The next morning, Kiyamvir woke up first, still leaning against his friend's chest. He slowly extricated himself from his friend's arms and got dressed. Strapping on his weapons and tying his ebony hair back in a small tail at the nape of his neck, he went to inspect the body.

Kaled'a'in as he had suspected, with no signs of torture and turning to Ma'ar's side that his father had taught him to use so one spy might recognize another if he made any. Fat chance of that. Rolling the body over so he could see the extent of the damage to the rug, he nodded in satisfaction. Minimal stains from death. Easy to clean up and purge of any illness or disease that remained. Doing that required little strength, and he stripped the sheet off the bed, wrapping the body in it expertly. He sensed that Tralj was awake, and he walked back into his room, to see his guard and friend finishing strapping his weapons to himself. He looked at Amvir and asked briskly, "Body?"

"Wrapped in a sheet. Stains were minimal, they're all ready gone," Amvir replied, slightly relieved that nothing had changed between them.

Tralj smiled slightly, "Efficient," his smile morphed into a grimace. "Practice makes perfect I assume?"

"Yes, many people have died to stain carpets in the palace, I clean up a lot of it for practice," he replied calmly. Tralj found it slightly sad that he found something like death and bodies something to be treated casually and without respect. Then he remembered his charge's father, and his regret deepened. His charge would have turned out so different if Ma'ar wasn't his father. But then they wouldn't have met, so maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

"All right, what should we do with it? You can't really disguise a body wrapped in a sheet as anything other than a body in a sheet," Amvir asked, then smiled bitterly, "Also from experience."

Tralj winced and said thoughtfully, "Why hide the fact we have a body? Just say one of Ma'ar's agents attacked you." He hesitated, then asked, "It wasn't one of Ma'ar's agents, was it?"

"No, I checked." That was all he was able to say on the subject for now. He was still trying to drive it through his skull that he could trust Tralj with his life.

Tralj nodded and said, "I'll get his shoulders."

Amvir grabbed the dead man's legs and they went down the stairs with their burden, Tralj walking backwards. "And what unfortunate soul are you carrying?" the mage that had befriended Amvir asked cheerfully from the ground floor as he saw them nearly reach the bottom of the stairs, though they had nearly fallen at least seven times by the time they got there.

"Agent of Ma'ar's. He's not a local, so we're going to just toss the body in some hole somewhere," Tralj shrugged, lie coming to his lips easily.

"Well, the gardeners are adding some trees, I'm sure they won't mind some added fertilizer, especially since they're not there at the moment, head out that way," the mage pointed at a side door leading to the kitchen gardens, and Amvir nodded, "Thanks Vik," then they walked out to the gardens, the site for the trees obvious. They tossed the corpse in and added some dirt to cover up the dead body. With that completed, they walked away to find something constructive to do with their time.

That night, Amvir, exhausted, had sprawled on his bed while his uncle commandeered the fireside chair and Tralj was stretching his legs out on the couch. "So I hear you had an attacker last night?" Urtho asked them with raised eyebrows. Amvir raised his face from the pillow he had it hidden in and grunted, "Yes, and the bastard stuck me with a poisoned needle."

"And yes Urtho, I still feel guilty for that," Tralj winced, he'd be beating himself up for that slip for some time now.

"You shouldn't blame yourself," Amvir smiled slightly, which morphed into a grimace of pain as he turned to face them. "I was altering your mental state to be less protective of me. I've been doing that the whole three weeks we've been gone from fathers."

The guard glared at him, and Amvir started to shrug, thought better of it, and said, "Well I couldn't have you breathing down my neck the whole time in name of defense, and I didn't want you to kill yourself doing something stupid to keep me from getting so much as a cut finger."

"I wasn't that bad!" Tralj protested, but feebly, he knew Amvir was right, and the deflatingly superior arch of the prince's eyebrows only confirmed it. Urtho chuckled as Tralj muttered under his breath about prince's who weren't worried enough about their own skin.

"Both of you, thank you for the help with the healers and the horse trainers. And the armsmasters want you two to help them prepare the troops for Ma'ar's army's fighting style, Amvir, the mages would also like your help for dealing with Ma'ar's mages. That can wait for day after tomorrow, depending on how long the armsmasters keep you."

"Will do uncle, and I'm just happy to have something useful to do," Amvir smiled, and his uncle returned it. They were already becoming as close as father and son, so much so that they were nearly the best of friends, with Tralj only completing a trio. Then the Sorcerer left the room, and Tralj waited until the door shut behind him before moving over to the prince.

"Are you all right? You look like you're in pain every time you move," he asked worriedly.

"I feel like red-hot nails are being driven into my back!" he growled into the pillow, "And yes, I do know what that feels like!"

"I wasn't going to ask that but- I would ask why you know that, but I'm sure I don't want to know the answer. And I think a scab on your back broke, your shirt is damp and smells of copper," Tralj informed him.

Amvir muttered and, groaning, he sat up, Tralj helping him stay that way. He pulled his shirt off and then flopped back down on the bed, cursing under his breath. Tralj was looking down at him, eyes wide in horror, and Amvir caught his look, "What? Never seen a guy with his shirt off before?" he joked.

"How the hell did you get all those?" the guardsman asked, ignoring the jibe, focusing instead on the lattice work of scars that covered his chest and abdomen, not all caused by blades. Some were burn marks, others were simple puncture wounds.

"You think that's bad, you should see the ones that die from it!" he cracked, trying to lighten the mood.

Tralj ignored his half-hearted attempts at levity and turned him over onto his stomach, ignoring the prince's yelp of protest as his muscles screamed at even that small motion. The prince was about to make some sort of scathing comment when he felt Tralj's hand trace the brand over his left shoulder blade. "What's this?" he asked quietly.

"You should recognize it, it's my father's personal sign," Amvir replied softly. Tralj noted the tension and knots in the muscles around his neck and started to rub them firmly, the first of the tension zones releasing quickly, causing Amvir to gasp suddenly. "Of course I recognize it," Tralj said quietly, "I don't understand why it's on your skin though."

"I received it when I was eighteen, a coming of age gift if you will. Some present," the prince chuckled bitterly, breaking off with another small yelp when Tralj's hands encountered another tense spot. "He brands it onto all personal retainers or spies that he breaks. He branded it onto me so all would know where my loyalty lay. And then ink went in with the brand, so when the burn is healed, the tattoo itself remains."

"And these puncture wounds?" Tralj asked quietly as his eyes scanned the prince's torso, looking for other knotted muscles.

"Red hot nails being driven into my back. Told you I knew what it felt like," Amvir mumbled.

"Did your father do this to you?" the guard was appalled at the thought, but he couldn't think of who else could have done this.

"Yes, to test out new methods and so I knew what the victims were going through. At least, that's what he said. I think he just liked hearing me scream," Amvir replied easily, "And it takes a hell of a lot to get me to scream, so he had to try a lot more exotic methods to elicit that response."

"You mean I'm supposed to defend you when your own father does you the most harm?" Tralj hissed, indignant at the very idea.

"Naturally. That's how things work. You protect me so that he can hurt me more, and be the only one to have that privilege," Amvir shrugged, muscles moving smoothly under Tralj's hands. "Thanks, that did help, I can move now. Only residual soreness."

He started to push himself up but Tralj grabbed his shoulders and flipped him over so he was lying on his back again. "Why was there blood on your shirt, there are no bleeding wounds on your back," Tralj asked him softly, watching his face carefully for sign of any sort of misdirection.

"I healed them already. I hadn't noticed through the pain in my back, but when you pointed it out it was easy enough to fix," Amvir shrugged, face and eyes open. "I'm telling the truth."

Tralj's mouth twitched, but then his face returned to its impassive state, "Amvir, why doesn't anyone know he does this to you?"

"Look, Tralj, I don't know why you think it's such a big deal. Are other fathers that different? Sure, they don't use as many exotic torture methods, but isn't breaking a child's arm the same as flaying the skin off his back?"

Tralj was going to answer but was sidetracked by the last, "He flayed the skin off your back?"

"Three times. Answer the question Tralj. Is it that different?"

"No, but dammit, that's not normal. The majority are not like that, or at least, they're not so bad as to cause the extent of wounds. Sure, breaking an arm can be just as bad as- okay, I think flaying the skin of someone's back is worse, but that may just be me- but it's one time. Judging by your scars, this has happened more times than most soldiers and guards are harmed. And we usually are healed so completely that we don't have scars," Tralj replied, frustration at Amvir's calm acceptance of his fate bleeding into his voice.

"Actually, I agree with you, breaking an arm is better than having the skin on your back flayed. I should know, I've done both. And I have the scars, but not all the scar tissue, just the superficial scars. Father wanted me to keep the scar tissue too, but the healers in the palace all just leave the superficial evidence, for both of us. They don't want the death of an Emperor or his Heir on their heads for not healing completely. He says the more scars an Emperor has, the more respect he can gain from his troops," Amvir shrugged, "I doubt it really. Scars aren't everything. I got most of these tied down in my father's interrogation rooms, not on a battlefield."

"Amvir, what your father does to you is sickening," Tralj said finally, though it took some time for him to find the words.

The prince chuckled and pushed himself up, "I'm sure plenty of people would agree with you. I might, I know I'd never treat a kid the way I've been treated, but you know, it's done me some good. I have a pain resistance like you wouldn't believe!"

Tralj opened his mouth to snap something back at him, but Amvir grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled Tralj towards him, lips blocking the words from escaping him. Pulling away, Tralj whispered, "Amvir, please, don't avoid the topic."

The prince's mouth twitched into a smile, "What, I can't just kiss you because I've wanted to for at least a year, and only found out you wouldn't kill me for it yesterday?"

"You can, but-" Tralj held up a finger, "You're still avoiding the subject. Please Amvir, just talk to me."

"If I tell you everything my father has done to me, when we return, you won't be able to act as a loyal servant to Ma'ar," Amvir said bluntly, face solemn.

"Amvir, I want to know," Tralj begged. "Please, I don't want him to be able to hurt you anymore."

"He will. That is inevitable," the prince sighed, expression resigned. "You can't do anything to stop that."

"Then we won't go back," Tralj replied simply. "Urtho won't want to send you back if that's what awaits you."

"I will not have Urtho fret over me!" Amvir snapped, going rigid, eyes flashing, "I can handle it Tralj! I will be fine!"

"But will I? I can feel the pain you do now Amvir, and what's it going to be like for me? Will I be able to handle it?" Tralj asked quietly.

The prince looked shocked, and then he withdrew, into himself. Tralj felt the link he had to Amvir start to close off and lurched forward, "No!" Amvir's eyes opened and the guardsman was startled to see tears in them.

"I can't be responsible for your death Tralj! I can't!" he shook as Tralj pulled him into his arms.

"Amvir, don't cut me out, please," Tralj whispered as Amvir shuddered, still trying to block their connection while Tralj worked on keeping it open.

"You don't understand Tralj, I have too. Otherwise he'll find out and break you. I wouldn't be able to live with that," Amvir whimpered, but he stopped trying to block their bond.

"At least agree to consider staying here?" Tralj let the silence remain for a while, but had to break it in order to resolve the problem.

"Consider it," Amvir muttered, and Tralj took that as assent. Tilting his friend's head back gently, he let his lips fall against the prince's, and Amvir pulled him down next to him.

The next day, they both went to help the armsmasters, though Amvir only helped half the time, and by midmorning was working with the mages. At noon, the head mage ordered him to eat and rest for a few hours at the least, since he'd nearly worked himself to exhaustion.

He easily remedied that by accessing the nearest node and drawing in enough energy to bring him back to normal. Munching on a piece of bread as he wandered around and exchanged news with people he knew. He was truly starting to enjoy himself, when he saw a ten year old boy and an eight year old girl ride in, the young girl sobbing. Making his way there along with a swarm of other people, he overheard that Ma'ar had overrun their town, and the gryphons that had been with them along with everyone else had been captured, as well as a southern army patrol that was stuck there.

Paling, knowing very well what would happen to the gryphons and gryphlets, Kiyamvir was able to find out where the village was and how to get there, and then he took off running. Reaching the stables, he saddled his horse, one of the Kaled'a'in warhorses that had a racer somewhere in his bloodline, and left, no one noticing his departure.

After an hour of riding, he reached the village. Dismounting and heading closer on foot, he left his horse near a creek so it wouldn't wander too far, unless he wasn't back by the next morning. Then it would head back, and with any luck, Tralj would figure out what was happening. Making it to a copse of trees that surrounded the village, he could see the tents used by the foot soldiers, while the people of the village were tied together by the ankles and wrists in the center of town. Every once and a while, an officer would come out and either cut a woman free, or tie one back to the rest, and Amvir knew very well what was going on there.

Forcing his eyes elsewhere, Amvir saw the makarr and a glistening ribcage with feathers stuck too it. Tears gathered in his eyes when he saw the dead gryphlet, knowing almost exactly how it had occurred. Seeing the adult gryphons and one other gryphlet, nearly fledged, in cages nearby, bleeding and frantic, his eyes narrowed. They had already started? Ma'ar preferred that the wings were clipped- these gryphons hadn't had their wings clipped, and had already started being tortured. What could be going on?

The makarr stirred in their sleep, and Amvir realized what would happen. The next morning, one of the gryphons, probably the young one, would be let loose, and forced to either fly and try to escape the hungry makarr, who would quickly catch it and kill it, or stay grounded and face sure death. "Bastards," he murmured, eyes still roving the village and camp, looking for the army patrol that had been caught by them.

A tortured scream reached his ears, and following the sound, Amvir found himself staring at the large communal barn used to store grain. "They wouldn't have-" he whispered in horror. But they had.

Men that had belonged to the army patrol, around six of them, were in an ungraceful heap on one side, and were obviously dead or nearly, therefore not providing any more fun for the officers that preferred the blood and pain of grown men to rape. That meant that there were fourteen still in there or in a makarr's stomach. At least one was still alive, judging by the periodic screaming.

Using the lengthening shadows as cover, Amvir nearly tripped over an unconscious sentry. Taking the man's crossbow and quiver of bolts, he slit the soldier's throat before moving on. Coming up on the makarr, he changed the way he was walking to that of a confident mage, who knew what he was doing. That would not cause the makarr to wake, at least not until he killed a few of them.

Hoping the five of the flock were all there was in the whole encampment, Amvir used his sword to kill two, shot another in the back of the skull, and used a knife on the last two. Surprised that they hadn't woken up, the prince shrugged mentally, they were probably too stuffed from their meal of baby gryphlet to really be aware of the world when they fell asleep. Despite the fact that it was a sickening thought, he had to hope that good fortune held, but without the deaths that caused it.

The gryphons were watching him with wild eyes, and he went over to their cages. Smiling slightly, these were cages he'd helped make, he was able to open them easily, and without alerting anyone to the fact. The gryphons came out of their cages quickly, and watched him with puzzled hostility. Amvir simply nodded to them, and then slipped back into the village, leaving it up to them on how they would escape.

Stopping in the shadow of one home, Amvir mused on who he would go after next. Those that were being tortured, or the ones in the village center? Thankfully, none of the foot soldiers were around, so as long as he was able to kill them all without any calling the alert, he'd be okay. Seeing one man pick a young girl, probably only six, as his next victim, decided him. He dragged the screaming child to the house that was two doors down from where Amvir was.

Stealing over there, Amvir went through the back in time to glimpse the girl being dragged into the bedroom. Kicking in the door, he shot the man in the back and dragged the girl out of the way, happy that no harm had reached her. "Stay in here for a while, okay? I need to take care of the others. When the men being tortured are freed, then come out, all right?" Amvir told her quietly. She nodded, tears still running down her face.

Leaving that house, he proceeded to do the same at each home, until all the raping officers were killed, and their victims had been warned to stay inside for a time, until there was no chance of them alerting the other officers to a change of power. Now he had to free the poor men who were being tortured in the barn. Before he even got there, Amvir could smell the familiar scent of blood and sweat, mixed in with grime and bodily waste. Underlying all that was the smell of grain, mingling with all the others, to remind anyone who came what the original purpose of this building was.

Walking through the side door, he saw that, thankfully, these officers kept to the standard layout of a torture chamber, so even blindfolded, Amvir would be able to find his way around. Those who had not been interrogated yet or had collapsed while being questioned were tied up against the wall nearest him. They were in the shadows, but Amvir couldn't risk them making noise and alerting the officers to an intruder.

Eyes adjusting to the flickering light of torches and a small camp stove that was heating the brands, Amvir made his way around in a circle, killing only three of the eleven officers that were amateurs in the art of interrogation, the others he left unconscious on the ground. Cutting down their victims, only a few were able to stand, and those few helped support those that couldn't. Leaving them for a moment, Amvir went over to the men tied to the wall, and cut them down as well, those who had been lucky enough to escape attention or get away with less wounds than others ran to help their comrades. The commander was one such, though Amvir knew that the officers had been purposefully saving him for last so he'd be tortured by the sight of his subordinates breaking under the constant pain.

"They will grow suspicious if there is no screaming for a while," he whispered, face haunted. Amvir grinned wickedly, "Why do you think I didn't kill all of them? Do you know where they are keeping the horses?" Nods all around but for the still unconscious ones and those who couldn't move, which numbered four.

"Can you get them while I demonstrate to these men how a true master does the job? And then cut loose the villagers in the center of town, I've taken care of the officers in there, unless some new ones have arrived, but it's been too quiet for that. I got the gryphons out already, I don't know if they've left yet, they might be waiting for cover of darkness. But get as many people out as you can. I'll cover here until midnight, then I need to leave," Amvir explained hurriedly, and the soldiers looked surprised at his extensive planning.

"All right, that seems a sound plan, but for one thing," the commander gave Amvir a hard look, "You leaving alone. What if you're overwhelmed by the members of this camp because the remaining officers sound the alarm? It might happen at any moment."

"Shit, I'd hoped they were all here," Amvir thought for a moment or two, then said, "All right, get the horses, and I'll wake these guys up and get them screaming. If we're lucky, we'll get out without officers calling the alarm, if we're not, I can still take care of them better than you can, after all-" here he grinned sickly, "-I have all these weapons to choose from." He waved his hand around the building at all the various devices and apparatus' that were crude in the face of what his father had in his personal interrogation rooms.

The commander shook his head again, and said, "I'll stay with you. My men can get the horses. We'll get all of them, and get the villagers out on those horses as well as us. Do you have a horse?"

"Waiting in the forest. If I don't reach him by dawn's light, he'll run back to Urtho's forces and with any luck they'll figure out what's going on. They've probably noticed I'm missing by now," Amvir had to grimace at the thought of what Tralj's reaction would be when he got back.

The army men nodded and left quickly, their badly wounded barely able to walk, but thankfully able to keep silent. Turning to the commander, Amvir handed him a knife from a nearby table and hissed, "Step one, cut out their tongues so they can't cry an alarm, but can still scream."

He nodded, and started at one end of the group of officers, Amvir at the other. They finished their halves at nearly the same time, and Amvir asked him, "I have no preference, so which one first?"

"That one," the commander pointed at one officer who was particularly covered in blood. "He was the most enthusiastic."

Amvir nodded and dragged the man to the wall. Picking out one of his personal favorites, the prince admired the workmanship of it. It was clean of blood, so no one had used it yet, and that was a terrible waste.

It was based on a classical cat'o'nine tails whip, but instead of leather, it was chain with a leather wrapped base for easier gripping. The last six inches of the finer chains that the thicker one split into were covered both in spikes resembling that of a thorn bush, as well as small balls that were covered in spikes. Letting it coil in the camp stove, Amvir used the time waiting for the man to wake up for it to heat to red-hot proportions. The commander moved to the side to watch, seeing the expert way Amvir handled the devices.

The officer selected groaned, and then woke up slowly, realizing what had happened to him. Amvir smiled, looking rather demonic in the half-light, and began.

It didn't take long for the officer to be screaming in more agony than the patrol's men had endured, and the commander was white faced, often unable to watch what was being done to the man, despite what the officer had done to his own men. Unfortunately, the men getting the horses had been noticed as they helped the villagers onto the horses so they could leave, and some of the officers and foot soldiers that weren't completely drunk led an attack on the village. Tossing his sword and crossbow to the commander, who caught them easily, Amvir grabbed a goring hook and kept the chain whip, which was still red hot.

Running out into the village center, Amvir threw himself into the fight, commander close behind, since they were one of the few still able to fight. The way from the village to the forest was still clear, and many villagers and badly wounded patrol men were able to escape that way. Soon the commander and Amvir, as well as the other three army men who were still functional, were holding of the swarm as the last few managed to escape.

A battle-scream from a non-human throat pierced the sounds of battle, and everything paused for a moment. Those of Ma'ar's forces hoped it was a swarm of makarr, while those on Amvir's side hoped it was a gryphon or two to help hold them off. Taking advantage of the pause, a few of Ma'ar's men threw themselves at the commander, who was staring up at the sky in hope and fear. Amvir lunged forward and took the blows meant for the man while still managing to kill them all. That delay was all it took for the two gryphons who'd been imprisoned to dive down and bring death to the troopers. Amvir finally remembered that he was a mage, and used his power to turn the granary into a giant fireball.

That was too much for the slightly drunk men of Ma'ar, and they broke and ran, fleeing back to their own camp instead of facing a pair of furious gryphons, and fighters that they were sure were lead by a demon from the bowels of hell. Amvir started to shake after they'd left, which surprised him. Looking down at his hands, he saw that his left one was pale as chalk underneath the crimson stain. Taking the chain whip, he wrapped the non-spiky part around his arm to hold it together, and stuck the goring hook on his belt. The commander wiped his sword off on one of the dead men's tunic and passed it to Amvir, who sheathed it, nodding in thanks.

Amvir stumbled as he tried to head back to the forest, and the commander appeared at his side, supporting him as they made their way to the trees. "I have some unfinished business," Amvir told them when they found two extra horses waiting with Amvir's. "You four go on ahead, I'll be in soon enough."

The commander looked like he'd argue, not being one for leaving a man behind, but then he looked over at his three able-bodied men. Two of them looked like they would collapse at any moment, and he saw that he had no choice, he had to get them back as soon as he could. Nodding, he said to Amvir, "I see no other choice."

Helping his two injured men onto horses, he and his other able-bodied soldier jumped on as well, and headed off into the darkness, but not before both the commander and the other soldier bowed slightly to show respect for the man who had saved them. Now that he didn't have to worry about image, Amvir turned deathly pale and started shaking like a leaf from weakness and blood loss. Just the three steps to his horse caused a deep ache in his bones, and Amvir knew very well that if it wasn't for his amazingly high pain resistance, he wouldn't even be able to function.

Using his one good arm to drag himself up into the saddle, Amvir was careful not to let the barbed chain touch his horse's side as he turned the horse back to the village. He needed to light it afire, to keep the men from Ma'ar's army from looting it any further. He also needed to see to the corpse of the gryphlet. Burning should suffice.

Drawing on a nearby ley line, Amvir was able to set fire each building in the village, and he heard no screams, so no one was inside them. Turning his attention to the corpses of the makarr and the gryphlet skeleton glistening in the moon and fire light, tears started running down his face. This truly brought home the monstrosities his father considered every day work, and he had to admit, that Tralj's idea of not going back to Ma'ar was looking more appealing by the moment. It was something to discuss with Urtho.

Lighting fire to those corpses as well, Amvir then turned his horse back into the trees, looking forward to reaching Urtho's camp at dawn.