~
Guttmacher woke up screaming as the frigid pail of water soaked him to his smallclothes. "Aaaach!"
"Come on now Heinrich, no one can hear you. You'll only make that headache worse."
The Surveyor glared at his tormentor, a small woman wearing a porcelain mask tied with crimson ribbons and his bowels loosened at the realization of his situation.
"No, this is a mistake, what are you doing?"
The masked woman shook her head slowly from side to side. "My dear Heinrich, you have been a very bad boy, consorting with foreigners intent on doing harm to our beloved duchy, and harm to our Duke. I know about the drop off, I know about everything; confess, and you may escape being drawn and quartered."
Guttmacher's face went pale. "You... No... No!"
The masked woman drew a plain dirk as long as her forearm, pressing it against his groin. "Bulls scream so when they are castrated; tell me Heinrich, do you wish to lose your manhood in truth?"
Guttmacher looked around, unable to move from the wooden chair, his arms lashed with strips of rawhide drawn tight, his legs similarly bound. "No, I am no traitor! I have done nothing!"
The masked woman clucked at him behind the porcelain mask, shaking her finger from left to right. "Heinrich, you still deny your crimes? You are a spy for the enemy camped outside our forest borders. These training exercises are a farce, we know their numbers continue to mass for the invasion; you have drawn maps for them, you have taken their coin, you have betrayed us all." The dirk traced a line down his leg until suddenly blinding pain seared as his knee felt afire.
"Now you are lamed for your lies. We make a study of physiology, where tendons and ligaments join, where the most precious, painful places reside. Now confess your crimes."
Guttmacher stared dumbly at the dagger piercing his knee, buried to the hilt, the tip and three inches of steel gleaming crimson from the other side. "What... No..."
The woman sighed. "Still denying your crimes? You and von Brumm are in this together. He has already confessed trying to salvage his life; his estates are forfeit under duchy law, perhaps I can help you to a hangman's noose, or maybe even a tower cell depending on what you know. Please Heinrich, stop this pitiful denial and embrace a better future." Lies were always best when served with enough truth.
Guttmacher screamed as the woman removed the dirk slowly, twisting it as crimson blood stained his left leg.
"Yes, yes, I confess, stop, just stop..."
The woman pulled the dirk out quickly, and lashed the leg with a tourniquet.
"You have confessed, but now you will tell me everything."
Guttmacher paled as the woman bent towards his face and he could see the wells of darkness behind the mask's eyeholes.
~
Aelius quickly scribbled her coded message onto the thin strip of paper, sealing the report with crimson wax and the bronze signet on a leather thong about her neck. Guttmacher was not a strong man, nor had training to deal with pain. He was an ancillary, a surveyor who took foreign coin for personal profit. She tied the message to the rook's feet, which cawed once until she unfurled its hood and let it loose from the cage. It wheeled once before flying home, back to Stormdrang's tall towers overlooking the Inner Sea. The Western Realm's timetable had been moved up with this new general's arrival with the 81st Legion. She knew some about General Aurelius from his exploits in Ishtar, but she had to think for a moment about where else she had seen his name. Then it came to her, a decade ago the same officer was cited as instrumental in breaking up the Crimson Captain's pirate operation in the Shining South's coasts.
Aelius bit her lip before making her decision. She quickly packed up her few belongings, leaving the soapmaker's home for the last time. Her note was to the point and the coin was enough to see the old man through the year. The Crimson Captain would need intelligence on the enemy, and she and Vigo were likely the closest Skylarks. She would make sure the invaders bled for every league they traversed on Stormdrang's soil; the war was beginning, and she had many parts to play in the coming war.
END
About the Author
Silas A. DeBoer temporarily resides in the fifth circle of hell (some call it Oklahoma). A native born Nebraskan and life long student of history, philosophy, and legend, Silas makes a life with his wife Carrie and their five cats. Silas and Carrie enjoy role-playing games, video games, and reading for pleasure.
May all our readers recognize the blessings in their life, and do all they can to make this dark world a brighter place.
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