by Sohan Ahmad
Formalities hardly concerned the King of Hardship. “I will not ask a second time, child.” Especially at this late hour.
A fear unknown to her, one born out of respect, pulled her tongue from her throat. “I am Katia from Lubra, your grace. My mother and father were fishers off the Crimson Coast. Our village burned to the ground five years ago. Few people know of it, I barely remember it myself.”
Ramses was not one of those people. Lubra had a survivor? Yet it would seem she knows nothing of her heritage. A shame. “You have my condolences, girl; news of the raid should have reached my ear sooner. For that, I apologize.”
“Your Holiness, the blame is not yours, it was never yours.” It shamed her to hear such words. “A village like ours was never meant for long, my father often told me. Fishers are poor, and the poor are lucky to live for as long they do.”
True words, there was no doubt, but unpleasant nonetheless for a good ruler to hear. He remained silent for a few moments before Cyrus relinquished his composure. “Why won’t you look at me, Fa—”
“Have you lost your mind, boy?” Before the boy’s throat exhaled another breath, Ramses chopped his words clean with the pink blade in his mouth. “My one and only son sleeps just above us. You mean nothing to me. I should have left you to rot in the hands of the rat.”
Too long from home, the young slave had forgotten his place. The chains of his father returned to replace the ones he had just escaped, only the iron felt lighter than it once did. “Forgive my rudeness, Your Holiness,” Cyrus said, half-mocking. “I was forced to commit horrors upon my dead mother at the hands of the rat. My manners aren’t what they once were.”
Swine! The shame dripped into the Cardinal’s ears like poison. Fool, this is your own doing. He tried his best to hide the water that formed in the narrow corners of his eyes. You knew what the rat was capable of. Forgive me, Isa. “Gratitude for the report. I will consider your information carefully,” he replied, the blood in his veins boiling so fierce, it nearly pierced the dark. The brass plating on his cup caved like crumpled paper within the coiled crush of his fingers.
His fury burned for the slightest string of instants before he smothered it with the spilled red vintage that dripped down his palms. “I will allow you two to remain the night while I contemplate my decision.” Ramses summoned one of the scarlet knights who stood guard just beyond the library door. “Take the girl to an empty room within the slave quarters.” She left without a word of protest as the wood and iron hinges creaked shut behind her, leaving Cyrus alone with his father.
“You showed great courage and fortitude by escaping such a man,” Ramses said, placing his crown on the table carved of red oak. “I did not think it in you. For that and a great many things, I apologize. It is a pity that you were born a slave and not of red hair like your brother. You could have helped forge Marcus into a great ruler. I cannot say for certain what made me open the gates, but know that I am glad I did.”
“Then why did you scold me in front of the girl?” Cyrus asked. “Of all of your lords, why would you choose him? How could you leave my mother with such a monster? When despite it all, she still loved you.”
Ramses did not answer right away; the tears would hold no longer. They streamed down his gaunt cheeks as he turned and caressed his weary fingers against the crown. It feels heavier each time I touch it, as if it were tethered to a thousand shackles, he thought as he answered, “The burden of rule.”
“What do slaves have to do with rule?” Cyrus asked, searching for the answer. “We have no power. Men like you and Lucivius make sure we know that.”
“You are more clever than that,” his father said with a raised brow. “Slaves are both power and weakness. Lucivius came to me with a solution to the problem that faced our kingdom. Queens do not die in their homes alongside their slaves. Yes, the rat is vile and deceptive, yet there was no one else I could trust to protect my shame. Villains can be ruled by fear, saints cannot.”
The boy wanted to hate him, but everything you say is true. Except for one thing. Villains are not the only ones ruled by fear, Father. “I will never see Marcus again, will I?” he asked as if he had been born with the answer.
Ramses’s right hand clutched the bronze rim of his crown, its metal growing denser with every judgment. Only with two hands could he lift it once again above his tangled locks of graying red. “You have become a complication that Marcus simply cannot afford. He believes his brother to be dead, and so his brother must remain.” The lie is much sweeter than the truth that Marcus has chosen to abandon you as well. “If you still wish to claim that title, then you leave me with little choice. Reject it and not only can you live, you might just have the chance to avenge Isa as well.”
“I don’t understand,” said the boy.
“The Betrayer of Snakes and Dragons will answer for what he has done, but I cannot publicly execute a noble for crimes he committed within the shadows. Not when the darkest ones were by my command. The arena will decide which one of you gets to live. It is unfair, I know, but this is all I can do for you.”
Cyrus did not argue; he knew his father even better than his brother did. Once you make a decision, it will never be unmade. “What of Katia? Will you treat her with the same kindness?”
“Worry not, she will be safe, you have my word.”
At least I’ll be able to keep my promise to you, Z’hiri. “I’ll trust your word. Tell her nothing of what happens to me, she has suffered enough. Now if you are done with me, Your Holiness, I would take my leave. Running for my life has made me tired.”
Even the most bitter taste of freedom must seem sweet to him. Elijah’s eldest living descendant was all too familiar with the stink of a free man’s arrogance. He may dress in chains for what life remains, but never again can he be called a slave. A reluctant wave of his hand sent the boy on his way. As the studded slab of smoothed lumber split open, the Cardinal had one final set of words for his bastard. “Cyrus. You are the blood of Elijah. Fight and live.”
“I am the blood of my mother.” He was right; the boy was no longer a slave. “I’ll fight and I’ll live for her sake and hers alone,” the young slave replied.
Outside the maze of tomes and scrolls, a second scarlet knight awaited to escort the boy. He was young and new to the order, with a face that Cyrus did not recognize. “You must be important,” the knight said with a tickle of disdain, ignorant as to whom he spoke. “His Holiness has arranged the softest bed for your cell.”
There was a time when such comforts would have been welcomed with a smile. “I am nothing.” But now it felt like an insult.
The knight’s lip winced. “Ungrateful runt.” He would have whacked the boy with the back of his steel hand if not for his orders. “I should let you starve, but His Holiness would see you well kept.” Down the spirals they climbed, deep beneath the earth until the faintest trace of moonlight vanished.
His new home was a windowless box of dirt. Inside the locked door was the feathered bed as promised, planted below a fresh change of clothes. The room was lit with a dozen candles, but the glow left him to wonder, how much light does it take to bury me alive? He pinched the tiny flames with his thumb and index fingers until only one remained.
Gray clouds blotted the morning sky that followed. Lucivius strode onto the Cathedral grounds as if it were any other day, though his caravan was one carriage lighter than usual. Ten of his most trusted bronze dogs and a handful of slaves joined the ride, but Darius was not among them.
“Welcome, my lord.” Inside the freshly sealed wall of iron, Sir Archonis Deroy waited in an unusually eager mood, his silver scales shimmering as if the sun were made of metal. His crimson mantle was equally impressive, the cross-shaped hydra, painted white on blood red velvet, was fierce, almost alive. “What brings you back so soon?” he saluted with a smile.
I did not ride all night to be mocked. Suspicion chewed at Lucivius like a dog at a cow bone. What game is the old fool playing?
Surely, he knows that I am aware of the boy’s return. “Why, Commander, I did not think you the teasing sort of man,” he said with a half smile, the other half filled with sweaty angst.
The Paladin grinned like an old man hiding candy from his grandchild. “Forgive me for amusing myself at your expense, my lord.” The words are easier today. “But you really should be more careful. The boy waits below, hidden in chains. After all, it would be unfortunate if the prince were to see him.” Archonis led the lord of lies and his personal guard into the deepest roots of the palace where ancient cages of stone and iron slumbered. Only the most dangerous criminals ever lived there, from spies and traitors to Shadows and their masters. The only escape from a burial cell was death, but most remained long after the maggots had finished with their corpse.
When they arrived, Ramses stood inside an open cage, gazing at a pair of shackles that dangled from the wall. “Commander, take the soldiers and wait outside. I would share private words with our good lord.”
“Gentlemen, if you would,” Archonis said, gesturing the bronze dogs toward the door through which they had just come. However, they would not move without orders, glancing toward their master for approval.
I do not like this, Lucivius worried. But I cannot disobey a direct request. “You heard His Holiness. Shoo, I will call if you are needed.”
Bracchis Rayne gave a nod, and the cell belonged to two and two alone. As the rat entered the cage, the Cardinal kept his back to him. “I must say, I am quite surprised to see you here. Your reputation as a slaver seems as real as a child’s bedtime story. Was the boy too much for you? Perhaps, I trusted the wrong man with him.”
The rat’s lips soured. “I assure Your Holiness that such a gross error will never occur again. Because he was once yours, I treated him with kindness, and this is how the bastard repays me. Grant me a second chance, and I shall reward your faith, you have my word.”
“Your carelessness has caused me a great inconvenience,” Ramses replied, removing his fingers from the cold iron restraints that clanged against the stone. “Surely you understand that I cannot return the boy without proper compensation. How do you propose to make me whole for staining my hands with your mess?” he asked, glaring at the rat.
“Your Holiness, you offend me deeply,” the Betrayer answered, masking his poisoned tongue with honey. “I would never dream of making such a request with empty hands. In my wagon sit five of my best slaves, obedient animals who are all skilled laborers. If that does not please, then I have a silks and wools, so fine that Prime Vain Chrona has requested a dozen crates. I would gladly spurn the Ivory Talon in your favor, you need only ask.”
“That is quite the offer indeed,” the Cardinal said, stroking the length of his beard. “But I have enough slaves, and I cannot feed my people with silks and wools. However, there is something else you have that I desire greatly, should you be interested.”
“My ears dance in anticipation,” Lucivius answered, grinning his rat-toothed grin as he twirled wiry whiskers between his grubby little fingers.
Ramses smiled, whispering a song so short and sweet that it burned the Snake Charmer’s drums to ash: “Your life.” His hand whipped like a coiled viper, sinking fangs into the rat’s throat and slamming the Lord of Lies against the cold stone. His pale, round head snapped hard against the chiseled rock, knocking him into a daze as the Viper’s blood pummeled until the skin on his holy knuckles peeled red to the bone.
“Help me!” Lucivius yelled as loud as his blood-choked lungs could muster. “Save me!” However, his words fell empty into the void. Where in the pits is Bracchis? They mean to kill me.
The back of the Cardinal’s hand crashed into the rat’s cheek, spilling spit and tooth to the stone floor. “Vile pig!” Clamping the Betrayer of Snakes and Dragons into iron unleashed a furious fire, smothering the ragged breath that wheezed from the rat’s lungs. “Did you think I would forgive what you did to Isa?”
“I did not touch her,” the lord of lies answered, unable to fight his nature. “I swear it by the gods.”
The Cardinal’s holy fire became flame, fierce and undying. Even a tidal wave of seawater would have boiled into mist in its wake. Only blood would quench his rage as he launched a fist square into the center of the Betrayer’s round gut. “Did I say you could speak?” he barked before entering his ears with a whisper: “Rest assured, slave, that you have made your last error in judgment. I shall strip you of everything that makes you, and only then will I throw you into despair. Let us see how you survive without your wealth and deceit!”
Lucivius attempted one final protest, but Ramses quickly silenced the fallen lord. Just then, the door creaked open against the wailing of rusted iron hinges. “It is done, Your Holiness,” the Paladin reported as he entered the cell, wiping a white rag against the steel of his blade.
“Whose blood is that?” the rat asked, thick drops of sweat sliding down his pale skin like the juices from a roasting swine. The murky swamp water in the chained rat’s eyes quaked as Archonis sheathed his steel to strike him with the silver of his gauntlet.
“Worry not, old friend,” Ramses assured his Paladin. “His suffering has only begun.”
“Your Holiness,” his commander nodded, withdrawing a sack of burlap from his waist, brown like mud, reeking of horse droppings. It swallowed whole the bruised and disfigured face of the fallen lord, strangling his air as stained blue and rose silks were peeled from his body.
The Betrayer shrieked once again for his men, but his voice was muffled into mumbles. Bracchis, you little shit. What did they offer you to betray me? However, as his consciousness faded, his toes tingled at the touch of thick, warm trickle. Even through the narrow gaps of slender thread, his vision had blurred too much to see what lay beyond the door to his cell, lumps of bronze floating in a pool of crimson.
Ramses spit on the corpses as they walked by. “Remove this filth from my home.”
“As you command,” the Paladin said, saluting with a hand sharp across his chest.
Chapter 16: Shackles of Blood
Once the Paladin had washed his hands of the messy task, he returned to the rat’s caravan with a spiteful grin. Lord of lies indeed. The slaves that Lucivius had attempted to barter for his blunder were meager sacks of bone and little else. A dozen crates of fine silks and wool were a desperate man’s mirage, as the commander counted only three. Nevertheless, he seized possession of it all and offered a handful of silver and a subtle warning to the horse masters for their journey home. “You were never here.”
The father and son pair of teamsters each sank a chunk of white bone into the tiny metal disks, for a lifetime of serving nobles had taught them to be wary of their gifts. “Never where, my lord?” replied the elder of the with a grin and a tip of his cap before slipping through the split iron gate.
Once the newly rich riders crossed the horizon, a regiment of scarlet knights climbed upon stampeding chargers, streaked white against chestnut skin. Above them, flocks of pigeons, feathered gray with golden eyes, scattered from the stone rookeries like clouds across the bitter blue. Strapped along their talons was a message locked within the Viper’s seal that read, “Lucivius Mammon, lord of The Climb, has stolen from the crown. By the holy blood of Elijah, I hereby strip him of all lands and titles, as well as his seat on the council. Those who aid the crown in his capture will be rewarded accordingly. However, any found in league with the villain will receive holy justice in my name. Signed, Cardinal Ramses Elijah, Holy Father of Isiris and emissary to the Divine Serpent.”
The Devil’s Garden was swept clean before the moon reached its peak. Its bronze protectors were given a choice, die for the crimes of their master or chance their lives in exile within the Blood Sands that bordered the mountain coast of south and west. There was another path that few would choose, but slave beaters offered little threat to trained warriors of the arena.
Below, scarlet armor poured into the dark tunnels like a river of fire wat
er, purging the taint that had been clawed into the stone walls over the years. Dungeon Master Grenn was dragged through the courtyard like a chained grizzly. He kicked and growled, clawing at the iron around his throat. Though his howls were fierce, the soldier’s blade was fiercer, sending his bearded head clean from his shoulders. An audience of raging slaves cheered as the darkened blood danced through the air, but sadly, Z’hiri was not among them.
When the knights found her, she decorated the dank hole like a withered bouquet of blue. Strands of cyan clung to naked flesh as she dangled from twisting iron rope until the only armorless man in the scarlet squadron ordered, “Cut her loose.” Her body collapsed to the dank cellar floor as if her bones were dust, but a smile remained carved on her lips. “Who will help me bury her?” the armorless man asked.
Only one responded, the glint of his monocle’s glass cutting through the shadow like a wisp. “I will help, I will build. A box, yes, a box she would want.”
“A coffin is a fantastic idea,” the armorless man responded, surprising many present with how easily he had understood Grimmon’s riddle. Four slaves and two children, no older than six, carried her corpse to the center of the Devil’s Garden. Once the odd crafter’s pine box was complete, they planted her like a giant seed into the Earthly Mother. Only her flower had already blossomed two nights prior when Cyrus and Katia completed their climb. “Thank you,” the armorless man said to those who helped, asking the two children for their names.
The two boys, who walked and talked like each other, stared at him strangely. “We don’t have names, only numbers.”
Horrible. A slave is no less deserving of a name. “I shall have to think of good ones then,” he said, kneeling before them and embracing them as if they were his own.
Those still dressed in iron were freed of their collars, but would remain enslaved. They would stay to tend the Garden under the watch of the armorless man. “My name is Samuel Farro, eldest son to Tobias Farro of the Serpent Council. Never again shall you face the tortures of Lucivius Mammon for as of today, I am your lord and protector.”