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A wild, frantic stare set upon the walls of Roane. Walls that once protected him, behind them a place he had called home. But he had not been here in years, at least not his true self. That was only a pawn, a mask fit to deceive both the King and Grahamas—one that had worked brilliantly. Estophicles had done what he was required to. He had gathered the information that Valaira sought, and then led her directly to them, exposing himself in the process and eliminating any chance at a future deception. None of that mattered now. He cared very little for the King or anyone—even his brother—in the ranks. To him, they were dull. Lacking of vision. The King was too paranoid to leave his throne room, the General too obsessed with perfection and the Wizard was a sniveling, mindless fool. Estophicles craved more than that, than what they could offer. He yearned for only chaos, and stuck within such a regimented and controlled army he could never accomplish that, no matter how high he climbed. So he had given it up without a second thought when that strange woman approached him years ago, and promised him everything he sought. All if he agreed to use his very unique power of illusion to help her. Though how she knew of his gift was a question he could not answer. A power he had developed shortly before he met her. It was almost as if she was aware. But that seemed impossible. Then again, so was the thought of actually being able to change his shape, to mirror any person he saw, simply with concentration. But it was more than that—more than just simple mind powers—it was the gem. The same one he carried upon his axe when he deceived as Samsun, the same that had been with him at birth. It had changed colors since then and what once was a bright emerald green had turned a dingy olive. And the darker it grew, the more he was able to do with it. At first it only allowed him to cast simple spells, then complex ones. When he was a young man, its shade dampened and he noticed the first change: Time. It slowed down. Not extensively, and not completely, but it allowed him to do things faster than others, to fight better. It was what helped him to rise through the ranks of Idimus’ army. Only the King and the General could beat his speed, and that made him a well sought after soldier.
After he had spent seven years doing the most despicable things, the gem shrouded again. He didn’t notice the change at first. One night he was simply staring at himself in the mirror, ashamed of the scar that tainted his face, wishing he looked more like his brother. That was when the jewel started to glow and for the first time, the green mist surrounded him, as it would dozens of times after. When it faded, he thought he was staring at Estechian. But his brother was mimicking his movements in the mirror. It took him a moment to realize, and even longer to settle the shock, that his body had changed completely. For years after, he experimented with it. Hid amongst the soldiers, even posed as the General—defects and all—simply to see if anyone would notice. No one, not even his own brother, ever did.
When he had finally perfected the act and could enter onto it without thought, Valaira approached him, seemingly more aware of it than he was. Over the years, Estophicles discovered she had knowledge of many things he did not. And that fact spellbound him. Unlike the King who cared only for himself, Valaira could commit and deliver on everything she promised to him. So he had given himself to her completely, and entered into a role he thought for sure would end him. Estophicles was not like others, and certainly the furthest thing from Samsun. He had very little information on the man, and thought that in only a short period, Grahamas would see through the deception. He had not, though. Once Estophicles cast the illusion, his frantic, fragmented mind cleared. The only whispers he heard then were ones that fed him information—most facts that turned out to be true when Grahamas questioned him of the past, or Highlace. He could not explain it, and often wondered if it was Valaira, as he used it to communicate with her now—calling upon her, and only speaking into it, her voice then would echo in his head. But the normal influence that guided him was primal; darker. Amongst the many voices he heard, this one was defined even more so than Valaira’s. Over that year, it had managed to keep him calm and centered on only his task.
Yet the moment he was released, the sensation came back to him. The sporadic, unyielding drive to destroy. Murdering, pillaging or arson would not suffice, not after a year of having put it off. He needed something grand to drown out his addiction now. Something Eldonia would never forget, or ever recover from. It was why he returned to Roane.
In the far left corner of the city, in a place hidden away and restricted, was chaos.
And he was going to set it free.
He first made his way against the outer wall and along the far side. He risked capture and exposing himself again, all to answer the whispers he now could not ignore. If he needed to enter Roane, he may have gone a different route, and would have had a harder time on his hands. But what he sought was not in the training ground, merely attached to it: a holding cell that contained creatures too reckless and too powerful for even Idimus to contain.
Trolltaghs.
Within the prison were the twelve Taghs that Perticus had created over a decade ago. Monsters that stood over seven feet tall with searing, red eyes forever marked with rage and incoherence. Hidden behind long, black hair that was as tussled and unkempt as the rest of them. Their wide mouths contained large teeth with yellow stains and jagged edges that contrasted sharply against their oily, green skin. They wore only a short, leather loincloth wrapped around the bulk of their waist and the same fabric tied around their massive biceps.
Uncontrollable, mindless and cruel. Estophicles could never understand why Idimus was so intent on keeping them around, even after all the carnage they cost and soldier’s lives they took.
“How ironic…” Estophicles laughed in his own mind, “What he protected will destroy him.”
He snuck up to the facility and took one more look around. Even now, behind the two-foot thick stonewall, he could hear them grunting and screaming. The building itself was not within Roane, only the back of it was built directly into the city’s wall. One door faced west away from it and could only be accessed from the outside. If the Taghs were granted freedom, or if they were ever to escape, they may first attempt to destroy Roane. It would be far easier for them to do so inside the wall than out. But as well, they needed to be guarded and the best place to do it was outside the residence of five hundred soldiers.
The building also had a second door, and only Gerin, Estophicles, and Estechian had keys to both of them. The first door, facing the west, led to the holding cell where the Taghs were shackled and chained to the back wall. On the other side of it was a second room, completely independent of the first. It existed as a way for any of the three to release the monsters without ever putting themselves in danger. The chains that held each Tagh were fished through small holes in the wall and then each line went all the way across the second room and bolted directly into the far wall.
Estophicles crept around the front of the building to the first iron door; he then peered through the slit to make sure that each beast was properly restrained. Though yelling and screaming, struggling against their binds, none of the twelve roamed freely about the room. Estophicles was safe to open the door. The moment he had, the instant one of the Taghs caught sight of him, it snarled and hollered, yanking at its chains so hard that it threatened to tear down the second wall. Estophicles quickly moved from its sight, as not to antagonize it any further.
“Good…” He whispered as he unlatched the second door. The scene had convinced him of the Taghs’ desire to be released, and with it, their lust for destruction and chaos.
As he yanked the second door open, he stalled. As he stared at the ceiling, focusing on the long, razor sharp blade that hung high above the chains, he considered what he was doing. The blade hung only by a rope that was anchored by a hook near the front door. Once it was untied, there was no turning back. The blade would fall and the massive weight would break the binds that were bolted to one wall and strung through the other to hold the Taghs. After three long years
, they would be set upon the world. For a flitting second, Estophicles had a moment of clarity, perhaps even remorse as he realized how dangerous this was. He held the door, leaving it open as he debated turning back rather than locking himself in and untying the rope.
“Release… Them…” The whispers began again, invading his head the moment he went to step out, the same whispers that had led him here. As if he was in a trance, Estophicles followed the orders, latching the door tight. “Release them!” The voice hissed again and, again, Estophicles obeyed; without a second thought yanked his sword out and hacked through the rope. The long blade dropped an instant later, not slowed in the slightest by the twenty-four chains it had to cut through. It finally embedded itself in the stone and ground to a halt. Some of the chains were cut while others had merely broken; but not one remained latched to the wall.
It took them a moment to realize what happened, but Estophicles watched as a pair slipped further and further through the holes. A loud grunt bellowed from the other side, and one by one each chain pulled through.
“Onward. Destroy…” he whispered watching the links tumble out, keeping a firm grip on the door just in case the monsters decided to make their way to the back.
They were dense—destructive, but dense. In front of them, once they passed through the door, was a wide-open field, while behind them, lay the stones that they had stared at for three years. Each of them charged on, most without ever looking back.
Estophicles waited, and the longer he did, the further the grunts and barks got. When he could no longer hear them, he opened the door and returned to the night. He acted only on what the whispers told him now, and he failed to see the emerald in his pocket glowing softly. Had he caught it, he may have removed it and perhaps notice the color change once again.
In A Time Of Darkness Page 84