Chapter 19: Counting the Dead

"I don't know how it happened," Erdrak growled for the umpteenth time.

Esharah had been listening to Yvris interrogate the captain all day. Nothing new had been said after the first hour. Even as the Head Warden brought in prisoners to interrogate before returning attention to Erdrak.

Rather than the chapel, the interrogations took place in Yvris' study behind it. A dark, windowless room more stifling than cozy in Esharah's opinion.

"An army of voidspawn appears, the largest swarm of the monsters in years, and all you say is 'you don't know'," Yvris' mouth twisted in disgust. "You who have hunted more of these creatures than anyone in Hellfrost, you who boast so often how many you've killed, and you know nothing."

"I kill the bastards," Erdrak said. "I don't study them." The ogre took a frustrated breath and repeated the story, "It was the exact same as any usual hunt. Until it godsdamn wasn't. The voidpit exploded, that thing rose up, and more voidspawn joined it as it headed to Hellfrost."

"And you ran from it," Yvris circled back that to that sore point.

Rage boiled in Erdrak's emotions. "I retreated to get support. And when I had support I killed the deathsinger with my own hands." He slapped his chest, "Me! No one else in Hellfrost could stand up to that thing. I was the one who killed that monster."

"And the one who led it back to Hellfrost," Yvris said. "If not for the swift actions of others, the entirety of Hellfrost could have been in danger. Our great work put in jeopardy."

And the lives of dozens of prisoners, guards, and civilians lost, Esharah mentally added since no one else in the room seemed inclined to care about that particular detail.

Before Yvris could begin another loop of the discussion, a soft knock on the door heralded Etrani's presence. The publicar's emotions were in even more disarray than usual. Horror. Shock. Clinging desperately to concrete details to avoid focusing on the surrounding nightmares. At Yvris' irritable command, she entered the Head Warden's study, clutching her book of notes to her chest as if it were a lifeline.

"You have the report?" Yvris snapped, pacing irritably behind his desk.

"Y-yes," Etrani's hands trembled as she opened the book. "Six prisoners and four guards of the initial hunting party were lost before returning to Hellfrost. Presumed dead." A shiver ran through her as Esharah glimpsed the scribe's imagination forming haunting spectres of just what had happened to those misfortunate souls. "A further nine prisoners and twenty-four guards and soldiers died in the battle. Total death counts come to sixteen prisoners, twenty-eight soldiers." A pause, "Three of the frostfangs accompanying the party were also lost, but I wasn't sure-"

"I don't care about the dogs," Yvris cut her off.

"Ah, right," Etrani steadied herself before continuing, "A further twenty-five prisoners were wounded, along with forty wounded guards and reserves-"

"Any infected?" Yvris' pacing paused as interest rose. Even excitement at the thought of more potential voidtouched. Esharah struggled to hide her disgust.

"None reported," Etrani said with relief, even as Yvris pulsed disappointment. "The efforts of the healers seem to have prevented any voidtouched infection. She paused again, "And…multiple individuals report that the voidtouched prisoner did…something to remove the void infection from the wounded."

Excitement rose even higher, leaking from Yvris' soul into his voice, "What? Explain."

"The details vary between sources," Etrani's eyes flicked nervously between Yvris and Erdrak. "But all reports say the same basic things. He approached those with the void corruption and…" she hesitated. "They report he…pulled the void’s blight from the wounds with his bare hands. Or…absorbed the energy."

Dark elation practically radiated from Yvris in a choking cloud. "Erdrak, bring the prisoner here."

"I'm not your errand boy," Erdrak snapped.

Yvris gave a disdainful look, "Then send someone to fetch him."

Another signature growl and Erdrak stomped away.

"What else did you hear about the prisoner?" Yvris asked eagerly. "His actions during the battle."

Etrani didn't reference her notes this time, "That he was at the forefront, leading the group of guards and prisoners alike into battle. That before reinforcements arrived he stood before the deathsinger when it could have slaughtered dozens more. Those who were in the fields say that they only managed to escape because of the valor of the initial force, led by Guard Danys Akra and the prisoner Aven." She paused for a long while, "Those are the commonalities between accounts. Other details are…more difficult to verify."

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"Give them anyway," Yvris leaned over the desk, hanging on to every word, "anything about the voidtouched's abilities."

"Among the reports are claims that he formed a storm of black blood that ravaged the voidspawn," Etrani said. "That he was slashed by the deathsinger's claws and got up laughing. That he existed in two places at once, fighting voidspawn with the strength of many. That he commanded voidspawn himself, causing them to turn on the others." Another pause, "And…less flatteringly, there are claims that his voidhand killed prisoners and guards as well, that he laughed as he slaughtered mortals and spawn alike. To reiterate, none of these reports have been verified, and some of them were contradictory to the more reliable accounts-"

"That will be all, publicar," Yvris cut in, a feral smile on his face. "Prepare the records for my review, and prepare for a meeting with the prisoner."

Etrani gave a slight bow and retreated. Even now, the echoes of the battlefield's horrors echoed in Esharah's senses. And Etrani had only seen the aftermath. Esharah hadn't been brave enough to delve into the minds of those who had seen the true slaughter. For once, Esharah could be grateful for Erdrak's ego; his mind had entirely fixated on his own glory in battling the deathsinger, not on the massacre around it.

"A voidspawn force like that," Yvris murmured to himself, staring out the window as if entirely forgetting Esharah's presence. An idea formed in his mind, sprouting like a devilish weed. He turned to Esharah, "Warden Esharah. Have them bring the deathsinger's corpse to the confessional along with Aven."

* * *

Any hope of rest in the aftermath vanished when the guards dragged Aven to the usual practice room. Thankfully, he'd recovered enough to stand and walk without aid. Taking in the black from the wounded actually had helped his exhaustion, though any attempt to reach for his Battle Mind still sent sharp stabs of pain through his temples.

The door to the "confessional" opened, and Aven was greeted by the sight of the deathsinger's corpse. Even in death, the creature radiated an oppressive aura. Three eyes gazed dully at Aven, and his skin prickled with the memory of their stare.

From the adjoining room, Yvris' voice came, "Aven, I understand that you have been absorbing black blood from those infected."

And there was the punishment for Aven's good deed. Of course fate would need to balance the scales. It couldn't possibly have rewarded Aven for helping others.

"That's true," Aven kept his voice calm, aided by a mental pulse of reassurance that told him Esharah was there as well.

"Does absorbing more black blood strengthen you?" Yvris asked.

"I wouldn't say that," Aven replied. "It…restores me. I was exhausted from using the power so much, and when I draw in the void's energy, the exhaustion is eased. Not eliminated, but somewhat better."

"Excellent," Yvris said. 'The deathsinger is more potent than any other spawn we've encountered. Absorb its blood."

So this was the test. Aven looked at the body, at the thick, congealed black blood surrounding its many wounds, the mouth hanging open in death.

Aven reached out and tried to pull the lingering power in its blood inside him.

It felt like trying to drink pure acid. A single sip and searing pain struck, first his arm, then through every nerve in his body. He gagged on something fouler than anything else he'd ever felt, a taste like rot and decay, like poison and hatred and blight and hatred and hatred and-

Aven choked, bile filling his mouth. He coughed and heaved as his muscles spasmed, a shriek rushing through his mind like the last of the deathsinger's cries.

A rush of new pain, and the veins on his arm burst open, just as they did when calling the voidhand. Instead of forming, however, the void erupted out in thick globs that steamed and vanished into mist. As if even the void in his soul was vomiting back out the corruption of the deathsinger. Aven's own black blood mixed deathsinger’s staining the floor. When the eruption ceased, Aven staggered to his knees. He tried to draw in breaths of air, but each inhale was ragged, painful. Like he was inhaling daggers into his lungs. Every heartbeat struck like a hammer.

Finally, the fit ended, leaving Aven on the floor in his own bile and a mass of black blood fading into mist.

"Your body rejected the deathsinger's blood?" Yvris' voice reached his ringing ears.

Obviously.

"Try again," Yvris ordered.

"It won't work," Aven spat.

"I was not asking for opinion," the stabbing pain of the Book of Souls struck. Compared to the deathsinger's blood, it was still agonizing but almost bearable. Especially when Esharah entered his mind, and part of the pain faded, absorbed into her. "Try again."

Not yet. The insistence came at the same time the murderous thoughts did. Not yet.

Aven unclenched his fist, nails coming away bloody. We can't wait much longer.

Esharah didn't reply.

Aven reached out to the deathsinger and tried again.

The second time was worse.

* * *

By the time the session ended, Aven had to be half-carried, half-dragged back to his cell. The rather frivolous part of Aven's mind took comfort from the fact that leaning against Esharah was at least a soft and pleasant experience.

"It can't wait," Aven murmured. At this point, timing their whispered conversations between the guard patrols and the Warden's Eyes was second nature. "We're dying. Every day, more of us. And when we find ways to survive, they break us further…"

"I know," Esharah whispered back.

Silence as he stumbled down the stairs. At Zav level, the Eye above was on its passive rotation. Conversing was a risk, but it captured more sight than sound on the lower levels. Aven didn't need to do much acting to sell the performance as Esharah feigned shoving him roughly into the cell.

"The runes?" Esharah asked.

"Not ready yet," Aven groaned, settling on the straw bed. "We'll…Logash will be able to break the chains in a few days. And then…"

He let the next steps remain unspoken. Let the implications hang in the air. The "and then…" would involve a lot of death. If they were lucky. Of course, if they were unlucky, it would also probably involve a lot of death.

The questions were too many to consider. Would the other prisoners even be willing to fight? Would they reach the Book of Sins before Yvris did? Would the Empire just decide to slaughter them all, even knowing how Yvris had been running Hellfrost?

"One week," Aven decided as Esharah turned away. "No…the festival after next restday. I need to be on quarries for the rest of this week and hunting for the next rotation to spread the word."

"I'll do what I can," the soft reply came as Esharah left.

The door shut behind her.

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