Benedikt knew he was a dead man when he heard the door creak open. It wasn't morning, at least not as far as he could tell. That meant someone was coming to put a knife in him before he could have his say at the trial...not that he would be having much of a say at all without his tongue. He shifted slightly, the chains that Iona had broken replaced by a fresh set, sunk deep into the wall so that they would not so easily come apart. He could hear a familiar voice speaking, one of his chief tormentors. Prochazka, Master of Malice, was not a particularly charming man. He was without question Zdenek's favorite torturer when Nicol Kysely was unavailable. Benedikt didn't know the man's first name, nor did he care to. He had always found the fat little goblin of a man repulsive and now his presence was a hateful one.
"Here he is, Cermak." The wicked, rotund creature known as the Master of Malice opened the door, allowing a rail thin but thick-lipped man in. Cermak seemed friendly, almost solicitous in his expression, but those bright green eyes hid an empty heart. His grey hair was swept across his head in a wave and his hands were clean and soft from the life of an academic devoted to the more bookish, secretive sort of alchemy that flourished in Zaeylael catering to the various needs of the nobles.
Benedikt's lip curled. So they sent the poisoner. Must not want it to look bad, not that they could hide the mistreatment. Or Zdenek wants it to be agonizing beyond what Prochazka can do. He lifted his head up and glared balefully at the two men. He'd met Cermak before, a fellow northerner. It wasn't until he'd learned the man's profession that their association left a sour taste in his mouth.
"Smile, Hustovi," Cermak said genially as he started mixing something in a mortar and pestle. It made a wet grinding sound and smelled of something decayed or rotting. Benedikt thought he could see something dark in the pestle, but that could have just been the shadows with the poor light. "A little security, just in case your little friends do manage to get you released through Královna Vrana's good will."
The wounded nobleman glowered more intensely, prompting a laugh from Prochazka. "What, you didn't think the High Král would let you walk away? You're a dangerous beast, Hustovi. Too dangerous." If the Master of Malice had a cardinal sin, it was his own tongue. He liked to bait, liked to taunt, liked to let loose little slivers of words that worked their way under the skin only to fester in the soul.
Benedikt saw the shadows in the hallway between the torches flicker, like something large but very fast and very quiet moving towards them. He strained to hear or make out more than the shape of a man approaching, suddenly ignoring the two men. It was quiet except for their jeers for a long moment. Moment after moment stretched on as he stared into the shadows, doubting his own vision. Perhaps he had simply been down here too long. They said that the dungeons could rob a man of his mind. Benedikt had just always assumed it would take longer than this.
Maybe five minutes later, there was a flutter of movement in the darkness just behind Prochazka. The man suddenly jerked back, his hands coming up to his throat as his face went red. There was a distinct line across his throat, as if some kind of clear thread was being pulled so tight around his throat that it was cutting into the skin, perhaps a garotte that had no color. Whatever was doing so was strong: he was hauled upwards, his feet kicking and struggling but now a good six inches above the floor as he danced like a man at the end of a hangman's noose.
Cermak whirled around and opened his mouth to shout. Something lunged out of the shadows before he could scream, an almost formless black figure even in the dull torchlight that grabbed him by his face and slammed him against the stone with a sickening sound, a wet crunch that seemed impossibly loud to Benedikt. How had the guards not heard? Where were the guards?
Suddenly, Benedikt felt the fear come back instead of anger. The two shapes before him looked like men dressed in black robes and cowls, like mourning monks, but they didn't move like men. They padded towards him like cats, one of them stepping over the twitching body of Prochazka as the last little bit of life faded out of him. The absolute silence of the room struck the Leyan noble. All he could hear was the sound of his own uneven, ragged breathing. Not theirs. They didn't make a sound.
"HUSTOVI."
The voice was inhuman.
Benedikt's blood froze and his muscles started to quake as the urge to run or fight suddenly hit him like lightning. He couldn't do either, of course. He was chained, helplessly, as two demons approached him.
The one in the lead pulled back its hood as it approached and Benedikt found himself looking as if into a mirror. The demon was wearing his face, unmarred but still unshaven. It reached out and touched his badly bruised face, scrutinizing him with eyes that looked like his own. Then it touched its own face and he saw the skin start to change color and swell in places until it looked like a perfect replica of him. It started to undress, similarly continuing to copy him until their whole bodies were identical. It observed his damaged shoulder and then there was a sickening crack as it dislocated its own. The other demon watched with dead eyes, dispassionately observing his white, horrified face.
Benedikt made a croaking sound of panic as he watched the slow replication of his tortured body. The demon beside his mimic walked over and stroked the Leyan noble's cheek. Its claws were cold and steely, still wet with blood from crushing Cermak's head into pulp against the wall. "SHH," it said in a sibilant voice, purred close to his ear. "WE GRANT YOU LIFE, BENEDIKT HUSTOVI, THE MOST PRECIOUS GIFT OF ALL."
Benedikt tried to struggle, at least until its claws started to bite into his flesh until it bled. He got a definite sense that submission was what it was aiming for and complied almost immediately, mostly because he didn't want to see his own jaw crushed.
The creature stripped him and threw his ragged pants to the mimic, who put them on.
"TAKE HIS PLACE," the more powerful demon instructed his mimic.
He dropped to the floor when the mimic unlocked his manacles, unable to really catch himself with his damaged shoulder. Benedikt hit the ground hard, cracking his head against the stone and letting out a croak. He found himself picked up by both demons and his body wrapped in the dark robes. It was a soft fabric, at least, against his tortured body. It was even faintly warm as if from a person, as not all demons were universally cold. This mimic was meant to pass for him. And tomorrow, in the morning, Iona was going to come crying and throw her arms around its neck, promising that everything would be alright. What if they did get Benedikt Hustovi released? What if that thing was walking around in his friends' lives, working whatever demonic plot had brought it to this dungeon?
The demon locked its companion up, hanging as he'd hung, in the iron chains that it could break in less than a heartbeat. Then it extended a hand towards Cermak and Prochazka, who were enveloped in a flash of dark flame: hellfire. He'd never seen it himself, but he'd certainly heard of it from the veterans of the war against the Princes of Iron. There was barely even ash left of the two men when vision returned to Benedikt's stinging eyes.
It grabbed him and lead him through the unlocked door, pulling the hood up to hide his face. "WE WILL LEAVE THROUGH A SERVANT'S DOOR. IF YOU WISH, REMAIN SILENT. IF NOT, CRY OUT. I WILL ONLY CLARIFY TO YOU THAT THE MASTER IS AWARE OF YOUR ASSOCIATION WITH THE SPELLGUARD CHVÁTAL AND THE DAUGHTER OF MÓR."
Benedikt felt his jaw lock at the threat, even if all mention of harm was unspoken. He looked at the demon, trying to silently ask it why it was doing all this.
The creature grabbed him by the neck and pulled him towards the surface and the guard barracks. It seemed to sense his question, however. Perhaps it could read it just from his eyes and his face and the twitching of his severed stump of tongue inside his mouth. The creature's face was barely human, an emotionless mask roughly formed to resemble human features but never capturing that same spark of life. The eyes were not even pretending. They were black and glassy, like the eyes of a shark or a doll. "SOME PEOPLE ARE CALLED TO A HIGHER PURPOSE. YOU—WHO WERE ONCE BENEDIKT HUSTOVI, KRÁL OF THE ZÁZEMÍ—YOU ARE AMONG THEM."
He croaked again, trying to ask who his supposed savior was. It would have made him feel better if the creature had laughed at his fear, but mockery and sadistic amusement at another's pain were altogether too human of emotions for this creature. It was as alien as the dark side of the moon.
"I AM GADER'EL THE SERVANT," the demon said in its harsh purr, holding him close to its body. He could feel the cold radiating off of it. "AND YOU WILL FIND WHAT THE MASTER DESIRES WHEN IT COMES TO THE EAST. A SIMPLE TASK AND A FAIR EXCHANGE FOR LIFE ITSELF."
Benedikt considered his future. He was not convinced that life in service to a demon was any better than execution. He looked back over his shoulder towards where the other demon was now hanging in chains. They'll know it when they kill it for what it is.
"YES," Gader'el agreed as if reading his thoughts. "AND THIS TOO SERVES ITS PURPOSE."
The Leyan nobleman didn't want to think what that supposed revelation would do to Kája and Iona. How would they know who they could trust or what to believe if they had every reason to believe that it was a demon who had strung them along for some dark purpose? What would the Court think when presented with evidence that at some point, a demon had been among them, smiling and flirting and playing the game without them ever being the wiser? If anything would cause things to begin to fracture, it would be paranoia of that nature. A few more incidents and Zaeylael would tear itself apart for fear of demons. Yes, he could understand exactly what that purpose was serving. That creature taking his place would sow discord in the most powerful kingdom of men left, even if only as a small part of a grander whole.
Or perhaps there was something else going on that he wasn't even aware of. Demons were not known for thinking small. He wished he had his tongue to shout a warning. Perhaps if he could reach Kája and Iona, if he could just get away—
The demon seized him by the back of his neck again and squeezed. He was suddenly aware that if it clenched its fist, his head would pop off like the cork of a champagne bottle. To the creature, it was probably barely any pressure at all, but to Benedikt, it was a clear threat and painfully tight. "YOU WILL NEVER GET AWAY. YOUR MAGES, YOUR POWER, YOUR TITLE, NONE OF THESE WILL BUY YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS DEBT. YOU ARE THE MASTER'S NOW, AS YOU HAVE ALWAYS BEEN, BENEDIKT HUSTOVI." The creature brought its motionless lips close to his ear, its purr nothing more than a whisper. "OR IS IT BENE?"
He was silent for the rest of the walk out of the dungeon, praying for the guards to stop them. However, not a single guard said a word or even seemed to notice as they filtered out through the small halls in the topside fortress used by servants.
In mere moments, all thoughts of his liege lord's ill will were a lifetime behind him. He could feel something darker stirring in the waters of the world.