The scrape of a boot heel against stone cut through the general cacophony around him, and the captain snapped his eyes open, only to narrow them as a burning sense of anger and betrayal coursed through his veins. A young Resai elf stood before him, dressed in the nondescript but fine clothes of a noble. He wore an untarnished breastplate over a tunic of chainmail, his pale hair and equally pale skin untainted by the horrors of battle. The Resai’s cool blue eyes held a burning, haughty loathing that promised violence.
Pendric met those eyes, his own hooded but hard. Keiron had been his pupil and his friend, and the captain of the guard would have pledged his allegiance to him the day he took his father’s place as regent over Cahrdyarein. But not anymore. Betrayal of one’s people was the worst sort of treachery Pendric could think of, and Keiron had definitely betrayed his people.
The young elf lord held both hands behind his back, one clasping the other as he began a slow stroll around the captain, surveying him as if he were a feral dog afflicted with disease. Regardless of his easy gait and casual stance, Keiron was brimming with violent tension. Even before he made the move to strike him, Pendric knew the blow was coming. He tried to brace himself, but the Crimson King’s men had him pinned too securely. Keiron’s arm lashed out, his fist making contact with Pendric’s face.
The captain grunted as his head snapped to the side, but before he could recover from the strike, Keiron hit him again, and then again. After the fifth or sixth blow, the young man ceased his attack. Pendric coughed and drew in a ragged breath. Blood poured from a cut in his forehead and dribbled down his lips. His nose was most likely broken, but that would heal. At least, it would if he lived long enough to give it a chance. But, he knew he wasn’t long for this world.
At least Whinsey and Erron got out, he thought.
A deep pang of sorrow cut through him, hurting as much as his bruised and broken skin. He would never know his unborn child, would never know if it was a boy or a girl. He clenched his teeth, lashing back at the regret. You were able to save them and give them a future. That’s what matters, he reminded himself. He only wished he could have done the same for the rest of those living in Cahrdyarein. Hopefully, they will find the passages through the caverns and discover a safe haven beyond our city walls.
“Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” a cool, condescending voice asked, breaking through Pendric’s thoughts.
Not far below, the clamor of battle continued on into the morning. Swords clashing, bowstrings snapping, wood, stone and bone cracking and breaking under the onslaught of battering rams, catapults and war hammers. The shouts of the soldiers intermixing with the screams of horses and the Red Flanges’ horrible quahna. Pendric had been rendered nearly deaf from all the noise, yet he had no trouble hearing the precise, ice-quiet voice of his one-time pupil. The captain of the guard turned hard eyes onto the young Resai elf.
“What?” the regent’s son snarled. “Not in the mood to guess? Then, I’ll tell you.”
Keiron snapped an arm out and grabbed Pendric’s throat, leaning in to hiss at him, “Ever since the day you threw me in with the commoners.”
The traitor released him and he coughed, drawing in air. When he regained his composure, Pendric looked up at him in stunned disbelief. Keiron had wanted to beat him since … since his tenth birthday? As the captain of the guard, Pendric oversaw the training of all the young men and women of Cahrdyarein. He took on private students who were younger than the age of ten, but once they were old enough, they had to join the regular classes. This rule applied to everyone. Good gods and goddesses of Ethoes, Keiron had been holding onto this bitterness for ten years? How had he not seen it coming?
“Your father,” Pendric rasped, using his voice for the first time.
“Is dead,” Keiron answered, without a mote of emotion, “along with my mother. I killed them first. They were holding me back, and their misguided self-importance was tedious. Besides,” he added, retreating into himself a little. “I have a new father now.”
Pendric felt a strange tugging on his senses, as if all his nerve endings went numb, then hot at the same moment. Keiron pulled aside the hood of his cloak, exposing one side of his face. Like a bruise rising on the skin, a mark slowly became clear. No, not just a mark. A brand. If Pendric hadn’t already been horrified at Keiron’s act of parricide, the image of the Crimson King’s brand appearing on his face would have definitely sent him over the edge.
“Why?” Pendric bit out, the word grating against his throat.
His face and head ached to the point of distraction, and his arms were growing numb from being tied behind his back for so long. The icy stone of the wall walk pressed uncomfortably against his knees, but through all the pain and discomfort, he managed to keep a clear head. But now, with Keiron’s confessions, the captain’s thoughts began to haze over.
Keiron’s mouth twisted in disgust, and the ugly brand on his cheek only amplified his look of rage. “I just told you, you half-wit! They were holding me back from reaching my full potential, just like you!”
He balled his fists and kicked the captain in the ribs. Pendric grunted and folded into the blow, wondering if he could now add cracked ribs to his list of injuries. He knew he should have been angry, but for some bizarre reason, a bubble of laughter rose up.
“That is just the problem,” he breathed, with a dry chuckle. He lifted his eyes so they met Keiron’s. “You never had much potential to begin with.”
Pendric expected another attack from the regent’s son, but Keiron only sighed and wove his fingers in front of his face. That strange hot tingling sensation whispered over Pendric’s nerves again and the brand vanished. So, some sort of magic was involved to keep the mark hidden. Apparently, the Tyrant didn’t want everyone to know about his little puppet quite yet. The captain of the guard wondered how many others were like Keiron; slaves to the Tyrant, but hiding in plain sight. Icy dread cut through Pendric’s stomach. How many of his soldiers had been working for the enemy? Had they been present when Jaax and Ellyesce had spoken of the caverns the elf would use to guide Jahrra and his family to Nimbronia?
Keiron’s next words gave him some comfort, however.
“Enough with the small talk. You are alive only because I need information from you. Where is Jahrra?”
Pendric clamped his mouth shut and focused on breathing through his swollen nose, trying to ignore the sharp pain each breath caused. He had not fought so hard, nor sacrificed so many of his soldiers, to give in now. Several moments passed, the sky growing ever lighter with the waking dawn. The city was lost. The soldiers who had served under him to keep Cahrdyarein safe for so long were scattered and broken. And his city, this great jewel of the mountain peaks, would become a stronghold for the most hated and feared malevolence Ethoes had ever known. It was no longer a question of if the Tyrant in the east was waking up, it was a certainty. But, he would not bend. If goodness should prevail and blot the scourge in Ghorium from the face of the earth, then he would be remembered as one of several thousand who refused to break under the will of Ciarrohn. He owed it to his wife and his children. And he owed it to Jahrra, the young woman who had proven her honor and worth to him and so many others.