did, but now I’m annoyed by your mere existence…” Amidala muttered as if the topic was setup for droll conversation, but even Amidala couldn’t help herself. “No, actually, I still want to know actually, but I’d like to guess first.” 

Amidala wiggled her finger around in Andy’s direction as if the woman across the table would be her puppet and move at her whims. 

“I hypothesize that it has to do from your confidence, rather than self-respect.” Amidala chuckled to herself as if she was reading Andy like a well-worn book. “It may sound ridiculous to you, but it’s just you and me here, so let’s be honest with each other. 

“What respectable, whore-mongering, alcoholic has self-respect?” 

Despite her words being crass in nature, Andelyn’s voice betrays her emotion by being completely devoid of it. “I’m very respectful to the ladies of the night, I always tip and leave them extra money too.” 

Amidala stared at Andy, trying to fight the urge to twist in her seat. “We like dark humor here, not bar humor.” 

“I know,” Andy said, “that’s why I said it.” 

Through gritted teeth, the warlock attempts to claim a victory she could not see before her. “See, there’s that confidence, it lets you talk back to the woman who holds your life in her hands. You clearly don’t respect yourself, refusing to treat your body like a temple like any proper soldier would, yet you don’t fall to madness and despair like the others. 

“Do you believe you will actually survive this? Do you have faith that you can save yourself?” Amidala shook her head and her hand in front of her face. “No, no, we already established that you hate yourself, how could you be confident in yourself.”

Then it was like a lightbulb went off in her head, but they both knew better. Amidala had been planning to have this conversation for hours. She brought Andy here to taunt her, to let her know that despite the singular shared feeling between them, Amidala was going to escape it and Andy was not.

“Your confidence lies in others,” Amidala knew, “and despite how pedantically sweet that is, it only shows how much of a fool you are. 

“Hold on to that confidence, Andelyn, that hope. Your kind before you had similar hopes, and I liked to watch as it died along with them. That is what binds you to the rest of your brethren. 

“For others, it’s a once in a lifetime thing to watch all the hope in someone dissolve into thin air… but I have seen it so many times that I’m addicted to it.” 

Amidala may have intended to taunt Andy and Andy alone, but to think so would be foolish. Andy was never alone, even when she wanted to be, even when she felt she was. 

And those who remained were not silent behind Andy’s eyes. 

Beyond her will and control, Andy’s eyes began to glow and her hair started to float as if there was electricity in the air. In a moment, there would be.

Amidala’s fun was stolen from her as she cursed her dinnerguest with a slew of spells. The metal of Andy’s chair twisted and grasped hold of her arms, as did the table near her. The metal had become attracted to her, and molded to her form to weigh her down.

Weight or not, it would not stop the voice of a legion from speaking through Andelyn Stella, and challenging their would conqueror where she stood taller, yet not above.

“You’ll only see it… if you do not fail.” 

Amidala stood, and she stood challenged. 

There was something about being challenged that made the electricity in the air sting across Amidala’s skin. It was something that not only froze her to her spot, but also made her heart beat.

It had beat before, she was no undead or creature of the night, but how often do you notice your own heart beating? It’s always beating, and it should beat until you die, yet, how often do you notice it? 

“Then I will not fail,”she promised the Light. 

But the Light did not anser back. Andy’s eyes dimmed, relieving her of her shining light, and leaving a lime glow stemming from her irises of the same color. 

Despite the position she was held in, bent into a hunch with her arms behind her back and her legs twisted at awkward angles, Andelyn looked up at no one. 

 “Do you know what all the villains say in the myths and legends?” Andy asked the warlock.

Amidala arched her brow. “Have you seen my library?” 

“They say that they will not fail, and then they do. Like Zenos and his conquest of the Empyrean, you will not come close.” 

And so soon again, Amidala’s heart beat.

“Movere,” she said while looking at the rest of the dinner table, and with a bust, it moved well out of her way.

She had free reign to walk straight up to her captive who remained locked in place.

Amidala took Andelyn by the chin and turned her upward, but could not make the woman look up to her.

She leaned down close enough that her captive could feel her breath on her lips. “Andelyn Stella,” she muttered, “you almost make me wish that you didn’t have to die.”

Then she threw Andy’s chin away. With a few spells, the metal moved to constrict and control Andy’s movements as a portal opened behind her. It was time to go back to her cell, but not without another word from the warlock.

“But make no mistake, you will.”

*****

For the most formative years of his life, Oren was home to Quintus. He had few memories from when he was still with his tribe. When his tribe was conquered by another neighboring tribe, he was still rather young. Quintus could not recall his own tribe’s name, nor the name of the mother put in chains with him.

Oren was where the slavers took him to be sold. He was taken into the city square to be bid on. He didn’t remember much of the trip being below deck, nor the trek they were forced to make up the cliff to where the city sat.

They were hooded. Those who could keep not pace with the rest were promptly pushed off the cliffside, and those who could not keep their balance under pressure fell down to the jagged cliffs and water below.

He couldn’t remember what the trek up looked like, but he remembered the screams of those who fell. While his nightmares rarely replicated the sound of them hitting the ground, he was sure if he heard it again, he would recognize it without question. 

To make it to the top was to mean that you had the makings of being a good worker.

It was all a test of their investment.

Quintus and his mother, whose name he could not remember and whose face he would not recognize, made it to the top. That’s where she was taken from him, sold first to a local dominus who needed hands delicate enough to threat a needle, and tough enough to carry jars of wine to his guests. 

Quintus would remain there for hours more, too young to understand, but tall enough that they were already taking him for a man. He couldn’t understand their words, how they said, “He’ll be a man soon enough,” when he was barely a few years from being a teen.

When the bidding started, many raised their hands, but another cancelled the bid altogether. He said he wanted the boy, needed an assistant he could train from a young age. When others questioned who thought they could ignore the bidding, the beastman at his side barred his teeth at them.

A man walked away with Quintus for free, a gift from the slavers to he who was second only to the Emperor in value.

Lato.

A man to whom Quintus’s heart would give everything… by his master’s design.

The rowboat would surely allowed the dark skinned Quintus to blend in with the night, but he didn’t want to waste time trying and failing to sneak in to see his old master. He would have to give the signal soon, so he slowed his rowing.

He had rowed several miles from where the ship he paid dropped him off. The muscles of lesser men would be on fire, and Quintus barely felt it. What stopped him was the view of the city.

Cast in the moonlight, it was unlike how Quintus had ever seen it before.

The Kronish city sat a cliff as jagged as the city itself. It sat on a sharp point many thought was made by the Goddess of the Sea herself, Thassia’s Point, the sharpest point of her trident.

Quintus had never looked up at from this angle before. From beside his master, Lato, he always looked down on the Secan Sea. To look up at Oren was a different experience.

It was the barb at the end of a deadly trident. 

Before spotters and bowman would train their eyes on the little rowboat, Quintus searched his trousers for one of only two items that he has kept since he was made a freeman. One was the hilt of the blade, which was attached to new metal smelted on the Isles. The other was a ring he put on his middle finger.

Quintus’s ring bore the symbol of his house whose sigil was a chimera. It was the house that made beasts of men.

With a twist to the symbol, it began make mechanical noises, and Quintus shot his hand out over his head.

With in seconds a purple light shined into the sky, a signal to the spotters and those manning the dock that someone was coming. The color denoted the house they came from. He held it for a few moments before the light went out.

They’ll know I’m coming now, they’ll know who I am.

People were given designated colors for their signalling. Purple was a color set aside for two houses, the Emperor’s and the sorcerer’s. Being the sorcerer’s freeman, Quintus was in an exclusive club.

He sat and waited for a few seconds before a green light shot into the sky, giving him the go ahead to approach.

It would take nearly an hour to finish rowing into the sea of rocks, and then a half hour more to sail around them to get to the dock he knew rested at the bottom of the cliff.

There didn’t used to be so many of these deathtraps, Quintus thought to himself, wishing his eyes could see through the dark better. Maybe then he could spot the nature of the hazards he was slowly moving around.

As he spotted the lights on the dock, he found himself in the shadow of the cliff, with the moonlight shining from around its sides. As he found himself drifting into the darkness, his chest started to tighten, and his stomach grew twisted.

Quintus grasped at the breast over his heart almost immediately, as he stared up at the sky, wondering, What is this hard feeling in my chest?

This was home, he told himself, this was where he grew up, where he was raised, and yet, his heart felt hard in his chest.

As the docks came into view, with fewer soldiers than he anticipated waiting for him, his muscles grew much like his heart.

A man who was no soldier, but flanked by them stood there waiting in a nice purple tunic, and waved to him. 

Quintus found himself forcing a smile, but could understand why. 

Lato had come to meet him, so why didn’t he feel well met?