Break over.

Breaking fingers, setting fingers, healing fingers. It almost became routine.

"Serve. Teach. Spy."

"No," snap. "No," snap. "No," snap.

Boring. Maddening. Setting them was worse. Healing them only made me feel bad that I'd have to go through the same process again. And again. Different torturers had different methods. I must have gone on for days, I suppose. I lost track of time. There was no sleep.

I came to and found Ormal's face close to mine, healing something. "Why are you doing this?"

"Stop fighting them and they will stop hurting you," Ormal hissed fiercely, keeping his voice to a whisper, his furtive eyes dancing.

"What did they do to you?"

His eyes bulged and he started shaking. "Give in, before it's too late."

"No."

"It's pointless, believe me, I know, there's no fighting him, no winning, give in, he will have what he wants, no matter what it takes, no matter what..."

Maybe he said more. Maybe I pa.s.sed out. I don't know. Things tended to run into each other. Faces, people, questions. And then it was over.

I woke up with a start, shaking. More accurately, I was shivering. It wasn't cold. It was light. The surface under me was soft, really soft, not soft because I was too hurt to tell the difference. I was lying in a canopied bed and nothing hurt. But I was shivering and shaking uncontrollably. Fear. It was fear. Not adrenaline fear, but blind blank panicked terror. They were coming to hurt me, I knew it.

For a long time nothing happened. I couldn't recognize the noises coming out of me as human.

I moved. I couldn't stay still. I needed to run. Anywhere. Far from here. Far from me and my memories which were flooding me, filling me up with madness. I jerked the curtains aside and came out of the bed, then froze.

I wasn't alone. There was a girl sitting at a desk, writing. She wore a loose robe, revealing one breast as she leaned forward, pen in hand. She looked up at me, smiling with pleasure.

"You slept a long time," she said, rising. "I'm glad you are awake."

I stumbled forward, legs like water, and fell, an explosive noise coming from my mouth that sounded like nothing I'd ever heard before, then spinning darkness.

Warmth. A sharp deep breath as I woke, moved, muscles stiff with readiness for anything, and froze. The girl was in bed with me. I recognized her hair. She lay close, but facing away - I'd been spooned up against her, feeling her soft skin on my legs, belly and chest. The smell of her was in me and the memory of her skin as I moved away slowly, trying not to wake her. She stirred and I gasped silently. Don't wake up, don't wake up, leave me alone, don't touch me. Oh G.o.ds, I was mad.

No. I thought the word loudly, fiercely in my own head. Gritting my teeth I repeated the word with more care, forming it and every other thought with care lest their fragility hurt me. No. I am not mad. I am hurt. That's all. Hurt in my mind. They did this to me. Then I was weeping. They did this to me. She woke and rolled over languidly in the bed, smiling, then seeing my face cried out softly, "Oh!" She reached for me and I threw myself away.

"No! Don't touch me!" I half fell out of the bed and staggered backwards until my back touched the wall, steadying me. "This is a trick, they are still trying."

"What?" She looked puzzled, concerned. "What are you saying, my love? Who? What trick? Did you have a dream?"

Did you have a dream? Was it a dream? Where was I?

"Who are you? No! Don't tell me, it doesn't matter." I stood with my back to the wall, looking around frantically for some route out of here. There was a door but I didn't dare use it. Who knew what horrors lay out there?

"Doesn't matter?! Sumto, Sumto, what's the matter?" She came to her knees, as naked as I was and shuffled to the edge of the bed.

I laughed, but stopped myself in time. Tears and snot were on my face, I could feel them but I didn't care. "Leave me alone."

"Oh you poor baby, what is it? What can I do to help you?" She stepped off the bed, putting one foot on the floor, displaying her femininity casually.

I turned and moved across the room, fast, unsteady, looking for something, I didn't know what. There was a robe, big and comfortable and dark blue. I made a grab for it and put it on. Naked I was vulnerable. I needed a shield, something between me and her, between me and madness. I hugged it closed, hugged myself. Sick. I felt sick. What warped and twisted mind would think of this contrast.

Shivering I paced around the room, blindly, thinking. It had almost worked. I wiped my eyes and nose on one sleeve, careless of the cost of the material.

"Darling, what are you doing?"

"Don't call me that. It is a lie and I hate lies." My voice was still strained, tight, words jerking out of me. "d.a.m.n, this is sick," I was angry somewhere and it helped. Not anywhere near as angry as I could be. Anger seemed to have been stripped from me and all that was left was weakness. But my mind was okay, my mind worked.

"A lie? I don't know what you mean. Sumto, come back to bed and sleep." She was up, had walked around the bed but came no closer.

"What were you writing?"

"What? Now what are you asking me?"

"Just tell me!"

"My diary, Summi, I always write my diary in the evening," she sounded wounded, almost petulant, "you know that. Why are you being mean to me?"

Me? Me being mean to her? I had turned only my head her way, head c.o.c.ked to one side, mouth open, aghast. How could she say that, this party to torturers? This torturess.

"Tell him it won't work," I said it calmly, softly, not much more than a whisper.

"Tell who? Summi, what is the matter with you, silly!" She walked forward, relaxed, smiling, arms open and I held up one hand open against her advance. She stopped several paces away. "I don't understand." She looked like she was going to cry.

"Leave me alone," I reiterated. "Just leave me alone," I walked away, heading for the desk, paying no more attention to her. She was a ruse, an actress, an attempt to rob me of my sanity. Well, no thief was coming into my mind to steal my very self from me. I was Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian, a patron of the city, better than any king, and better than this... this man Kukran Epthel. His tricks would not break me. The resolve settled over me. My self came back to me. And now I was a little warmer, my anger only an ember but better than nothing, it brought me calm. Idly I flipped open the book she had been writing in and read a few words.

This afternoon Summi and I went riding, the meadows were full of flowers and when we stopped Summi made me a chain of them for a garland, it was so sweet of him I...

I snorted and closed the book. He wanted me to live in a fantasy, to be a lie. I hate lies.

Near the book was a bowl of fruit. I picked up an apple and then thought better of it. I couldn't trust anything while I was in this lie.

"Are you hungry?"

"No," I tossed the apple over my shoulder where it landed on the soft carpet with a thump. Decorum and civility did not matter in this lie. I would p.i.s.s on the floor as soon as the pot. I would do nothing to maintain it or accept it or support it.

"Thirsty, then?"

"No." I was, h.e.l.lishly thirsty. And hungry. But that was a far away thing, as though I had been hungry for ever and was used to it. I ran my hands over my belly to find no belly worthy of the name. h.e.l.l, I hadn't been this slim since I was a boy. When had I last eaten? Days? How much time had I spent unconscious? I had no idea. It could be weeks since I was captured, since I had lost the battle by my rash decision. 'We could take them now,' I'd said. Fool. Well, never a fool again. Facts, think, decide, act. My old mantra came back to me. I'd read it in a book of philosophy long ago, years anyway. I'd liked it and taken it for myself. I thought it was right. Belief has no place in the mind of a sentient creature. Feel has no place in decision making.

"Yes," I said aloud. "I am okay."

"Of course you are, darling, of course you are, now come here and let me hold you."

She was coming across the room toward me and I let her. I even smiled encouragement. She stepped right into my fist, crossing fast and hard and connecting with the side of her jaw. She dropped like a rag doll thrown to the floor. I felt c.r.a.p about it but she had to be a willing part of this evil attempt to crush my will, to break me, to make me a tool. They thought they had pushed me into madness and mad, I would surely accept this fantasy as better than the madness. Doubtless if I had I would find that I was some lieutenant of Kukran Epthel, dedicated to his cause. In time she and other liars would make me believe the role. Insane, I would become what they wanted. But sane I would never succ.u.mb to their lies and manipulation.

I crossed to the door and found it unlocked. Gritting my teeth I opened it and stepped out into a corridor. Two barbarian warriors leaned against the far wall at their ease.

They came to attention. "Sir?"

"Forget it. I'm not playing."

They exchanged glances and shrugged.

"Wait inside." One of them said. "Someone will come."

"No." I launched myself at them.

I was weak but I threw myself into it with everything I had and they were surprised. They were not armored so my blows hurt them. I didn't hold anything back. One was down but rising, the other now recovered and putting up a fight. I s.n.a.t.c.hed for his weapon but failed. He made no move to go for it himself. A door thudded open behind me and heavy footfalls thundered down the corridor.

I backed away, glanced over my shoulder. A half-dozen men were running my way. I gave it up, lowering my fists and relaxing. If they tortured me they tortured me. I would take it and the next trick. My mind was my own. But I was scared of it, scared of the torture. Terrified. Had Ormal been through this? Is that what broke him?

Everything slowed down. Not in some mystical sense; just that everyone relaxed. I wasn't putting up a fight now. It was over. The barbarians coming my way slowed to a stop and Sheo limped through their midst to stand in front of me. I was glad to see him and smiled. But he wasn't smiling and what he said took the smile from my face.

"Kukran Epthel will see you now," he said.

"What happened?"

Sheo didn't answer. The style of building was familiar to me, plush but functional, palace and administration building in one, of the kind we build everywhere and that are copied further afield. Plush but not over done, functional but not bare, with public and administrative and private rooms spread evenly throughout.

"What did they do to you?"

"I changed my mind, Sumto. Nothing more. As you will. The cause of Kukran Epthel is just and honorable and deserving of our dedication. I have dedicated myself to his cause."

"I notice you don't wear a stone," my meaning was clear.

"A wise man does not take a wild dog into his home and trust it with his children on the first day. First it must be trained and earn your trust."

It sounded like a quote.

The public areas were larger rooms, designed to impress subtly. There were people here, waiting as the commoners have always waited for the masters of their fate to decide it. In the city such places were relaxed, people talked, laughed and joked with each other, discussed their purposes, traded favors, sought advantage in their negotiations and asked advice. Here the people were nervous, solitary, quiet. They looked down as I sought to catch their eyes. They shuffled their feet, hugged the walls and avoided each other as they awaited their fate. The contrast was marked. I recognized them as Geduri by their dress, imitating city fashions with tokens of their heritage worked into the designs. Some were city folk and these were the most worried, the most nervous, the most timid. Clearly the judgments were likely to go against them and they were only here to try. I wished them luck, but wished more that they would either flee south to freedom or rise up and fight for it.

The doors ahead were guarded. That was anathema to me a what ruling cla.s.s needed to protect itself from its people? The doors had been defaced with a branded symbol, the white wood scarred forever. The room they opened into had been changed; where once it would have been lush and decorated, it was now bare and austere. Two large windows were hung with drapes that admitted the barest amount of light that was needed to see. There were no lamps; not one. Only the shrouded daylight lit the room dimly. At the far end a dais had been built and a throne installed. We loathed thrones, the mark of kingship. Even the consuls of the city did not have thrones. Or the king, though it would be the kind of joke we appreciated. Of course, the king of the city was not in fact king in any meaningful way, not as barbarians have kings, but merely a tribute to our past, an acknowledgment of our heritage; the king had little power, and certainly no throne. A chair should not be a place to lounge but a place to rest your b.u.t.t while you did business. It is not there to impress or raise you above your peers. A man's character and deeds should be the only way to do that, to be better than your peers was not the product of a throne. That was for men who were not better but sought to steal the appearance of superiority with trappings and baubles. Every patron of the city had earned the respect given, had worked for the dignity and standing he had earned to the point where none could fail to acknowledge it. Thrones were for men who had earned nothing.

Seated on this throne was a tall figure wrapped in a black robe of a thick, rough cloth.

Sheo went to one knee as soon as the door opened and bowed his head. I was shocked. No man of the city bowed. Not even a commoner. To see a patron bow before a king was an affront to me, an insult to the city. Kings bowed to us. Not the other way round.

Our escort was also on one knee but only for a moment, only until they saw I would not kneel. Then it wasn't long before I was beaten and forced to my knees and held down by two burly men with a hand on each arm. There was a pause and I took the opportunity to look around the room. I was in for more shocks. Several of those standing against the walls were dead men. There was no mistaking that. Some had open wounds that dripped a clear fluid. Their skin was gray. Some had bloated stomachs filled with gases that vented even as I watched. I shuddered. Their faces were vacant, fingernails black, eyes dull. They moved. Not much but enough to tell me that these corpses were animated by spirit even though their bodies decayed.

The figure in black beckoned us forward and we came to our feet and approached. I went with them. There was no point in fighting them. Nothing to be gained. I walked to stand in front of the figure on the throne. He waved the others aside and they moved a few paces back and turned to watch. There was something sick about him, the hands and face gray. He reached to a table by his side and took a small eye dropper from a tray, leaning his head back he dripped water into each eye and blinked a few times, tears of water dripping down his face. His eyes were dulled by some disease, perhaps cataracts.

"The eyes dry," he said conversationally as he put the eye dropper back in the cup of water. I noticed the ten carat stone then, worn on a ring. "A small price for immortality." It was then that I realized he was as dead as the bodies about the wall. A lich. A dead body animated and inhabited. A poor immortality, I thought, fighting back revulsion.

"Immortality? You are a corpse."

"The body functions. The blood replaced by... another liquid. It isn't the same, of course, but it has the benefit of not wearing out. It will not grow old, or weak. It will endure."

I almost asked him what it was like, but decided I didn't want to know, and didn't care, so I held my tongue.

"What's going to break you Sumto? Afraid of the dark? Rats? Torture? What will make you obey? We will find the way to break you in time. And I have time. All the time in the world. There is no escaping your fate. One way or another, in some capacity or another you will serve the cause."

"What cause?"

"The cause of freedom. My cause. I am told that you freed your slave, that you have a good heart."

I let the attempt at flattery wash over me. "No one is free of duty or obligation. The rational man sees reality as it is and knows that his choices are limited by his surroundings and ability. Once you have found the facts and a.s.sessed them there is usually no choice left, the facts decide for you. No one is free of that."

"I am not going to debate semantics with you, Sumto Cerulian. Or debate at all. I am only interested in knowing how to make you serve. Only interested in what will make you obey me, once and for always. It will happen, you will serve, it is only a matter of when and in what capacity. Your companions are choosing to join me one at a time, each obeying in his turn, and you will too, in time."

"Join him, Sumto. He's opened my eyes, let him open yours," Sheo seemed calm, but his voice was dull and unenthusiastic.

"What are you fighting for? What does your city offer?" Kukran Epthel asked.

"Freedom."

"Are your slaves free?"

"Better a slave of the city than the lie of slavery you offer without even being honest enough to call it that. Our slaves are mostly people who opposed us. And a slave can work hard and become a freedman, his son free, his grandson a knight, his great grandson a patron."

"And how many achieve that?"

"d.a.m.n few, but that's not my responsibility. It's there for them if they want it."

"And you, born to privilege and wealth? What do you know of hardship and suffering?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm learning."

"Not fast enough."

I shrugged. "I am my own man and will serve my own ends."

"No. At some point you will obey, and then you will be mine and serve our ends." His hand drifted to an amulet that hung around his neck and he turned it idly as he spoke. "What then is going to break you? Not torture. Becoming one of these?" He gestured to the undead lining the room. I didn't look at them. My eyes were fixed on the amulet that he toyed with as he spoke. There was a symbol on it that I thought I recognized but could not place.

The idea of becoming one of the walking corpses that lined the walls turned my stomach but I could not let him see that. I was going to die. It didn't matter how. Face it. Accept it. There was no way out. I would become a spirit and see the world in a different light, I would be free, if changed. "No? Maybe this, then? Jerek!" He said the word with force and intent and I wondered what the word meant. It was a command, an order. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, then a faint whispering came to my ears, one word repeated in a broken pitiful wine. A pearly light swirled softly into being between us and a small, translucent figure formed within it. A misty image of a child writhing, seemingly in torment, its non physical body looked broken in every way I could imagine. "Master master master.." it repeated the same word over and over again, whimpering it between ruined lips.