by Matt Moss
“I’m not like that,” Rico japed.
Stubbs glared at him. “I need a drink,” he said, then commenced to make his way to the bar.
“You should try the whiskey,” Rico shouted.
Rico turned to Arkin. “It’s alright kid, we’re all family here. We fight, we make up, and we get over it.”
Arkin sat down, relieved that he didn’t have to get involved.
“I think he could take you,” Cain said to Rico with an amused smile.
“Right,” Rico said sarcastically.
The musicians began to play an upbeat, jovial tune. People clapped and stomped their feet in time. After the song, Arkin noticed Torin take a place next to the musicians. The lute player struck a chord, commanding the crowd’s attention. Torin began to sing, his deep baritone rolling through the tavern.
He sang every note from the heart, and the hushed crowd paid tribute with silence in honor of the song.
It was a song about a man far from home. His journey long and sometimes perilous. He longed for his wife’s embrace, the sound of his children laughing, the warmth of his home, and smiles from his friends.
When Torin finished, silence remained. Surveying the room, Arkin noticed a few had tears in their eyes.
He began to clap.
Rico grabbed his wrist. “Respect the moment.”
After a few breaths, Torin walked back into the crowd and the musicians began playing another jovial tune.
Cheers and applause filled the room, and the festive mood continued.
“Arkin,” a female voice came from behind the table.
“Lyla!” He jumped from the table. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”
His skin tingled as she touched his arm, smiling.
“I’ve been training with Master Arzy. I’m learning about the human body. He calls it anatomy.” Her hand softly brushed the hair from her face. “Bones, muscles, blood, and organs. He said he’s going to show us herb lore and how to apply it to different ailments.” Lyla said, giddy as ever.
“Becca and I are his first apprentices in five years,” Lyla said, looking at the girl standing next to her. Arkin hadn’t even noticed her. She was a plain looking girl.
“Nice to meet you,” Becca said with a coy smile.
“And you,” Arkin said, then looked back to Lyla.
Cain cleared his throat and stood.
“Oh,” Arkin said, forgetting his manners. “This is Rico.”
Rico stood. “Ladies, your beauty is breathtaking on this fine night.”
Both girls began to blush.
“And this is,” Arkin said.
“Cain,” Cain interjected. He took Lyla’s hand and brought it to his lips.
“Well, such a gentleman,” she said, flattered.
“A woman of your beauty commands courteous respect from a man,” Cain said. Silence hung for a moment as they stared into each other’s eyes.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Rico said, “nature calls.”
Arkin was glad for someone to break the awkwardness of Cain and Lyla. Or was he the only one who found it awkward?
“So,” Lyla said, turning to Arkin. “How’s training going?”
“Good, but hard. I can barely move I’m so sore,” he said, stretching a bit.
“You must have had a hard day,” Becca said and squeezed his arm.
Arkin didn’t know how to react. He awkwardly pulled away trying his best not to give offense.
The musicians struck up a lively tune that everyone seemed to know. Cheers erupted and people began to dance. Billy took center stage, leading a tall redhead by the arm.
Lyla clapped in time. The smile on her face and the lantern light displaying her beautiful lines almost stole Arkin’s breath.
“I hope you can dance as good as you look,” Cain said, extending his arm in invitation.
She looked at Arkin, briefly, then took Cain’s hand. The two made their way to the dance floor.
“Come on,” Becca said with delight as she grabbed Arkin, dragging him to the dance floor.
They began clapping, stomping, and swinging each other around. Becca laughed like a child, a smile constantly on her face as her hair flew through the air.
Arkin glanced at Lyla every chance he could through the crowded room as Becca spun and twirled him around.
He noticed that Lyla had a smile on her face, her eyes becoming more familiar with Cain.
They danced for two more songs before calling it a night. Leaving, each made their own way back to their beds.
Walking back to his bunk in the barracks, feeling broke down and a little light headed, Arkin replayed the dance over in his mind. He had been searching for a look — a moment in time where her eyes had met his. He had wanted a moment that they would share together.
That moment never came.
He thought he had his eyes on her constantly, waiting. He never saw, in the moments when his gaze was averted, that she was looking at him.
Fourteen
The enormous doors to the church stood wide open, allowing the early morning sunlight in, highlighting the beauty of the place. The hall was silent, as usual, but this time it was void of priests devoutly creating the silence.
Suddenly, the sound of gold chains rattling and boots stomping the floor echoed in the hall. The combination of the two in harmony, and at a high tempo, was seldom ever heard.
King George hastily made his way up to the high priest’s chamber. He reached for the handle, then paused when he saw the door slightly ajar.
Finding that odd, he cautiously pushed it open, the hinges creaking.
His eyes locked onto a trail of blood. Easing the door open more, he found the source. His face turned to horror when he saw John lying lifeless on the floor in a puddle of blood.
As the king made his way to the body of his trusted counsellor, his mind struggled to comprehend what he saw. This all had to be some bad dream. It couldn’t be real.
The truth hit him as the tip of his boot touched blood. It had congealed and George had to steel his nerves to keep from retching.
“Your Grace,” a smooth voice said, coming from the corner of the room.
George snapped his head around to find Victor standing by John’s desk. A pen rested amongst heavily worded sheets of paper.
The King’s face twisted, asking questions that his voice couldn’t find.
“An assassin, Your Grace, sometime in the night.” Victor tucked his hands into the sleeves of his black robe, his face stern and concerned, but not overly so. His tone empathetic and eyes soft, not looking away or blinking abnormally.
The King found his voice. “And you sit there. Writing a letter? Why didn’t you come to me!” he said with authority.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, I...”
“Enough of the ‘Your Grace’ horse shit!” the King snapped.
Victor opened his mouth, checked himself, then continued.
“I assumed you were busy with everything else after the attack,” he said. “I’m just following protocol.”
“What’s that? To do nothing?!” the King replied, growing more stern.
Victor looked at John, wanting to give the King the same courtesy.
Not yet, he thought and bit his tongue.
“I am writing to the Clergy in the independent cities,” he explained. “They are to be informed of any changes to the head of the church.”
“Like the high priest dying?” George spat.
“Yes,” Victor replied. “They will vote for John’s replacement, then hold the funeral ceremony here in Kingsport.”
“And you are the man to be his successor,” George stated. “God smiles on you.” His tone was irony.
“I am second to John, yes, but it is still up to the Clergy.” He took a step towards the King. “I just hope I can serve you as well as John did if I am elected.”
George snorted. “When did you get back? You were recently in Fortuna, yes?” he said.
Victor felt like he was being baited. Clever.
“I was in Fortuna before I met with the Clergy in Arcata. I arrived in the capital yesterday.”
“Odd timing, don’t you think?” The King glared at him.
“Unfortunate timing,” Victor replied. He walked to kneel by John in efforts to keep the King’s suspicion at bay.
“I talked to John last night upon my arrival, giving him my report,” Victor said. “We scheduled a meeting for today to discuss the Religion’s progression. After the attack this morning, I rushed here, to his chamber, to ensure his safety.” Victor’s voice quivered. “I found him like this.” He looked up at George with tears in his eyes.
The King rubbed his chin and walked to the balcony.
“I need counsel,” he said as he overlooked his city. Smoke still smoldered from the marketplace.
“If I can be of any assistance,”
“No,” the King cut him off. “I need the Prophet.”
Victor froze upon hearing the words. Idiot! You should have known he would call for that old fool!
“I will send message for him to aid me here at the capital,” George proclaimed. “Together, we will find out why these attacks happened, but more importantly, who is behind it all.”
“The Dark Society,” Victor hissed with disdain. He had to tread carefully.
“Perhaps,” George said. “It would be the most obvious choice. But we have no evidence, and the prisoner, the man who attacked the market this morning, isn’t talking.”
“He used stones in the market,” Victor noted with a hint of discovery. “That means he can soul tap. He may have tapped, then scaled the walls, here,” he said walking to the balcony, looking over the edge. “And entered by the balcony. He must be the assassin.”
“Valid theory,” George said, “but to what purpose?”
“To stop the church from doing God’s will, perhaps,” Victor said, turning to George.
“What’s that?” Victor said in discovery. He walked to John and picked up a small piece of red stone. “Ruby?” He held it to the King for examination.
“It appears so,” the King said. “Not much for evidence.”
“No, but it is something,” Victor replied. He held it to his eye for examination. “Did the man have any weapons on him when you arrested him?”
“I don’t know. The captain didn’t search him because he came willingly. Didn’t even try to fight.”
“Hmm. Surely one of the guards searched him before locking him up,” Victor said, then walked to the balcony. “Why didn’t you execute him on sight?”
“He demanded a trial.”
“You’re more gracious than I would have been.”
“It’s not grace. It’s the law,” George stated.
Victor smiled at the man’s logic. “When is the trial?” he asked.
“As soon as the Prophet arrives. Four, maybe five days, depending on how fast my courier rides. I sent for him immediately after the attack.”
Victor paced, seriously in thought. He held a finger up in revelation. “You know the people will want a public execution for the murder of their friends and family, and possibly their high priest.”
“If found guilty,” the King noted. “We just assumed he was behind the attack because he was the only one left standing in the middle of the market. Nobody actually saw him do it.”
“I’m sure he will confess,” Victor said.
“Let us hope so,” the King said. “It must be a swift trial.” He edged towards the door, paused, then looked back. “You’re right though, the people will want to see him executed, guilty or not.”
“This is just a thought,” Victor said, stepping close to him. “The funeral ceremony will be in about a week’s time. That should give the messengers three days there and the Clergy four to get here. What if...”
He moved to the side of the King, placing a hand on his shoulder. “What if we held the execution during the ceremony. I can’t think of a better way to serve justice than to see the accused’s head roll before we put the high priest in the ground. The people will have peace of mind. Then they can mourn.”
The King thought for a moment, then against his better judgement, spoke the words.
“See it done,” he said, shrugging Victor’s hand from his shoulder then walked out of the room to exit the church.
Victor rolled his shoulders, letting his facade fall, relieved to see the King gone.
He sat back down at the desk and finished writing the letter. He opened the bottom drawer, pulled a bottle of John’s wine, and poured a glass. He drank in comfortable silence, easily tuning out the faint cries and commotion from the city down below.
After finishing the letter, he looked at John.
“Master,” a raspy thin voice came from behind the door.
“Enter.”
The rat man slowly crept into the room. He looked at John and cringed in ecstasy at the sight before shutting the door.
“He’s gone,” Rat said, lurching towards Victor. “I watched the king leave then made my way here, as commanded.”
Victor folded the letter and handed it to him.
“Take this to Karn,” he said and then pulled a map of the city from the desk. He put his finger on a location. “You will meet him in this alley at dark.”
“How will I know what he...”
“He will know you,” Victor said, cutting him off.
He poured wine for Rat. The thin man’s eye’s went wide at the rare gesture.
“You still have a friend in the guard?” Victor said, handing him a cup.
“Yes, more like a brother.”
“So, you trust him?”
“With my life,” Rat said.
It didn’t make Victor feel any better.
“You do realize that it will be your life on the line if this goes bad,” Victor promised.
Rat gulped, then took a drink with shaking hands. Red ran down his chin.
“In exchange for the letter,” Victor continued, “Karn will give you a dagger. Take the dagger to your friend in the guard. Tell him to take it to the Captain. He is to say that he found it on the prisoner.”
“Yes master, I will do as instructed.”
Victor waved him off and Rat turned to leave. He was almost to the door.
“Wait,” Victor said, deep in thought. Turning to the desk, he grabbed another piece of paper and began to write.
Rat waited nervously until his master was done.
Victor folded the letter, walked to Rat, and pressed it to his chest.
“I have another task for you.”
Fifteen
The prison cells, dark, damp, and cold, lie buried underneath the palace. The only light came from burning torches on the walls, creating dancing shadows that gave the place a sinister feel.
Lucian, bloody and bruised, lay face down on the stone floor. Some of the guards had taken a few cheap shots at him before throwing him into the cell. He had lain there afraid to move lest he find some broken bones.
“Reckon he’s dead?” a guard asked. He sounded young.
“Na,” the other replied, his voice old and scratchy. “We made real sure that we didn’t kill him, captain’s orders and all.” He hawked and spat at the prisoner, “ ‘sides, that bastard deserves what’s coming to him.”
“He’s been laying there a long time,” the young man said. He grabbed a cudgel and rapped it against the prison bars. “Hey! Don’t you go and die on us. Get up.”
“Leave him alone,” the older man said.
The guard struck the steel bars again. “Get up!”
Lucian remained motionless.
“Alright,” the guard said fumbling the keys. “Guess I’ll just have to make you get up.”
The old guard grabbed his arm. “If you kill him, it’ll be your ass, sonny, not mine. I’m too close to retirement to be in the middle of all this.”
The young guard shook his arm free.
“Fine
,” the old man said and threw his arms up. “I need to piss. Do whatever you like.”
He began to walk away, cursing the stupidity of youth, as the young guard slipped the key into the lock.
“Wait.” the old guard said, pointing at the prisoner.
Lucian slowly moved, testing his body. He was relieved to find no broken bones, but his whole body was racked with pain.
Somehow making it to his knees, he cautiously turned to sit. The key went back into the young guard’s pocket. Grabbing a nearby torch, he put the flame to the bars to reveal Lucian’s face.
His head, swollen and covered in blood, leaned to one side as he touched his broken nose. One eye had swollen shut. His lips, enlarged and bleeding from cuts, fought to purchase breath.
“Damn,” the young guard said, “messed him up real good.”
Lucian wiped blood from his eye and squinted, looking up at the young guard.
“Ya, you’re good as dead. Gonna be real nice watching you die.”
Lucian coughed. “Why wait?” he choked out the words and spat a mouthful of blood all over the young guard.
“You son of a bitch!” the guard cursed and pulled out the keys, fumbling for the lock.
“No, stop,” the old guard said, grabbing his arm. “I got a bad feeling about this guy. Look at him, he ain’t normal!”
Lucian stood, testing his legs.
“A man take a beating like that should be laid up for at least a couple days,” the old guard said. “Besides, Cap will kill you if anything happens to him.”
“You mean Cap will kill us,” the young guard stated.
The old man got in his face. “You better hope they throw me in the cells first, cuz given the first chance, I’ll kill you myself if you botch this up,” he threatened.
The young guard’s attitude quickly changed. “Alright, alright,” he said as he pulled the key out of the lock.
“Now leave him be, you damned stubborn bastard,” the old guard said and turned to walk down the tunnel.
The young guard gave Lucian a go-to-hell look, set the torch back, then followed the old man. “You can get awfully riled up for an old man, you know that?” he said.
The two exchanged more words, but Lucian couldn’t make them out as they drifted farther away.
