Frays In The Weave 52 Skirmish: 1

She hated it.

The empire she loved tearing down the middle. The stubborn De Vhatic unity turned into fighting factions vying for followers. The fighting ripped right into families. More than a few people simply disappeared each night, and she suspected most of them would never turn up again. At least not alive.

For once the great magic of Verd worked against them. Of course they had their share of bodies vanis.h.i.+ng each night together with the rest of the waste, but murders were usually infrequent enough that the soldiers on guard duty found the remains a few days later. Now, however, she couldn't be certain that even the soldiers wanted those bodies found, and they were too many to begin with anyway.

Verd ate her own, even those who lived.

Mairild left the windows, as if not seeing the scene outdoors would make it go away. Her steps brought her through corridors and reception halls, down narrow stairs to cellars few spoke about and even fewer visited. Deep under the imperial castle chambers lay buried, mostly well-furnished but all of them prison cells of one kind or another.

She wasn't on her way to one of the politely and comfortably tucked away guests they housed. There were a few cells for the other kind, and one where unspeakable things were done to the prisoner before death.

It wasn't anything she was proud of, and sometimes she even doubted the information they gathered this way was all reliable. People were p.r.o.ne to admit anything when subjected to pain, but the interrogators were skilled and avoided leading questions as far as possible. Usually they just tortured their victim until something spilled out.

Mairild smirked at the double meaning of her thoughts.

She turned around a corner and followed the sounds. Shrieks of agony rising over m.u.f.fled groans like waves rolling rhythmically onto the beaches of the Liat Sea.

A few days earlier riders had brought three missionaries from Chach as prisoners, and now the last one alive was screaming his lungs out in a futile attempt to shorten his agony.

She entered the clinic and covered her face. The display never ceased to discomfort her. It was all so very, very red. Soldiers never lost this much blood and lived, but then enemies of the field of battle didn't go to lengths to keep their opponents alive.

"Anything new?" she asked after her stomach returned to normal.

"Yes. They have some new kind of battlemages. If I didn't know better, it would seem those fanatic paladins have been imbued." The interrogator had the grace not to turn around as he answered.

Mairild silently thanked him for that. "And..."

The question she was about to ask was suddenly cut short by another shriek, and she shuddered at the sight of the convulsing body strapped to the table. That was a human being there. An enemy, yes, but still human.

She choked back her feelings. An enemy. She had to focus on that.

She stared at the marble, red covering the white and grey, and closed her eyes. An enemy.

"Any numbers?" she asked.

"Not exact enough to be reliable. Most from Chach, but quite a few taking orders directly from that church of theirs. Crusade. It's the madness of Erkateren again."

Mairild mulled over the a.n.a.lysis. Her interrogators were paid to think as well as inflict pain. She wanted them to come to their own conclusions. This one made sense to her as well. Too much sense in fact.

"Does he have anything more to tell us?"

"I doubt it, Madame."

"Kill him then," she said. It was the only decent thing to do now.

"I will." The voice held only grat.i.tude. Anyone taking a liking to the horrible work down here she immediately dismissed. Interrogators they were. She had no use for s.a.d.i.s.ts.

She stayed for the mercy killing. She owed the prisoner at least that much.