“May I ask why you have come to set me free after I nearly stole your kingdom’s most precious rock?” Lorian asked, his fingers itching toward his now too loose belt where his dagger should have been, but it was now sheathed at the commander’s side.
“You aren’t going to be set free, I can assure you that much,” the commander replied confidently.
Lorian’s spirits dropped slightly, but he continued forward. It wasn’t like he had much choice in the matter, as the guards were nearly dragging his emaciated body toward whatever fate he was to face. They turned a corner, and the whisper of fresh air danced across Lorian’s face as they came to a tall flight of stairs that ended in a heavy iron door. His legs trembled at the thought of walking all the way to the top in his current physical state. The guard to his left shoved him forward and Lorian stumbled his way up the first steps.
Hot frustration burned Lorian’s cheeks. He was so frail, so weak. This was not the body of a master thief, this was the body of a dead man. Lorian was strong, and he was smarter and faster than these three men put together.
“If I’m not being freed, then why have you come for me?” Lorian panted as they reached the top landing.
The fair-haired commander did not answer, but instead withdrew the same ring of keys from his belt and promptly unlocked the iron door. The door swung open with a groan, and Lorian had to stifle a gasp as bright sunlight and cool air flooded over him, colors bursting across his vision.
“Don’t just stand there like a blundering idiot, move,” the guard on his left barked, and shoved him forward again.
“You don’t need to shove me, I’m perfectly capable of walking without an assisted start,” Lorian made himself reply, though he had to admit that he was still out of breath and terribly tired from the flight of stairs they had just finished climbing.
Lorian gaped at the floor-to-ceiling windows and bright marble hallway that he had not seen during his descent to the dungeons, as he had been quite preoccupied with a blindfold over his eyes at the time. The marble floors were spotless, and he brought his attention back to the windows to find an immaculate garden of hedges and white roses below. Indeed, the air smelled of roses, and Lorian felt sick from the strength of the perfume-like scent in the castle. It was nearly as overwhelming as the smell that Lorian’s unfortunate corpse of a neighbor had given off in the dungeons.
The commander pulled once on the thick iron handle of the dungeon door with a gloved hand and nodded to the guards, who tightened their grip on Lorian once more and began down the hallway. Lorian kept himself occupied by watching the commander’s short hair bounce with each step he took, which helped him ignore the countless paintings of previous Red Kings glaring down upon him with their identical black eyes. They rounded one corner and Lorian glanced at a painting of the current Red King, the oldest ruler in Raymarian history.
Rough cloth swept over Lorian’s head, obscuring his view of the endless portrait-lined hallways. The blind itched his skin, and he let out an involuntary grunt as a hand pushed him forward.
“Again with the blindfold?” Lorian sighed.
“Let’s go,” growled the sour-tempered guard in reply.
“I must ask, why can’t you Keadorans ever give a clear answer to my questions?” Lorian asked. “You have always been the most difficult lot to work with in my ten years of thievery.”
“Perhaps it’s because we are smarter than most and know better than to give clear answers to men like you,” the commander replied, and Lorian could hear the hint of warning in his tone.
Lorian raised a brow under his hood and shrugged in response. It wasn’t that the commander was wrong, in fact, it was the answer that Lorian expected to come from an arrogant ass like him.
They continued winding through the castle, and Lorian’s head soon began to swim with both exhaustion and the permeating scent of roses in the air. He needed to figure out what was going on, and then he needed to escape somewhere far away from this terrible kingdom. Perhaps he would attempt a return to Farrador, the elf kingdom, as well as his birthplace. The mere thought made him stifle a snort and shake his head. No, he would much rather test stepping into Crubia’s cursed lands than attempt a second chance of life in Farrador.
A shiver went through Lorian’s body at the memory of endless seas of grey sand and hot air that blew against his face from across the shimmering kingdom border. Crubia, the death kingdom, as people called it, had been the first cursed kingdom that Lorian had ever seen in his life, and had been his only sliver of evidence that the stories of the Red King’s curse was true. Lorian had found himself curious as to what would have happened if he’d stepped across the border from the elf kingdom into Crubia. Would he have been stuck and never able to step back into Farrador, as the legends said? Or would he find that he could simply walk back to the warmth of tall trees and lush grasses? Lorian had never been foolish enough to try, yet he found himself curious whenever his journeys brought him close to the death kingdom.
A hand ripped the bag from Lorian’s head and he was blinded by brilliant light once more. He blinked the kaleidoscope of colors from his vision to find that they were approaching a flight of steps lined with slanted windows at either side. Lorian craned his neck to look out of the windows and his heart leaped—not at the sight of a perfectly groomed garden, but of a hill with browning grass that led to the expanse of Crimson City. Lorian could not see people through the tall buildings and thatched roofs, but he was sure that if he were outside he would hear voices and smell the faint waft of fresh bread and baked goods. His mouth watered at the thought of fresh bread, and he quickly put it at the top of his list of things to do once he escaped the castle.
He let his attention drift closer to find tall trees lining the white castle walls, the very tops brushing softly against the bottom of the windows. Delicate deep orange vines wound along the marble walls like a spider web, and Lorian tore his attention from the windows with a shudder as flame and caramel-colored eyes flashed across his memory. A pang of regret shot through his heart at the thought of the girl he would never see again.
The steps opened to a hall that was wider than the previous, a pair of ceiling-high oak doors waiting at the far end. Two guards were stationed at either side of the door, their eyes staring unblinkingly ahead with no acknowledgment of Lorian or the commander’s approach. The guards turned stiffly and stepped forward, each taking a brass handle and pulling the doors open.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” Lorian inclined his head toward the guards, who didn’t even blink. “Perhaps a few lessons in hospitality would suit you well.”
The commander of the Ten kept walking without a remark and turned abruptly to stand in line with nine other armor-clad men to Lorian’s right. Lorian continued until he glanced up and staggered to a stop at the sight of the man seated upon the throne before him.
The Red King gazed down upon him, and Lorian shrank from the power that radiated from the ancient yet ageless ruler. His crimson robes and white hair were stark against the black iron throne upon which he was seated. The Red King was over one thousand years old, and it was said that the four remaining goddesses had granted him something close to immortality as a gift for aiding the end of the war. Lorian hadn’t believed the tales until now. Now there was no way of doubting the Red King’s eternal power and age, as it nearly radiated from him. His skin was smooth and white, his black eyes watching Lorian stumble forward before the guards released his shoulders and took two steps back to stand behind him.
“Welcome, Lorian Grey.” The Red King’s calm and yet spine-tingling voice echoed through the room.
Lorian gulped and bowed his head, now only mere feet from the throne. He focused on the plush crimson rug under his grimy boots, searching for anything to keep him from looking up at the Red King and the stone embedded into the throne above his head. The bloodstone.
“You must be wondering why I have invited you to stand before me.” The king smiled.
Lorian
dared to look up, giving the king a half-smile in return. “I must say yes, however I am not surprised that you wanted to get one last glance at my dashing good looks before you sentenced me to the Nether.”
The Nether was the underworld, the realm where beings crossed to when their time in Raymara was over. It was a place of both demons and angels, goddesses and devils. Legend had it that the Red King seated before Lorian was the reason for its creation. During his final battle with Lux one thousand years ago, the Red King placed a curse upon the goddess and her kingdoms, turning her into Nex, goddess of death and destruction. Once the curse spread to Naebatis and Crubia, she fled to the underworld, turning the Nether into her new kingdom.
“Is it true that you were the one to curse Nex so that she couldn’t take over Raymara? I have always been curious,” Lorian added with a widening grin.
The Red King did not smile, but simply turned his head and motioned for Lorian’s new commander friend to step forward.
“You,” the king began, “can you swear upon your life and the honorable position which you uphold that this thief can be trusted?”
“I’d like to call myself more of a professional borrower of possessions,” Lorian interjected.
It wasn’t that he hated the term “thief”, in fact, it granted him respect from even the most frightening of men. Lorian only wished for the current bounty upon his head from many years of unfinished jobs to be terminated, and to perhaps have the ability to make thievery a side occupation instead of his main identity.
Neither the king nor the commander acknowledged Lorian’s words before the commander bowed low and answered, “Yes, my king. I can assure you that with right motivation and company, this man can help.”
Lorian glanced at the commander with raised brows. He was trying to help set Lorian free? If so, what had the commander’s words meant when they were leaving the dungeons? Lorian turned his attention back to the king, who tapped a long finger against the arm of his throne in contemplation.
“May I ask exactly what I am supposed to help with?” Lorian asked in confusion. “I am not being picky, I am simply curious.”
The Red King’s dark eyes sharpened back to Lorian. After a moment, the king seemed to decide that it was appropriate to divulge the mystery, and his expression turned grave.
“About one moon ago, three very dangerous beasts were unleashed by a storyteller’s drawings. They destroyed a village in Proveria and are now running rampant and causing unrest throughout the five inhabited kingdoms.”
A shudder went through Lorian’s body. Storytellers were beings of immense power, born from books during the War of Seven Kingdoms to join the witch ranks. They did not belong to any single kingdom, as they were not truly born from bones and blood. Storytellers were both human and not, their magic contained within the stories they wove. Depending on the stories they told, creatures and events of either great beauty or horror would result from their weavings.
“That is truly awful. I apologize that I wasn’t aware of this event, but I was slightly preoccupied with trying to stay alive in your dungeons,” Lorian answered in a tone edged like a sharp blade.
The Red King chuckled, showing perfectly straight white teeth. “You attempted to steal the bloodstone,” he replied. “You should count your blessings. You would have been sent to the Nether right away if my commander had not told me of your skills.”
Lorian did not respond. He would not have been caught trying to steal the bloodstone if he had any real skill. Though he had not truly attempted to steal it. The bandit lord who had given him the mission was an idiot, and Lorian had taken the job simply to get out of Fortula, the only human-ruled city in Keadora. The risk of actually stealing the stone had been too high and he was not foolish enough to complete the task for only fifty pieces of gold.
“Bring in the witch,” the Red King ordered after a moment of silence.
The large oak doors groaned as the guards opened them once more. Faint footsteps approached, and Lorian made an effort to remain facing the king instead of turning to see their new visitor. And then she was at his side. All breath was knocked out of Lorian’s body and his vision blurred as his eyes landed on the witch.
She was as beautiful as he remembered, but older. Her healthy frame was clad in a simple grey healer’s gown, and a weathered leather belt empty of any weapons was tied around her waist. Her long chocolate brown hair was fashioned into a long braid down her back, and her olive-toned skin was flushed with anger.
“Finriel?” The name felt foreign against Lorian’s lips as he sputtered her name in surprise.
She turned her head to look at him, and he was sure that it was her by her eyes. They were the color of deep caramel, save for the dark orange veins winding around her pupils that set her apart from anyone he had ever met. A look of horrified surprise washed over her striking face. She cursed and looked away from him, her hands clenched into fists.
“What are you doing here?” Finriel hissed under her breath.
“What am I doing here? I thought you were dead,” Lorian blurted. He couldn’t breathe. The familiar sensation of guilt and regret that he had long since buried within reared its ugly head once more.
“Ah,” the Red King said with a wry smile. “I see you two already know each other. I suppose I do not need to make introductions, then. Commander Tedric Drazak, please step forward.”
The fair-haired commander of the Ten strode forward, his expression a mask of mild surprise.
So that was his name. Lorian didn’t have to imagine the man as Stuck-Up Bastard or Fabulous-Haired Sissy. The Red King spoke again and Lorian broke from his thoughts, the tightness in his chest spasming like a fish out of water.
“The mission you must complete is very simple,” the king began. “The three of you will embark on a quest at the rise of the new sun. With the aid of one of our kingdom’s enchanted maps, you will take the blank pages we recovered and find these terrible monsters. Once they are all safely in your possession, you will find the storyteller and return both him and the drawings to me.”
“Why choose us?” Finriel snapped. “And what do we get in return?”
The king studied the witch, and something strange flashed across his eyes that sent unease through Lorian. It was gone in a heartbeat, and Lorian began to question if he’d imagined the Red King’s look.
“I have chosen each of you because of your unique skills, which I am confident can do great things when combined. Finriel Caligari, I have seen your work in the city and neighboring villages. Your healing magic is nearly unmatched even by the most experienced witches, which is surprising since you are only just over twenty years of age. Your skills and able physical state will be necessary on a journey as dangerous as the one you are to face.”
Finriel’s face turned a deep shade of pink and she looked away from the king.
“And you, Lorian Grey.” The king slid his steely gaze to the thief. “I have been informed that you are the most skilled thief and trickster in the realm. If your skills are used correctly, I am confident that you will be able to find the monsters quickly and find a way of recovering them into the pages without much difficulty.”
Lorian dipped his head in a small bow and winked at the king. “You flatter me, though I am not surprised in the least to have been picked. As you said, I am the best.”
The Red King ignored his words and faced Tedric. “As for you, Commander Drazak, you are my most loyal and fierce warrior. I know that you will keep these two fools on task and ensure that the pages are returned to me safely.”
“I would be interested in knowing what our reward will be if we say yes to this quest,” Lorian said.
“Your reward is your head staying on your shoulders,” the Red King snapped. “And if you return to Keadora alive with all three drawings and the storyteller in your company, I will wipe all of your wrongdoings clean. You could start a new life with that privilege.”
Silence filled the room. Lorian didn’t know w
hat to say. The thought of never again having to sneak through cities because the bounty on his head was larger than the size of his purse sounded very good. He hated constantly having to look over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t see a familiar face. He bowed his head in gratitude, the fear of being sent to the Nether at the hands of the Red King fading.
“I will also ensure that each of you receive five thousand gold pieces for your time and success, if that suits you,” the Red King finished.
“Why do you want us to return the drawings to you instead of simply destroying them?” Finriel asked, completely ignoring the offer of more money than Lorian had ever seen in his life.
“We will take the money, if you needed a confirmation,” Lorian interjected, and Finriel shot him a look of pure disgust.
The Red King nodded to Lorian and straightened in his seat. Power radiated from the king’s body, and Lorian and Finriel shrank back from the throne. “I am not required to tell a simple witch girl the reasons behind my decisions, but if it is the only way to keep you satisfied enough to hold your tongue, so be it.”
Lorian bristled at the harshness of the Red King’s words, but forced himself to remain silent as the king opened his mouth and spoke again.
“I would like you to bring me back the pages and the storyteller so that I may question him and force him to destroy the drawings. You must understand that storytellers are wicked and mischievous. It is highly unlikely that the storyteller created the pages without enchanting them in some way to prevent destruction. Does that answer satisfy you?”
Finriel dropped the king’s gaze and nodded curtly in response.
Of Liars and Thieves Page 2