Hanging off a torture rack wasn’t the funnest thing he had ever done, Hugh decided. Nez’s helpers twisted his arms before chaining him and his ligaments whined at him, the pain constant and difficult to ignore.
He hung in Nez’s HQ, a room in a large pre-Shift building, presumably somewhere in Rooster Point, although he couldn’t be sure. They had dragged him here in the dark. The only thing he remembered clearly was passing the shell of a Matador, dented and ripped as if something with big teeth had taken it in its jaws and bit. The Departed’s handiwork. Somehow the cockroach had survived it.
Several metal braziers full of flames lit the room. Most of Rooster Point had been abandoned for so long, nobody bothered to install fey lanterns, and Nez had to resort to an old-school dungeon. Aside from braziers, there wasn’t much to it. Supplies thrown here and there, typical jetsam and flotsam of the Legion on the move. Chains, undead collars, crates of equipment, m-scanners designed to record residual magic signatures, were all pushed against the walls.
Nez was leaning against the table, directly across from him, drinking coffee. He hadn’t changed much. Still lean, his face phlegmatic and arrogant. After a while all of the Legatus’ got that expression. Hugh had seen more than a dozen come and go. Of all of them Steed was the only one he could stomach. His memory brought up Steed in a cage, staring at him with insane eyes, as Hugh fed him bread.
He had regrets. But then he himself was caged now. Turnabout was fair play.
“How does it feel?” Nez asked.
“Well, doctor, it feels sore and tingly.”
“You know what I hate about you?” Nez sipped his coffee. “This idiotic bravado. There are things in this life that have to be taken seriously. At first I thought you were trying to hide weakness behind all the quips, but now I know. You’re just stupid.” He leaned forward. “Has it sunk into your big dumb brutish head yet? I won.”
“Nez, what did you win, exactly? I’m not dead. That’s a telling fact. Are you allowed to kill me?”
Silence answered.
“I take that as a no,” Hugh said. “So, really, what you’re allowed is a little bit of time to do whatever you want to me and gloat. And that’s it. Then you’ll have to deliver me to Roland. Do whatever you’re going to do or grow some balls and kill me. Do it, Nez. I fucking dare you.”
The rage in Nez’s eyes was delicious. If he pushed Nez far enough, he would snap and kill him, which would be the best outcome possible.
“That’s a short leash he’s got you on,” Hugh said.
Nez grabbed a length of pipe off his desk and swung it like a bat. The pipe connected. Bones crunched as his ribs shattered. Nez erupted into a flurry of hits. The pipe landed again and again, each blow a new burst of agony. Finally, he slumped against the desk and let go of the pipe. It clattered to the floor.
Every breath was like sucking fire into his lungs.
“Ow,” Hugh said.
Nez stared at him.
Hugh grinned. “Do you feel better, sweetheart? Do you feel like you won yet?”
“My leash is short, but he muzzles you,” Nez ground out. “Do you get it yet? Do you know what he does to keep you in line? He cooks you like a piece of fried chicken. He fries your mind until there is nothing but a shell left. So I’m going to tell you now, because later on you won’t care. When I’m done and things quiet down, I’ll come back here, and I’ll kill every living soul in that castle. Every man, every woman, and every child. I’ll make your wife watch. She will be the last to go.”
The scumbag would do it. Hugh saw it in Nez’s eyes. “Good speech,” he said. “I’d clap, but I’m all tied up.”
Nez bared his teeth.
“I feel like we’ve had a real breakthrough here, Landon,” Hugh said. “This is the most honest conversation we’ve ever had.”
Nez reached for the pipe.
A careful knock interrupted him in mid-move. Nez turned to the doorway. Hugh craned his neck, but it was too far behind him.
“What?” Nez asked.
“I’m sorry, Legatus. There is fog.”
“What kind of fog?”
“An unnatural fog. It’s coming from the woods.”
Nez swore and strode out.
The room fell silent except for the crackling of the fire. He’d have to start over when Nez returned, and he’d been doing so well. Being killed now was his best option. Facing Roland would be the end of the road. He would do anything to keep from walking it.
Magic whispered through the room, familiar and warm.
Fuck me.
Hugh raised his head. Roland lowered the hood of his brown robe. His face was like no other. He had allowed himself to age to about fifty, to look more fatherly for Daniels, and it served him well. He looked like a prophet walking out of the long-forgotten magical cities of ancient Mesopotamia, a living remnant of a different time and different place, when wondrous things were possible and his name had been Nimrod, the Builder of Towers. A scholar, an inventor, a poet, a father god, wise with kind eyes that were all-knowing and slightly chiding. Hugh looked into his eyes and love washed over him. All Hugh ever needed, all he ever wanted or required, was that love. It sheltered and sustained him, it guided him, it took away all pain. It was like seeing the sunrise after a long, dark winter.
The void tore open behind Hugh, scraping at him with its teeth.
Roland crossed the room and looked over Hugh’s shoulder at the void. “Well, that’s not good.”
The sound of his voice, suffused with power and magic, was so familiar it hurt.
“Hello, Hugh,” Roland said.
He managed a single word. “Hello.”
They looked at each other.
“You survived,” Roland said.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here because I need your help, Hugh.” Roland smiled.
“Daniels kicked your ass,” Hugh said. The blasphemy of the words should’ve broken him, but somehow it didn’t.
“We’ve suffered some setbacks,” Roland said. “Nothing that can’t be remedied.”
It hit him then. The battle was never about the castle. It was about him. Nez was ordered to go and get him out of Baile.
“You’ve proven yourself,” Roland said.
You fucking prick. “You watched me at Aberdine.”
“I did. It’s time to come back,” Roland said. “You’ve been gone for too long.”
“It’s too late for that,” Hugh said.
“Nonsense.” Roland glanced at the chains over his right arm. They fell apart and Hugh hung, suspended by one arm.
The immortal wizard reached out to him. “Take my hand, Hugh. Take my hand and everything will be forgiven. Everything will be as it was.”
The world shrunk to the limits of the room. If only he reached out and took Roland’s hand, all the problems would fall away. The void would vanish, taking away the guilt and the nightmares. Life would be simple again.
“Take my hand,” Roland said again. “You’re my son in everything but blood.”
The word pierced Hugh. He’d waited decades to hear it and here it was, freely given.
Roland had expected him to stay a wreck. As long as he was a drunkard trying to commit a slow suicide, Roland was content to leave him as he was. But once he had pulled himself together, he was useful again. He was a threat.
The realization rocked him. He looked into Roland’s eyes and he saw something else, besides wisdom and approval. It hid in the corners of Roland’s soul, a quiet wariness, watching him.
Roland was afraid of him.
Hugh grinned. “No.”
“Hugh,” Roland said, his voice chiding, catapulting Hugh back to when he was a skinny orphan. “Take my hand. You’ve earned it. It’s your destiny.”
“No.”
Roland stared at him.
“It’s not exactly a surprise,” Hugh said. The words rolled off his tongue, amazingly easy. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”
“I took you off the street. I gave you shelter, education, and power. And this is how you repay me?”
“You forgot the part where you turned me into a happy idiot every time I tried to do something you didn’t like.”
“That’s what raising a child is,” Roland said. “Encouraging some aspects of their personality, suppressing the others.”
Hugh laughed quietly.