Chương 45: Dungeon Discoveries

Mavix doesn't seem to be around today, but I manage to gather Farin, Minx, Xan, and Keliar. They're not impressed with this afternoon's excursion, but we're used to Aarron's demands by now. We might not be trainees anymore, but it's still not wise to gainsay the Prefect. As far as I can tell, Dendrak should only just be waking up. Although his constitution was giving me trouble, I nailed the dosage fairly well. Always got to be careful when sedating a person.

Too little, and they're awake when you don't want them to be. Too much, and well… they die. I haven't visited the dungeon of this Enclave yet. As a general rule, they're dark and dank, but that's if you think of a typical dungeon. Here, we're all hewn into the mountain anyway. Everything has a darkness to it. We don't have bright and airy windowed areas. Even so, it's like whoever formed this Enclave out of the rock went with a theme. That theme is dark and frankly a little foreboding.

There are no slits anywhere except the waiting room where our assassins who are working here gather. To my surprise, there's something akin to a check-in desk down here. Just like the library. Furthermore, Mavix sits there with his feet propped up on the counter, reading through a book. No wonder he wasn't around to fetch. He raises an eyebrow briefly as we stop by him. Never one of many words, he simply points down the hall.

"He's in there."

"How do you know who we want to see?" Farin asks, her voice light and somewhat indignant. Mavix cracks a grin. It's not a pleasant expression on his face, more like a sneer.

"We only have one conscious guest right now." I suppress my own smile as we continue down that way. While I know we all have odd jobs around the Enclave, I've never given much thought to the diversity of positions available. Keliar works in the library. Xan helps out the combat instructors. Minx is often in the kitchen or sometimes with Velina… but I have no idea what Farin and Mavix do. Well, until today, anyway. Now I guess only Farin is a mystery. Maybe she's just Aarron's lackey.

I've yet to definitively figure out for what. The dim lighting down the hall adds to the ambiance. I can hear, very faintly, the sounds of steel implements being sorted, but there's no screaming or anything yet. While I sense a soft thrum of the earth underneath me, like it's waiting in anticipation, it does make me wonder just how awake Dendrak is. It's almost evening by this stage, exactly when I told Aarron he'd wake up. The afternoon past in more of a blur than I'd like.

I frown at the thought, trying to backtrack to figure out exactly what I did between leaving Aarron's office and gathering the others. It all just moves like molasses. We file into the room, taking seats along the edge that someone has so helpfully erected for us. They're just stools, and our backs come directly into contact with the cold stone behind us. Dendrak hangs in the center of the room. Those bindings must be putting tremendous strain on his shoulder joints. He's not a small man either.

Standing that half foot taller than me, his weight has to be at least double mine. He's stocky and powerful. And his legs aren't supporting him properly because he's not awake. That's going to hurt when he finally comes to. His eyelids are flickering, so he's getting there. My sedative is wearing off. Perfect dosage.

"Are we supposed to watch and learn?" Xan asks, sounding bored. I nod.

"Apparently."

"Watching and learning is the best way to absorb these techniques. Some of us have a gift for it." Mithris smiles eerily as he finishes sorting his implements.

"You're overdue to watch me. Although one of your year regularly volunteers." Minx fidgets in her seat. Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks more uncomfortable than I think I've ever felt.

"Are we meant to emulate this?" Mithris shrugs.

"Most intake groups have a lot more experience with this than you guys. But most classes don't have the alchemical background you have. Since Mavix has pretty much been your only interested party outside of basic training, Aarron felt it appropriate for you to witness some of the more advanced techniques."

"You never know when you'll have to wring information out of a suspect," Keliar quips. There's a grin on his face I can't quite read. But he's not wrong. Mavix sounds like he's a fan favorite down here. I settle into my seat, ready to watch and learn. Even if a part of me feels squeamish. Dendrak definitely deserves this. Five people died just over a week ago because of him. People we didn't get paid for.

Dendrak's eyes finally flutter open, but I know for a fact he won't be able to focus on anything visually for a while. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Just another side effect. He lets out a groan, and then a pained gasp as his senses register where he is and how he's positioned. He struggles to put his bound feet underneath him, taking a portion of the weight off his shoulders. Relief dances through him.

"So good of you to join us," Mithris murmurs, and a cloak of darkness falls over him. He's angry, but I don't think everyone would notice. I do. Thing is, Dendrak is a Nightshade member. You don't get to second in an Enclave just by passing your tests and being diligent. He's had the training. He knows how to withstand, and he knows what torture techniques we might have up our sleeves. Hell, we tried most of them, if I'm correct, back in Sorrishen when this whole thing first went down.

He spits out some blood onto the stone floor beneath him.

"Do your worst." It's an invitation. Baiting. I've never seen Mithris look so eager before. His black eyes light up like there's a flame burning within, and this whole animation comes over his movements. He picks up one of the knife-like implements made from a silver so thin, it's almost transparent. While Dendrak is a large man, he's also well bound right now. Any movement on his behalf swings him closer to Mithris and causes undeniable pain.

"Let's start with the simple questions." Mithris spins the small, deadly blade in his fingers before bringing it to rest against Dendrak's chest.

"How far has the sect spread it's feelers within our ranks?" Dendrak says nothing.

"Perfect," mutters his torturer. And he draws one, long, deliberate stroke across Dendrak's chest. Nary a whimper escapes the man, but he does pale a shade. I want a knife like that. Time passes slowly. Every stroke of the blade is deliberate, every time Dendrak grows paler. Finally, after what seems like an age, Mithris returns to his tray. Minx has her eyes tightly shut, and she's almost as pale as the subject himself. Farin sits in her seat, gripping the sides, but leaning forward as if in anticipation.

Another inkling of why Aarron was strongarmed into taking her in. Never judge a book—or person—by their cover. Xan leans back against the wall, their eyes slitted. Something about the way they hold themselves makes me wonder if they've been down here before. Witnessed this type of work before. And Keliar? Well, he's sketching in a book. Taking note of how Dendrak hangs, and if I lean over a little, I can see the process of this specific incident all noted down.

Like he's taking a record of it, or else taking notes so he can do it himself in the future. I'm more interested in the poison vial Mithris pulls out of his hip pocket. It's small, and as he uncorks it, a pungent odor wafts over to me. He can't be using that. Graven Root is strong enough, but I swear he's mixed it with Dream and maybe something else. That's a bad concoction. When will they learn to check with me first? I guess they have been doing this for centuries before me.

Mithris glances over at me, a small grin playing at his lips. His dark hair falls in his eyes, and he breathes out sharply to push it out of the way. I relax somewhat, because he knows what he's got there. Purely potent. Ultimately evil. They don't care if Dendrak dies, and why would they? The only thing they're after is answers. The next part of the session is harsh. So bad in fact that Minx ends up running from the room. I can't tear myself away.

Watching as Mithris traces parallel to the same wounds he opened with the blade the first-time round. Only now, the blade is covered in poison. Dendrak can't hold it back anymore. He screams. Stone makes for an excellent sound conductor. And his pain echoes through these halls down here with effortless glory. Even the rock around us shudders briefly at the sound. If I'm not mistaken, the walls around us are practically shuddering with glee.

I can tell that the other cells down here have occupants who've been woken by this pain too. They're full of fear. Of shaking. It's exhilarating in its own way. Scary in another.

"Who are you beholden to?" Mithris whispers so loudly I swear everyone in the dungeon can hear it as well. Dendrak attempts to spit at him, but a pulse of pain shoots through his body at the same time, causing bloody spit to dribble down his chin instead.

"You know what'll happen if you don't tell me?" Mithris asks, entirely too conversationally, as he cleans off the blade and dips it back in the concoction that shouldn't exist. I wonder if that knife can cut the tension in here. Dendrak's glare sort of says that he doesn't care, even if it's totally obvious he does. Mithris moves slowly, coming to stand but feet away from his subject.

"Taria will make you a stone tomb. And lock you inside where you'll slowly wither in darkness. Right, Taria?" I try to shake the shock of being pulled into the conversation off and stand up to buy time. My brain is working at nineteen to the dozen, and while I definitely can create a large coffin for him, I'm not entirely sure if Mithris is bluffing, or being serious.

"I could definitely do that."

"And you could lock him in it, in complete darkness for days while we feed him the bare minimum to keep him alive." Mithris's eyes are shining again. Like polished obsidian. He's right. I definitely could do that.

"Yes. If you want me to, I could also make the lid restrict the oxygen." Mithris's smile widens until I think his face might split in two. While I know it's a trick of the light down here, I also realize that maybe Mithris isn't everything he seems. Again. I've really got to stop thinking I've figured him out. Now Dendrak shows fear on his face. See, poison is one thing. We're trained in that. Many of us build up immunities over a lifetime. But this?

Being buried in stone and having your air and food supplies restricted? Now that… that is truly torture. I flex my hands, stretching them together, letting a couple of the knuckles pop. Dendrak's eyes widen, and I give him my best malicious grin. At least, since he pales, I assume it works. It's almost as if I can see the cogs in his brain working overtime to figure out just how serious we are. After all, he did fight me, and I did beat him. He knows entirely too well what I'm capable of. More than Xan, or Lennick.

More than Aarron or even Mithris. Well, then. I might be exhausted, and really need to sleep and recuperate, but I can always give a bit of an example. I crouch down next to Keliar's chair, about even with where Dendrak is suspended across from me, and place my hand there where the wall meets the floor. Stone requires that mass be moved. It can't just be created. I'm not a god. Thus, it only stands to reason that I try to use what there already is of the wall as a base to make my prison.

Slowly, taking his size into consideration, I adjust and pull the stone out toward me, making it just like a stone coffin. It leaves a sort of moat around the outside wall of it as I raise the rock out of the earth to give me the sides to my coffin. Once he's settled in it, I can just pull some more stone over it, leaving minuscule room for air to get through. I'm also mostly certain I can ask the air element to please not allow him much oxygen, but I'll let them all think it's restricted by the lid.

Wariness still prevents my revealing everything that I can do. I stand back up and dust my hands off. Xan is grinning, but Farin and Keliar stare at me, dumbfounded. Dendrak, on the other hand? He's staring at me with nothing but fear. I can see it in his eyes and in the way his body stiffens. There's something about being tortured that helps you reach a breaking point. But assassins? We're hardier than that. Unless someone does something unanticipated. On top of everything he already witnessed me do.

Exactly what I was aiming for. He begins to talk. I guess the threat of being buried alive and kept at a state close to death for the rest of your existence is that breaking point. Weakling.