Whispers (Book 3 of Wielder series)

Chapter 4 - Revenge

Commander Roger Sole trembled as they neared the prison gates. In just a few minutes, his victory would be secured. Yes, he'd captured the Wielder. Yes, she still lay in the thrawl of his power. But until she was imprisoned behind walls of stone and magic-repelling shields, he couldn't afford to let down his guard for even a moment.
   She had become too powerful. She had become too evasive. She had become too dangerous. He dared not leave her alone, even in a state of unconsciousness.
   So for the entire journey to Fire Mountain, he didn't allow himself to rest.
   His body ached in ways it hadn't since the early days of his Bond. His vision blurred from the dryness of his eyes. His stomach knotted with nerves. Still he carried himself with pride and authority, unwilling to show even a hint of weakness.
   He'd kept the Wielder in a comatose state for the journey. Though that required him to drag her along in a cage like a wild animal, at least he didn't have to worry about her plotting an escape. He well remembered what she'd done the last time he'd tried to transport her across the realm. Sometimes he still woke up in a cold sweat after dreaming about the dragon she'd imagined that had tried to incinerate him.
   She was not to be underestimated.
   Even so, her capture had gone surprisingly well. Tyla had kept her promise: the butterfly enhancing the Wielder's powers was nowhere to be found. Even one of her usual companions had been missing. Her shield had been down. She'd been distracted. There would not have been a better time for him to attack if he'd planned one.
   He only wondered if her capture had been a little too easy. He kept expecting her to break free of his spell and come barreling toward him with fire and knives and magic prepared to break apart his power.
   Which was why, as the prison's gate rolled back, he stood directly beside the cage she slept in, keeping one hand wrapped around her wrist to ensure the flow of his control over her would not break.
   The prison's patrols did not vary in number, no matter the hour of the day or night. His tired eyes scanned over them and the weapons they bore. The sight of them had unnerved him the first time he'd visited, but now they served as reassurance. If the Wielder woke now, she would not escape.
   He followed his Phantoms into the prison's main courtyard. Warden Hoel waited for him with an amused spark in his eye. The man stood a good four inches taller than him, and had the build of a man born for physical labor. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, though he dropped them and pressed his fist to his heart in a respectful bow as Roger approached. "You made it."
   "So we did." Roger dropped the Wielder's wrist only once he heard the prison's gate close behind him. Then he returned the gesture.
   Warden Hoel's grin softened the hardness of his features. "I assume you want to see her to her cell personally?"
   "I absolutely do." Under no circumstances would he risk coming all this way just for her to somehow disappear into thin air. Who knew if she had supporters, even here among the prison guards? Or, worse, what if Empress Tyla had implanted one of her spies, foiling his plans the way she had at Black Lake?
   No. He would not leave the Wielder in someone else's care.
   Before anyone could offer to take her, Roger climbed up onto the cage, using his power to unlock it. He had secured the Wielder with three separate magic-restricting cuffs: one on her wrist, one on her ankle, and one around her neck. All three were chained to the cage. He meticulously unhooked each one, ensuring that the cuffs themselves did not unlatch.
   Hoel chuckled. "Paranoid, Sole?"
   "You should have seen him after we caught her," Kilera, one of his Phantoms, muttered under her breath.
   Roger shot her a menacing glare.
   "You sure she's worth all the trouble?"
   "She's worth it." Roger scooped the limp teen into his arms easily. Her arm swung wildly as he jumped down from the cage.
   Hoel's lips twitched in a smile. "I saved the best room in the house for her."
   "I can't wait to see it."
   He followed Hoel into the prison, and his Phantoms followed him.
   The facility had no name, though he'd heard many a prisoner call it hell. He couldn't exactly blame them. Fire Mountain had been so named for the volcano that dominated the better part of the world. Its activity was low, but steady. A stream of lava poured from its crest like a reliable river's current, constantly churning red molten rock down its side. No one lived on the surface, due to the lava and volcanic ash. The prison, the world's only man-made structure, had been built within the volcano itself. Its design and strategic placement was the reason it was so inescapable. The only safe way to leave was through the front door.
   Every other exit led directly to a pit full of lava.
   Roger's first few visits to the prison had unnerved him. What if the volcano became unpredictable? Would the whole facility be consumed in a wave of incinerating lava? He figured his death would be swift, at least, if it did.
   But the volcano had behaved the same for hundreds of years. There was no reason to fear it.
   Though the facility was remote and special, it was not large. At top capacity, it could only hold a few hundred prisoners, and half as many guards. Its advantage lay in its design: cells were not built on top of each other, in rows close enough for prisoners to exchange conversations with those housed next door. Each prisoner sat in complete isolation. Their only interactions were with prison staff, or in battle in the arena.
   The arena was Roger's favorite piece of the prison. Prisoners who showed excessive aggression were pitted against each other in brawls and arranged fights for the staff's entertainment. It was an unorthodox method of handling prison fights, but it was effective. After a few rounds in the arena, prisoners either wore themselves out, grew bored, or perished.
   Roger had no plans to admit the Wielder to the arena, though. No, he wanted her suffering to be by his hand alone.
   The room Warden Hoel had selected for her had been specially designed to contain those with high sensitivity to magic. The stones that formed the room's walls were coated with a dark colored tar created from the power of the Evil. The door had triple locks securing it in place, all requiring a different key. Even the halls contained alarms that would sound if magic was detected floating down the corridors.
   The cell contained no bed. A lumpy mattress stuffed with straw lay on the floor against the back wall. One side had torn, causing some of its stuffing to tumble out. The blanket that lay atop it was so threadbare, Roger was sure he would be able to see through it if he lifted it up. Several metal rings protruded from the stone, allowing him to chain the Wielder to the walls. A small flap in the bottom of the door allowed meals to slide inside without risking escape.
   The space would serve his purposes perfectly.
   "I've kept her arrival off the record," Hoel informed as Roger set the Wielder down on the mattress. "So you won't have to worry about the empress."
   Roger let the long chain attached to the wall slip through his fingers. The metal was cold and rough, and tingled with dark power. Perfect. He latched the Wielder's wrist cuff to it. "Thank you."
   "The guards know better than to ask questions, but to keep their curiosity to a minimum, I've told them you brought in a nameless magic-sensitive money launderer and con-artist."
   The second chain, secured to her ankle, clicked into place. "Excellent."
   "I've also given strict orders that no one is to interact with her under any circumstances."
   "Again, thank you." Roger stood, confident for now that the Wielder wouldn't slip away. His gaze swept over her helpless form, checking for any signs that she might stir. His power still clung to her skin, making her appear as if she had covered herself in mud. With a wave of his hand, that power receded. She flinched a little as it left her, but gave no other indications of waking up.
   He let out a heavy breath. He forced his shoulders to relax. The hard part was over. The Wielder was contained. He could finally rest.
   Exhaustion pulled at him, but he forced himself to stand tall. "I want at least one of you posted at her door at all hours," he said to his Phantoms, who stood just outside the door. "Take four hour shifts. You can decide the order of your schedule among yourselves, and the rest of your time is yours to do with as you wish." He turned to Kilera. "But you take the first shift."
   Her nose twitched in annoyance. She knew being assigned the first watch was a punishment for her sass. The others eyed her in amusement, silently making fun of her misfortune.
   "Anything strange gets reported to me immediately," he ordered firmly. "Understood?"
   "Yes, Commander," they chorused in unison, pressing their fists to their hearts with a bow.
   "Come." Warden Hoel clapped him on the back as he turned toward the door. "You've worked hard and traveled far. You deserve some rest."
   Reluctantly, he allowed the warden to escort him from the cell. He watched Hoel bolt each of the door's three locks into place, securing the Wielder safely inside. He made sure that the seal of dark power settled fully over the door before he allowed himself to turn his back on it.
   If he was honest with himself, what he needed most was a hot meal, a quick wash, and a bed to spend the next three days sleeping in. Instead, he planned to take a few hours' nap before rising again to check on his prisoner.
   And if she was awake, then her torture would begin.
– – – – –
Roger slept longer than he planned. But when he woke, he felt so much more alert and relaxed. No one had come to warn him that the Wielder had attempted an escape. No one had tripped the alarm that indicated she had managed to summon magic somehow, even with three cuffs restricting her. She hadn't left her cell. She was still his prisoner.
   A flutter of excitement quickened his heartbeat. This was really happening.
   He took his time getting dressed. He needed to appear both intimidating and pristine, to serve as a reminder that she was beneath him. He also contemplated all the things he wanted to say, repeating them in various ways in his mind to make sure they sounded just right.
   She needed to understand just how much she had destroyed him. She needed to understand that this was about revenge.
   Kilera's shift had long ended by the time he reached the Wielder's cell door. Ilex had taken her place. He'd morphed himself into shadow against the stone, completely indistinguishable from the darkness of the hall by any who didn't know how to look for him. Roger gave him a curt nod in greeting. "Report?"
   Ilex morphed slightly back into shape, like a ghost peeling off the wall. "There's nothing, Sir. All's been quiet."
   "Is she awake?"
   "If she is, she's been discrete. I haven't heard so much as a whisper."
   "Hmmm." He'd have to change his tactics, then. Waking her up could be a joy, if he did it right.
   "Dresden has the next shift. Is there anything I should tell him?"
   Roger smiled. His Phantoms knew him well. What he had planned would take hours. Ilex likely wouldn't be here when he left the cell. "No, that's alright."
   Ilex grinned back at him. "Enjoy your visit, Sir," he said before morphing back into the shadows on the wall.
   Oh, he planned to. Roger reached for the keys Warden Hoel had given him, taking his time lifting each one to its corresponding lock. If the Wielder was awake, he wanted her to sweat over every clink of the keys, every slip of the bolt. He wanted her to know that he held complete control over her. That he was in no rush to begin.
   It would mean little now. But later, much later, it would be a kind of torture in itself.
   As the last bolt slid from the lock, he took a moment to steady his breathing. He needed to be calm. Exhaling, he turned the latch and pulled the door open.
   The cell had no lighting. He opened it to pitch blackness, which retreated with the mild light filtering in from the hall. He imagined what he must look like, a dark figure backlit by menacing light, his eyes aglow with bloodthirsty power. He spotted the Wielder on her makeshift mattress, sitting with her back against the wall. She blinked rapidly, squinting against the light of the hall.
   He stood there for a moment, letting her eyes adjust. Then he let her take in the sight of him. He watched the way her mouth cracked open. He relished the way her pupils shrank in fear. He caught the way her hand trembled as she shrank back against the wall, subtly trying to distance herself from him.
   But there would be no escape. Not this time.
   With a grin that flashed his teeth, he let the door swing closed behind him.