"Is she alive?"
The orb continued. "JULIUS DAWN, THE SMILING SWORD AND THE CURRENT WIELDER OF THE TWILIGHT SWORD, HAD SURVIVED THE ENCOUNTER WITHOUT HARM!"
"I mean, is Ivory Valor still alive?"
"ROBERT GLADSTONE, THE HEAVENLY TRAINER, ALSO SURVIVED WITHOUT HARM!"
"I SAID, IS IVORY VALOR ALIVE?"
"ONCE AGAIN, THE BELOVED RHAENA VALOR HAD REVEALED HER SPLENDOR DURING THE CORONATION. SHE AND JAVID WHITETOWER, HIGHHEIR TO THE WHITETOWER CLAN, WERE WITHOUT HARM DURING THE ATTACK!"
"CAN'T YOU HEAR M—"
The Orb went dark, silent, turning into a dark, glassy sphere. The whole occurrence was one of absolute suddenness. Merrin watched, bewildered. What had just happened? What was that sphere, and what had been those spoken words?
Ivory, was she dead? Why was Valor, a great clan of all things, attacked by the Fermen—questions within questions. And given the nature of the Fermen as assassins for hire, what enemy did Valor have for such an attack? Merrin pressed his fingers on his brow, taking a calming breath within the silent space.
"I need to know if she's still alive," Merrin muttered, closing the book laid there on the desk. In the end, despite the means he had come to learn of the Princess of Valor, she was in some way part of his people. Although small, she had provided some goodness to his days—the answers from her. And even if that was of little relevance for her safety, she still existed as something… useful.
He scoffed. Look at me justifying this. He roused himself off the chair. It's not like I'm doing anything to her… I just want to know. I just want to make sure.
Nodding to this conclusion, Merrin quickly returned the book to its spot, floating then around the library for a spot deemed safe for what was to be done. After all, within the Greyworld, his body existed with a certain vulnerability. And even with the words spoken by the Black Eyes, the Ashman within desired the guarantee of environment before anything else.
For that, Merrin found himself lying on the flat topmost surface of a shelf. From there, the rest of the library expanded like a maze of wooden lines. So massive that the edge seemed further out than anticipated. At the very least, his presence here wouldn't be all that easily discovered—unless, by some means, the other members of the Black Eyes could also, by themselves, fly.
He hoped not.
Taking a moment, Merrin lay his back atop the board, palm placed atop the other over his stomach—a strange choice of poise. Where it had come from was of little knowledge to him. Or perhaps the days spent within Orvane's dream had yielded more elegance to his nature.
Whatever it was, Merrin allowed the thoughts back into the depths of his wholeness, choosing then the mental silence and the calm that came with it. After all, entry into the Greyworld was only possible through his sleep or temporal unconsciousness—each something that can be fully controlled by the caster.
Halo to the almighty! This was his thought as his awareness sank into the depths of nothingness.
Awakening next, Merrin found himself no longer above the grey world with skies of sparking lightning and darkened clouds. No; instead, he stood in a field of red flora, grand trees of elastic wood… that, and of course, a sky of a blended mixture of countless colors.
This was still the Greyworld, but one he had begun to shape for his people. For their dreams, of which brought them to him. A goodness. No longer was it to be a world so… pale… instead, it was to be a Dream.
—
Ivory maintained a forced calmness upon her body, watching as the Fermen Assassin was stabbed with needles all through his body, except the eyes… Not the eyes; he should see what was being done to him. And she enjoyed the way he looked as his skin was flayed and healed over and over. For that, she had called for a caster at the Saint's rank—a person who should normally not be called upon so lightly.
"AHHHHH!" The Fermen screamed, head slapping back and forth as yet another needle was dug into his fingers. He would feel worse now, as each needle was cast to increase the pain sensitivity to the highest levels and beyond that. Right about now, even his own skin would be like fire upon him.
Oh, it terrified her how well she enjoyed it. Heid had damaged her!
"Tell me of the one who paid for this attack?" That hoarse voice, akin to wind flowing through a cave, echoed out—an Excubitor of a specific domestic was this one.
Ivory glanced at them.
Tied to a round-back chair was the Fermen—dark-skinned with eyes nearly the blackness of a true Valorian born. His face, however, was scarred, oily with tears, and snot pouring down his features. Naked too, he was, while beams of light rayed over him from suspended Eiyas. Recording ones, to be played for anyone else who would dare attempt such things.
"Speak your truth, Fermen." The Excubitor, a monster of a man, was dressed in black trousers, shirtless, with his silver helm donned on his head. His body, unlike the Fermen's, was scarless—she would have expected a man with such a craft, trained in such, to exist with some mark of it. But other than the golden ring around his finger, there was little else on him. But he did do the work assigned to him expertly…
Only if he could do it better… Make the Fermen hurt more. She wanted it.
In his hand, the Excubitor carried silver long needles, each to be jammed into the body of the Fermen—each that was to bring a higher pain sensitvity to his wholeness. They had long tried the usual means of torture; the flaying, the bleeding, but little vocal response came from those. Only after the needles were applied did he begin to scream.
"TELL ME!" The Excubitor roared, his voice trembling the round, vast glass on the side of the room. This space had been a choice of hers—it was round, and had only recently appeared as the Looming had a tendency to create such things.
On its side was a large glass window that brought a sight of the Cintry range. Although obscured by the mists, the mountains in the distance could still be observed. Who said screams and a good sight were not a good combination?
"TELL ME THE ONE WHO HAD DONE THIS?"
The Fermen spat, spittle trailing down the helm of the Excubitor. "To damnation with you!" he said. "Praise to Velira! Praise to Velira! Praise to Velira!"
This again…
Standing staring out through the large glass window, Ivory saw her features reflected against the surface. Pale-skinned, clean of any scar from the burn. Haggon had outdone herself. That and the long, white, lustrous hair had also been tended by the cleanseWitch. As of recent, very few handmaidens had been allowed to aid Ivory—there was only Haggon.
I cannot trust any of them! she thought. Any of them could have been smart enough to see Kaba—Heid for who he truly is. But they couldn't. She gritted her teeth. FOOLS, ALL OF THEM! THEY SHOULD ALL BE—
"Will you still not speak?" The Excubitor whispered, picking up yet another of the needles. "Do you still want this?"
Ivory stared at the men—the Excubitor and the Fermen. Useless, both of them. How hard was it to do something so simple? Information, that was it. Normally, a silverAssurer could have been provided to trudge through the mind of the Fermen, except as it turned out, these beasts of men had more tricks in their beings.
Any and all attempts upon their minds triggered a reflex that caused the Fermen to, by instantaneous motions, take their own lives. That had been how the other one had died; tongue bitten off. What monsters these people were! And much worse was the fact that their lands, the Great Desert, existed so close to the Valor clan.
Ivory despised that greatly.
The Fermen repeated. "PRAISE TO VELIRA! PRAISE TO VELIRA! PRAISE TO VELIRA!"
She fumed now. Those words—once, a Fermen had called them to her. What did it mean? That she was part of such useless people? The possibility was an irksome thing upon her…
"That's enough," Ivory said, tone still as cold as it needed to be. "You must leave now." Her eyes were locked on the Excubitor.
There was only silence.
"Must I repeat myself?"
"Ah, my apologies, your Grace… Highness."
She held back the frown. Recently, some had taken to calling her by that title. Almost as though, somehow, they expected Argon to die to this… Rot. Almost as though they believed him a weak Highness undeserving of the seat.
Perhaps he was…Perhaps he wasn't.
Watching as the Excubitor left, leaving behind the needles—each arranged atop a desk near the Fermen, Ivory smiled. That was good. She, too, needed them, required them for the things she was to do.
"Yes... that is it." She rounded the Fermen, fingers trailing atop the edge of the seat. "You enjoy calling to your Velira.... Know this now, here she is... listening."
His eyes went wide!