Tempris

Acolyte: Prologue

Carin had always hated executions. She hated the brutality, the needless cruelty. She hated the nearly feral thirst for violence radiating from the crowds that would inevitably gather. The smell of blood and urine, the harsh clamor of steel mixed with shouts and screams and pleas for mercy. Since the Schism, there had been many executions. Some would say too many. Others, too few.

As she stared at the motionless body that lay in a pool of blood and filth in the middle of the old barn, she sincerely hoped that tonight would be different. She had always hated executions, more so now that she was to be the executioner.

Bloodshot eyes blinked open, the yellow irises nearly lost beneath the patchwork of bruises and swollen flesh. The man groaned, cracked lips parting. Even though Carin couldn't decipher the broken, garbled stream of words that fell out of him, she knew his meaning: water. Just a few drops, enough to wet his tongue, to wash away the taste of blood and bile. It would be a mercy.

Carin glanced at the trough shoved into the corner but remained seated, perched on the edge of an empty stall door. "Vaughn," she warned, pulling her cloak tighter as another drip of rain leaked through the roof and trickled down her neck, soaking the few wisps of honey-colored hair that had escaped her braid. It was always raining on this damned island. "I told you—it's better if you stay quiet until our master is done reviewing your testimony about the incident in Vale."

Vaughn groaned again, his burly shoulders trembling. He had been tied here for three days now, denied food and water as he was routinely beaten and healed and beaten again. That was the consequence of failure. And while Carin didn't know the exact details of what had happened with this man, she knew why he was here. The time mage and Vaughn's inability to detain her was all anyone in the outpost was talking about.

Another moan. Another feeble whimper. But then, Vaughn quieted, his head slumping to the ground.

Thank the Shards, Carin thought. She didn't want to have to beat him again. If he survived his interrogation, he likely wouldn't forget the things she had already been made to do.

The barn door creaked open, and the low hiss and patter of the storm raging just outside the thin, rotting walls intensified. Lightening streaked the sky, and for a few moments, night turned into day.

Carin scrambled off her perch, then dropped to one knee. "S-sire," she stammered, wincing at the slight squeak in her voice. No matter how many times she met their master face-to-face, no matter how many hours she stood in his presence, she would never get used to that fog of dead air that seemed to follow him. It was like a miasma, sickly and suffocating and inescapable.

The door slammed shut, the sound almost lost in the peal of thunder that boomed overhead, and a hooded figure, little more than a shadow in the flickering light of the storm, stood at the far side of the barn.

Unmoving. Silent. But watching.

Just like he had been watching that night in the tavern. The night her life had changed.

Heavy footsteps echoed, and Carin's lungs began to burn. She couldn't stop her body from trembling as she ducked lower to the ground, pressing her cheek against the trampled hay and excrement that littered the floor.

A gentle hand caressed her hair, and her bowels turned to water. "Lady Fenmar." The voice was soft, too young for the predator that lurked beneath that heavy, black-furred cloak. "Rise, child."

Carin scrambled to her feet, ducking her head and failing to completely suppress the shudder that ran through her when the figure continued to observe her quietly. Though his height was decidedly average, his build slight, that aura of emptiness was searching. She could feel its tendrils brushing across her skin, coiling around her body like a snake preparing to devour its prey.