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Rebirth 5

AS A SEEKER

Dusk Peterson

The year 356, the tenth month.
 

Some historians have argued in recent years that the first High Seeker of the Eternal Dungeon deserves little or no credit for the astounding improvements in the handling of criminals that took place during his lifetime. A man who began his life as a murderer and rapist, and who capped his achievements by going mad, does not merit the praise he has been given. Or so the argument goes.

Whichever side one takes in this debate over who did what, it is important to point out that what united the Seekers of the Eternal Dungeon's Golden Age is more important than what divided them – for one quality all Seekers shared. Much as modern historians would like to turn their heads in shame from this period, it is in the tale of Layle Smith's mental illness that we must seek the most shining example of this quality. . . .

—Psychologists with Whips: A History of the Eternal Dungeon.
 

CHAPTER ONE

The body flopped down, its limbs sprawling asunder as it fell. It landed with a shudder, then lay still, its eyes staring blankly toward the ceiling.

Cursing, Weldon Chapman reached down and pulled the dead chicken back into the basket from which it had fallen. If the inhabitants of the Eternal Dungeon must pile gifts at this doorway, he wished that they would at least have sense enough to give food that was cooked. Already the chicken was beginning to smell.

Pushing aside the basket with the unplucked chicken, he picked up a basket containing fruit and cheese and knocked lightly upon the door facing the outer dungeon. Beyond the door he heard nothing except silence, but the door swung open almost immediately to reveal a Seeker, his black hood hiding his face. Weldon noted the smooth youthfulness of the hand resting upon the doorpost.

He felt almost dizzy at the sense of being plunged into his past, but the memory cut off abruptly as the Seeker lifted his face-cloth, revealing himself to be Elsdon Taylor. Elsdon smiled at him – a weary smile – and gestured him into the plainly furnished Seeker's cell.

Weldon was about to raise his own face-cloth – a privilege of his friendship with the junior Seeker – when he noticed a second figure in the cell, sitting in a chair facing the door to the inner dungeon, his back to Weldon. His arms lay motionless upon the rests of the armchair.

"Is he . . . ?" Weldon could not finish the soft question aimed at Elsdon.

"He is alive," came the cool answer from the armchair, "and would appreciate your not acting as though he's a corpse."

Weldon became aware that he was still clutching the food basket. He thrust it onto a nearby book-counter and said, "I apologize, sir. I thought you were asleep."

"You did not. You thought I had gone mad. Well, I haven't. Not yet." The tall figure rose and turned toward Weldon. His face was naked.

Weldon felt his heart beat hard and wished he could remember, from his schooldays, the Vovimian curse of the torture-god. This honor of seeing the High Seeker naked-faced had nothing to do with the High Seeker's feelings for him, he reminded himself. Weldon was there as a carekeeper, and as such, the High Seeker must raise his face-cloth to him, in the same manner that he would raise his face-cloth to the dungeon healer. Layle Smith's intimate gesture had nothing to do with what had happened ten years ago. Nothing at all.

Layle – Weldon always thought of him as just Layle, even after all these years – gestured him into a seat, and Weldon realized belatedly that he had not responded to the High Seeker's bitter remark. Once Weldon was seated, the High Seeker returned to the armchair, which Elsdon had unobtrusively turned round for him. It was not the austere, straight-backed chair upon which the High Seeker had sat ten years before, Weldon realized. Instead, it had all the marks of being a comfortable chair Layle had obtained for his love-mate during the two years since Elsdon moved into the High Seeker's cell. That shook Weldon as nothing else here had.

Elsdon himself did not sit down. Instead he carried the basket over to the small serving area at the end of the sitting room and began unpacking it, keeping his back to the conversation. Layle, as usual, made no soft preliminaries.

"I approved to the Codifier your offer to help Mr. Taylor," he said, "but I cannot say I am happy about adding to your work hours. I have left you with a heavy enough burden as it is."

Weldon gave a small smile, then realized that Layle could not see it. Sweet blood, what must Layle think of him, leaving his face-cloth down after so generous a gesture? He pulled the cloth up with fumbling fingers, slipped it under the clips at the top of his head, and said, "Not so great a burden as you might think, sir. I'm not the High Seeker, after all. Any important decisions are awaiting your return." Too late, he wondered whether the thought of all this labor would break the High Seeker further. He added quickly, "Though the Codifier is able to take care of most such decisions in your absence. My job seems to consist solely of sitting around doing documentwork. I might as well sign papers here as at – the office."

He had nearly said, "your office," but decided in time that it would not help to remind Layle that the High Seeker's office lay empty of its true owner. The collection of gifts outside the door must be a painful enough reminder to Layle that the Eternal Dungeon was in a state of abnormality.

"You've done this work before." Elsdon's voice was slightly muffled. He was still turned toward the serving counter, sorting the food.

For a moment, Weldon could have cursed the young man for reminding Layle of this. The last time the High Seeker had been suspended from his duties, it had been for assaulting a prisoner. But then Weldon saw Layle's body relax at this reminder that the day supervisor of his dungeon was a competent substitute for the High Seeker. Of course, Weldon thought to himself. Elsdon knows Layle Smith. He knows Layle better than I do.

Layle persisted, though, saying, "I'm not pleased that you're neglecting your duties to your prisoners."

"I'm between prisoners at the moment, sir," Weldon responded. "Besides, my primary duty is to see that you get better and return to work."

The words echoed in his head, and he realized with dismay that they were all too close to words he had spoken ten years before. He waited rigidly to be ordered from the High Seeker's cell, but his tension was broken by laughter. "I rather think," said Elsdon, coming forward and placing a bowl full of cut fruit upon the High Seeker's knee, "that your task is to keep a certain frenzied young Seeker from having to search out the services of a mind healer."

For a moment, the horror of Elsdon's remark so overwhelmed Weldon that he forgot to breathe. Then he saw the faintest shadow of a smile touch Layle's lips, and he cursed himself again. The junior Seeker was skilled; Weldon had learned that when he had taken over Elsdon's training during Layle's earlier suspension. It had not occurred to him then that Elsdon's talent for knowing which light-hearted remark would reassure a prisoner could be extended into his private life.

Layle ignored the bowl on his knee, saying, "Mr. Taylor's burden is indeed a great one, and I'm grateful to you for being willing to lift it at least a little. He has been receiving broken sleep for the past fortnight—"

"Because you won't tell me when you wake up!" Elsdon sat down abruptly at Layle's feet and frowned up at the High Seeker. It was an incongruous image: a subservient posture joined with an expression that could only be held by someone who had mastery over his love-mate. It confirmed everything Weldon had already guessed about the nature of the relationship between these two.

He shifted uneasily in his chair.

Layle ignored him; his gaze was fastened upon Elsdon. "There is no need for you to share my pattern of sleeplessness. I have no duties at the moment; you have duties to your prisoner."

Weldon held his breath in the next moment, but Elsdon simply replied, "And how well do you think I can do my duties, going into my prisoner's cell each day, knowing that you won't care for yourself while I'm gone? If you refuse to let me share your sleeplessness, then all the gods of Vovim must know what else you're refusing to share with me."

Again the touch of a smile edged Layle's lips. For Weldon, it was like seeing a miracle occur twice in one day. "I doubt that the gore-loving gods of Vovim will take much notice of you. If I have any hope at all, it lies in that fact." Then, as though suddenly aware that he was stripping himself in the presence of a stranger, he turned his gaze back to Weldon and said, "Mr. Taylor refuses to follow common sense in this matter, so your duty will be to sit with me whenever I awake and keep me company until I feel ready to sleep."

Weldon nodded and was searching for a commonplace response to make when he felt his stomach jolt. The High Seeker had leaned forward. His green eyes were glitter-cold.

One of the jokes of the Eternal Dungeon was that Layle Smith had designed the Seekers' hoods, and that he had done so for the sole purpose of forcing prisoners to focus their attention upon his cold eyes. It was a joke that inevitably brought nervous laughter.

The High Seeker's voice was cold as well. "One other duty you have, and I cannot overstress how important this is. Under no circumstances shall you allow me to leave this cell, unless I am accompanied by Mr. Taylor. My day and night guards are presently quartered in the rooms opposite to this one, in the outer dungeon. If I should attempt to leave here without Mr. Taylor, you are to call upon them for assistance to restrain me. That is an order."

Weldon dared not look toward Elsdon. Such a gesture would only remind the High Seeker that he was presently stripped of his power to give orders. Instead he said, "I understand, sir." Then he added more lightly, "It will be a relief to me to have you close at hand. Every day, matters come up that I wish I could receive your advice about."

Layle settled back into his chair; his expression had returned to its normal coolness. Weldon chanced a glance at Elsdon, who had pulled the fruit bowl from Layle's knee to prevent it from falling when the High Seeker leaned forward, but Elsdon kept his gaze averted from Weldon.

"What sort of problems have you been facing?" Layle asked.

"Small matters, not enough to bother the Codifier with. But . . . Well, take the matter of Mr. Rowan. Do you remember the prisoner you assigned him last month?"

Layle nodded. "A difficult man to search. How are matters proceeding there?"

"Ill, sir; the prisoner physically attacked Mr. Rowan yesterday. I gave Mr. Rowan permission to place the prisoner upon the rack, as all methods short of brute force seem to be failing to work. Mr. Rowan has asked leave to take the prisoner up to level ten on the rack. I know that you don't usually allow Seekers to take prisoners that high . . ."

His voice trailed off. He had seen the look in Layle's eyes. He waited for Layle's attention to return to him; then he realized, with a twist of the stomach, that it would not.

Layle's gaze was focussed, but not on him – not on anything in this room. He stared at that which was beyond the sight of the other men in the room, his eyes dancing slightly. His breath had grown rapid.

Elsdon rose slowly to his feet. He bent over and placed his hand on the High Seeker's shoulder, saying softly, "Layle . . . we have a guest."

For a breathless moment, nothing happened. Then the High Seeker blinked rapidly, as though he were emerging from deep water. Weldon looked away, trying to pretend that he had not been staring.

"I apologize, Mr. Chapman." The High Seeker's voice was abnormally deep; it was the voice he usually reserved for prisoners he was breaking. "I am sorry to have left you so abruptly. I'm sure you understand, though, that it was in the best interests of the dungeon for me to do so."

"Layle, that's folly!" Abandoning the fruit bowl to a table nearby, Elsdon dropped to his knees and took hold of the High Seeker's hands. "If you won't listen to me, listen to Mr. Bergsen! He says that you're endangering yourself by continuing to retreat further into your dreamings."

"Better that I should be endangered than that the other inhabitants of the dungeon should be." Layle's voice was crisp as he fixed Elsdon with his cool gaze. "And you of all people should know how great that danger is."

Elsdon opened his mouth, then pressed his lips tight together in a thin line, like a father whose anger has grown so great that he dare not continue scolding his child. After an awkward pause, the High Seeker said, "I'm rather tired. Mr. Chapman, if you will excuse me . . ."

"No need for you to ask permission to depart, sir," Weldon replied. "This is your home."

He hoped that Layle would take the hint. He had always found Layle's insistence upon formality to be oppressive. Layle was the sole Seeker who, when locked in a room filled only with fellow Seekers whom he had known for nearly twenty years, would not raise his face-cloth. Now, listening to Layle address him in formal language only seconds after he had linked eyes with Elsdon in the most intimate manner, Weldon thanked the fates that he had not been born with violence in his soul. He doubted he could have resisted the impulse to use it by now.

Which led to more unpleasant thoughts. He watched as the High Seeker silently disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him; then Weldon turned his attention to Elsdon. The junior Seeker rose to his feet with torpid movements. Taking the bowl of fruit over to the counter, he slid onto the stool there and buried his face in his hands.

Weldon came up behind him and placed his hand upon Elsdon's back, but when the junior Seeker raised his head, Weldon could think of nothing to say but, "You should sleep too."

Elsdon gave a half-smile. "I was just trying to decide whether it would be worth my effort to prepare some food for myself."

"Let me." Weldon allowed his voice to reveal his relief at finally having a task to do, and Elsdon laughed. He had all the energy of youth, the ability to spring back from weariness and tackle a problem anew. Examining Elsdon out of the corner of his eye, Weldon decided that matters must have reached a crisis indeed if Elsdon was welcoming assistance from him.

Bread lay on the counter. Weldon reached for it, saying, "Where do you keep your knives?"

"You'll have to tear it with your hands. We don't have any knives."

Weldon stopped abruptly in the midst of taking hold of the bread. He looked over at Elsdon, who was reaching for a metal wine bottle. "Is that necessary?" he asked the junior Seeker quietly.

"No. But he thinks it is. He made me get rid of anything here that he might use as a weapon."

Weldon sighed and let the bread drop from his hands. Pulling himself onto the second stool, he leaned onto the counter with his arms and contemplated the lines at the corners of Elsdon's eyes. He had no memory of those lines being there upon the young man's arrival at the Eternal Dungeon.

"Elsdon," he said, "how did this all start? During the time you and the High Seeker have been together, he has seemed more at peace than I have ever seen him before. Why now, of all times?"

Elsdon, trying to pull the cork from the bottle without assistance from a corkscrew, bit his lip before saying, "It started after I returned from Vovim."

Weldon was silent a moment before taking the bottle from Elsdon. "I can imagine that learning of Layle's past was a shock for you. It was a shock for all of us, when he announced the truth upon his return—"

Elsdon shook his head. "It wasn't that. I was shocked, yes, but nothing I learned in Vovim changed my belief that I'd chosen the right man for my love-mate. The change was in Layle."

Weldon reached toward the cups – they were all made of unbreakable pewter, he noticed – and occupied himself with pouring the wine as Elsdon said, "Layle sent me to Vovim, knowing that I would be tortured there. He did it for the sake of the prisoners in Vovim, and he rightly knew that I would have agreed to the mission if I'd known in full what I was facing. That in itself wasn't the trouble. The trouble was that he hadn't told me before I left about his past, and when I learned from my torturer that Layle had gleefully abused prisoners when he was a young torturer in Vovim . . . When my torturer tried to persuade me that Layle had sent me to Vovim in order to murder me . . . All of this made my suffering twice as hard as it should have been."

"Did you tell him this?" Weldon asked, the wine forgotten. Like Elsdon, he was keeping his voice exceedingly low.

Elsdon gave something resembling a laugh. "Does one ever have to tell the High Seeker anything important? He knows, and this knowledge is what has been driving him to retreat from the real world. He has convinced himself that the harm he did me is only the first step in a campaign of destruction that he will inflict upon every inhabitant of this dungeon."

Weldon fingered the wine bottle for a minute before asking, "Do you believe he is a danger?"

Elsdon raised his gaze from the counter. "Do you?"

Weldon did not have to think before shaking his head. "He has been a Seeker for nearly twenty years, and in all that time he has broken from his duties only twice – both times under circumstances that anyone could forgive. If he hasn't lived out his dark past during all these years, I see no reason why he should do so now."

"Tell him that," Elsdon said, rubbing his palms across his face. "He won't listen to me."

"At least he has sense enough to keep you by his side."

"He has tried to send me away." Elsdon's voice was grim. Weldon felt incongruous laughter rise in his chest as he imagined the High Seeker attempting to throw out of his cell this stubborn young man. One might as well try to lift all the rocks of the cavern in which the Eternal Dungeon was housed.

He held back his smile and said, "Elsdon, these dreamings . . ."

"He has always had them, ever since he left Vovim as a young man. It's his mind's way of finding a substitute for the deeds he committed there."

"I'd guessed that. Nobody has ever known in detail what the High Seeker's dreamings are, but since they happen most often when he is torturing prisoners, it's easy enough to guess their dark nature. But now . . . Elsdon, the High Seeker has never before allowed his dreamings to interfere with his work, nor has he needed another person to call him back to this world. In the past, his spells of unawareness lasted no more than the space of a breath or two, and then he would draw back from his dreamings of his own will. That he should have to take healing leave because his dreamings have become so frequent . . ."

Elsdon did not look up from where he sat, hunched over the counter. "If you asked Layle, he would say that he asked the Codifier to suspend him from his duties because he believes that he can no longer control his actions. He believes he is in danger of torturing and raping and murdering every person in the Eternal Dungeon."

"That's what the High Seeker says. And the dungeon healer?"

"Mr. Bergsen says what I say: Layle's only danger is that he is retreating more and more into the dungeon of his dreamings. He is losing his mind, Weldon."

Elsdon's voice ended in a choke. Weldon laid his hand upon the junior Seeker's arm. After a long while he said, "He has you. That's the best guarantee that he won't leave us altogether."

"He has me only half the day. The other half I spend with my prisoner, or doing work connected with my prisoner." Elsdon raised his head and took a deep breath. "I'm planning to ask the Codifier to relieve me of my duties to my prisoner."

Weldon felt a chill enter him. He tried to ignore it for the moment, saying, "I thought your searching of the prisoner was going well."

"I think it is. I know that Layle will be angry with me – he assigned the prisoner to me because he thought I was the best Seeker for the job. But Weldon, I can't let Layle slip further into his dreamings. If putting my prisoner aside can help him . . ."

The chill increased. Weldon reached for the cheese on the counter and said, "Elsdon – did Layle ever tell you how it was that our friendship ended?"

Elsdon was silent a long moment, and then, with the devastating directness that he had shown in his training as a Seeker, he replied, "No. Nor how your love-bond ended."

Weldon swallowed back his next words. He stared down at the cup, dark with wine and with his memories.

Weldon Chapman was ten years older than Layle Smith. As far as he knew during his early years in the dungeon, he was also more experienced in the ways of the world. The High Seeker, judging from his accent, had lived the privileged life of a gentle-born boy during his childhood, while Weldon had been forced to struggle as a commoner.

None of this made any difference when the young High Seeker invited Weldon to his cell two years after Weldon became a Seeker, and announced, without preliminary, that he was in love with Weldon.

Not until much later would Weldon ask himself whether he had been in love with Layle Smith. It seemed an irrelevant consideration. The High Seeker had chosen him, out of all the other Seekers, as his love-mate. Weldon's spirit soared.

It remained at a height for several minutes as the High Seeker spoke of how his love had grown for Weldon and of what he hoped to give him. Layle Smith even went so far as to say that he was honored to learn that Weldon shared his feelings.

Then he asked Weldon whether he would mind being tied up.

The shock that went through Weldon then brought him close to vomiting. Worldly-wise as he was, he knew that such things took place – in brothels and other sordid houses of wickedness. Weldon had certainly witnessed worse than that in the cramped tenement buildings where he had lived as a child. But his parents had been good, upright people who made clear to him that poverty was no excuse for iniquity. Their relationship to one another had been that of pure, gentle love. That they should find it necessary to bind one another in order to make love was a ludicrous idea. That Weldon should take part in such an exercise was a sickening notion.

Because of the friendship they had established several months before, both Weldon and the High Seeker had raised their face-cloths to one another at the start of the conversation. The High Seeker was too good at his work not to be able to read the expression on Weldon's face. There was a long pause, unbroken by Weldon. Then carefully, painstakingly, the High Seeker explained that he thought he might be able to make love to another human being in this way, but in no other way.

Later – far too much later – Weldon would realize the implication behind Layle's words: that the High Seeker had never made love to anyone. At the time, Weldon could only conclude that the High Seeker was gravely ill in the mind and required his assistance. He broke his silence finally to tell Layle eagerly that he would help him to find assistance for his trouble – that he would make arrangements for him to meet with a mind healer so that he could rid himself of these terrible impulses.

Not until ten years later, during a conversation with Elsdon Taylor, would Weldon learn that the first step Layle had undertaken when he arrived at the Eternal Dungeon was to consult with the dungeon healer about ridding himself of his dark desires. With Mr. Bergsen's assistance, Layle had consulted with the finest mind healers in the queendom.

The last mind healer to meet with him, three years after Layle's arrival, had been the Queen's own private healer. The man had finally shaken his head and said that, if Layle wished to break down in both mind and body, he should continue in his present course of trying to rid himself of his desires. Such healings could take place where the desires had come about through trauma or deliberate decision, but it was clear to the royal healer that Layle's desires lay too deep for such change. If he persisted in trying to rid himself of them, he would destroy himself. The only safe course Layle Smith could take, the healer suggested, was to find a way to shape his desires in order to gift others.

This Layle had already trained himself to do in his work, letting his dark desires manifest themselves only when they would help his prisoner. But could he turn his darkness into a form of love?

The High Seeker explained none of this to Weldon. He simply pulled down his face-cloth, thanked Weldon for his consideration, and led him to the door.

It was the last time that Weldon would visit the High Seeker's cell for ten years.

"He made two more tries," Weldon said, staring down at the mess of shreddings that had resulted from his attempts to slice the cheese with a spoon. "First he approached an elderly Seeker – I suppose he thought the man would be less shocked at his proposal. He was right. The man was amused; he spread the story far and wide, embellishing the tale considerably, so as to add to Layle's already formidable reputation as the darkest Seeker in the Eternal Dungeon. Later, when the High Seeker made the most tentative of proposals to a Seeker who was about to complete his training, that Seeker was so terrified by the stories he'd heard about the High Seeker's sexuality that he fled the dungeon, which resulted in an explosion of rumors that the High Seeker had raped him. . . . At least I was discreet. If nothing else."

Elsdon, resting his head upon his arms as he listened, said, "I'm glad you told me this. I'd heard bits of the tale from Layle, but he wouldn't tell me the parts that were private between you two. I'm not sure, though, why you're recounting this now."

"Because," said Weldon, "that wasn't the end of my private relationship with the High Seeker. The day after I spurned his offer of love, he appeared at my door, and when I let him into my cell he raised his face-cloth. I realized afterwards that he had decided that, however painful it might be for him to continue seeing me privately, he had no right to withdraw any part of himself I had not rejected. I had rejected his love, so he offered me his friendship." Weldon took a longer look at the mangled cheese and pushed it aside with a jerk of the hand. "I was fool enough to bring up the topic of his dark desires again. I told him that, if he refused to see a mind healer, I would help him myself – I would spend every minute of my days ridding him of his desire to overmaster his bed partners. As though I had any qualifications for healing. . . . He was polite to me; he told me that would interfere with my duties to my prisoners. I said, 'I don't care. You're more important to me than any prisoner.'"

Elsdon sucked in his breath. Weldon nodded. "He left my cell quicker than a whiplash. That was the end of our friendship. I was angry at first; only gradually did I realize that he'd withdrawn from me as much for my sake as for my prisoners'. He was keeping me from breaking my oath as a Seeker."

Elsdon stared down at the counter, tracing the woodgrain with his finger. He said softly, "I would gladly give up what I have with Layle if it would help him."

"But you know that it would not. You're the only person who knows how to call him back from his dreamings; without you, he would withdraw further into his dreamings. And if you place his interests above that of your prisoner . . ."

Elsdon closed his eyes and nodded. After a while he said, "Thank you, Weldon. Without your advice, I would have made a calamitous decision."

His eyes remained closed. Weldon touched his shoulder and said, "Sleep. If the High Seeker has need of you, I'll wake you."

The junior Seeker nodded and rose to his feet. His movements were lethargic, and he was already covering a yawn before he turned away. Watching him go, Weldon thought to himself that the young man had endured too heavy a weight for too long.

All the more reason for Elsdon not to know that Weldon hated him.

Weldon set to work nibbling at the pile of food that Elsdon had abandoned. It was a shame – a sweetly bloody shame. Elsdon deserved all the praise that could be given for the way in which he supported Layle. He had accepted duties that no one should be asked to undertake toward a love-mate.

It was not Elsdon's fault that he held the place which Weldon could have held. And Weldon would do all he could to prevent Layle's love-mate from guessing what black jealousy poisoned Weldon's feelings for him.

The High Seeker knew. He must know; nothing took place in the Eternal Dungeon that he did not know of. Weldon could guess that this was why he had been accepted as second carekeeper to the High Seeker: because Layle hoped to heal Weldon's injured feelings and jealousy.

For Elsdon's sake. Not Weldon's.

So unworthy a thought was this that Weldon turned away from the counter, seeking some way in which to distract his mind. It occurred to him that he had forgotten to bring documentwork, through which he had planned to occupy the long hours that Layle was asleep. He would have to remedy that the next day. In the meantime, this cell was well stocked with books—

He hesitated on the point of pulling a book off the shelf. Every book before him, he suddenly realized, was about imprisonment or torture. In any other Seeker's cell, he would have regarded these books as professional reading. Not here. What if Layle had lined the margins with private thoughts brought out by his reading? The very thought of what Weldon might read made his skin chill.

Elsdon would know whether it was safe to read the books. Maybe some of these books were his. Any notes from Elsdon about torture, Weldon knew, would be dryly professional. Cautiously he moved toward the door of the bedroom. It was still open a crack; perhaps Elsdon had not yet gone to bed.

Weldon stopped at the doorway. Through the crack he could see the two-person bed at the far end of the bedroom; on it sat Elsdon. He was stripped for bed, and he was cradling Layle, who had his head buried upon Elsdon's shoulder. Weldon could see the bloodline beating lightly in Layle's neck.

Weldon turned away. On second thought, he had no need for a book. What he had just seen would distract him from any reading during the hours to come.

And blacken his night's sleep.
 

CHAPTER TWO

Heads turned as Weldon walked down the corridor. He tried to ignore them. It did no good; he saw one of the dungeon's lamplighters step toward him, eager interest in his face. Weldon gave him an icy stare, as best he could from through his hood. The man took the hint and stepped back. One man conquered; several hundred men and women left.

Another man was headed toward him – this one a Seeker. Bloody blades; a Seeker wouldn't be put off by cold expressions. Weldon turned and began walking in the opposite direction. He could no longer remember where he was headed. It hardly mattered.

He passed a guard. Bracing himself, he looked over at the passerby – a man with quiet eyes, about his own age – but the guard simply nodded a greeting at him and passed.

Weldon turned and caught hold of him. As the guard looked back, Weldon said, "You didn't ask."

"I assumed that if anything important had happened, you would have announced it," the guard replied.

"You're the only one who has assumed that," Weldon said grimly. He glanced round at the peering gazes and decided that an armed guard was just what he needed. "Come walk with me," he said in a low voice to Seward Sobel, the High Seeker's senior night guard. "We can talk on the way to your destination."

"My destination is wandering aimlessly in circles, feeling useless," Mr. Sobel said with a quirk of a smile.

Despite himself, Weldon felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "Mine as well."

They travelled for some time in silence. The dungeon was abnormally quiet; even the prisoners seemed to have caught hold of the atmosphere of waiting. After a while, Mr. Sobel said, "There's no change, then?"

"Only for the worse." Weldon kept his voice soft. He was conscious of eyes following his progress. "He hasn't slept for two days. He has replaced sleep with his dreamings."

Mr. Sobel let out his breath slowly. "Is he in bed now, then?"

Weldon shook his head. "In a prisoner's cell." As Mr. Sobel turned startled eyes toward him, he added, "With Mr. Taylor. Mr. Taylor is continuing to search his prisoner each day, and of course he can't allow Mr. Smith to remain alone during that time."

"Of course," murmured Mr. Sobel. He cast a look at Weldon, and Weldon wondered whether the blackened skin under his eyes showed through the eye-holes of his hood. The guard said, "At least Mr. Taylor has managed to convince him that it's folly to withdraw into his dreamings."

"The knowledge comes too late to be of use to him." Weldon felt his hands tighten. "He can no longer stop himself from entering into his dreamings. They have overmastered him."

This was old news; the guard made no reply. They had taken a dozen more steps before Weldon hissed, "This is my fault."

Mr. Sobel offered a look of query, and Weldon added, "I advised Mr. Taylor two months ago to continue searching his prisoner. I thought it was what the High Seeker wanted. But those long hours while Mr. Taylor is searching the prisoner are the hours when Mr. Smith is most likely to enter into his dreamings. If I had not meddled . . ."

Mr. Sobel, seeing a fellow guard begin to approach, put his hand lightly to his dagger. The other guard raised his eyebrows but stayed back. Mr. Sobel waited until they were beyond the intruder before saying, "Sir, one thing I've learned in my years of working with the High Seeker is that, if he wants something, no power in life or death will hold him from taking it."

"And what he wants is for Mr. Taylor to place the best interests of his prisoner first." Weldon sighed. "Mr. Sobel, am I the only man who finds it ironic that the High Seeker is being unmade by his sense of duty as a Seeker? This is not how one would expect the darkest Seeker of the Eternal Dungeon to destroy himself."

Mr. Sobel was silent a moment before saying, "Perhaps I can talk to him – make him see that the prisoners of the Eternal Dungeon will be far worse off if he is lost than if Mr. Taylor transfers his prisoner to another Seeker."

Weldon said wearily, "You can try. He hasn't spoken to anyone but Mr. Taylor for days, but perhaps he will listen to you. . . . If that bloody prisoner would only confess!" He caught Mr. Sobel's look and said more quietly, "I know – that isn't a Seekerly remark, is it? I ought to be hoping that Mr. Taylor's patient questioning will reveal information that will save his prisoner from the hangman. If the prisoner— What the bloody blades . . . ?"

He had been alerted, not by what stood forth in the corridor, but by Mr. Sobel's hand moving to his dagger. Weldon found himself looking around automatically to see which other guards were close by. That was old training. The last time he had witnessed this scene, a prisoner had murdered his Seeker.

Elsdon Taylor's night guards were not in front of his cell. That in itself was not unusual; the guards might be inside the cell, assisting Elsdon with a punishment. But the junior night guard was standing in front of the cell next door, peering through the tiny watch-hole. As Weldon and Mr. Sobel ran forward, he looked up and said to the Seeker, "Oh, sir, I'm glad you're here! Mr. Taylor told me to call him if there was any change, and I'm not sure—"

Weldon elbowed him aside, and in the next moment he underwent a feeling he had not experienced in twelve years. The last time had been when he was in training, and was placed on the rack.

"Get Mr. Taylor!" he snapped at Elsdon's guard, but when he turned his head, he saw that Elsdon had already left his prisoner's cell and was running forward. Mr. Sobel, the most alert of guards, had finished unlocking the cell in front of which Weldon was standing. The High Seeker's guard waited until Weldon stepped back; then he swung the door open.

By this time, a small crowd had gathered. And so it was that Weldon did not need to issue his next report to the dungeon. Which was just as well; it was a scene he could not have easily put into words.

Elsdon dropped down to one knee before the High Seeker, who was curled in a ball upon the floor. He spoke softly the High Seeker's name and touched his hooded head. The High Seeker turned his eyes toward Elsdon. But the eyes were blurred with visions, and the rest of his body did not move. He remained as he was, staring blankly at Elsdon, as somewhere behind Weldon, one of the onlookers began to sob.

"Fetch Mr. Bergsen," Weldon said quietly to Mr. Sobel, and then he did the only other thing he could: he closed the cell door, leaving the High Seeker alone with his love-mate.

Elsdon Taylor was worried about his prisoner. Though inexperienced as a Seeker, he sensed that the prisoner was reaching a breaking point – but whether it was the breaking point Elsdon sought, he wasn't sure. It might have been the wrong sort of breaking, the type that would drive the prisoner back from all the progress they had made together. And if such a breaking occurred, it would be Elsdon's fault, for allowing the High Seeker to stay in the cell during the prisoner's searching.

The prisoner was terrified of the High Seeker, that was clear. How could he not be, witnessing Layle as he was sucked into his dreamings each day? And so, when Layle shattered in the midst of a searching and flung away his writing board – it landed mere inches from the prisoner – Elsdon knew that he was faced with the crisis he had envisioned in his nightmares: he must choose between helping his prisoner and helping Layle.

When he went over to Layle, the High Seeker whispered to him that he would attack the prisoner in the next moment. Elsdon knew there was no truth to this; if Layle had not attacked anyone by now, he never would. But Layle was frantic to be away from the prisoner, the prisoner was frantic to be away from Layle, and Elsdon had no idea what he should do.

"Lock me in a cell," Layle begged in a whisper. "Now!"

And so Elsdon did. He placed Layle in the neighboring cell and sent his senior day guard to fetch Weldon Chapman. Since Weldon was on duty, the guard should be able to find the senior Seeker within a few minutes. Elsdon debated staying with Layle until then, but Layle was hoarsely exhorting him to return to his prisoner, and Elsdon found himself wondering whether his few minutes' absence from the cell would destroy months' worth of work. And if it did, and he must search the prisoner yet longer, at Layle's expense . . .

He returned to the cell, but not for long. The prisoner's anxiety had grown to such a degree that he refused to permit the searching to continue that day. Under ordinary circumstances, Elsdon would have coaxed him into continuing; a prisoner could not be allowed to decide when he was or wasn't searched. But these weren't ordinary circumstances. Elsdon left the cell, relieved to be able to return to Layle.

He was too late.

Layle Smith's head did not move. It remained turned, at an awkward angle, toward the bedroom doorway, through which could be seen the figures of Elsdon Taylor and the dungeon healer, leaning toward one another as they talked in low voices. Layle, normally a man who could not bear to be talked about without participating in the conversation, stared with glassy eyes at the exchange and remained where he was, seated in the armchair placed in the bedroom.

Weldon realized that he was staring, and tried to occupy himself by examining the night-table where Elsdon had placed Layle's hood. It contained several other items belonging to the High Seeker, lit by the lamp above the bed. In the midst of them lay a familiar black volume.

Weldon flipped open the book and realized, in the next moment, that in this book were the marginal notes that he had dreaded. The notes consisted of a single word, repeated over and over: "Yes."

"The best interests of the prisoner must always be placed first." "Yes." "At all times a Seeker must put aside his own feelings and needs for the sake of the prisoner." "Yes." "A Seeker must be willing to suffer for the prisoners." "Yes, yes, yes."

Weldon looked up at Layle. The High Seeker had shown no interest in this inspection of his private belongings – had not even turned his head to look at Weldon. His gaze remained fixed on Elsdon.

Weldon laid the Code of Seeking softly down, then noticed the pitcher and cup on the night-table. A second glance told him that Layle's lips were cracked and dry.

As the corridor door closed behind the dungeon healer, Weldon poured a cup of water, then stepped over to the High Seeker. Layle did not resist as Weldon lifted the cup to his lips, any more than he had resisted when Weldon and Elsdon had pulled him to his feet in the empty cell and guided him back to his own quarters, through silent, staring crowds of dungeon inhabitants.

"No!" The cry came from the doorway as Weldon began to tip the cup. In the same moment, with a swift blow, Layle knocked the cup from Weldon's hand, drenching Weldon and the floor nearby. Layle's gaze did not move from the doorway.

Elsdon came forward to hand Weldon his dry handkerchief. "He won't drink," he said in a weary voice. "Vovimian torturers won't drink unless they've prepared the drink themselves. The drink might be poisoned."

Weldon looked over at Layle, whose head had finally turned. The High Seeker was watching the progress of the junior Seeker, though Layle's blank eyes saw more than what was in this room. "Did he tell you that?" Weldon asked.

"No," said Elsdon, kneeling down to wipe off the water from Layle's lap. "My torturer did."

Weldon's hand paused in the midst of tossing away the soaked handkerchief. Elsdon's head was bowed as he did his work, but in the light from the bed-lamp, Weldon could see the dark smudges under the other Seeker's eyes. Two days Layle had gone without sleep; two days Elsdon had gone without sleep.

Sweet blood, the young man had undergone too much in life already. Bound and beaten by his father every week for fourteen years; sent to the Eternal Dungeon as a prisoner and placed on trial for his life; tortured and raped in Vovim; and now this. How long would it be before Elsdon also broke down under the weight he was carrying?

Weldon found himself wishing that pity had the power to destroy envy. He could feel the black jealousy still. It was there with each dab of Elsdon's cloth as he wiped Layle's lap; it was there as the junior Seeker rose, leaning upon Layle's motionless arm to support himself; it was there as he pushed back the hair from Layle's eyes. It was there as Layle's gaze remained unwavering upon his love-mate.

Weldon came over to Elsdon and gently forced the junior Seeker to sit down on his bed. Glancing at the High Seeker again, Weldon asked, "Can he hear us?"

Elsdon nodded. His own gaze had not moved from Layle from the moment he had entered the bedroom. "He's like this when we're together. When we make love. He can see us and hear us; he's incorporating bits of our conversation and actions into his dreamings."

Weldon tried to imagine which of his actions during the past few minutes Layle would use; then he felt his stomach roil at the thought. He looked toward the sitting room, but Elsdon, noticing his movement out of the corner of his eye, said softly, "I don't want to leave him by himself. We may be the only thing that's keeping the door open for him between his dreamings and this world."

"My presence or absence is of no importance. You're what's keeping him here." Weldon sat down heavily beside Elsdon on the bed. After several minutes of silence, he asked quietly, "What does Mr. Bergsen say?"

"That he can do nothing more for the High Seeker. That we can only wait. For as long as we have."

"As long as we—?" Weldon's gaze shifted abruptly to the pitcher, sitting abandoned on the floor next to Layle. "Elsdon," he said slowly, "when did he last drink?"

"This evening, before I went on duty." Elsdon's hands were tight fists in his lap. "He wasn't hungry, but I made him drink a cup of water – just in case."

Weldon said nothing more. Elsdon knew how long a man could survive without water; during the young Seeker's training, Weldon had told him the methodology of foreign torturers, since Vovim's torturers used such deprivation as a form of torture. Brief torture.

It was like seeing a hangman walk into the room. So little time left.

For a moment, he envisioned himself pouring water down the throat of the resisting High Seeker; then he shook himself away from that thought. This was not Vovim, where food and drink was forced on those who resisted. Making the High Seeker feel that he was a Vovimian prisoner could well ensure that his mind never returned to this world. Weldon did not have to ask to know that Layle would prefer death to endless madness.

"Can I do anything to help?" Weldon asked, trying to keep desperation out of his voice.

Elsdon nodded, not shifting his eyes from his love-mate. "I need guards at the doors to this cell for the next few hours."

"I'll see that they're set here," Weldon replied promptly. "No one is likely to disturb you, though."

"I need you to give the guards orders that no one, not even themselves, must enter this cell. Not under any circumstances."

Layle's eyes danced, shifting past Elsdon to something behind him. Under the light from the lamp on the wall above the bed, his eyes glowed, like that of a predatory cat.

Weldon said, "Elsdon, this is a matter for the Codifier."

"I spoke to him a few days ago. He gave me permission to take whatever measures I considered necessary – if all else failed."

Elsdon's tone was as weary as before; his own lips were parched. Weldon spent a long moment watching Layle, whose gaze was still caught upon something invisible behind Elsdon. Then Weldon laid his hand on the young man's arm. "I'll set the High Seeker's own guards at duty here," he said quietly. "You won't be disturbed."

Elsdon nodded. As Weldon got up and walked to the door leading to the outer dungeon, he glanced back. Elsdon had not moved. He remained where he was, his gaze fixed upon Layle's dancing eyes.

Weldon felt something touch his envy, nudging it.
 

CHAPTER THREE

Elsdon knelt and reached toward the flap of Layle's trousers. He could feel the sweat turning chill upon his own naked skin and found himself wishing he was back in the cell with the murderer he had been questioning. He had a better chance of surviving such an encounter.

Never before had Elsdon tried to change one of Layle's dreamings once the dreaming had begun. He hoped his experiment would pull Layle's mind out of the dreaming – but what if Layle regarded this as an opportunity to pull Elsdon into the dreaming? Layle could not bring his love-mate's mind into the dungeon where the High Seeker presently dwelt as a Vovimian torturer, but he could certainly duplicate what he was doing there to Elsdon's body.

Elsdon's hands were shaking so much by the time he finished untying the flap that he had to slide them between his legs in an effort to steady them. He looked for a moment at the results of what he had done. He was not surprised to see that Layle's shaft remained flaccid. Despite what everyone in the Eternal Dungeon thought, Elsdon knew that the High Seeker's dark desires were more a matter of the mind than of the body. Layle had once said dryly that the prospect of castration was not as fearful to him as it was to most men, since his dreamings would continue in any case.

But now Elsdon had no choice but to reach the body, for if he could not get the body to respond, then he had no hope of drawing Layle's mind back. His hands were still shaking within his legs. He tried to brace himself with thoughts of the Code of Seeking, as he had on the first day that, as a Seeker, he had walked alone into a prisoner's cell.

He tilted his head to look up at the High Seeker. Elsdon had replenished the oil in the three lamps in the bedroom: the scene before him was as starkly lit as that of a furnace-warmed cell. Layle had not moved since he dashed the cup from Weldon's hand. Some vestige of will held him upright and kept his eyes fastened upon Elsdon, following him wherever he moved in the room. It was the only remaining thread left between Layle and the real world, and if Elsdon did not move forward soon, even this thread might be cut.

Still Elsdon could not make himself lean forward. His whole body was beginning to shake. Sweet blood, was his love of Layle so small as this?

It had been easier the first time.

Elsdon knelt naked at Layle Smith's feet. He had never been so terrified in his life.

He was not scared of the High Seeker. How could he be, when only minutes before he had cradled Layle in his arms as the High Seeker choked out all the words of love he had stored within during his lonely life? No, Layle would not hurt him; Layle was not Elsdon's father. But Layle might lose interest in him, if he learned how ignorant his new love-mate was.

Elsdon felt sweat trickle down his back. He wished now that he had paid more attention to the other boys at school when they gathered in sniggering bunches at recess. His father had never approved of such talk – "Filthy-minded children sullying the purity of marriage," he called it – and so Elsdon had done his best to avoid listening, even though his father never explained to him what pure acts took place in marriage.

He could not avoid overhearing altogether, and so he had a general sense of what happened when a man and woman lay together, and he gathered that matters were not so different when a man and a man lay together. But beyond that . . .

He tilted his head cautiously, looking up at Layle. The High Seeker's pupils were enormous, as though he were absorbing all the light in the world. His gaze remained fixed upon Elsdon; his hand lightly touched the back of Elsdon's head. Layle did not speak. Elsdon wondered what he was seeing. He wondered whether any part of Layle remained in this world. Did Layle even remember that he was there?

His own gaze dropped to the sight before him, and he swallowed. It had been in all his dreamings, to see Layle like this, but he had not imagined doing so on his knees. What the bloody blades was he supposed to do in this position? No doubt any boy at his old school could have educated him. Any other eighteen-year-old would have known what was expected of him, without having to be told.

Not Elsdon, though. He might as well have been a sheltered virgin bride on her wedding night. Any moment now Layle would guess that Elsdon had no idea what he was supposed to do, and then, Elsdon greatly feared, contempt would enter into Layle's expression.

Elsdon had no illusions that Layle would cast him off if that happened. No one else wanted the High Seeker. But Elsdon did not wish to be Layle's love-mate simply because the High Seeker could find no other. He wanted to be worthy of the High Seeker's love, to be a man whom Layle trusted and respected.

Layle remained motionless. He was evidently waiting for Elsdon to do the obvious. Elsdon felt tears prick at his eyes. Any moment now, Layle would guess . . .

"Kiss them."

It took a minute for Elsdon's mind to absorb the fact that Layle had spoken. His voice was deeper than usual, though soft. Elsdon felt panic clutch at him. Kiss them. Kiss them? What the bloody blades did Layle mean? There was only one . . .

Oh. Elsdon's gaze shifted downward slightly, and he felt heat cover his face. No doubt his blush was visible. Layle must be able to see that Elsdon had not understood his instructions. And now that he knew the depths of Elsdon's ignorance . . .

It took all of Elsdon's strength to keep from fleeing the room in shame. He tried to steady himself, drawing long breaths. He knew now what to do. Layle had given him an order. Layle had asked Elsdon's permission beforehand to give him orders. All that Elsdon need do was follow the order. Then another order would come—

It hit Elsdon then, like a lash across the back. He had forgotten, until this moment, that he was a Seeker-in-Training.

The first stages of his training had been the happiest time in his life. The High Seeker had demonstrated no contempt for the fact that Elsdon did not yet know the ways of being a Seeker. On the contrary, Layle had seemed pleased to be able to instruct his student in the Seekers' mysteries. Elsdon guessed that Layle was a born teacher, someone who enjoyed guiding a student onto new paths.

It was no different here. Layle must have guessed Elsdon's ignorance – perhaps that was even part of Elsdon's appeal to him. Men like bedding virgins, someone had told Elsdon not long before. Layle above all, for this would give him the opportunity to guide Elsdon onto new paths. And Elsdon need not try to guess what he should or shouldn't do. Layle would tell him.

"You needn't do this if you would prefer not to."

Layle's voice was so soft that Elsdon could barely hear him. Looking up, Elsdon saw that Layle's eyes remained opaque. But the High Seeker's hand had begun to gently stroke his hair. He was awaiting Elsdon's answer.

At that moment, Elsdon felt desire enter so strongly into him that he could not breathe. Wherever else Layle might be, he was also here, in this room, filled with concern for his love-mate. He was here, ready to instruct if his love-mate wished, or ready to pull back if Elsdon wanted, even though it meant returning to a life of celibacy. Everything that would happen here was Elsdon's choice, and he knew that he need do nothing but give his consent. Layle would do the rest.

Elsdon smiled up at the High Seeker. "I don't want to stop," he told his love-mate.

Then kiss them. Kiss the most vulnerable part of me. I trust you not to hurt me or despise me.

Layle did not speak the words. He did not need to. Feeling his desire take him prisoner once more, Elsdon leaned forward to follow Layle's order.

This wasn't working. Layle was not responding, either in body or mind; he sat motionless, his gaze fixed upon Elsdon as his love-mate knelt between his knees. Whatever Layle was seeing was being drawn into the dungeon of his dreaming. He was not being drawn back.

Which left Elsdon with only one recourse. Wiping the sweat from his palms onto his equally sweaty legs, he paused, his head bowed, sucking in deep breaths. He could do this. He had done it once before for Layle; he could do it again.

But Layle had not been present on the previous occasion. That made all the difference.

Elsdon realized finally that his terror would not subside; he must drive himself onward, despite the sickness in his stomach. Rising to his feet, he walked over to the bed, leaned over the top right-hand corner of the hard mattress, and pulled from its hiding place the rack-strap he had tied to the bed leg four days before.

As he laid its free end upon the bed, he had a moment to remember the bemusement he had felt during the early days of his training, when he first realized that the abuse he had undergone at his father's hands made him uniquely qualified for his work as a Seeker. Not even Layle knew as much about bindings as Elsdon did: which bindings tightened when sweat shrank them, which bindings cut off all blood and ran the risk of killing hands and feet, which bindings were strong but soft. His father had tried various bindings on him over the years, seeking the ones that would hurt him least; with the distance of compassion, Elsdon could be grateful for that now. Layle had plumbed him for his knowledge, then had ordered the straps of the racks changed accordingly, to lessen the danger of permanent injury to the prisoners.

Elsdon glanced at the inside of the strap's cuff, which was padded to provide flexibility as the rack tightened. It was a mercy no Vovimian torturer would offer his prisoner, and Elsdon hoped this would not prove a problem. But if Layle's dreaming could turn the bed into a rack, presumably it could turn Yclau straps into Vovimian ones.

Elsdon finished pulling the fourth strap from its hiding place and paused to look down. He wondered again whether he should supply a gag. It would be hard to remain silent on his own, but he knew from experience that a gag was far more dangerous a piece of equipment than any other. Even the Vovimian torturers did not use it. His father had, and Elsdon had nearly died one night when his nose grew so stuffed from his sobbing that he could barely breathe through it. No, he would have to depend on his will to keep back the screams.

He returned to where Layle sat, watching the preparations without apparent interest. Elsdon gently pulled the High Seeker to his feet. Layle swayed slightly but remained upright. Then Elsdon carefully removed Layle's clothes. The High Seeker liked to stay half-dressed during their lovemaking, in the manner of the King's Torturers, but Elsdon had never been certain how Layle managed to keep his unbelted trousers from slipping to his ankles during his most vigorous movements. Elsdon was not sure that Layle would know how to accomplish the trick in this state.

Elsdon was shaking again long before he finished. He pulled the belt from Layle's trousers, then dropped the trousers on the floor and placed the belt in Layle's hand. Layle clutched it in an automatic manner, like a child given his favorite toy. The bed-lamp light had died out by now; under the remaining light in the room, Layle's eyes were opaque.

"Love," Elsdon said softly, "you don't need to remain in your dreamings. Whatever it is that you're doing to me there, you can do to me here. I give you my permission. I'd rather have you here, doing whatever it is you're drawn to do, than have you away from me. Do you understand?"

There was no reply. Elsdon waited a moment, his gaze linked with Layle's glassy gaze. Then he turned and walked to the bed. He had to walk quickly; his knees were ready to give way.

He placed one of the pillows in the middle of the bed, then lay stomach-down, with his groin upon the pillow. It was an awkward position, but he could guess how Layle would want to finish his session. Elsdon spread his arms and legs as though they were wings, then turned his head to look back.

He felt his skin jump as he did so. Without sound, Layle had followed him to the bed; he was standing there now, looking down. His gaze slid across his love-mate's body, like an ember scalding Elsdon's skin. The belt was no longer in his hands.

Elsdon felt his stomach tighten as he realized this. He had hoped that Layle would take the hint from being handed the belt; Elsdon knew well enough that he had cleared the cell only of such items as an ordinary man might use as weapons. Layle was not an ordinary man. He was the most skilled torturer in the world, far more gifted than the man who had tortured Elsdon in Vovim. This would be worse.

Elsdon squeezed his eyelids shut at this thought. A moment later, he felt Layle's hand touch his right wrist, and then the cuff slid over his hand, tightening as Layle adjusted the length of the strap. Elsdon kept his eyes closed, breathing slowly. Since his return from Vovim, he had relived a thousand times inwardly the final day of his capture, when Master Aeden had succeeded in breaking him through nothing more than a binding. The ease of his breaking had humiliated Elsdon; he had been determined to train his mind to be stronger.

The fourth strap was tightened, causing his body to grow so taut that the part of him that remained with his childhood wondered whether anyone would be able to untie the knots afterwards. He was panting now, struggling to keep all sounds within him. He could feel the strain upon his arms and legs, his shoulder-blades and hips, but these sensations came to him dimly through the horror of feeling himself bound again.

He opened his eyes, hoping that the sight of Layle's blank eyes would remind him of why he was doing this. He found that Layle was standing next to the bed, frowning slightly, as though trying to recall something important. Layle's gaze glided over him again, lingering upon the mutilations left on his flesh from his father's beatings. The High Seeker's shaft began to stir.

Elsdon, gulping in air with light moans, felt a stillness fall over his soul. He waited.

Layle's eyes did not change, but in the next moment he spoke. "No," he said slowly, in the manner of a professional reaching a conclusion about his work. "No, this isn't right." He reached upward.

The sound of an explosion followed. Plaster and sawdust fell upon Elsdon as he sucked in more air, causing him to choke and cough. He twisted in his bonds, trying to see what Layle had done. Then he heard a shattering and caught a glimpse of the broken lamp upon the floor.

The High Seeker bent his body. When he rose again, he was delicately holding a piece of jagged glass.

It took a moment for Elsdon to realize what Layle was about to do; then Elsdon could no longer hold back his cries. "No!" he screamed, his voice choking on the words. "No, please, Layle, don't do that! Please, please, anything but that, please, no—!"

Layle took no heed of him. Leaning over with the glass, he carefully cut the straps, freeing Elsdon from his bonds. Elsdon sobbed uncontrollably. He could do nothing but lie limply as Layle sat down on the bed and pulled him into his arms.

Layle's own body was limp; his arms lay loosely around Elsdon. "Yes," he said, as though in response to Elsdon's cries of protest. "A Seeker must be willing to suffer for the prisoners. Yes, yes, yes."

He continued to chant the words, as though they were a prayer to his gods, while Elsdon sobbed into his shoulder. The High Seeker's eyes were now fixed, not on his love-mate, but on the black volume upon the night-table. His arms remained slack around Elsdon.

After a while, the chant ended.

The Eternal Dungeon remained still. Weldon's footsteps were the only sound as he walked down the corridor leading from the outer dungeon to the inner dungeon. The furnaces along this corridor, normally tended day and night, had been allowed to die down on this one evening. This evening that would decide the future of the Eternal Dungeon.

Weldon could not bring himself to look straight at Layle Smith's night guards until he reached them. He had already passed the High Seeker's day guards, blocking the entrance to the High Seeker's cell from the outer dungeon, and what he had seen in their expressions had been enough to drive away from him all thoughts of remaining at his documentwork for a few hours more.

Now, as he came to a halt and raised his eyes, he saw that the junior night guard was so white in the face that he looked ready to keel over. Mr. Sobel's eyes remained quiet, but his muscles were rigid. He looked at Weldon without speaking.

"How has it been?" Weldon forced himself to ask.

"Silent, sir." Mr. Sobel's voice was as rigid as his body. "We haven't heard anything for several hours."

Weldon felt his own body go taut. "And what did you hear before?"

Mr. Sobel told him, and by the time he was through, Weldon could feel sweat tickling his torso. The junior guard, Mr. Urman, barely waited for Mr. Sobel to finish before saying rapidly, "I thought we should enter when we heard that. But Mr. Sobel said we mustn't—"

"Quite right." Stripped of all other strength, Weldon sought to maintain authority in his voice. "You were both under orders. Anything that has taken place inside is my responsibility." He looked toward the door, imagined opening it, and his remaining courage fled.

He looked over at Mr. Sobel. The guard's eyes flicked away from the latch, which he had been eyeing. Weldon cleared his throat and said, "Will you accompany me, Mr. Sobel?"

"Certainly, sir." Relief, rather than apprehension, coated the senior guard's voice. Weldon could guess that, for a man of Mr. Sobel's training, standing by waiting was more painful than witnessing the worst. The guard turned and lifted the latch.

Weldon was several steps inside the cell before he realized that it was quite possible that Mr. Sobel's strength alone would not be enough. Weldon halted within the sitting room, indecisive. The door to the bedroom was closed, but for a small gap. No sound emerged from the room; it was as silent as death. Perhaps its inhabitants were merely sleeping.

He felt a touch upon his arm after another minute and realized that the senior guard was awaiting him. With his eyes fixed upon the door to the silent room, Weldon murmured, "I was just realizing that I feel no envy whatsoever for Elsdon Taylor."

Mr. Sobel said nothing. When Weldon turned his eyes toward the guard he saw that Mr. Sobel's dagger was in his hand; his other hand lay upon the coiled whip at his hip. It seemed the most natural gesture in the world to Weldon at that moment. He looked back at the door and drew a deep breath. If the inhabitant of the bedroom – the inhabitants, he told himself furiously – had heard his voice, he and Mr. Sobel no longer had the advantage of surprise. They must move swiftly.

He walked forward rapidly, with Mr. Sobel far enough apart from him to be able to wield his whip if it should become necessary. With one thrust, Weldon opened the bedroom door. Then he paused at the entrance. His breath hissed out slowly.

Through the doorway he could see the two-person bed at the far end of the bedroom; on it sat Elsdon. He was stripped for bed, and he was cradling Layle, who had his head buried upon Elsdon's shoulder. Weldon could see the bloodline beating lightly in Layle's neck.

Weldon heard Mr. Sobel draw out a long breath; the guard's dagger whispered as it stole back into its sheath. Weldon felt his muscles relax.

Then his breath caught. Elsdon had raised his head, and his eyes were those of a prisoner who has endured a long racking.

Elsdon whispered, "He is gone."

As he spoke, Layle shifted in his arms, slipping out of Elsdon's grasp. He flopped down, his limbs sprawling asunder as he fell. He landed with a shudder, then lay still, his eyes staring blankly toward the ceiling.

. . . Much as modern historians would like to turn their heads in shame from this period, it is in the tale of Layle Smith's mental illness that we must seek the most shining example of this quality. I refer, of course, to the Seekers' willingness to suffer for their prisoners.

In the archives of the Eternal Dungeon lie two lists, bound as books. The first list consists of the names of Seekers who were permanently suspended from their work due to disability or death from natural or accidental causes. The list is quite long, as might be expected from an era when medicine was primitive.

The second list is similar to the first, but the disabilities and deaths of this second group of Seekers were not natural or accidental; rather, they were directly caused by duties undertaken by the Seekers. This second list is twice as long as the first.

On the twelfth month of the year 356, the Eternal Dungeon's Record-keeper added to the second list the name of Layle Smith. We may never know what duties Layle Smith undertook as a Seeker that led to the breaking of his mind. But perhaps a clue lies in the oft-quoted and mysterious statement made afterwards by the Seeker Weldon Chapman: "Layle Smith had a choice whether to go mad, and he chose as a Seeker."

—Psychologists with Whips: A History of the Eternal Dungeon.

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