Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

F ionna slept soundly with a full belly and clean body. She woke with the dawn and immediately pulled out the mirror Amelia had given her.

It took but a tiny infusion of magic for it to cloud over then clear to show Amelia's face.

"Fionna, have you arrived?"

"Yes, and I've already met the warlord."

Something in her tone or expression must have conveyed her thoughts on him, for Amelia asked, "It didn't go well?"

"The man required proof of magic."

"Please tell me you didn't humiliate him?" Amelia pleaded.

"No. But I did make it clear I wasn't going to play a charade. The man wanted to pass me off as his fiancée, stating it would be easier for us to work together. It would seem women have very few rights here." Which grated for someone used to the freedom to act as she pleased.

"Their culture is different than you're used to."

"You don't say." She couldn't stem her sarcastic reply.

"Have you met the patient yet?"

"No. I arrived too late, but I shall do so as soon as I eat. The sooner I solve that problem, the sooner I can leave."

"Don't be so hasty."

Fionna rolled her eyes. "I know, you want me to see if I can sniff out this evil you predicted. If you ask me, it's their attitude in general."

"Don't let your own feelings about their culture blind you to what is happening."

"I won't." She held in a sigh. "I will contact you again once I learn something."

"Be careful."

"Never," Fionna said with a laugh before breaking the connection. She dressed in a gown of lovely pale green, but keeping in mind what the warlord said, she used a smidge of magic to change its hue to a much darker shade. She could do little about the style, but that was to be expected as a foreign diplomat.

She exited her chambers and headed down the stairs to the main level which bustled despite the early hour. Right away, a pair of guards corralled her.

"Halt. Who are you? What are you doing in the citadel?" barked a man with a braided beard.

"I am Fionna, here at the warlord's request." She left the actual reason out given she didn't know what lie the warlord had chosen to use.

"Sure, you are," sneered the braided fellow.

She arched a brow and did her best to control her irritation. "I assure you it's the truth."

"Bullshit," interjected the other guard with pockmarked cheeks.

The braided guard sneered. "Someone thinks she's special. The warlord's bedmates are to vacate the citadel in the morning. Get going before you're forcefully escorted out."

"I wouldn't recommend that. I am here by invitation so before you do something foolish, you might want to check with the warlord first."

"We will. Rocko, go find the warlord. You stay here." The last was directed at her.

"I am going to eat. You are welcome to glare at me while I do so." Following her nose, Fionna stalked in the direction the smell of food came from.

She seated herself at the far end of a bench and went rigid when someone hissed, "Hussy." The comment came from a disapproving woman wearing an apron and carrying out a platter.

Fionna bit her tongue, didn't lift the woman and hang her upside, and reminded herself these people abided by a different set of morals and rules than she was used to. Not easy given the disrespect thus far. Thankfully she wouldn't be here long. She'd go see this afflicted soldier, fix him if she could, and leave.

Or not.

Amelia wanted her to poke around and see what she could find. That wouldn't be easy if people kept giving her shifty side eyes and snarky replies to every word that came out of her mouth.

The final straw came when she finished her breakfast—eaten quickly given the barely palatable porridge—amidst much whispering and stares. She rose and the pockmarked soldier barked, "Where do you think you're going?"

"To the dungeon where I have business."

"Oh no, you're not." Pockmark stood in front of her, blocking her path.

She could have used magic to brush him aside, but she had to play nice lest she cause a diplomatic incident. "I'm supposed to visit with a prisoner."

"Doubtful. No visitors allowed."

Annoyed, she encased herself in a buffering shield and strode past Pockmark, buffeting him as she passed.

He yelled, "Get back here." His cry led to more guards getting in her way.

"Oi, you!. Where do you think you're going?" bellowed a fellow with a full red beard and matching long hair.

"To do my job," she grumbled.

"Don't let her leave," huffed Pockmark, joining his fellow soldier.

The pair of them glared and she lacked the patience to argue. She grabbed some threads of air and shaped them into a shove. The guards stumbled apart, and she marched past. One of them ran after her but before he could tackle her, his feet slipped out from under him.

He rose, groaning and yelling, which led to more guards coming at a trot, but they couldn't catch her as she raced up the stairs of the tower only to emerge on the top floor where two more soldiers snapped to attention.

"Halt! You're not allowed to be here."

"Out of my way," she growled, stomping for them.

One of them extended his sword. "Don't make me kill you," he warned.

"I am not in the mood," she huffed and kept marching. Before he could swing, she hardened her hand with magic and slapped his blade aside. When the other soldier came at her from the right, she whirled and kicked. Not the most accurate of swipes given her skirts tangled in her legs, but enough to surprise the fellow.

Which was when the door opened and the warlord barked, "What are you doing?"

"Defending myself," she snapped.

"Not you, them." He glared at the soldiers. "How dare you accost my guest!"

"Guest? We didn't know," whined the one who'd faced her with a sword. A sword that now drooped limply in his grip.

"I left word about her with Menno. Did he not brief you?" The mighty scowl had them trembling. She kind of approved.

"Menno is still abed, Warlord. Some kind of illness of the stomach."

"Well, now you know. Tell the others that Fionna is here as my guest and is to be given free rein of the citadel, and that includes my quarters."

That widened the eyes of his men who then slewed a gaze at her, the kind that suddenly got even bigger with misunderstanding. "Yes, Warlord. We'll put out word about your female companion."

With that they fled, and she growled, "They think I'm your whore."

"I warned you that might happen."

"You could clarify the situation."

"Ah yes, because telling them you're a witch would be so much better."

Her lips pursed. "Guess I shouldn't expect much from savages."

His brow arched. "Savages? That seems rather harsh."

"How about unenlightened? Thinking women are good only for sex and babies and cooking."

"You forgot sewing."

"Not funny. Women are capable of anything a man is."

"No, they aren't. Can you lift that wardrobe?" He pointed behind him.

She lifted her hand and he added, "Without magic."

"How I do it shouldn't matter."

"Just pointing out there are differences. Strength being one."

"Women can be strong," she retorted.

"They shouldn't have to be if they have a man taking care of them."

"Witches take care of themselves."

"It's easier when you have a partner."

"Says the unmarried warlord who bosses people around."

"True." He grinned, and it stunned her because in that moment she grasped how attractive he was. Not something she usually paid attention to. "Now how about we find some food?"

"I already ate. I'm ready to see the afflicted man now."

"His name is Lomar, and we will visit him after I break my fast."

"I don't need you holding my hand while I check him over."

"There are things you should know before you meet him."

It actually would be a good idea to hear what she would be dealing with beforehand. "Very well. If I must." She purposefully sounded aggrieved and he snorted.

"Are all witches like you?"

"Only the most excellent ones." An answer that had him laughing as they headed downstairs.

If she thought the people whispered before, at their appearance it trebled. Numerous faces kept peeking into the dining hall once the warlord sat down with a heaping plate of food. Better food than she'd been offered, she noticed.

He saw her eying the bacon. "Have some."

She wasn't about to say no given its rarity in Acca. Pigs had been scarce since the monsters' arrival. As she crunched, she grumbled, "Why are people staring so much? Have they never seen you converse with a woman before?"

"Not the morning after."

Her lips pursed. "They think we're lovers."

He shrugged. "What else would they assume? No one saw you arrive. You appeared this morning. We're having a meal together."

"A man and woman can speak without it meaning anything."

"Not when you're a single warlord." He ate some toasted bread smeared with something creamy that almost had her asking for a bite.

"You will correct their misassumption and tell them I am a diplomat."

"I will, but I doubt that will change what they think."

Rather than go on a rant about his stupid people, she diverted to business. "Tell me of this Lomar. When did the symptoms first appear?"

"After an incursion into the Risead Pass."

She interrupted. "Which is what?"

"There is a range of mountains to the far east, impassable but for a single road through Risead Pass."

She wracked her brain to recall her geography. "These mountains separate your land from the mist beyond." Not a place people knew much about.

"The Pass has long been defended, and before you ask, we don't know from what. It's been a tradition for centuries. Anyhow, after an incident at the garrison, I and a full battalion that included Lomar went for a visit. The entire battalion stationed at the garrison was found dead at the hand of the lieutenant."

"Wait, how many men are we talking about?" she asked.

"Around a hundred."

"And one man killed them?" She didn't hide her incredulity.

"So it would appear, and yes, I'm aware how impossible it sounds. But that's only part of the oddity. While there, we found a cave, manmade and the walls covered in markings I couldn't read. In the deepest chamber we found a glass wall with something embedded within. It was after this discovery that the problems started."

The unexpected answer brought a frown. "What makes you think this cave caused the affliction?"

"Because Simon and Lomar, the two men who touched the glass, went crazy. As did the former garrison commander and at least one of his men."

"By crazy you mean they turned into murderers."

He nodded. "As mentioned, the entire garrison was wiped out. When the affliction struck Simon and Lomar, a few more died before I put a stop to it."

The story proved to be more convoluted than expected. "Did Lomar or Simon suffer a fever beforehand? Eat anything out of the ordinary? Come in contact with some plants?"

At each shake of his head, she thought of new questions. "Does either of them do drugs?"

"No. This isn't an illness. Lomar is cursed, possessed by something that wants to kill. And believe me when I say it's not something I concede lightly. Before, I would have scoffed and called a liar anyone who claimed it was possible. Even now I struggle despite the evidence."

"So how many afflicted do you have in custody?"

"Just Lomar. Simon died attacking me. Lomar almost did too. It was only by chance I managed to quell his murderous rampage with a medallion I found."

The tale kept twisting and despite herself, it intrigued. "What medallion, and what makes you think it helped?"

"In investigating the garrison massacre, we noticed how none of the soldiers appeared to fight their attacker except for one. He was holding the medallion in his fist. I happened to have it on me when Lomar attacked. Upon putting it around his neck, Lomar returned to normal. More or less. If it is removed at night, the entity possessing him takes over and kills everything in sight."

"And if taken off in the day?"

"He's fine. The affliction strikes at dark and disappears at dawn."

"Unusual," she murmured. "Is the medallion a magical charm?"

He shrugged. "Maybe? I don't know. It started to glow after Lomar became infected and continues to glow to this day."

"Anything else to tell me?"

The man remained silent for a long moment before saying, "People think I should kill him, but Lomar is like a brother to me. I would do anything to help."

"Even call on a witch," she quipped.

"You are my last resort."

"Then let us go see what I can do."

This time no one stopped them as they headed for the dungeon and Fionna ignored the stares—of which there were many. The whispering ceased, though. Most likely because of the large brute by her side.

The dungeon itself resembled the ones rarely used in Mystic Keep. Made of stone with little windows which were more like narrow slits, enough to let in a bit of light and air. The warlord strode with purpose past the saluting soldiers who in turn eyed her, some leeringly. It made her want to do foolish things, like disintegrate their clothes, or plaster them with a rash.

She behaved.

Mostly. The guard who licked his lips suddenly grabbed at his very itchy crotch.

Trotting to keep up with the warlord's rapid pace, she barely had time to see inside the cells with open doors. Only a few were closed and a glance between the bars showed men pacing.

"Do you have a lot of crime?" she asked. They didn't keep prisoners often in Acca. Punishments tended to be more immediate and, in some cases, permanent. Some crimes had no forgiveness, like rape and murder.

"Little crime because it is well-known that rule breakers are swiftly apprehended and sentenced."

"What is he in for?" She pointed at the cell they'd just passed with an elderly gent.

"Beating his wife."

"You have a law against it?"

He paused to look at her. "Women are to be protected by their husbands not abused."

"How does putting him in a cell ensure he doesn't repeat the offense?"

"The cell is temporary. Given this is the second time he's been arrested for it, and since his first beating failed to reform, he'll be hung later today as an example."

Harsh, but as someone who'd seen abuse in those who fled to the witches seeking asylum, she didn't disapprove.

"What of the others?" she asked.

"We have one for public intoxication that resulted in property damage. Once he's sobered up fully, he'll be made to repair and pay restitution. There's a traveler who was caught stealing from the shops once they closed at night. He'll be executed alongside the wife beater. The last one is a rapist. We are waiting for the victim to recover that she might choose his method of execution and witness it."

"Choose a method?" she couldn't help querying.

"There are options from the quick and painless, to decapitation, to the tying of limbs to horses and stretching them until they tear. There's the death by a thousand cuts. Hanging. Target practice."

"Wow, that's a lot of choice."

"How do you handle severe crimes in Acca?"

"For bad things like rape and murder, we set them on fire."

He nodded in approval. "Good deterrent. We don't use fire mostly because a single spark in a dry month can turn quickly."

They arrived in front of a cell guarded by four men, big and burly fellows wearing full armor. They punched their chests at the sight of their warlord.

"A man in a locked room with four soldiers to watch. You really think he's dangerous," she murmured.

"With reason," his low reply. Then louder, "How has he been?"

"Good-spirited, Warlord. Surprising seeing as how it was a rough night."

She didn't understand what they meant by rough until they entered the cell and she saw the chains bolted into the stone wall, then the man standing with his face craned to capture the scant sunlight creeping through his slit of a window. When he turned, she was struck by his attractiveness, discernible despite the gauntness of his features. She also noticed the raw red wounds on his wrists.

But the thing that struck her most?

The dark threads wrapped around his entire body.