Alec lay motionless on the table as the knife carved a deep furrow along his thigh. He did not move, nor did he scream. The pain was real enough, to be sure. It just felt like it was happening to someone else. He lived trapped in his own mind, free from the inconvenience of the flesh. It was peaceful, really. He much preferred this existence to the one he had endured over the past weeks. Or maybe it had only been days or months. He did not know, and he did not really care. Nearly every day, his torturers would take him to the brink of death, and then Taian would appear and restore his body. Today was the cutting table, tomorrow could be the spit, or the rack, or nothing. It was all the same now.

He did remember a time when he had fought his captors. Those first days were the worst. He was never bound, and when he would fight, he was only restrained to the degree necessary to keep him moving. He was never beaten for his efforts either. He would be allowed to tire himself out, and then he would be led, exhausted, to his next torment. He remembered the indignation. Even an unruly horse would be beaten, but he did not rank that high.

When he realized fighting was going to accomplish nothing, he resorted to bribery. He used every secret he knew to try to lessen his pain. When he ran out of secrets, he made more up. It did not help. In fact, his captors never spoke a single word. They asked no questions or made any demands whatsoever. Finally, he resorted to pleading. The thought of the tears streaming down his face and the snot running freely from his nose made him twitch uncomfortably, even in this diminished state. Once he was convinced no amount of pleading would work, he went silent. He could not remember the last words he had spoken.

If that had been the worst of it, he could have coped. But he woke one morning expecting to be led to his next horror only to find no one waiting for him. He spent the entire day in a panic waiting, but still, no one came. The next day, his tormentors returned, but every so often, he would wake to find himself undisturbed. He relished those days. Over time, however, he stopped looking forward to his pain-free days. They no longer held any wonder for him.

Even still, he would have been able to cope, but his captors were not finished with him. He returned, after a particularly bad session, one afternoon to find his cell contained a comfortable bed and rich foods. He had been forced to subsist on mostly rancid meat or tasteless gruel to this point. He gorged himself on the fare until he was sick. Then he gorged himself some more. He slept better than he had since arriving, and when the morning came, there was no familiar banging on his cell door. Two more days, he lounged in his new comfort. Each day saw better food laid at his table. He thought his ordeal was over. Then the third day arrived, and he was awakened by the banging once more.

He was stronger than he had been in a long time, and he was feeling more like himself. He fought with his captors again. Again they used only enough force to tire him. He was sure he had managed to kill one of them and was expecting to be punished for that if nothing else. They seemed to take no notice. With that, the cycle began again. Only this time, there were pain-free days, and the occasional night in a proper bed with good food. He never knew which day it would be. The sequence was so random that he could never discover a pattern. He just had to wake up and hope today would be the day or return to his cell, hoping tonight would be the night. He did not know how long this had gone on, but he no longer looked forward to his brief respites.

Eventually, something inside him broke. He stopped resisting and allowed himself to be led to whatever awaited him. He lay willingly on the table when it was time to be cut, waited patiently when it was time be placed on the spit and meekly allowed himself to be tied to the rack. On those rare days when no one came for him, he sat quietly on his bed, not moving at all. Nights spent in luxury were wasted on him now, as well. He ate very little of the food, and the bed seemed no more comfortable than the floor he was accustomed to. The only hope that remained to him now was that his captors would tire of toying with him and kill him, and he was getting impatient. He felt the blade begin a new line, and the final piece of resistance left him.

“Please,” he croaked. “Please kill me.” His throat was so dry, and the words so weak, he wasn’t sure he had even spoken aloud.

“Excellent,” said a voice from the shadows. Taian stepped forward. “This took far longer than I was expecting. I was beginning to think I would have to make things truly uncomfortable for you.”

Taian stepped up to the table and placed a hand on Alec’s leg. The wounds disappeared, and the pain he never really felt dissipated.

“The time has come at last for us to move things along,” Taian said with a grin.

When Alec was led away, it was not to his familiar cell. He and his guards walked through a series of hallways that were ornately decorated. His feet traveled across thick carpets instead of bare stone, and the entire area was bathed in warmth. From time to time, he could feel the warm air being pushed out of small holes in the wall. It would have been a pleasant walk if his mind could have comprehended such a thing. As it was, it felt no different than the walk to his cell did.

The guards led him to a large apartment. It was divided into three rooms, with the bedroom being the largest. It was just as ornately decorated as the halls had been, and the bed was massive. There was a wardrobe and a large washstand along with a comfortable looking set of chairs. As was his custom, he went to the bed and sat. When fatigue finally overtook him, he simply lay back and went to sleep.

The morning came and went without the usual banging, so he spent the day on the bed. He stirred only when food was brought, but he ate mechanically. When he was finished, he returned to the bed. The next day followed the same pattern, and then the next day did the same. He spent an entire week uninterrupted before his mind recovered enough to process thoughts more complicated than eat and sleep. The first thought it hit upon was that this was too good to be true.

When the eighth day began with a loud knock on the door, he knew he had been right. He sat on the bed and waited for his captors to come and lead him away. The knock came again, but he continued to sit. The knock came a third time more loudly. He had no idea what he was supposed to do, so he stayed put. He heard the door open and stood with his hands at his side. A man in white livery stomped into the room.

“The next time I knock at that door, I expect you to open it,” he said.

The words rolled through Alec’s mind like so much nonsense. He allowed himself to be led away once more. The halls they traveled could have been the same ones as the day before, or they could be in a different country for all the notice he took. He walked subserviently alongside the man in white. The man was speaking rapidly, but he understood none of the words. They approached a large door and walked out into a large courtyard. Alec recoiled at the blinding daylight. He tried to cover his face, but it was impossible to block the searing brightness. For the first time since he asked to be killed, he had a defensive impulse. He turned and ran back into the hall.

The man in white chased him down and grabbed his arm. He led him back into the courtyard. Alec did not possess enough defiance to resist, so he closed his eyes and covered them with his free hand. Even through the barrier of his flesh, the light burned. So this was to be his next torture, he thought. He waited, but nothing more happened. He was allowed to stand there with his hands over his eyes for a time. He felt a tug and walked eagerly to the dimly lit hall. The man in white led him back to his room, all the while nattering on about something. He had the notion that the man was upset and was sure he should understand what he was saying. He simply could not process the words.

The next day, the knock came again at the door. He sat on the bed, pondering what to do. He was sure the man had told him something the day before. The knock came again, and then a third time. The man in white came into the room.

“I told you to open that door the next time I knocked,” he said.

He mimicked, knocking, and pointed to the door. Alec understood. He was supposed to be at the door when the knock came. He was led again to the courtyard. This time the light was not as painful, but he still could not open his eyes. Maybe if he were at the door tomorrow, the man would stop bringing him here. When he returned to his room this time, he did not go to the bed. He lay on the floor before the door. If that is where the man wanted him to be, then that is where he would be.

When the man knocked on the door the following morning, Alec stood and waited for him to open it. This time, the man ran into him when he entered the room. He did not say anything. He led Alec to the courtyard once more. This time, Alec found that he could open his eyes. The courtyard was breathtaking. Columns surrounded a large dining area, and everywhere that wasn’t paved stone was covered in lush green grass. It took Alec a moment to realize he was able to appreciate the beauty. His mind seemed to be finally catching up.

“I’m supposed to open the door,” he said. It was such a ludicrously simple thought, and yet, it amazed him.

“Yes,” said the man in white. “I would appreciate that very much.”

The words still seemed to come to him in a jumble, but he found that he understood the concept. When he was led back to his room this time, he made sure to pay attention to as many details as possible. It gave him a headache, but he felt like he was coming out of a haze. With every new sight, his mind moved a little faster. A new thought came to him. He was famished. When his next meal came, he ate it and found that he enjoyed it. The emotion made him weep. He had not felt anything close to joy in a very long time.

For the next few days, he was led to the courtyard. As his eyes grew more accustomed to the light, he was allowed to explore the area. He found that he fatigued quickly, though. Each day, however, it took longer for fatigue to set in. The real work, though, was happening in his head. He was starting to remember who he was. It would happen sporadically, but memories would come back. Childhood memories would be followed by memories of his time in the military or time spent with his father. Then, he remembered Aedon. For the first time since his recovery started, he felt anger. Aedon was responsible for all the torment he had gone through. Aedon was why he was here at all. He picked up the dish he was currently eating from and flung it across the room.

“Where can I find Taian?” He said to the man in white the next morning.

“You have found me,” Taian said.

Alec’s vision had been blocked by the man in white, so he had not seen Taian standing off to one side. Now that he saw him, he wished he hadn’t. He remembered his first meeting now, and his master’s looks had not improved.

“What do you plan to do with me?” He asked.

Taian tisked. “My, you do have spirit, don’t you. I plan to do with you whatever I like. For now, that is breakfast.”

The three of them walked to the courtyard and sat at the table amid the towering columns. They did not speak as they ate. The man in white acted as the server for them both, and when the meal was done, Taian stood.

“What an illuminated meal,” he said. “Jonathon will see to what needs to be done next.”

He left, leaving Alec and the man in white alone.

“Jonathon?” Alec asked, nodding to the man.

“Indeed I am,” he responded. “Please follow me.”

He walked to the edge of the courtyard, and Alec noticed a small rack holding several swords. There were also suits of light leather armor propped up against stands.

“What are these for?” Alec asked.

“They are for you. Pick which suits you best, then we will work on the armor.”

The blades looked to be exceptional quality. He wished he had his own back, though. He selected one at random and swung it a few times. The balance was superb. The length was just right too.

“This one,” he said.

“Very well,” Jonathon said. “Now, let us see if we can find some armor to fit you.”

That task took a little longer. He had lost a great deal of weight, and the first set he tried fit him poorly. He had to piecemeal several of the suits together to create one that fit correctly, and when he had it on, he felt whole. Jonathon clapped his hands, and two men entered the courtyard. They were both armored and carrying swords of their own. One of the men stepped forward and took a ready stance.

“I suggest you defend yourself,” Jonathon said.

That was all the warning Alec got. The man lunged at him with a quick thrust. Alec had always been an excellent swordsman, and the defense came to him quickly. He spun his blade in a wide arc and deflected the attack. The man allowed his sword to be diverted and struck out with one leg. Alec turned his arcing defense into a full circle and brought the blade down. It struck the man’s leg just below the knee. The edge was obviously very sharp because he felt it hit the bone. The familiar jarring of impact ran up the blade into the hilt. Under normal circumstances, this would have been no problem, but he was still weak, and the blade sprang free from his grip. His attacker was in no mood to continue the fight, however.

“Very good,” Jonathon said. “Let’s see if your next opponent fares better.”

The second man faced Alec. His first fight had lasted all of a few seconds, but he was already winded. If this one lasted much longer, he was not sure he would survive. It didn’t. The man charged Alec in a blind rush. Alec sidestepped the charge and thrust his sword into the man’s back. He felt it deflect off a rib before piercing the man’s lung. He was breathing very hard now and hoped there would not be a third opponent. Jonathon clapped enthusiastically.

“Oh, yes, we are going to have fun!” He shouted. “That is enough for today.”

Alec wiped his sword off and thrust into its scabbard. He glared at Jonathon.

“And what was the point of that?” He asked. “To see if I could kill two fools?”

“You have not killed them yet,” Jonathon said.

The two men were writhing on the ground. The second, at least, would be dead shortly. It would take longer for the first, but he would eventually bleed out if he did not receive attention.

“It’s just a matter of time,” he said.

“Do you think it is wise to leave men alive on the battlefield?” Jonathon asked.

“This isn’t a battlefield,” he said. “It isn’t even an arena. If you want those men to die before their time, then do it yourself.”

“If you wish,” Jonathon said. “I suppose another month in the dungeon won’t set us back that far. Though the master will be displeased. He was only annoyed before.”

If what he had endured was annoyed, he did not want to experience displeasure. He walked to the rack and drew another sword. He had already cleaned his, after all. With two deliberate swipes, he cut the throats of both men. He tossed the sword to the ground and walked away.

“If we are done for the day, I’ll be in my room.” He said.

He was a little surprised when Jonathon did not try to stop him.