by R. T. Cole
After she had drained him of all his stamina, he had taken the time to find out what he could about Mika’s location, which is when he stumbled upon his brother’s involvement. He wondered how he should approach Cale with this knowledge, if at all; for he feared that he would jeopardize the alliance.
“Hey!” the woman barked at Thasus. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Listen,” Thasus sighed, “I enjoyed everything between us, the time we shared, but I’d like to collect my thoughts now if that’s alright with you.”
She sighed, as she laid her head on his chest.
“My Lord,” she moaned as she caressed him. “Have you ever been to Rikter’s Hollow?”
He rolled his eyes, as she hadn’t taken the hint.
“No,” he replied. “Always wanted to see the Ironforge, though.”
“Did you know that all four of the Mystics forged a magical weapon there?” she asked, raising her head in excitement.
“That’s only a legend,” he said, growing annoyed. He was in no mood for stories.
The woman laid her head on Thasus’s chest again, scratching him seductively.
“So, are you ready to go again now?”
That was it.
“Okay, you’ve helped my thoughts plenty for one day. Time to go.” He wasted no time rushing her out of his bedchamber, locking the door after she was gone. A part of him felt pity for the poor woman, knowing that she had probably wanted to stay longer because she’d receive more gold from Lord Brock. He didn’t let the thought distract him for too long, as he had more pressing concerns.
After allowing an ample amount of time to pass by, as to avoid any other “romantic” entanglements, Thasus made his way into the hallway. The frozen walls of the Frostford still amazed him like nothing he’d ever seen before; He was still expecting the ice to melt, or even a crack to form somewhere hidden. But, even with the sun shining through the ice, the frigid climate kept everything standing at all times.
Eventually he made his way to the outside of the main hall, where he had to stop himself from walking in. He noticed Cale sitting down, but couldn’t make out who the person was on the other end of the conversation. He began to walk away, not wanting to disturb Lord Brock at the moment, but he overheard something intriguing:
“A betrothal to one of Oswall Gargan’s daughters is a fine gift indeed,” Cale boasted.
Staying out of sight, Thasus tried to hear what they were saying; though the frozen walls muffled the chatter the further away he strayed. He risked being seen so he could get a bit closer. Slipping into the room, he found a column that he could hide behind as he listened on.
“Tell your father that we will proceed as planned,” Cale said to the figure in front of him.
“Lord Oswall will be happy to hear the news,” the woman replied.
Thasus narrowed his eyes. It was the same woman who he had seen when he arrived. She was a daughter of Oswall Gargan; one of the four, anyway. He wondered which one this was, though he guessed that it was probably Gargan’s eldest daughter. She would be the only one trusted enough to treat with another Lord. Thasus knew a great deal about the Nortons and the Brocks, but the Gargans were notoriously cagey. Their people lived in Rikter’s Hollow: a normal-sized piece of land, but no more than an oversized sinkhole. Word was that they were the most savage and barbaric of the Northerners. Thasus had assumed that, because the other Northern houses were well-off, the Gargans resented them. Clearly, it seemed, Lord Oswall was more willing to deal with the Brocks than he realized.
“Let’s end the formalities, Grenna,” Cale said plainly. “Oswall only agreed to help us because he wants the Frostford when this is finished. Marrying off your sister is just to sweeten the deal.”
Grenna Gargan ruffled where she stood. The thought of her sister lying with this man made her shudder, but she knew that it was for the good of the Gargan name, and their future. She collected herself and addressed Cale’s candor.
“That is to be expected, is it not? If we’re speaking plainly, Lord Brock, you will have Whitecrest all to yourself. We can’t imagine you’d still need the Frostford.”
Thasus turned a sheet of white and his heart sank. Finally grasping the severity of this situation, his mind began to race.
Cale means to take the North, he concluded. He shook his head in disappointment. Ridiculous, he thought. Kelbain is waging war on the world and the North wants to war amongst themselves. He immediately felt ashamed and vengeful. He was ashamed that he failed to forge an alliance with the North, but wanted nothing more than to rip Cale’s throat out for going against his word. The desire to act on the latter sounded like a good idea, but Thasus calmed himself and though of the bigger picture.
King Cyrus will be caught off guard. I have to go back. I have to warn him.
Thasus was able to take one step back before his head twitched and he hit the floor. He had trouble figuring out what had happened, but noticed an extremely large mass towering over him.
“Look what I found!” he heard the booming voice say before darkness took over his sight.
After what felt like mere seconds, Thasus experienced a different sensation as his jaw jerked to the left. He opened his eyes and saw the same towering figure standing over him, clenching a fist as she prepared to deliver another blow.
“Enough, Jorga!” Cale yelled out. “We need to know what he heard.” To Cale’s surprise, Thasus laughed, even as he was chained against the wall.
“You’re Jorga Gargan?” he chortled. “You’re much shorter than I expected.”
He should’ve expected the next wave of punches, but what he didn’t expect was the pain that followed. He succeeded in getting a rise out of Jorga, but came to the conclusion that she definitely deserved the moniker of “The Juggernaut”. It was a name that was seldom spoken of in the East, but was known nonetheless. Jorga’s notoriety spread after she had beaten a man to death for calling her “beautiful”, though Thasus couldn’t imagine who’d say such a thing. Of all the daughters of Oswall Gargan, she was the one that most feared, though Grenna was a close second.
“Tell us what you heard, fool!” Grenna shouted from behind Cale.
Thasus laughed again.
“What are you going to do? Will it be easier for you to conquer the North, knowing that you executed a Prince of the East?”
Cale sighed as he lowered his head, realizing the extent of knowledge that the Prince possessed.
“Pity. I did like you, Prince Thasus.” He motioned towards the Gargan sisters, who began to unchain Thasus.
“So, that’s it? You murder me, you kill the Nortons and take over Whitecrest… and then what?” Thasus questioned the Lord of the Frostford. “I’m starting to rethink my agreement to hunt down Gainhart for you, my Lord,” he said mockingly.
“You joke, Thasus, but you don’t fully understand what I’m doing,” Cale said.
“Please enlighten me,” Thasus retorted.
“With the entire North under my rule, we will be much stronger to oppose Kelbain’s army when, and if, they march this way.” Cale proudly stated.
Thasus scoffed.
“Don’t pretend you’re doing this to help against Kelbain. You already had this planned before I showed up,” Thasus accused.
Cale shrugged his shoulders and smiled coldly.
“What can I say? I’m the best man for the job. Norton sits over at Whitecrest as the true pretender. I’m a Brock! The North is mine!” he bellowed.
“Cale,” Thasus tried to reason. “If you war with each other, Kelbain will only get stronger. And if you remember, the Gargans were the ones who stole Rikter’s Hollow from the Brocks in the first place. How can you trust them?” he said, glancing over at Grenna and Jorga. They had just finished pulling both chains out of the links and grabbed his arms, bringing him before Lord Brock.
“As I said, Thasus, once the North is under my control, we will be in a better place to fend off Kelbain’s army. And I’ve thought a
bout my deal with the Gargans, trust me,” he assured Thasus. “If Oswall hadn’t offered me a betrothal to his prettiest daughter, Kaya, then I’d still be concerned. No offense, ladies,” he bowed his head shortly toward the Gargan sisters. They merely grunted at his gesture.
“With that, I believe we’re done here.” Cale straightened himself in front of Thasus and spoke in a more official tone. “Prince Thasus of Angelia, I relieve you of your charge to bring me the murderer, Mika Gainhart… and instead, sentence you to death.”
Thasus simply stared at Cale with silent rage. Cale took note of this and his eyes widened.
“Oh, is it my turn to laugh now?” he said rudely. His expression then changed to a more solemn one. “Well, I won’t act discourteous to a guest in my house. But, I will tell you this: I don’t trust you not to warn the Nortons, so this is what needs to be done.” Cale said with finality.
Thasus nodded in acceptance, even as he imagined overpowering the three of them right then and there, which he knew was impossible.
“Even though you must die, Thasus, I want you to know that you are being given the most honorable death known to my people. You will die as my grandfather, the legendary Maven Brock, did.” Cale said, right before he handed Thasus’s sword, Archangel, to Grenna.
“You’ll need that, my Prince,” Cale warned. “Fenrok awaits you in the Frozen Wilds.”
Chapter 18
POWERLESS PRISONER
The mood in the castle was a strange one; the people of Zenithor had been through a lot in the last few days: their prince was dead at the hands of their king; their future queen was sitting in a dungeon due to her failed coup… and they acted as if they didn’t care. At least, this is what Draven assumed, but he was no fool. A man like Kelbain struck fear into the hearts of everyone around him; that was how he ruled his people. Draven was sure that any further insurrections would be swiftly dealt with.
They’d be fools to follow Dirce anyway, he thought. She’s no ruler. His last encounter with the woman had opened his eyes to her motives. Dirce was only concerned with finding her sister, which left no room for any rational thought. He figured this was the main reason the attempt to take over Zenithor failed.
He chuckled under his breath, as he leaned against the wall just outside the war room, patiently waiting to speak with Kelbain. The other reason Dirce’s plan failed was because of his power as an Evolutionary, and he was well aware of the part he played in her downfall. Suddenly, he smiled broadly; he had almost forgotten that he was now immune to the powers of a Reader. This was something he knew would come in handy in his line of work.
The wooden doors nearby opened slowly. The generals of Zenithor retired from the room one after another, with at least two of them giving Draven sideways glances. He chalked it up to the fact that he was a mercenary and his profession was rarely respected; that, or his past as Woodhaven’s military commander condemned him. Either way, Draven shrugged it off, as he had no concern for what they thought of him.
“Draven,” Kelbain called to him from inside the room. “Let us speak.”
Draven entered the room, noticing the amount of chairs surrounding the King. He was observant enough to realize that the amount of men who left the room did not match the number of those chairs.
“Missing a few generals, my King?”
“Dirce’s sister, Lamia, is away at the moment,” Kelbain stated without taking his eye off the map of Areon in the center of the table.
“And the other one?” Draven prodded.
Kelbain raised his head, his eyes burning hot like the sun.
“We don’t speak of that one,” the King growled.
Draven rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in mock defeat. He’d touched a nerve, and knew better than to press on it again.
“So, what can I do for you, my King? Another duel you’d like me to witness? Any more would-be queens to seduce?”
“You test me, Darkwood,” Kelbain warned. “Needless to say, I wanted to inform you that I will be leaving in the morning. I’m riding to Karthmere to speak to Rayburn Duke.”
“An alliance?” Draven asked. Putting two and two together, Draven spoke again. “Ah. You’ll find no better ally against the South than the Dukes. No doubt Lord Rayburn will want to be South King when the war is over.”
Kelbain nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. While I’m gone, Zenithor will be looked after by my men; and I need you to watch over Dirce until I return for the wedding.”
Draven was taken aback. Not only did Kelbain still intend to marry the woman, but he was being asked to ‘stand watch’?
“I’m not here to be put on guard duty,” Draven shot back, shaking his head. “I won’t have it.”
“I’m paying you a lot, Darkwood,” Kelbain tried to reason with him. “You’re the only one who can resist her.”
“Then, it’s going to cost more,” the mercenary immediately countered.
The West King’s eyes tightened as he studied Draven. He felt completely disrespected, and normally he would’ve set the man on fire, but he admired his tenacity. Without flinching, Kelbain approached Draven and looked him dead in the eyes.
“I will not pay you extra for this, but if you do this for me - if you prove your loyalty - then I will give you something that I’m sure you’ve always wanted: the seat and lordship of Woodhaven.”
Shocked, Draven stood silently. For the first time in a long time, he had to make a decision that wasn’t solely based on how much gold he’d receive. This was about more than that to him. He’d always felt that he was the man for the job, more than the inept Lord Prastor. If he could become the Lord of his old home by simply looking after a doomed woman, then he was going to do it. At that point, he wondered what more there was to think about.
He noticed Kelbain’s arm outstretched before him, and without further hesitation, he grasped on in agreement.
Dirce hated the dungeon. It was cold, more than the halls of the castle, and it was dark; darker than she expected. She missed the torches burning brightly in the vast blackness of her bedchamber. She missed Zane; she missed him terribly. Weeping, she would pray that she’d see him again one day. But, in the midst of her time in solitude, she vowed revenge on the King and his mercenary lackey.
CLANK
She heard the sound of the door to the dungeon entrance, followed by footsteps making their way down the corridor. She let herself smile at the sight of the torch that the shadowy figure held, but quickly formed a sneer.
“You…”
“Hello, Dirce,” Draven greeted her.
Dirce seethed with anger. Desperately, she tried to peer into his mind again, attempting to take control of him.
“What are you doing, woman?” he asked, perplexed. “Haven’t we gone through this game already? Unless, of course, you want to play one of our other games,” Draven said with a sinister look in his eyes.
Dirce tried to forget about her moment of weakness with him, especially after everything that Draven was responsible for. Because of him, she’d lost Zane, as well as her opportunity to be free of Kelbain.
“I despise you,” she spat.
“I think you need a reminder,” he replied. Dirce backed away from the bars as fast as she could, cowering in the corner of the cell. “Plenty of time for that, but that’s not what I’m here for at the moment,” Draven assured her.
In spite of the situation, Dirce let out a sigh of relief. Though she feigned cowardice, she had been prepared to fight tooth and nail if Draven entered the cell. She was relieved that she wouldn’t have to muster the strength to do so; she preferred to fight her battles in other ways.
“What is it you want?” she asked. “You’re obviously not here to execute me if you seem to have other… plans for me,” she forced herself to admit.
“I’m here to keep you company,” Draven said with a smile.
“Get out,” she demanded.
“Well, haven’t you heard the news? Your King will be departing
for Karthmere soon; he has important business with Lord Duke.”
Dirce laughed. “I’m fully aware of the fool’s plans,” she said. “An alliance with the Dukes is a means to an end. We both know his real plan; the only one that matters to him anyway,” she reminded him.
It was Draven who laughed this time. “No one can bring back Magor, no matter what. The man is dead. He has been for a very long time,” he said firmly. Then, he began to think about the truth of his own current predicament: once he became Lord of Woodhaven, he’d have to answer to the West King Kelbain. Perhaps it was best he didn’t speak of the King’s plans with such impertinence.
“Still,” he began to revise his statement. “If anyone can accomplish that feat, it’s Kelbain.”
Dirce narrowed her eyes at him. Is that fear?, she wondered. Something was amiss and she would find out eventually.
“In the meantime,” Draven continued. “You’ll remain a prisoner here until Kelbain gets back; and then you’ll take your place as West Queen.”
Dirce froze. She was baffled to hear the news at first, but then turned terrified. Standing up, she charged the bars where Draven stood, grabbing the cold iron while he jumped back.
“You’re lying! No!”
“Apologies, Dirce,” Draven said, composing himself. “But, it’s the King’s wish.”
She began to cry. Through the tears, she pleaded with him. “Just kill me… Please, just do it. I can’t be a slave for the rest of my life, I just can’t.”
Draven allowed a sympathetic look to form on his face. “I am sorry, my future Queen; but, this is the way it has to be.”
Slowly, she wiped away the tears. She couldn’t fathom a lifetime by Kelbain’s side, much less in his bed. She missed Zane more than ever now, and wanted nothing more than to be held by him. She also thought of her sister, and where she was at the moment. Dirce spent so much time trying to get free so she could find Lamia, that now it seemed she was stuck in Zenithor for good.
