Islana's Story
Islana tried her hardest not to wince, but it was difficult. Ocan was standing over her, hovering just a little too far inside her personal space, close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek. She was in chains, manacled to a wall in a mostly dark room. There were a few torches, but the rooms atmosphere was dark; the torches and the fire place only served to throw shadows around.
Ocan was very good at his job. He barely had to say a word to be scary; at the moment, he was just... Standing. He was shorter than Islana, but that didn't actually matter, he had a complete aura of control, power, and nastiness. He stared at her impassively for just long enough, standing just close enough, that her skin began to crawl.
He smiled and reached out, placed a hand firmly on her jaw, and wrenched her head around to look at him. He had dark features, a bit too sharp, a red-orange hair that flickered in the changing light as if it was a fire itself. His eyes were dark red and dangerous. He needed to shave.
"Islana." He said her name and let it hang in the space between them. "Women should not pretend to be men." He stepped even closer, farther into her space, and his eyes bore into hers. "Those that do, deserve what happens to them." His accent was thick, and he spoke very precisely and over enunciated every syllable.
He was so close they were nearly touching, then they were touching; he pressed his body against hers and nudged his knee in between her legs, pressing them apart. He let his hand drop off her jaw, and she shot back at him, "Rape? You really do wish I was a man."
He didn't even falter. The back of his hand cracked against her face; he was wearing a gaudy ring that was large and sharp and drew blood. It was going to be a long, painful day.
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 3: Chaos Breaking
"Holiness—" Cleran corrected himself when he saw the looks his brother was giving him, "—Dysis, I just don't think this is a very good idea."
"Nonsense. I need to meet her. She's going to be tried in public, and so I have to get to know how she is going to react beforehand."
"I can give you a full report on everything she does," Cleran insisted. "But she's unpredictable. It's not safe, Dy."
"You're going to be here the whole time to translate anyway. And she'll be wearing chains. And you just said, she's unpredictable, which is just why I need to speak to her face-to-face."
"But... Dysis, please just hear me out. She's...." He groped for words to describe Islana. "She's not sane. She hates you, and she wants you dead."
"She's never even met me," Dysis pointed out flippantly.
"It doesn't matter to her. At all. She hates me, she hates you, she's just started with Ocan and... She'll blame you for it. I promise you. She won't be scared, she'll be angry. And violent. She's frightening, Dysis."
"She'll be wearing shackles. And besides, you'll be here with me. Why should I be afraid?"
Because if she sees some opportunity, she'll take it, no matter what it might cost her, Cleran thought, but aloud only said, "She scares me, when she's wearing shackles and inside a cell."
Dysis sighed and suddenly let himself seem serious. "Cleran, I know you're trying to protect me. But I have to know how she's going to react to me before I talk to her in public. I have to know how she'll react, or I'll humiliate the Church, the Warriors... Everything we stand for. If she's that unpredictable, that scary, I need to know what to expect. I know it's not what you think is best, but it's something that I need to do."
Cleran nodded. He still didn't approve, but wouldn't have had the power to convince his older brother not to take Islana so lightly. He'd never been able to argue with Dysis, not even when they were younger, back before Dy had joined the Priesthood and had dragged Cleran off to become a Warrior. "And you saidˆâ You said you want to do it here?" Cleran asked, gesturing around Dysis' office.
"Of course. If I can, I want to intimidate her... And I'm not really physically imposing," he said, good natured about it. Dysis wasn't very strong and knew it, but that was why he had Cleran, after all.
"All right. When?"
"Tomorrow, directly after Ocan finishes with her," Dysis said. "Give me five minutes notices."
"All right. But Dy... She is dangerous."
"I trust you to keep me safe, Cleran." Dysis smiled brightly. "I know people say you aren't a good Warrior, but they're wrong. I trust you."
Cleran thought about the incident the previous night and suppressed a shudder. I wonder if you should, Dy... I really wonder if you should.
He nodded and started for the door, but someone knocked and then opened it before he reached it. Erolis walked in, his face still grim. He nodded in greeting to Cleran, and bowed slightly to Dysis. "They said you left orders to show myself in," he explained.
"I did," Dysis agreed. "I have the letter for Lady Serissa."
"Good. I'll see that it's delivered, but another matter has been brought to my attention. Lord Serathi."
Dysis sighed. "Have a seat, Erolis. Cleran, would you care to stay?" It was a polite way of asking Cleran to stay as a guard. The Warrior nodded and retired to the couch, where he proceeded to lurk conspicuously.
"Lord Serathi," Erolis started, choosing not to sit, "I believe you have a Knight named Islana in your custody."
"I do."
"I believe you will be giving her a public trial," he continued. Dysis nodded. "And I'm going to assume you will be speaking with her beforehand, if you haven't already." Dysis made no reaction whatsoever, aside from a knowing glance at Cleran, who denied the urge to roll his eyes. "If it has not yet taken place, I would like to be present."
"That's why it's a public trial, Erolis. You're as welcome there as anyone else."
"Not the trial. The private interview."
"And why would you like to be present?" Dysis asked.
"Because I don't believe Islana will be given a fair trial and I'd like to judge her for myself." Dysis half-nodded, and made a gesture with his hand that Erolis should continue. "Her trial is to please the masses; you'll be interviewing her beforehand to prepare for her first reactions. I want to know what those reactions are."
"So would a lot of people. Why should I allow you?"
"Because those other people won't be reporting your actions—and hers—directly to Serissa Alayrin. I will. And I assure you, Lady Alayrin does trust my opinions. A positive report of your conduct would lead to her support; a negative one would probably cost you that support—political and financial."
Dysis sighed and looked down at his desk, then looked back up and nodded to Erolis. "Very well. Tomorrow afternoon—but, you will be silent through the presentation. You will sit, you will observe. Under no circumstances will you act or speak. Those are my conditions. Accept them or leave."
"They're quite generous, Lord Serathi." Erolis bowed dramatically. "As you request. Thank you." He spun to leave, waved politely to Cleran, and swept out of the room.
Islana sat in the back corner of her cell, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. She was sore all over, and was definitely never going to be the same again. But she'd finally stopped crying, after what felt like hours.
Cleran was nowhere to be found. He'd disappeared that evening after returning to her to her cell. She was grateful he'd decided not to lurk outside her cell, but suspicious as well.
Footsteps began to clatter down the stairwell. She didn't look up until she could sense whoever it was standing outside her cell, watching. "Islana," he started, and she recognized Cleran's voice. She could smell another meal and was almost afraid to want it; she was hungry, but didn't want a repeat of the previous day's mealtime events.
She looked up and he could tell right away how much damage Ocan had done. "You look like hell," he said cheerfully. "The comment I made last night about how no man would want you... Compared to now, you were looking great."
She just gave him a dark look, but couldn't manage more than that, which said more than a fast reply could have. "I have your meal," he added. She waited for the other shoe to drop, but he just produced the key to her cell, unlocked the door and stepped inside.
"You know, there's a lot I could do to you right now," he commented, advancing towards her. She just watched him. He deposited the plate on the floor and took a final step toward her, so he was standing, looming almost directly above her. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't."
She'd started to slink away from him, to try and shrink into herself, but stopped and glared up at him. She shifted, let the chains clink, and made herself look casually up at him, as if unaffected. "Touch me, and I'll kill you," she promised.
"Kill me?" he scoffed. "You're in chains, Islana. And I'm armed." He crouched down to be closer to eye level. "You think you can kill me?"
She glanced up at him and shook her head slightly. "Warrior, I promise that if I wanted to, I could do you damage that no Healer could fix." And she said it so flatly that it couldn't have been a lie, merely disinterest.
"Then why don't you?" he taunted, reaching out and wrapping a few fingers around one of her chains.
"Because you aren't worth my effort," she said, glancing down at the chain and rattling it slightly. "I realized that last night."
"I won last night," he pointed out.
"No," she said. "You didn't lose. But you didn't win, either." She smiled grimly. "Don't give me a reason to make you lose."
He dropped her chain. "You do this really well," he commented.
She shifted again, to face him slightly. "Do what?" she demanded.
"Speak bravely. You speak as if you aren't afraid."
"I'm not."
He gave an almost-laugh and raised his arm, as if to hit her. She flinched momentarily, but after a second, she merely kept herself prepared for the blow, but refused to be scared of it. Now Cleran just smiled, and instead of hitting her, reached out and brushed her cheek gently. She glared up his arm at him, and he shrugged and let his arm drop. "You talk well. But you flinched anyway." He straightened. "Enjoy your meal." And with that, he swept out of the cell and locked it behind him.
She waited until he took up his usual place in the chair under the torch before she moved to retrieve her meal. He watched, bored, while she ate in silence. "...Still, though," he said. "You must be nearly as brave as you pretend. Most of the people Ocan deals with... Well, most of them can't even talk afterwards."
She paused for a moment. "I know what his orders were. He didn't make them a secret." She took another bite.
"Which orders did you mean?" he asked innocently.
"I know how this is going to work, Warrior. I'm kept in relatively good shape and then publicly humiliated before I'm killed. So yes, I do know it could have been worse."
"Did you learn anything else interesting?" Cleran asked, still clearly amused.
"I learned I can take it." She looked him in the eye, looking far more confident than she felt. Bantering with Cleran was one thing; that felt like the most natural thing in the world. It was almost normal, almost even comforting while she was in so much pain. She wondered why that was for a split second, but didn't dwell on it. There was too much else to dwell on.
Cleran was right, though. She talked a good deal, and sounded much braver than she felt. Ocan had been hanging back from destroying her, but everything she'd been through was far from an easy time. Something inside of her had been hurt worse than she could have explained. She would have done anythingˆëor close to anythingˆëto avoid it again.
She finished her meal in silence and retreated to her mattress. "Oh, my hand is fine. Thanks for asking," he commented, just as she started to drift off.
"I'll try harder next time," she promised.
"You're going to try again?"
"Of course." She yawned. "But first I'm going to sleep."
"For real this time?"
"If it isn't, would I tell you?" she pointed out. He smiled.
"Go to sleep. You've got another long day tomorrow. Almost just like today."
"Almost?" she asked, now waking up a bit more.
"One slight difference. Tomorrow evening, you get to meet His Holiness. Be honored."
She settled into the mattress to think, but her only thought was that she couldn't take more of it. The brave facade could only last so long; Ocan wasn't trying to break her spirit, but he was trying to inflict pain. She honestly didn't think she could take too much more of it, and had no idea what would happen the next day.
As she drifted off, Islana began mumbling a prayer to herself, barely loud enough for Cleran to hear. He wasn't able to make out the words and listened hard until he realized what she was doing. "Islana," he snarled. "None of that."
She ignored him.
"It's something else to tell Ocan to punish you for," he pointed out. "Things are bad enough for you as it is, but they can get worse. And... Well, accidents happen when things get bad."
Islana continued to pray, but she also continued to think.
[EYECATCH]
Islana was suspended in chains, only somewhat conscious. Cleran strolled into the room and shuddered; Ocan gave him a dark look. "Yes?" he demanded. He was standing in front of her, looking scary as hell in the torchlight, with a table cluttered with frightening... devices close at hand.
"I need to speak with her before she sees His Holiness. Are you...? Can I...?" he asked, trailing off uncertainly.
"I'm nearly done with her, yes." Ocan paused, then, "It's just as well you're here; when I finish with her, someone will need to take her to the healer slave. We wouldn't want his Holiness to see quite all of this." He jostled her chains and her with them; she groaned from the movement but couldn't speak.
"She can hear me? And understand?" he asked. Islana was clearly barely conscious.
"Right now, she understands better than she ever has before." Ocan didn't bother to hide his smugness. He turned to her. "She knows to pay attention when her... Superiors... speak to her," he said in her language. "Correct?"
She opened her eyes and looked near Ocan, not quite at him, then let her gaze sink down the floor and swallowed heavily. "Yes," she groaned.
"Good girl," he said, brushing her cheek with his hand. She took a sharp breath and tried to flinch away, but he caught her jaw with his hand and dug his fingernails into her chin. She whimpered audibly until he released her.
Cleran watched in awe. He'd have wondered how it was possible to get Islana to behave herself and do as she was told so well, but it made sense when he looked at her. She was in rotten shape, plain and simple; she sagged from the chains and probably would have fallen if they hadn't been supporting her. Her face was a bloody mess, but then, most of her skin was also bloody or bruised. He realized with a good amount of horror that what looked like a poker from a fireplace was still stabbed into her shoulder, with another one broken off in one of her thighs.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Cleran muttered.
"Speak your peace with her, then I'll finish so you can take her to the slave to clean her up for Dysis," Ocan said grimly.
"Yes, sir." Cleran made himself look at Islana and then look her in her barely-open eyes. "You are going to speak with His Holiness; you will refer to him only as 'Your Holiness.' You will not be rude to him. There will be no insults, you will not talk back to him. You will answer all of his questions fully and to the point. You will do nothing to offend him and will do everything you are told.
"As you are interviewed, you will kneel and look up at His Holiness; you will not disrespect him by looking him in the eye. Do you understand?"
She didn't respond, until Ocan placed a hand on her shoulder. She and groaned. "Yes..." she managed.
"Yes what, Islana?" Ocan asked, gripping her shoulder a little bit tighter.
"Yes—I—understand," she managed, if only barely. Speaking was clearly an effort.
"Good. Be sure that you remember." Ocan smiled grimly. "Cleran, you're going to need to carry her to the healer's. She's going to be unconscious."
"She is?" Cleran asked, not really wanting to know why. He stared in sick fascination as Ocan reached down and yanked the broken off poker from her thigh. She screamed in agony, and then sagged farther into her chains, unconscious. Cleran winced on her behalf, and Ocan counted slowly to ten, then found a bowl of water and a rag on his crowded table, wet the rag and dabbed at her face with it. She came to slowly, and made a small, pathetic noise when she saw him looming above her.
"Scream for me, Islana," he said, reaching out and wrapping his hand around the poker that was in her shoulder. And as he pulled it out slowly, she did, then passed out again.
"Shit. How... How can you..." Cleran stuttered, trying to keep himself from going in to shock.
"You get used to it." Ocan dropped the two pokers on the floor and wiped his hands on the rag. "Besides. She deserves it, and much, much worse."
Cleran stared at Islana, hanging unconscious by her arms. "Yeah," he said half-heartedly. "Yeah. I'm gonna get her to the healer kid..."
"Yes." Ocan fished around on his table for a moment, and produced a key. He tossed it to Cleran, who caught it and began to unchain Islana. "If she gives you problems as she speaks to His Holiness, make sure there's a poker in the room. You probably won't have to do more than threaten her with it."
"Right... Thanks," Cleran said, as Islana fell into his waiting arm.
Islana woke up slowly. Her body felt as if it was on fire, but she forced herself to keep her jaw shut to the scream that was building inside. She made herself breath heavily and deeply before she opened her eyes.
"Do you remember?" Cleran greeted her. She couldn't see him, only the dark haired healer boy, still concentrating above her.
She thought for a moment, and images and words slowly came back to her. "Fuck off," she said.
"You were nicer while Ocan was there," he sighed, stepping into view. He'd found a spare poker and was holding it in his right hand, resting the point against his other palm. "But he gave me a few tips on how to get you to behave."
She stared at him, eyes going wide. "Well?" he asked. "Do you remember?"
She stared at him for another moment, trying to figure out how serious he was. He looked at her grimly and pressed the shaft of the poker across her throat. "Yes..." she whispered, as he let off some pressure.
"Good." He tucked the poker into his sword belt carefully. "Should I have you repeat your instructions? Or can I trust you?"
She shut her eyes for a long moment. "You'll never be able to trust me, Warrior." He shoved the poker down again, and she was grateful he hadn't thought to actually heat it up.
"Then repeat it. Everything I told you."
She opened her eyes and glared at him. The Healer hadn't fixed her as well as one with training could have, but the actual pain of Healing was fading, leaving her relatively well off, and far bolder than she'd been when she'd last been awake.
"Go to Hell," she spat.
He pressed down with the poker again. "I don't enjoy this, you know. Insult me all you care to, but I will not let you offend His Holiness."
"You don't enjoy this?" she demanded. "I'm the only who has ever been forced to do as you say, and you don't enjoy that?"
"No, I don't," he snapped, then said something to the healer and handed him the key. "Can you sit up?" he asked as the slave unfastened her from the table.
"Only if you move that poker," she pointed out. He gave her a dirty look and did as she suggested, and she sat up slowly. For a minute, she was dizzy, but it didn't take too long for her head to clear.
The slave handed the key back to Cleran and stepped out of the room. There was a long silence as she started to stand, and he held up a hand to stop her. She paused, and the slave came back in, carrying a basin of water and a towel. "Clean yourself up," Cleran ordered.
"Why the concern?" she asked as she wet the towel.
"You've got to be presentable for His Holiness."
"His Holiness doesn't want to see his handiwork?" she asked. Arguing with Cleran was easy, it still felt normal. It was helping her recover from the torture chamber... I wonder if any of that was because of Cleran's threat. 'Accidents can happen.' But I think that Ocan is too good for that... She shuddered at the memories. Unless he was really angry. Too angry to stay calm...
That had been the worst part; nothing made Ocan angry. No matter how stubborn she was, no matter what she said or didn't say, he was calm. Every move he made was calculated. It was terrifying.
"His Holiness doesn't need to know what goes on where Ocan is in charge."
"Ahhh. So His Holiness can't handle seeing what he orders," she half-mused. Cleran reached out and grabbed her wrist hard, and yanked her towards him.
"You will say nothing against His Holiness!" Cleran snarled. "Ever." He shoved her backwards. It made her dizzy again—that was starting to worry her—but she caught herself. "Hurry, he's waiting."
"I suppose if you're only a bastard, you would have to bend over backwards to please someone as high ranking as His Holiness. I'm amazed he even speaks to someone like you."
"Shut up."
"So you're surprised too," she said, wiping some of the blood from her arms, revealing some particularly nasty cuts and bruises.
"His Holiness listens and speaks to any who need to speak with him," Cleran said angrily. "Regardless of rank. He's even eager to talk to you."
She laughed and set down the towel. "Eager, so long as I'm kneeling but not looking him in the eye."
He smiled. "True. Let's go."
Erra Kelanister watched the Knight carefully, before moving. She wasn't dressed as a Knight and had even gone so far as to dye the white in her hair black (something he was all too familiar with,) but despite her clothes, she still carried herself like a Knight. She moved as a trained fighter, with all of the cockiness that all Knights exhibited all the time.
To think, that could have been me so many years ago, he told himself. It wasn't wistful or nostalgic, only grateful he'd left that attitude behind with everything else. And this Knight... Well, she was going to learn what it meant to deal with him. Hopefully, that would help cure her of her attitude.
He waited for her to walk into one of the rooms, amused that she was actually carrying out her job as a maid. Somehow, the thought of one of the highest ranking Knights cleaning up a sloppy Noblewoman's room amused him, even if she was only doing to protect her identity.
Sadly for her, he had already found her out. It was too late for her identity—her name was Jereh Nirral, she was in her mid-thirties and was currently the Voice's favorite henchwoman. She'd been keeping a low profile, as did all of the ranking Knights and their leader, but he still had a few sources within the Knights to keep him informed.
A spy, "Brother?" Erra asked silently. I wondered how long it would take you. Do you really think I'm going to act so irrationally that you need early warning? He almost smiled at the thought. Besides, Brother, I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to tell you in amazing, agonizing detail every single step of my plan, and exactly how helpless you are to stop it.
There's nothing irrational about what I'm going to do, Brother, he told himself. Terrible, yes. Cruel? Absolutely. Bloody, devastating, horrible. All of those. But not irrational. Probably the most rational thing I'll ever do.
He waited only another few seconds before starting forward and walking into the room where the Knight, cleverly disguised as a palace maid, was working. He stopped in the door frame and cleared his throat conspicuously.
She turned and saw him; he had to give her credit for not freezing up. Unless she didn't realize she'd been found out... No, to be one of my Brother's favorites, she has to be smarter than that.
But she was, apparently, going to act as though he didn't know. She curtsied and stuttered, "Your Majesty," in a voice that was as startled as she probably felt.
He inclined his head politely. "Please, don't let me interrupt you," he said, motioning to the bed she was making. "This can wait. It's been waiting for five days now, Jereh."
She smiled slightly, trying to figure out if he actually had known she'd been there for five days, or if he'd just figured it out and was claiming otherwise. "Very well," she said, and went back to making the bed. He waited patiently for her to turn back to him. "To what do I owe this... honor?"
"You know damn well for what, Knight. I'm through pretending, and you might as well stop acting."
"Very well," she said, standing a little straighter. The attitude again. He smiled. "What do you want, old man?"
"I want to know why the Voice had suddenly decided to start placing spies around me," he answered. "But more importantly, I want to know what happened to Islana."
Jereh stiffened, ever so slightly. "You'd have to ask him, on both counts," she replied.
"No, I don't think I do. The Voice doubtlessly felt so awful ordering you to go spy on his beloved 'brother,' or so he used to call me, that he explained why he wanted you here in great detail. And as for the other, I know your rank and I know how much access that gives you. You know what happened to her."
"But I'm not going to tell you either one," Jereh said.
"It's my right to know both. I've never doublecrossed the Voice, I've never even acted without his approval." He spat the word. You won't approve of this, Brother. "So why now, when nothing has changed for nine years?"
"Nothing?" Jereh asked. "You've changed, old man."
He wondered if Jereh realized she'd picked up that nickname for him from Islana. His sources had also been kind enough to let him known of a mutual disgust between the two women. Jereh, it seemed, didn't like the fact that Islana was competition for the Voice's favorite. Islana resented Jereh simply for outranking her. She'd had problems with that before.
"Not really," Erra said. "Only gotten older and more tired." Tired of waiting, Brother. "But my policies towards the Voice and his followers have remained consistent. So tell me, why now?"
He stared her down. Jereh was good, and it was no wonder why Kaleal's Voice favored her. She was clearly not the sort who was easily intimidated, and was blindly loyal to the Goddess. And, if his sources were correct (and Erra's sources had never been wrong yet,) she was an amazingly powerful Healer.
"If you know him well enough to know he explained why to me, you should know him well enough to know why," Jereh finally answered.
"Oh, I know. But I want to hear it from you."
"Why, if you already know?"
"Because I'm a viscous old man who's been told by too many Knights that I was wrong and that I'm immoral—by spying on an ally is hardly moral. So I know why the Voice has become a hypocrite. If I hear it said, maybe I'll be willing to ignore that it happened."
"Will you give me your word on that?" Jereh asked.
"Will you accept my word? Knights tend to have problems with it," Erra answered.
"You can hardly blame us," she spat back. "You gave Her your word, too."
"I was young and naive then. I assure you I am neither one now. And besides," and here he smiled cruelly, "I also know the Voice well enough to know he's forgiven me, absolutely and unconditionally and has just been waiting for me to calm down so he can tell me that. And if he's forgiven me, well... Shouldn't you?"
"You're abusing his faith in you," Jereh said icily.
"Absolutely," Erra admitted, without so much as a trace of shame. "He's far too easy to manipulate. Now I believe you were going to explain your presence here."
She nodded. "The Voice wasn't entirely sure how you would react to Islana's disappearance and wanted someone to make sure your response wasn'..." She paused, looking for diplomatic words. As much as it irked her, she still had to be diplomatic. "Excessive," she finished.
"And has it been?"
"No," Jereh admitted.
"As for the details I requested, I really only need to know what's being done to recover your missing Knight."
"Why does it concern you, old man?"
"Morale, Jereh. I don't like Islana, but then, I don't have to. The people love her. They think she's Slenna Malistar reborn, come to save them. She makes them feel safe, and when they feel safe, my country prospers. I don't like Islana, but she's too valuable for me to let her die."
"And that's your only reason?" Jereh demanded.
"Yes," Erra said frankly. "The past is past. I don't give a damn about what she did."
"Fine," Jereh said in a voice that relayed that she was just humoring him. "We're... We're making plans, but may not be able to get to her in time. It all depends on how long they keep her alive."
"You'd best work fast, then," Erra said. "My sources on Arpiar are much better than yours. Dysis Serathi knows how valuable she is to me, and doesn't want to give anyone time to react. She has, perhaps, a week."
"How do you—"
"I told you: my sources on Arpiar are much better than yours. Now listen to me carefully, because this is important. You are going to carry a message to the Voice for me. He wanted to know my reaction, and so here it is: if he doesn't act, I will."
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said," Erra said, then repeated it. "If he doesn't act, I will. I have quite a force built up for defense, but that force can be offensive as well. If she dies, I will use it against the forces of Arpiar. I will destroy Dysis Serathi and those who work for him; I will destroy those who keep slaves and their families."
"That's nearly the whole Island," Jereh pointed out.
"I know." He gave her his most bloodthirsty smile. "If the Voice doesn't act to my satisfaction, I'm going to occupy Arpiar and kill lots of people. Innocent people."
"You know he won't let you," she said.
"You think he can stop me?" Erra asked, almost laughing at the idea. "My forces number more than the Knights and Warriors combined, and are at least as well trained. It's not hard to convince people to join when they know they're saving their lives and their family's.
"If he so much as tries to stop me when I act, if I am forced to, I'll destroy him as well. If I act, his choices will either be to stand aside, to help me, or to perish. So I'm going to count on you to try and convince him to act instead."
Jereh stared at him. "You're bluffing," she said. "You, of all people, wouldn't kill so many innocents."
"It doesn't matter if you think I'm bluffing, Jereh. Just make sure the Voice knows. He knows me well enough to know how serious I am."
She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll leave by nightfall."
"Good."
She started for the door, and he gave her just enough room to move past him. She stopped after a few more steps and looked back of her shoulder. "If I tell him, if he tries but fails—what then?"
"Tell him not to fail. A lot of lives depend on it."
[CLOSING CREDITS]