Felinius nods, smirking at Felipides as he does so. The gesture goes unnoticed, given the absence of light. “Then you are also privy to my intelligence. And you would know that I can certainly determine when someone is trying to goad me.”
Felipides nods. “Just relaying apt rumor. In an attempt to differentiate gossip from the truth.”
Felinius is curious. “And what other gossip are you privy to?”
“They say you serve no King. Obtaining coin is all you are loyal to. It is him you serve, above all others,” says Felipides. Felinius smiles menacingly and then strikes Felipides in the cheekbone, creating a laceration. Felipides winces.
Felinius grabs him by the scruff of his neck and speaks to him in a low, vicious manner. “Set watch and warrant, prince. I am privy to insults, even from someone who believes himself coy. I may need you alive and intact, but there is much I can inflict on you and still leave you intact. You ken?”
Felipides nods.
“I can take several more of your digits and leave you intact. I can violate virgin orifice and still leave you intact. I can hobble you on one leg and still leave you intact. I can leave you intact and give you more pain than you can imagine. Do you ken, young prince?”
Felipides nods. Felinius smacks him hard again. “Then speak it. Do you ken?”
Felinius nods. “Ai. Ai. Set watch and warrant it. I ken, so I do. I cry pardon, Sai. I am at your mercy.”
“Ai. That you are. You would be wise to remember such.”
The remainder of the trip, the two sit in silence. Their exchange does little to instill a sense of justifiable insult or dominance in either one. Felinius feigns indifference to the implication that he serves no one but the coin, but nothing could have been further from the truth. It galls him considerably.
He aligns himself with Herod, so he can exact his vengeance against the Brotherhood. But whom does he serve? He is an outlaw, a traitor to Gilleon and in cahoots with the most corrupt man in all of Gilleon, who seeks to destroy them. They have the same goal, but Felinius makes no secret that he despises Herod.
One of Herod’s few redeeming qualities is the fact that he is devoted to family. Herod had once said to him that he considered him family. That makes him safe. Doesn’t it?
They row in silence for what seems like hours, Felinius listening intently for approaching soldiers. When Felipides dares to look in his direction, Felinius gives him an icy stare, inducing him to avert his gaze.
Felinius picks up the pace and soon they see the shoreline. Felinius races towards it and just barely makes out the silhouette of his replica clothing. Jaden. As they reach the shoreline, Jaden comes into view in a stealthy manner and greets him. Though he despised working with him initially, Felinius is ecstatic to see him. He had come through when needed. Even in pitch black with no more light than the methane lantern, Felinius can see Jaden’s dour expression.
As he approaches them, he gives Felinius a sardonic smirk. “Seems the source of your misgivings was misplaced. I have come through as promised.”
“Gratitude.” He shrugs. “Unforeseen complications I had not anticipated. But I have delivered one Prince as you see.”
Jaden shines his small canteen light closer to Felipides. He looks and smiles. “Ai, so you have. I hope his abduction is worth the bloodbath I have wrought. I’m now the most wanted man in all of Baltan. And the price on my head steeps beyond measure. I will have to leave Visi-Gaulia forever, the place I have called home since birth.”
“You knew it would always be so.”
“Ai. Suspected such. But now a foregone conclusion. The only card I now hold for sustained life is this man. So take him and let’s be about our business.”
Felinius gets up and shakes Jaden’s hand. “Gratitude again, Sai. You have proven yourself worthy cohort.”
“Ai. There will be time for congratulations later. A week in proper brothel to accept gratitude in order, to be sure. But for now, let us finish hard business. You ken?”
“Ai,” says Felinius.
Chapter 32: Unabated Nightmares
Maximus tosses and turns all night as sweat pours from his body.
Maximus squares off against Dante in an elimination match. He throws several lightning quick jabs to Dante’s face, but Dante is equally as fast, deflecting blow after blow. Dante continues, cozening him out to fight him until he is properly fatigued. Maximus, unable to ascertain Dante’s strategy, falls right into his hands.
And so when Maximus is properly winded, Dante unleashes several blows towards Maximus’ midsection. Maximus deflects most of them but had overly fatigued himself in his assault and a couple of hard, sharp blows hits home, eliciting a cry of pain and surprise.
Maximus’s instinctively bellows over slightly, clutching his stomach. As he does, Dante capitalizes on it. He fires out a lightning quick and ferocious jab at Maximus face, striking home in his mouth, causing a small laceration to appear under his lip and knocking several teeth from his mouth.
Maximus cries out. He tries to hold out his two fingers in submission, but Dante must have confused the gesture for an offensive assault because he aggressively pursues him with reckless abandon. He swings right through his hands, striking home directly in his cheekbone, breaking it in the process and causing Maximus’ eyes to water, the salty bite temporarily blinding him.
Dante finishes him off with a vicious roundhouse kick, striking home directly on his chin. Maximus goes down for the count, landing hard on the mat, blood seeping out of the laceration on his chin.
When Maximus awakes, he feels as if a ballista had imploded in his face. He instinctively reaches for his face, ensuring that it is still intact. Several teeth had been knocked out and he can barely see out of one of his eyes. Every attempt to move the slightest bit causes his gut to wrench up in all-consuming nausea. He moves his head to the side and vomits.
As he focuses with his good eye, he can see his Dottore in front of him, ostensibly signing off on his termination papers?
Dottore smiles at him, but it is not an encouraging smile. It is an indulgent, reluctant smile, the sort that you give an exasperating child who is about to be doled out a punishment.
“How fareth you, Maximus?”
“Am in pain,” responds Maximus. “Perhaps I need some time to recover.” Maximus says, hoping that stating the obvious will be enough to plead his case for a temporary reprieve. Anything but to be sent away.
Dottore sits down next to him, putting his arm around him in a doting gesture. It is not encouraging. Maximus emits a long sigh and begins to sniffle. Great. He is showing weakness, which will not help his case.
“Maximus, you shall have all the time you need to recover. You have done well here. You have excelled beyond measure. But unfortunately, we cannot have two leaders in this school. To sustain the integrity of the Brotherhood, we must eliminate one of you. And it has become quite clear to us Dante has proven himself as superior. He is the leader we have been looking for. We must ask you to leave.”
Tears stream down his face and he is helpless to prevent it. He tries to speak, but the words will not come. A deep sob that is threatening to expel finally racks him. At last, he croaks out. “Please Dottore. I can succeed. I will defer to Dante. Do not send me away. Set watch and warrant, I will make you proud.”
Dottore smiles. “You already have, boy. You have excelled. You will find an apt place in your father’s place. You will be able to command any post you wish. But you can never be one of us.”
“No! No! No!” cries Maximus.
Dottore looks at Maximus sternly, clearly disapproving of his behavior. He signs off on one last paper and presents it to Maximus. “Behaving like a girl pube will not help your case, young Sai. It only confirms what we have known. Here are your papers, terminating our arrangement.” He hands them to Maximus, who stares at them uncomprehendingly.
Maximus rolls over and over in his bed, sour sweat encapsulating him in a shroud of turmoil.
&nbs
p; Several years have passed since Maximus had been sent away and he is now a full-grown man and a disappointment to his father, never having achieved knighthood in the Brotherhood. As he meets his father’s penetrating gaze, he can feel his reproachful disillusionment, his disappointment, and disfavor.
“My son, I would like to have a word.”
“Ai, Father.” Maximus follows his father into his study, which is the smallest room in the castle by far. It defines the man who calls it refuge. Austere, simple, lacking the ostentation of the castle’s largest rooms, it serves as a place for meditation and relaxation for Menelaeus. Hard bound books of philosophy, religion, science and even sorcery line the massive mahogany columns that stretch upwards of twenty-five feet. Compared to the rest of the castle, the room seems cramped, but it is perfect for Menelaeus, who seeks refuge at times from the constraints of running an Empire.
“We haven’t had words in some time, my son. A time for serious palaver well past due. Do you ken?”
“Ai, Father. I have felt your reproachful stares too long. Anything would I give to be in your graces again.”
“Ai, my son. I would have it so again.”
“What must I do to win back the favor?
“You must stop moping around these castle walls like a girl pube who has lost her dolls. I have given you ample opportunity to significant posts, but you shun them as if any post short of Kingship is beneath you.”
“You would keep me at the diplomatic post as a way to relinquish yourself of my pestering presence?”
“I would have my son find meaningful work for which he is suited.”
“You would have me out of the way.” He says acidly through clenched teeth.
“I cry pardon if you view as such. You have high marks of any recruit and high credentials will go a long way in attaining high post, but you must choose a calling. And calling may be a temporary one. If you do not, then I have no other choice than to send you away.”
Maximus grows agitated. “You would extricate me as the Brethren have done?” asks Maximus.
“Drama better left to girl pubes, not grown men, young Sai. Will not throw you out into streets like some worthless vagabond. You will be permitted a monthly stipend to sustain yourself. But the luxuries you have grown accustomed to will be denied you, so long as you insist on dwelling in a pity bed.”
Tears well up in Maximus’ eyes. “So like the Brethren, you would wash your hands of me?”
“If you choose ample post, you will eliminate the need for me to resort to reluctant tactics.”
“But no matter how well I succeed at the post, I will never attain Kingship?”
“You know well, the rules of our Empire. Do not be tripe. A Kingship is not something that is given away as a family entitlement. You must earn the right to be King.”
“As you have done, Father?”
“Ai, my Son. As I have done.” Menelaeus grows indignant. “I am one of the Brotherhood. We are an exclusive group and I have earned the right to Kingship and the right to be counted among them. They have removed you from their midst because you are not one of us. And I stand by their decree. I trust my Brethren implicitly. We share a bond you will never understand. Set watch and warrant words, my son, you will never be King and so long as I live, I promise that in my wake, you will never proceed me!” Menelaeus said with restrained indignation.
Menelaeus sighs and softens. “But you will have a place in my Empire and always a son. You must accept your place.”
Maximus wakes from his dream, wiping the sweat from his brow. Thank God it was only a dream. Or was it a vision of events to transpire? The unsettling part of the dream is the fact that it was so very realistic and possible. That Dante could usurp him as the lead is definitely possible- unless he does something to derail the inevitable. Can he resort to such drastic (and treacherous) tactics to secure his place in the Brotherhood? Such a breach of trust is grounds for elimination from the Brotherhood, at the very least.
And if he were ever discovered in foul deed, he could suffer harsher sanctions still. Prison. Temporary Exile. A flogging, which is rumored to be excruciating beyond measure. Maximus cringes at the thought.
Maximus will not commit to such dire tactics-at least not yet.
Chapter 33: The Terms of Ransom
Aramis was right to distrust Felinius. The man is cunning, intelligent, persuasive and deadly beyond measure. He had reckoned such, but he had vastly underestimated him nonetheless. He had sent twenty of his most lethal soldiers out to eliminate the man, only to discover that the man they had so ruthlessly sought is not the man they had sought. An act of subterfuge had deceived everyone.
A man wearing the same clothes as Felinius had taken places with him. And that was not the worst of it, not by far. While the man who we had believed to be Felinius was making his way out of the castle, Felinius was behind castle walls, executing his plan to abduct the Prince, something that would have been nearly impossible, even with ample manpower.
And yet, the man had succeeded in abducting him, all by himself, while leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. He had slaughtered over forty men, some of which were his most seasoned and deadly soldiers. They would not have been easy to get the drop on, not by a long shot.
Felinius had proven himself more than a worthy adversary. Though Aramis is loathed to admit it, he admires him.
The other man who deceived them all rides next to him on a white stallion and occasionally steals glances at him, a sardonic gleam in his eyes, gloating at the ineptitude of so many. Aramis wants nothing more than to put a bullet through his head. But, if he gave into such capriciousness, the life of the Prince would be forfeit and Aramon would have his head for sure. He has no choice. They are truly at the mercy of two gifted killers.
They all walk into Aramon’s receiving room. His mood is in diametrical opposition to when the dignitaries had first walked into his chambers. Then, he had been calm, cool, collected, even affable, oblivious to the treachery that had been instigated against him.
Now, he is pacing impatiently on the ground before his throne. He had not slept the night of the abduction and it shows on his face, his crow’s feet seemingly etched deeper in his face, his eyes bloodshot and his skin even pastier than before.
As soon as the men approach within earshot, Aramon bellows out, “Where is my son?”
Jaden smirks, enjoying Aramon’s suffering immensely. “Are we not fellow countrymen, your grace? Am I not permitted proper greeting in your presence? You do not behave as gracious King.”
“Do not be tripe with me, young Sai. You exhale breath so long as I will it. You are here to negotiate terms for my son. That is all. What terms do you present?”
Jaden stares icily at the King, knowing well he can do so with impunity. “That we have your inept son is the reason I hold breath. That we have abducted him under your nose and you are unable to retrieve him is the reason I stand before you. Do not forget such, Prefect.”
Aramon clenches his fists tightly and his face blushes, giving his countenance some semblance of color he had recently lost. “Set watch and warrant words, young Sai. With sully business concluded, there will be nowhere in any land you will find refuge. There is no limit to what I will do to find you. I will search the ends of the earth for you. And when I find you, there will be much recompense in store for you. Do not-”
Jaden cuts him off abruptly. “But until such time, off limits, am I? And you will have to endure insults, but I am not here to rattle King. I stand before you to present terms for the return of son. That is all. Now, shall we resume? Is expedience not in order?”
Aramon softens at the mention of his son. He would like nothing better than to put a bullet through Jaden’s insolent head, but he must acquiesce. His son’s life is at stake. He unclenches his fist and sighs, trying hard to relinquish some of the built up angst. Now is a time for prudent diplomacy. “Ai, young Sai. Let us palaver. Tell me, what are your terms?”
“The terms
are simple and straight forward and well within your powers as King. You have before you documents of an alliance. Sign them and notarize them.”
Aramon nods. “Ai. Consider it done. What else?”
“You have taken custody of the men in Felinius’ party, men who are not in league with surreptitious plans of abduction. As a measure of your good faith, you will release two of them, whichever of your choosing. You can keep the rest to be released upon the exchange. You ken?”
Aramon nods. “Ai. I will release the diplomats, the Primm Brothers, an act of leniency in recompense for the death of their brother.”
“It is of little consequence to me, your grace.”
“Consider it done. Is that all?” asks Aramon.
Jaden shakes his head. “No, your grace. You have in your household a pube slave by the name of Paige, who has been unfairly conscripted into bedchamber service.”
Aramon shrugs. “Ai. What of such? Of little consequence what my son does to have debts repaid. A common practice of little note.’’
“And, as you say, of little consequence. Is it not?”
“Ai.”
“But it is of great concern to Felinius. You will release her, forgive the remainder of the debt and provide a sum to the family of four times the amount of debt. She will be reunited with family and never to be spoken of again.”
Aramon nods, indifferent to the amount of the debt or the circumstances that resulted in her conscription. “Ai. A trifling matter of little consequence. Consider deed done.” He motions to Aramis. He looks over at his Duke, Promethius, who has recently assumed the mantle of advisor with the recent death of Tellenius. “Duke, have my sage draw up the papers for me to sign them.”
The Duke nods. “Ai, your grace.”
“And I shall expect to see the papers if you please, your grace.”
Aramon shrugs. “As you wish.”
Jaden switches gears, appearing more amicable and accommodating, like a proper guest. “Your grace, may I approach? Let us sign the papers and be about this hard business.”
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