Shadows Bleed

XIV

XIV

The room was lit by a pallid, withering candle. It flickered weakly on the table by the bed in which I now found myself. From the diminished length of the wick and the puddle of wax stuck to the tabletop, I concluded I had been unconscious for many hours. Upon lifting my eyes I saw a device, similar to the watch the guard had shown me in the holding cells but larger, mounted above the door. It was somewhere past the thirteenth hour.

I attempted to sit upright but was foiled by the ropes keeping my arms and legs tied to the bed frame. An irritated growl rose in my throat as I tried to free myself, to no avail. I slumped down, lacking the strength to fight, my chin falling forward to my chest.

That was when I became aware of an unusual absence. I looked at my chest. I wore only undergarments, presenting no difficulty seeing the scar in my chest where the fragments of S'har were once buried. They were all gone, save for a single, weakly flickering shard whose pulse, upon consideration, I could faintly feel.

I was so distracted by the loss that I neither saw nor heard the door open.

"I was wondering how you managed to survive the bullet," Lord Vaskarth said, taking a seat on the bed beside me. "I tried to see what preserved you but, whatever it was, it evaporated before my very eyes, precluding closer examination."

I grunted in response, a potent desire to wring his neck developing within me.

"How very civilised of you," he said, a fire burning in his eyes. His voice rose. "Do you remember what you did? You killed two men, before the eyes of my family no less. You spilled the blood of my faithful servants in my own home. My home is a place of peace!"

The last words echoed through the house, a booming roar that shook me to the core and left me quivering before him. This was a man of monumental authority and, I am not ashamed to say, he scared me.

"Those lives were not yours to take," he finished softly, his face mollifying. "Why did you do it? Who sent you?"

Somehow I knew, maybe it was instinct or maybe it was the remnant of S'har that told me, that not answering him would be unwise. So I told him the truth.

"I was a slave. I was offered freedom from destiny, for both me and my family, in exchange for your life."

"Is that so?" he said, brow knitted. "And who is it that offered you this?"

"I don't know," I said. After all, I had no solid evidence supporting my theories. "Not completely anyway."

"Tell me what you do know," he said kindly but I knew it was a command, not a request.

"He called himself Avad'dhon," I began. Vaskarth held up a hand to stop me.

"Avad'dhon? The Destroyer?" he asked in disbelief that matched my own at his knowledge of Aer Savarthim faith.

"Yes, the Vaileiri, a Firstborn, Avad'dhon," I confirmed.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," he started to laugh dryly. "You expect me to believe that a son of your god wants me dead?"

"Whether you believe me or not is your decision," I shrugged, as much as I could while restrained, that is. "I'm simply answering your questions, relaying what I've been told."

"Alright, suppose Avad'dhon did send you," Vaskarth continued his interrogation with a chuckle. "Why me? What have I done to pique the interest of Yyr?"

"He didn't say."

"How convenient."

"Like I said, your beliefs are your own," I growled and looked to my chest, to the scar. "I'm sure you have a solid explanation for my survival of what should have been a fatal injury."