Theurgy: Forsaken Oaths (Book Two)

Chapter 56 Interrogation

Lyse fed Vire an apple from the tree he had prepared just that moment. They had ridden nearly the entire day, only now stopping as the sun began to dip below the sandy horizon to the west. Vire begrudgingly took the slightly sour apples from his caretaker, as there were few edible things around for him at the moment. He took a flask of water and poured it into a bowl for Vire to drink before drinking a few sips. His mind felt heavy, weighed by what will come next. He was preparing himself, his mind, because their mission would either die or flourish with a single choice.

And Lyse hated it. As a knight of the empire, there were certain tenets he lived by. Not codes, per se, but a conduit to help hone his ability to become a beacon for his empire. At the core was an honor, to his foes, to his allies, and most importantly, to himself.

Lyse sighed, giving Vire the apple's core before returning to Amond. His arms and legs were still bounded by those golden chains the Brother of Ten set upon him. Lyse could see, or rather a sense, that it forced Amond's avra into a perpetual state of tranquility. This did not mean that Amond was helpless or could not perform magic, but any magic he did produce would be much, much weaker; definitely, not something either Lyse or Ryan would have to worry about. Ryan was sharpening his daggers on some whetstone, seemingly deep in thought or actively avoiding Lyse's piercing eyes. This would not be out of anger, as he was before. No, out of shame. Ryan would hate what would come next, perhaps more than Lyse himself. Not because he would be inflicting excruciating pain upon Amond, no. For that, he will undoubtedly enjoy plenty. Instead, his shame was brought forth by something deeper within him. After his escape from Talin, he made a promise to himself never to use the magic or techniques taught to him by those demons, a promise he made to himself and those he left behind.

Amond began to stir from his unconsciousness, finally. Lyse was sure he would have a concussion after what Ryan did, but he seemed lucid enough to give a glare down his nose at Lyse. Dried blood caked his broken nose, mouth, and black robes. Amond carefully considered himself and his predicament. His false hand was gone, leaving only the healed stump. His staff, all of his implements to cast spells, were gone. And as he shifted his palm, he found a new soreness on the back of his palms. They scratched out the magic circles inscribed there, leaving the skin rather tender and red. He was utterly at their mercy. He gave a sad chuckle to himself. To think, after 200 years of service, that he will be left to die under these circumstances. Lyse noticed his apparent laughing and approached him. Amond did not flinch at his presence nor seemed at all afraid of what could be done with him. Lyse grimaced, grabbed him by the collar of his robe, and hoisted him up by one hand while the other took out his blade and left it leveled at his gut. Amond's laughter only came to be more hysterical.

"What are you doing, little knight," Amond told him. "Are you perhaps suggesting that you will kill me? No. You shall not do such things. I am too valuable to be killed so casually. Otherwise, you would have done so at the behest of that child Prince Tanit. So what is your sword's purpose and that regrettable expression on your face? No. Torture? Do not tell me this is so, prince. I know you. We've always known you, since your childhood. We have watched you from the darkness. We know you do not have the spirit to commit to such vile things. It is unbecoming of a knight, wouldn't you agree?"

Lyse's expression did not change, but he released his grip, allowing Amond to fall to the ground as he sheathed his blade and walked to the nearby tree to sit upon the thick roots. Even sitting, the prince's body was tense.

"You are right, in a way," Lyse told him softly, "That my training as a knight, even that of Valoria, had not prepared me to do what needs to be done. You are right that it is not my way to resort to such cruelty. But it is his . . ."

Then, a knife flung from outside his focus embedded itself just above his knee. The pain was sharp, forcing forth a grunt as his head throbbed. The blade went in shallow, only an inch or so. But Ryan pressed on the hilt, pressing it a few more inches until it pushed Amond to a shout. Once that occurred, he wrenched it free from Amond's flesh, holding the blood-stained blade just before Amond's eyes.