by J. C. Owens
Torin turned from the window, the shadows of the past in his eyes evident, though his expression slowly began to clear as he considered the present problems.
It had been almost fifteen years since the invasion. To loosen the stranglehold the invaders had upon Ceratas was going to take increasingly bold maneuvers. They had gained ground, yes, but they needed to start striking crippling blows, not just gnat bites.
This “prince” may yet be the key to luring the bastards out into the open.
If they could get General Heratis and General Nairat, that would be a great success, a massive step in their plans.
For all the invaders wished to use Aidan, so too did the royalist forces.
“We will get this ‘Aidan’ back to strength, then use him as bait. If we can draw them out…” Torin’s smile was completely wolfish. “We will use their own tool against the bastards.”
Paulsten grinned. What delicious irony it would be, if the imposter were the one to bring the invaders to their knees.
* * *
Aidan wanted to believe that his circumstances had improved, and physically, they had. Markedly. He had food and his room was warm, proof against the autumn chill that created frost upon the window panes.
The air of anticipation that surrounded him, though, put a lie into any thought that his captors might have mercy in their souls.
It was quite clear that Aidan was something to be used, if not immediately, then certainly at some point in the future.
He had merely gone from one imprisonment into another, albeit one with softer restraints.
As his health improved over time, his strength gaining ground, he waited for the time when he would be questioned. It had surprised him that he had never been forced to give information when he had first been captured, but now, in the very heart of the royalist camp, there was no reason to believe that they would overlook such a thing.
His own thoughts obviously had the power to invoke the very situation he feared.
The door opened, and Aidan turned, fear rising as he realized it was not time for food.
Two powerful-looking men stood in the doorway and gestured to him impatiently. “Come, the general wishes to speak to you.”
Aidan nodded and went to them, trying to hide his fear behind quiet obedience. This was no less than he had expected, and perhaps compliance would keep him in one piece.
The men did not touch him, but Aidan could feel their eyes upon him, harsh with suppressed anger. It seemed he was no less hated here than he had been before, though these men seemed to have some restraint.
They passed through long corridors, the richness and luxury beyond anything Aidan had seen in his life. The beauty and taste that surrounded him was soothing in some strange manner he did not understand, and he drank it in with wide eyes. He had heard his guards talking, knew that this was the very home of the General Torin, the leader of the royalists, the rebels.
The general had to be a very, very wealthy man indeed, to possess such beauty in the midst of what appeared to be a civil war.
They approached a huge set of ornate double doors, and guards there drew them open at their approach, never glancing at the prisoner.
Aidan was awestruck as he entered the vast room, his bare feet almost soundless as he walked, trying to take in everything at once. The floor was honey-brown marble, inlaid with black and cream stone in a geometric pattern. The walls were painted a soft green and the vast windows, over a story high, were crowned with dark green draperies that fell softly to the floor, drawn back to let the sunlight in. Paintings, some of them astonishingly massive, lined the walls, some of them portraits, some of them scenes, and Aidan longed to view them more closely, to see if he could begin to understand the puzzle that was the country of Ceratas. He did not know if he was truly a citizen of the country; all he understood was that he felt a draw toward it, perhaps a longing to be part of something, to know who he was.
Never had his questions of his birth, of his parents, been answered by the guardians. Aidan very much feared he would never know, would go through his entire life without any connection to his birth whatsoever.
He turned his attention back to the guards when one of them prodded him none too gently, as though resenting his gawking.
It was evident that this room was some sort of meeting place, and Aidan stared in awe at the sheer scale of the vast table that dominated everything. Aidan could not begin to count the chairs, and his vague thoughts of doing so disappeared when he saw the two silent figures seated at one end of the table, watching his approach.
A wave of nausea rose to his throat, and he almost stumbled, catching himself at the last moment and feeling heat rise in his cheeks at the sound of derision from one of the guards who flanked him.
It was all too soon before he stood uncertainly in front of General Torin. The other man present seemed to be some sort of companion. He wore a uniform similar to the general’s, but his eyes seemed more gentle, his manner less hostile.
It was impossible to comprehend what the general himself was thinking. His expression was utterly controlled, those cold, brown eyes roaming over Aidan’s form without a hint of emotion.
Aidan swallowed hard, then stood in silence, not sure what he should be doing.
The guards snarled. “Kneel before the general.”
Aidan flinched, sank down in silence, letting his eyes drop to the beauty of the floor.
He heard the general dismiss the guards, and heard their concern at the action.
The general snorted at their words. “Do you trust my skills so little as to believe he is any threat to me whatsoever?”
Aidan hunched lower. Whatever martial skills he possessed, which were quite numerous, he would never consider attacking such a man. What would be the point? Whether it was his upbringing, ensuring he had little in the way of self confidence, or that violence held no part of him, he could not tell. He only knew that he was indeed no threat to this general.
The guards left, their footsteps echoing in the vastness of the room, the doors closing almost soundlessly in their wake.
The silence was almost physical then, and Aidan shivered, feeling the weight of those intense eyes upon him.
“Look at me.” The voice itself was low and beautiful, but the anger behind it marred the effect.
Aidan gathered his courage and raised his head, meeting those eyes with what he hoped was neutrality.
* * *
Torin watched the young man with hooded eyes, trying to thrust aside his own distaste enough to conduct the interrogation. Not that it appeared that it would be difficult. Aidan was quietly submissive, never showing the least sign of rebellion. It could only be hoped that he accepted questioning with the same manner. Torin really had no stomach for forcing the answers out, not after what had already been done to the boy.
“What is your true name?”
Aidan stared at him for long moments, and the confusion in those beautiful eyes was evident.
“Aidan is my true name, my lord, as far as I know.” The lack of memory was disturbing, but then, those who raised him would have wanted him to emulate the dead prince as closely as possible. Wherever they had taken him from, it would be to their best interests to have him remember nothing of his past.
“You remember no family, no parents?”
Aidan shook his head, a hint of sadness in his expression that Torin did not want to acknowledge.
“Where were you raised, and by whom?”
Again that helpless look that roused Torin’s protective instincts and made him want to growl at himself.
“I do not know, my lord. A fortress a long way from where you captured me, to the north I think. The men who raised me were called my guardians. There were four of them. I do not know their last names, but they were called Jara, Cemas, Garath and Larmana.”
Torin shot a look at Paulsten, whose fingers had tightened upon the arms of the chair he sat in.
“I know three of them. Not La
rmana. Cemas was the one who came as ambassador to Ceratas, who we believe orchestrated the attack upon the royal family. Jara was his assistant, the one we found dead in the carriage.” Paulsten’s voice was tightly controlled.
Torin gritted his teeth, wanting the men named under his own hands, wanting to kill them himself, to watch them die in reparation for his prince’s death. He fought for control once more, taking several deep breaths before looking back at their prisoner.
The boy watched him with fear. It took long moments before Torin reminded himself sternly that the young man, raised as a tool, might be as much victim as the royal family themselves. If he was innocent, as so far seemed possible, then to harm him seemed the act of a monster as great as the invaders.
Torin felt Paulsten’s hand on his arm, and he gathered his strength, took a deep breath, and pushed away the madness.
It was several moments before he could continue the questioning with anything resembling composure.
“Are you aware of the situation here in Ceratas? Of why you were brought here?”
The young man seemed to consider his words carefully, but without any hint of dissembling.
“I was told nothing, until the day Generals Heratis and Nairat came to take me. Then they said I was prince, and that I had been deposed, that they were my mentors, come to aid me in regaining my throne.” The brilliant green eyes rose to meet Torin’s. “I do not believe them, my lord. I am no prince, whatever else I may be.”
Torin’s anger wavered at the honest admission, the lack of belief in the machinations that surrounded him. Ignorant of circumstances this boy may be, but not without intelligence. It seemed, despite years of indoctrination, that…Aidan…had a mind of his own and the will to use it.
Torin considered things, trying to push away the surging emotions that made thinking difficult.
“The truth of the matter is that the men who raised you invaded Ceratas, murdered the royal family, and have held the country under their brutal rule since. They are attempting to resurrect the royal family through you, to create a legitimate hold over the country to placate the people and ensure their compliance.”
Aidan’s eyes held shock and confusion.
“I did not know, my lord. I am sorry.” There was compassion in his eyes, and Torin felt some part of him ease, as though the fact that Aidan was not part of the plot was important.
Paulsten leaned forward, gaze intent on Aidan’s face. “So they taught you nothing of Ceratas?”
Aidan diverted his attention to Paulsten. “No, my lord. I tried to ask, but…” His eyes clouded with some inner thought, a hint of distress in his expression. “I knew that they were using me, but I did not know how or for what.”
“Well, you are in Ceratas now, and this is General Torin Amaldis Greyan, leader of our rebellion against the invaders. He is all that is left of the royal line.”
Torin tensed, but did not refute the statement. In truth, he was a distant cousin of the queen, but he had never made a fuss about the link. Others seemed more than ready to do such a thing for him, even Paulsten, who was sensible in most other ways.
He had never liked the information coming out, because it made his relationship with the prince seem almost…incestuous. Not that anyone had ever commented, so perhaps the distinction was in his own mind, more than in others’.
He came back to the present to see Aidan staring at him respectfully.
Aidan bowed his head. “I am sorry, my lord, for any grief my presence causes you. I can only reiterate that I had no knowledge of what they intended, little though that helps.”
Paulsten tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, bringing Aidan’s attention back to him. “That is all well and fine, but are you willing to bring justice to Ceratas, willing to aid us in eliminating Heratis and Nairat as leaders of the invader’s army?”
“You mean to use me as bait.” The words held no animosity, nor fear, and Torin felt a faint stirring of respect for this young man. “You had wanted to do that before, but they did not come. Perhaps they have given up on me, and I am of no use at all.”
The lack of self pity only made Torin solidify his opinion. This…enemy, if enemy he truly was, held a quiet strength that was intriguing.
Torin nodded. “The fortress where you were held was too remote, too hard to attack. We hope to use another place to draw them out, and also to leak information that I will be there. I am one of their primary targets, so the promise of attaining both you and me may well be a lure they cannot resist.”
Aidan nodded. “I will do as you wish, my lord. I do not know if I am of Ceratas or not, but your cause seems just, and I cannot say that I trusted the generals. Their words seemed wrong, their actions…” He swallowed with difficulty, his face stark at some memory. “They did not seem to have honorable intent.”
Torin could not help the snarl that curled his lip at mention of the men “In that, you are completely right.”
Paulsten nodded, then gave the faintest of approving smiles as he looked at Aidan. “Wherever you may come from, Aidan, Ceratas would be grateful of your help. And who knows, you may find sanctuary here in time.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Aidan whispered, but Torin could see there was no true hope in the young man’s eyes.
* * *
Aidan shivered, pulling his cloak tighter about his thin form as he crossed the courtyard, headed, as always, for the great library.
He had resided here for over four months, and there had been no sign of the hoped-for attack. Still, it was winter, the snows had been deep, the storms harsh. The enemies of Ceratas could simply be biding their time.
Aidan hoped so. Somehow, the matter of capturing one of the generals had become important to him, a small sort of redemption. He had learned so much here, of what had happened in Ceratas, of her royal family and the fall of the country. If he was able, in some minute fashion, to help free these people, then he would do so and not count the cost.
It gave him purpose.
He could hear the footsteps behind him, a guard never far away, and he shivered again. The hostility had lessened somewhat over time, but still, the coldness of the men around him, the distance, was beginning to wear upon him. He had never known true friendship, but the emptiness within him made him wonder if that was what he sought. He read about such things, pondered them, dreamed of having a friend. He just knew he wanted more than this stark, empty existence. If what Paulsten said was true, than perhaps he would find a place here in Ceratas if his actions were noble enough.
If only he were still worth something to those who had raised him, who wished to name him prince. He hoped each night for them to come for him, but they never did, and without such events, the likelihood of gaining sanctuary within Ceratas was slim.
The danger he was in did not truly occur to him. He felt no fear of being taken, for in his heart, he trusted General Torin to be there, to prevent harm. It was odd, the faith he had in the man he had known for such a short time, but then Torin had the ability to inspire others, as was evident by the devotion of his own troops.
Aidan was simply another soul in the vast legion of admirers.
He flushed a little at his thoughts. He did admire the general, just perhaps more than was wise.
He did not know why he felt so warm when Torin was present, why his breath seemed short, his whole body tense in a strange and faintly pleasant way. He only knew that Torin affected him deeply.
He wrestled with the massive doors of the entryway of the great hall, quietly thanking his guard as the man stepped forward to aid him. Once within, Aidan stomped his feet free of clinging snow, pushing back the cloak as he made his way further within the rich corridors.
The library always seemed to welcome him, and he passed into its embrace with a sigh of relief, his tension fading away in its warm recesses. He had been granted access to even the more ancient texts, after he had demonstrated his ability to treat every book with a careful respect. Such a thing seemed to
gain the trust of the old man, Ryvas, who governed the library with an iron hand.
Aidan laid his cloak near the fireplace to dry, nodding to Ryvas and receiving the customary grunt in reply. He smiled to himself as he made his way to a particular section of books. It was almost comforting, Ryvas’s behavior. It seemed the old man had accepted him. Any other who invaded the sanctuary was often barked at, and certainly viewed with suspicion. The fact that he let Aidan wander freely was a compliment of no small degree.
He gently pulled down a volume, carrying it carefully to one of the many tables scattered about the vast library. He sat there for some time, running his fingers over the lush leather binding before opening the book and beginning his search. When he found what he wanted, he bent his head closer, reading with rapt absorption.
This was a history of Ceratas, and he drank everything in, trying to understand these people, and what life had been like before the invasion. What was described seemed familiar, and yet not. Perhaps where he had been born, traditions were similar. Perhaps every country in this part of the world was similar.
He grimaced at his own pathetic determination to find his roots. The possibility of tracing his past seemed impossible. Only his guardians knew where he had come from, and it seemed unlikely they would divulge the information now, when they had made sure to keep it from him all his life. A part of him still wished…
He shook his head. Even if Nairat and Heratis came for him, it was doubtful he could appeal to anything within them to give him a gift of such immensity. Their behavior up to his escape had been anything but kind.
He stilled, staring blindly. But if he offered them cooperation… Was that not what they wanted most?
He squeezed his eyes shut. He could not betray Ceratas and Torin. That seemed paramount, senseless though it seemed if truly examined. What loyalty did he owe a country he had never known?
If betrayal meant he could discover who he was?
But at the cost of lives? His conscience jabbed at him, and he sighed, opening his eyes to watch the dust motes floating in the sun beams streaming through one of the ornate windows.
