by Aaron Bunce
The constable reached into the box next and pulled out the large, silver ring. “Ophelia escaped Castle Astralen with the help of one of her guards, a Knight of the Silver Guard, Roman’s father. We believe that she was with child at the time. You see, she was sickly and frail. A cleric tended to her regularly, and when they grew suspicious of her condition, she disappeared. Soldiers scoured the countryside in all directions, but never found her, or the man who aided her.”
Dennah rocked back in her chair, the constable’s words swirling in her head.
“He deceived you, just like his father did an entire town before him. Who knows, perhaps he has been practicing his dark ways in private before now. Perhaps it was just a lucky happenstance that we discovered him now before his darkness spread,” Lord Desh said quietly.
“But…it wasn’t Roman. I was with him most…” Dennah started to argue, but the lord constable raised a hand, and quieted her.
“I understand your argument, miss. But that proceeding has already come and gone. I simply wanted to bring you here so that you could understand what is at stake. You see, if people learn that an heir of the Algast family was living amongst them, they will start to question the Council’s ability to keep them safe. It is better if they know that the Algasts are gone, removed from the land like the stain they were.”
“But, Roman?” Dennah said.
“It is better if you move forward with your life, and forget that he ever existed. It is our duty, to Denoril, to do just that,” Lord Desh said, laying his hands flat on the desk and standing up.
Dennah cleared her throat, but stifled further argument. She understood that the meeting was over, and their expectation for her was silence.
“Your commission under Lord Thatcher withstanding, you can remain here at Falksgraad as our guest, and wait out the remainder of this foul storm. Once the roadway is passable you will be assigned new gear and an escort north to meet up with your caravan.”
Dennah stood and nodded, before turning to leave. She managed only a few steps before the constable called out.
“I hope that our meeting tonight has helped you understand the importance of this matter…to the provinces!?” Lord Desh said, and she took it as a question, as well as a veiled promise. If she wasn’t silent, they would know, and then it would be her they dragged into a dark cell to disappear.
“I do, thank you,” she said, her legs shaking beneath her dress.
Dennah turned and strode through the office, her legs feeling less than stable as she crossed the plush fur rug. She pulled open the door and moved to close it behind her. Lord Desh and Markus Teague were already heavily engrossed in a conversation. She tried to drown out what they were saying. The less she knew the better.
* * * *
Roman startled awake, his eyes heavily crusted over with sleep.
When did I fall asleep? He wondered. He didn’t even remember sliding back against the wall.
A warm light filled his cell. It took him a moment to rationalize it, as it felt too much like a dream. He reached up and rubbed his eyes, his stomach growling voraciously.
“You’re still here,” a small voice said next him.
Roman jumped, scooting away, the chains laughing and mocking him as they jingled against the ground. Rat sat against the wall, next to the very spot he just sat. The boy’s small lamp sat between his legs, its small flame warming his face and deepening the bruises on his face.
Roman nodded, sliding carefully back against the wall. He was surprised. The boy was easily within reach.
“They always run into the dark when Mino unlocks their doors. Always,” Rat said, staring at the wall straight ahead of him.
Roman looked over to the door. It was still open, cracked in a tantalizing, but furiously unobtainable way.
“I’ll admit, I thought about it. I even tried, but I couldn’t get these shackles off,” he said, holding his wrists up before him, and inspecting the heavy, metal constructs in the light.
“You must not have looked hard enough,” Rat said, nodding his head towards the small table on the opposite side of the cell. “Minos always leaves two things in the cell, a candle and a hammer.”
“A hammer,” Roman echoed. He pushed off of the ground and looked. Low and behold, on the back edge of the table, where he found the candle, was a small, rusty hammer. If he’d only searched it more thoroughly, he would have found it.
“But it would never work on these,” he said, holding up his wrists and the heavy shackles.
“It’s not for those,” Rat said simply. “It’s for your hands.”
Roman slid back against the wall, his stomach turning. That was Minos’ game. Hang freedom before a desperate man’s face, but make him mutilate himself to get it. Then sit back and watch as they run, screaming into the darkness to die.
“I’m not sure I could do that,” Roman muttered, “ever.”
“They all do, eventually,” Rat said.
“What about you? Why are you here?” Roman asked, watching the boy pick at something on his tunic.
Rat shrugged, flicking away whatever he pulled off. “Where else would I be? My da was killed trying to steal a pig, and my ma drank herself to death. I’m just another runt that nobody wants. Minos collects kids like me.”
“That’s wrong,” Roman said, bitterly. His similarities with the young boy were striking. No parents, no family…only the tainted memory of them hanging over him. In a different life, Roman could have ended up in Rat’s shoes.
“I lost my mother too, when I was born. My dad died thaws back. They tell me he was a traitor, and that she was tainted somehow,” Roman said, feeling compelled to comfort the boy.
“So you’re all alone?” Rat asked.
Roman started to nod, but stopped. “I was, but not anymore. I have a friend. She’s like my family now. I hope that I get to see her again, someday.”
“I hope you do. Then one of us can have a friend,” Rat said quietly. “But it’s not likely. People don’t leave here. Not walking, at least.”
Roman swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t want to think about it.
“Do you know how I can get another blanket?” he asked, changing the conversation. “Or, a few more candles perhaps.”
“Minos keeps all that stuff, an’ he never gives it away. He doesn’t like people much,” Rat said, waving a hand over his small lamp.
Roman nodded, and then asked, “Are there blankets in the other cells…perhaps the empty ones?”
Rat shook his head, never pulling his eyes away from the flame.
“It’s just so cold in here,” Roman said shivering, clutching to the blanket.
“I know. I’m cold most of the time too, except for…” and the boy trailed off.
Roman watched him, waiting, but his expression changed, hardened somehow. He never noticed that the boy only wore a pair of tattered trousers and a plain tunic. He chided himself for not considering that the boy was as cold as, or colder, than he was.
“Do you want my blanket?” Roman asked.
Rat shook his head, “That’s alright, but if you want, I could lay with you to keep you warm.”
Roman leaned back. “What do you mean?”
Rat looked up at him and smiled. “Some of the men want me to lay with them, so that we can both stay warm. I don’t mind. Some hold me, others want to touch me, all over. Others, they want to…”
Roman pulled away, his disgust mounting. His gaze met the boy and he instantly looked to the ground. He considered the bruise on his jaw, and the more he looked, the more he noticed. There was one on his arm, and one on his neck, just beneath his ear. But what bothered him most was the idea of men having their way with a boy, one who was cold and alone.
Rat stood up, and took a deep breath. He reached down and started to pull his tunic up over his head. Roman reached up and grabbed him by the wrists, pulling his arms and the tattered garment back down.
“You should never have to do that,” Roman said quietly
.
A single tear broke from Rat’s eye and he nodded.
“How about we just sit, keep each other company, and stay warm together,” Roman said, and pulled the boy down next to him. He wrapped a shackled arm over Rat’s shoulder and pulled him close, “as friends.”
“Friends,” Rat sniffled, and smiled, before leaning his head against Roman’s shoulder and closing his eyes.
* * * *
A pain throbbed behind his eyes. It soaked through his scalp and echoed in his ears. Somewhere nearby, the wind rattled against a window, making the glass buzz loudly. It was cold and damp, settling on his skin like an invisible, clammy blanket.
El’bryliz pried his eyes open. Paltry light filtered into the room, cascading down from a single window set high on the wall. He blinked, which hurt, and licked his lips. They were dry, and tasted oddly metallic. The wall to his right was bare, but the opposite was lined with brooms, mops, and buckets.
I’m in the storeroom, how did I…he wondered, but his head throbbed and he couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t remember how he got here, or anything before that.
El’bryliz closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tugged on his hands. They were securely bound behind him. He tried to move his feet, but they were bound tightly to the chair legs.
Think, curse you! He thought angrily, and a single image popped into his head. He envisioned a wall, covered in snow, and a young woman sliding over it.
That’s right. She is safe, El’bryliz thought, and turned his head, alerted by a scuffling noise beyond the door.
He twisted his neck, loosening the stiff muscles and preparing himself as the door clicked and opened. He watched the deceptively stooped Father Pallum enter, followed by a small group. He recognized the other priests, but couldn’t immediately put names to their faces. His thoughts were still too mired by the fog.
One of the priests stepped from the crowd, and snapped a bucket forward. El’bryliz’s breath rushed violently out of his lungs as freezing water and chunks of ice splashed over his body. The priest chuckled, and El’bryliz opened his eyes just as the second bucket’s contents washed over him.
The water wasn’t just cold; it was painfully cold. The men talked at him, jeered, and made threats. But a horrible ringing filled his ears, and his breath caught in his chest.
He wanted to jump up, to wipe the stinging water from his face, but he couldn’t move. He shook his head, which only made the pain worse.
“You should feel comfortable down here, boy,” Father Pallum said, his normally high-pitched voice dripping with condescension.
El’bryliz steadied himself as best he could and met the old man’s gaze. He could bully, intimidate, and harm all he wanted. It didn’t change the fact that he kept the Blessed One alive, but also helped her escape.
“I am, thank you,” El’bryliz said, smiling as much as his numb face would allow.
Father Pallum came forward and rested his hands on El’bryliz’s arms, the pale, parchment-thin skin pulling tight, exposing dark veins and knotted tendons.
“You’re a smart one. Aren’t you?” he said, quietly, his blue eyes boring into him. “We are already scouring the city…every lane, every alleyway. Make life easier on yourself. Tell us where the girl is going. Otherwise you will never again leave the confines of this room.”
“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore,” El’bryliz said, quietly.
He knew they wouldn’t let him leave, certainly not alive. The idea terrified him, but knew he couldn’t afford to let them know it.
“Oh? It doesn’t matter that you ever see the sun again? That you see your family again? Or, that you don’t leave this storeroom alive?” Father Pallum asked.
El’bryliz considered the old man, the lines etched across his face deeper and more pronounced in the room’s dim light. He considered every question the old man threw at him. He knew each one was a veiled threat, or more likely a promise, dependent on the nature of his answer. He decided that honesty was his best path.
“The Jo’dane, the Blessed One still lives! Mani’s promise can finally be fulfilled, and her true believers will be rewarded. What is my life, my freedom, in comparison to all of that?”
“Naïve child,” Father Pallum spat. “You can’t possibly understand what is at stake here. The Jo’dane as you call her, isn’t the fulfillment of some promise. It is a test…a test of our fealty and devotion. Mani demands that we sacrifice, to prove we are worthy of her gifts. There is no greater promise beyond that.”
El’bryliz met the old man’s gaze, refusing to look away. “That is not what I was taught,” he said, finally.
“Ah!” Father Pallum growled, pulling away. “You sound just like her. That foul…that wretched…witch!”
The lines around the priest’s eyes hardened. He turned and conferred with the other priests, their voices hushed and their movements animated.
El’bryliz watched the men talk, his heart skipping a beat every time it looked like they would turn his way. He closed his eyes and muttered a quiet prayer to Mani for strength, and the conviction to take any pain they inflicted upon him.
Help me be your servant. Help me be strong!
He opened his eyes. The priests filed out of the room, one by one, until Father Pallum closed the door. El heard the old man turn the key in the lock, before turning around.
El’bryliz’s belly twisted about and a sour taste crept into his mouth. He didn’t realize it before now, but having the other priests present bolstered him a bit. Now that they were gone, he was all alone with Father Pallum. This terrified him.
“Now that they are gone we can get down to the truth,” the priest said, walking forward.
El’bryliz swallowed. A glint of silver forced him to pull his gaze away from Father Pallum’s startlingly clear eyes. The tip of a dagger hung down below the man’s oversized sleeves.
Ropes pulled, rubbing against raw flesh as the chair groaned and creaked angrily. El’bryliz thrashed and jerked. The icy water made his skin clammy and slick, but it also made the ropes swell. The chair was simply too strong.
“A little honesty, finally!” Father Pallum said, “Where did the stoic young man go? The one so passionately set to his mission…with no fear of death?”
“I won’t tell you anything!” he yelled back. In truth there was nothing he could tell him. He planned on taking Tanea out of the city himself. He was a fool to not tell her of his plan ahead of time, just in case.
“Oh, I think you will. You see, pain has a tendency of loosening up even the most stubborn tongues,” Father Pallum said icily and knelt down before him, the dagger sliding slowly out of his robes.
Chapter 26
Someone to help
Tanea walked quickly along the lane, mindful not to run. People running always attracted attention. She moved up one lane and then back down the next, not really moving towards any particular goal, as much as simply moving.
She needed to find help, to go back and help El’bryliz, but who would believe her?
And she needed to get out of the city, to find Julian. But where would she start looking?
A thought popped into her head, and she stopped in the middle of the lane. She turned around and headed back in the opposite direction, not only a goal, but a destination forming in her head.
Someplace quiet, yes, this will work, she thought, pulling the hood of the brown robe over her face as she passed a group of commoners.
Tanea passed the old city market, people jostling and arguing over the goods packed into the merchant stalls. She wove through the crowd, careful to keep the hood pulled down and her tunic hidden beneath the robe.
She turned right once clear of the market and crossed the lane, taking care to skip over a familiar broken brick. A bakery window stood open in the corner shop. Julian took her there several times. She remembered that he was quite fond of their breakfast rolls.
Tanea quickened her pace, pushing against the steady grade of the lane. A few tough
minutes of walking later, and the massive keep of the Silver Guard loomed above her. Two tall balustrades crested the fortification, wide, green banners hanging from their parapets.
I need a name, just a name, she thought, working her desperate, but fuzzy idea into what she hoped was a plan.
Two men in shiny plate stood before the gated portcullis, their sharp halberds crossing each other, blocking the entrance. Tanea ducked into an alleyway to her left, careful to keep as much of her body hidden in the shadows as possible.
Rubbish bins lined the alley, but they weren’t overflowing like in the new, lower city. She ducked into the first doorway she could find, sliding down in the shadows, her back pressed up against the cold brick. At least if anyone saw her, they would just think that she was a vagrant, looking for a few copper and a break from the wind.
Tanea pulled her hands inside the robe and overlapped them over her heart. She took a deep cleansing breath, struggling to ignore the sour, unwashed smell of the garment.
“White Lady, hear my plea,” she whispered, reciting the opening to her healing prayer. She didn’t follow her normal verse. Instead, she let her heart guide the message.
“White Mother, Shephard, Steward, I ask not for healing, but guidance,” she continued, all the while concentrating on the pulse of Julian’s heart in her chest. She drowned everything else out.
Her palms grew warm, the skin tingling and coming to life. She didn’t just listen, or wait for the patches of emotions or flashes of light and dark as she had during meditations, but sought them out, and pulled them to her. She couldn’t be complacent anymore. Her life depended on that.
“White Mother speak to your chosen, flow your blessings through me. Give me the strength to understand your gift so that I might serve you. Help me, please. Help me find Julian,” she said, her hands going suddenly very hot. A voice filled her ears, but it wasn’t the gentle or distant whispers she was used to, but an overpowering presence hovering over her.
Tanea’s head started to swim, and she felt her legs go weak. Had she not been leaning against the archway, she would have fallen. A bright light flashed before her, burning through her closed eyelids and washing everything else away.
