AR Chapter 498 (Patreon)

With our next goal planned, I was happy to speak with the prisoner that we’d held for so long. Her fellows, captured at the same time, had attempted to escape, all but one losing their life in the process. I never heard of what happened to the escapee, but I supposed he died with the rest of his people in the siege. This one, Maksulah, had been constantly subjected to Sybil’s magic, and now couldn’t think of a situation where she could throw off her chains. Other than that, I really didn’t know what to think about the prisoner or female. I’d only spoken with her a handful of times, and not since before the siege had begun.

Sybil and I walked together to the prison, a retrofitted dueling arena. With the sun beating down on the bottom of the sands all day long, the Misti Hawar had no opportunity to merge with shadow, and at night, they were constantly surrounded by fire or some other magic that impeded any opportunity for escape. As a model prisoner, or rather the model prisoner, Maksulah had been given a series of different amenities, little benefits that the others could look on and envy. Until the end of the war, however, there was precious little need to show off what obedience could bring a prisoner, since we had no others imprisoned beside her.

That had changed in the days and weeks following the death of the Nyust'Taa. Immediately after the battle, we managed to subjugate a small handful of the furry menaces, and any other Misti Hawar we had encountered until now was overwhelmed by at least two magically inclined Khatif or Keel. Without any opportunity to escape, they were subjugated under the sheer mass of whatever hunting squad had found them and brought to dwell in our increasingly crowded prison.

Different from every Misti Hawar that I have come into contact with over the past years, even the arrogant exiled princeling, the survivors of the siege were… broken, for lack of a better way to say it. They lacked the arrogance and anger that seemed to drive their species. Instead, they were hollow husks of the creatures they were before. The working theory was that having been betrayed by their god was enough to leave them nearly catatonic, and that he had willingly eaten a large portion of their attacking force simply to strengthen his spawn led to a total breakdown in faith.

As we walked into the prison, it was eerily quiet. Although there were, at this point, dozens of prisoners, most simply sat on the ground, each in a variation of a fetal position. Even the ones that seemed least affected by the loss were far from in control of themselves. Instead of even glaring at me as I passed, some barely flicked their attention toward me before returning to their dejection.

The largest contradiction to this depression overwhelming  the space was the person we were coming to visit. Maksulah had only a single manacle on her, connecting her left ankle to a chain on the ground, and the chain gave her a good dozen feet of freedom to walk around. The greatest mercy that we’d shown her was a benefit that she had only received a month or so before, a small umbrella that stood about seven feet tall. It cast just enough shadow for her to lie down underneath, which she used not to cast magic but just to avoid midday’s suns. She had made it no secret that simply remaining in the light for long periods of time was uncomfortable. Now, in full winter, the suns weren’t up for as long and their light wasn’t so harsh, so  she didn’t need the shade as much. However, she now used this shade to try to give some comfort to her fellows who were chained up nearby.

Wisely, she refused to use any of her magic, but what comfort she could give, she gave freely. When Maksulah saw us approach, she bowed and gestured for the two others nearby to do the same. They performed perfunctory respect, then returned to their hunched, unhappy stances.

“Lord Zaaktif and Lady Zaaktifi, to what do I owe the honor?” she asked, keeping her head down.

“You don’t need to debase yourself if you find it uncomfortable to be so respectful to the people responsible for the deaths of most of your people,” I said, waving her off. A part of me hated the respect I gave her, that I would show mercy to a weakling who had been so easily captured. Instead of continuing to lean into the part of me that needed to feel superior, I got down on my haunches to be able to be about at eye level with the smaller creature. She was still avoiding eye contact, but as I forced it, she seemed to steel herself and then meet my gaze.

“What have your people told you about this war?” I asked. “And I don’t want to hear what you think I want to hear. I want to hear what you’ve actually heard from the survivors.”

Maksulah’s face was one I struggled to read, as I’ve grown so accustomed to reading the body language of the Saharliard over the past years of my life. Besides that, I knew that I would have struggled to understand it, even as a human, as her face was distinctly animalistic. Her face was long, like a panther’s, with sharp fangs, and the whiskers from her snout seemed to communicate something that I couldn’t read. However, the way she bared her teeth and barely held back a snarl was enough of an easy explanation of her opinion.

“To speak clearly, Lord, I would say that while there is plenty of bitterness toward you and your people as those who defeated and killed many of our number, you were always our enemies. We never trusted you, we never expected you to be even so merciful as to take prisoners. The bulk of my people’s rage, when they can feel anything other than listless terror, is directed toward Kusi’Wi and Illan’Klli, as she is the traitor who incited us to this war in the first place and he is a traitorous god.. Beyond that, she made this into a holy war, not just a hunt. We know now that, had this just been a hunt, we would have brought ourselves into war, but at least it would have been on our terms.

“Instead,” the female continued, her shoulders dropping as her eyes burned with rage, “we trusted a god that, we have learned, does not consider us to be anything more than food. He fed my mother to one of his abominations, and everyone here can tell of a brother, sister, or lover that was used to swell the strength of the spawn. Our numbers, our loyalty, and our strength meant nothing to him. All he saw us as, when he felt even the smallest amount of pressure, was food.

“So what have my people told me?” She laughed, the sound bitter and pained. “I’ve been told that our god hates us, our leader betrayed us, and the closest thing to mercy that we’ve been shown is by creatures that we have always considered to be beasts and our prey. There’s precious little else to say, other than to wonder how long we’ll be allowed to live, now that the war is well and truly over.”

I nodded slowly, somewhat surprised by how perfectly her thoughts mirrored my hopes of what to achieve. Without indulging further in asking questions to verify her thoughts, I asked another question.

“If I gave you the opportunity, would you return home and change things? Would you lead a change in leadership, or would you simply cower and hope for the Saharliard empire not to turn our ire towards you once again?”

After everything she’d already said, I had a sneaking suspicion that she would have given the same response, even without Sybil’s magic having changed her for so long. With months of exposure to mind-altering magic, however, her answer was immediate.

“Anything you ask, Lord. Anything, so long as I can save those who remain.”

My tail lashed involuntarily in excitement. Things, finally, were going exactly the way I wanted them to.