Judgement

Iris had never heard Iskorn scream before. Her master was still alive, but very much terrified and perhaps very much changed after what happened outside the tent.

W-what did you do to me? That was the last discernable thing Iris had heard.

Now her master appeared to be talking to the paladin, occasionally raising his voice as he did so. It struck Iris as the way one might talk with a stubborn child—albeit, a very dangerous one with the power to disembowel you at a whim.

She pressed her fingertips to Alicia’s wrist, checking her heartbeat—an old trick Sister Amisa had taught her. The half-elf remained unconscious on Iskorn’s bed. Even though Iris had dried her off from the rain, she was now covered in a fresh layer of sweat. At least her breathing and heart rate seemed normal.

Jacob’s still alive. Probably.

A rain-drenched Iskorn burst into the tent through the entrance flap, startling Iris. He looked much paler than usual and his left eye was bloodshot. As he blinked, a single bloody tear ran down his cheek.

“Come inside,” he barked.

She heard the heavy, clinking steps of the armored creature as it pushed through into the tent’s interior, causing the mage to slink away to his workbench. It paused just inside the entryway and surveyed the dwelling’s interior.

Iskorn, meanwhile, cleaned the middle of his arm with a towel and then worked a needle into the crook of his arm, drawing his blood into a glass vial.

“Master, what’s hap—"

He interrupted her with a contrived cough. “Just Iskorn will suffice.”

“Is that what the paladin said?”

“Said is one way to put it,” he snapped, his aggression reminiscent of a trapped animal.

She gave a hesitant wave to the tall creature. “Hello?”

It turned its helmet to face her and tilted its head inquisitively, lowering itself to one knee and leveling its visor to her height. The pitch-black interior of the helm gave way to two distinct blue glows. The lights were small, like tiny shining beads.

“Hello.” The creature raised an open gauntlet and waved it side to side.

Its voice echoed deeply as before, but it was a distinct male voice—not a mimicry of another’s. At least not anyone that Iris recognized. She studied the creature’s arms, completely shrouded in plate and chainmail. They looked to be of normal length. Had she misremembered?

“Do you… have a name?”

“Please, save… Anyone. Anything.”

It wasn’t an answer to the question she asked, but she understood. The creature was there because of her.

She turned to Iskorn. “You’re going to free us, then? Is that what you’re preparing to do?”

The mage paused and pressed his lips together. “That will prove… difficult.” He began to mix a solution in a narrow vial using his blood and two other tinctures.

The draelic squinted distrustfully at the mage as he slotted the mixing vial into a large cylindrical device and gave it a whirl with a flick of his wrist. As it spun, the device began to click before picking up speed, its form blooming like a flower.

The slaver massaged his face around the bloodshot eye as he turned to face her. “I cannot undo your slavery crests. The magic has taken hold deep inside you.”

“What?” Iris felt a cold emptiness grip her stomach. She wasn’t quite sure why as she had already resigned herself to being sold to a Sorcisian noble. Perhaps she had subconsciously hung onto the tiniest sliver of hope for freedom.

“That is not to say it is impossible, girl. I am simply not able to remove it myself.”

“Citadel,” said the paladin.

“As he says, girl. The crest was developed at the Citadel, a university located in Sorcis.”

“You enslaved me with magic you are not able to reverse?”

“I did,” snarled the mage.

“Why?”

“Does it even matter at this point? I knew it would be more effective than a slave collar in this day and age.”

“So, what now?” Her eyes darted between the paladin and her captor.

“While I cannot remove the crest, I can transfer a slave to a new master.” He paused for a moment, shaking his head as he cursed his ill fortune under his breath. “I will take ownership of Alicia and then we will journey to Sorcis to remove your crests.”

“I see.”

Pressing his fingertips together, Iskorn heaved out a sigh. “Ask your questions, girl. Your puzzled expression is growing tiresome.”

She eased herself onto an open spot on the bed, careful to not jostle Alicia. “Why are you helping us?”

He let out a mocking snort. “Do I look like I have much of a choice in the matter?”

“But you could run.”

“Perhaps you forgot the last fool that ran from him?” He calmed his voice, shooting a nervous glance towards the paladin. “But that’s irrelevant now. Put simply: as you are bound to me, I am now bound to him.”

“You cannot bind us to him instead?”

“The transfer ritual requires blood from the new master.”

She considered his words silently.

“I’ve taken to calling him Warden,” added Iskorn.

“What?”

“He—it, perhaps—is your warden. And you are his ward.”

“Is that his name?”

The mage shook his head, “We have both asked and both been ignored. Warden will suffice, for now.”

The paladin remained mute and unmoving.

Finally, the centrifuge made several loud clicks and began to slow down. Iskorn reacted swiftly and prepared a fresh syringe. He pulled out the narrow vial, keeping it just shy of horizontal, and extracted the red fluid from its deepest part.

“I will need assistance, should she wake,” he said while transferring the fluid into his pen-like instrument. “Keep her still. Tossing and turning will complicate things.”

The Warden knelt at the bedside as Iris gently laid Alicia’s belly bare.

“Will it hurt her?”

“Not nearly as much as the first time.”

The process barely took half an hour, much shorter than the initial application. Alicia had yet to wake from her slumber, having barely moved the entire time. Iris finally had a chance to observe the tattooing process in detail. Had its purpose not been so insidious, she might have even considered it beautiful. There were so many intricacies that went beyond the visible red portion of the crest. Once-invisible lines lit up with a blue light, forming a complex web that Iskorn altered with his strokes. Once it was over, and the blue glow had faded, what remained looked identical to what the enslaved knight had started with: a dark red abstraction of a heart mixed with some kind of horned animal’s skull.

The mage returned his instrument to his workbench. “It is done. I need to run a quick test with my anchor. Step back from her.”

The draelic and the Warden moved away from the knight sister.

“That’s going to hurt her, isn’t it?” Iris asked.

Iskorn ignored her. She swallowed uncomfortably, but chose not to protest as the slaver flexed his left hand and slowly formed it into a fist. A faint glow emitted from Alicia’s crest as the half-elf inhaled sharply and opened her eyes. She sat up, as if roused from a terrible nightmare, and clutched her lower abdomen. Surveying the room, she quickly spotted Iris and then Iskorn, but did not register the silent paladin.

“Iris? Master Iskorn? What—where is Master Jacob? He’s calling me.” Her voice was groggy.

“Take a moment and breathe, girl. I will be your master going forward.”

Girl. I suppose that’s how he addresses all women much younger than him.

Alicia was several years older than Iris, but much younger than Iskorn. Based on appearances alone, she seemed less than twenty years old—perhaps half the mage’s age. Or did her kind also age slower than humans?

She took several deep breaths as her gaze finally reached the paladin. “Brother? I don’t understan—” She suddenly realized she was half-naked and pulled Iskorn’s bedsheet to cover her exposed lower body. “I-I am sorry, brother,” she whimpered as her cheeks turned a light pink.

She still thinks he’s from the paladin brotherhood?

Iris quickly fetched the robe she had removed earlier from the unconscious Alicia and handed it back to her. The knight nodded politely, then proceeded to wrap it around her body, standing up as it swaddled her from shoulder to shin.

She glared at Iskorn. “The crests, why were they not removed?”

“I am not able to remove them. We will make for Sorcis where they can be removed.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We?” She paused and lowered her head as if listening for something. “Where is he?”

“Jacob?”
“Of course, Jacob,” she spat. “Tell me he’s still alive.”

“Alicia, calm yourself!” shouted Iskorn as the half-elf ran out of the tent. “Blasted knight sister, we need Jacob alive if we’re going to have a ship!” He stormed out after her.

Iris followed suit as did the Warden.

The rain had died down to a gentle drizzle. Jacob was hanging from a thick tree branch by a long chain wrapped several times around his arms and midsection. His pendulum-like swinging had likely been instigated by his struggle to escape. He eyed Alicia as she approached him, rearmed with the sword she had dropped earlier.

“’Licia, get me down from ‘ere,” commanded the brute, attempting to compel her using the crest.

While the glow on his hand grew visible, the half-elf did not react.

“Fuckin’ whore, I said get me the fu—”

She made a quick jab with her mud-caked sword, skewering his bottom lip as the tip plunged into his mouth. Jacob squealed like a stuck pig as a stream of blood flowed out from between his butchered lips, along with a tooth and, presumably, a chunk of gum. He coughed and wheezed in pain as he spun about in the air, wriggling futilely.

“Stop!” screamed Iskorn. “I command you to stop!”

Turning to face the mage, she pointed the bloody tip of her sword at him. “I’ve waited too long for this!” she screamed.

“Don’t make me hurt you, girl,” the mage growled back, reminding her of his hold over her crest with his bared fist.

She fell to one knee as the back of Iskorn’s hand began to glow. “Bastard,” she managed to stammer out.

The Warden’s armored hand clapped down hard on Iskorn’s shoulder, causing the mage to instantly release his hold on the knight out of fear.

“Warden, we need him for the ship,” pleaded Iskorn.

“We don’t need him,” retorted Alicia. “Church has ships in Selkura.”

“Are you touched, girl? A half-elf and a draelic won’t even get close to Selkura!”

“You’ve still got my armor?”

He didn’t respond.

“Bronze Masks wouldn’t dare touch a warrior nor a prisoner of the Church,” she replied, nodding towards Iris. “And we’ve both a paladin and a knight sister.”

Iskorn turned to the Warden. “Make her see reason! A ship is scheduled to pick us up in a couple of days’ time at the coast north of here. They are loyal to Jacob, not to me. If we don’t have him—"

The paladin shook its head. “No.”

“You can’t… be serious…” The slaver grasped his head as if afflicted by a skull-splitting headache and stumbled backwards. A tear of blood trickled down the cheek beneath his bloodshot eye.

The knight sister spotted the broken handle of Jacob’s warhammer stuck in the mud and picked it up. She nodded to herself as she wrenched the lengthy wooden shaft with her hands, then walked over to one of the tents and ripped a length of metal wire off of the fabric.

She walked back over to Jacob and began wrapping the wire around the wooden shaft, keeping it tightly wound. Every few digits, she would tie a jagged knot into the wire before continuing. She made sure the brute saw every detail as she studded the handle.

Sorcisian knight sisters are so very different from Sophian sisters. Iris had only heard about their judgements: punishments they determined themselves should a criminal not be transportable to a proper court.

“Take the girl back into the tent,” she told Iskorn, shooting him a side-eyed glance. “She doesn’t need to see this.”

The mage nodded despondently and walked towards Iris.

“Dual!” shouted Jacob with pained sobs. “Don’ leave me da die!”

The mage didn’t respond and simply placed his hand along Iris’s back, ushering her back to the tent.

“Dual, my fren, pleash!”

Iskorn paused, turning halfway towards Jacob. He didn’t meet the brute’s pleading gaze, instead looking at the shadowed grass beneath where he hung. “You were not my friend, Jacob. Just my business partner.”