After hearing Kaltor’s report, Prince Tyran leaned back in his chair, studying him carefully. "Even as a Battleborn in training, you realize how difficult it is to believe something like this by your word alone. It sounds like a horrific tale one tells around the campfire to appease little children. Even more unbelievable is the thought that someone like Melshek could be part of such slaughter!"
"I wish it were," Kaltor snorted derisively. "I wish we’d never opened the vault."
I should have trusted those feelings! he mourned. I should have recognized them as warnings and just left things as they were!
Kaltor stood from his chair, pacing around in front of Tyran. He almost started flipping his daggers into the air, but after his starving entrance through the window he thought better of it. The last thing he needed was a servant to enter, see him armed, and sound the alarm.
"I’ve spent the last day looking for him," he finally pleaded. "I have no idea what he will do if left alone in the city."
A knock sounded at the door, and Tyran’s servants entered, carrying another plate of steaming food and a pitcher of wine. They placed the food on the prince’s desk, bowing graciously as they eyed the mess on the floor from Kaltor’s previous antics. Prince Tyran waved them away and Kaltor took his seat and ate, this time with the necessary foresight to actually use utensils.
"A messenger left this for you, your majesty," the last servant added, pulling a scroll from his belt. "He left this only moments ago at the stables. It’s from Lord Gereth."
Finally, Kaltor thought in relief. I can use all the help I can get. Tyran glanced Kaltor’s way curiously as he took the scroll and nodded his thanks to the servants. They left quickly, but not before he caught sight of two guards standing at the doors, still eyeing him suspiciously.
He’s been well protected the whole time— that is comforting. He’s been listening out of sincere interest, not because he’s sitting alone in the room with a Battleborn and needed to play along. Thank the Gods something is going right today!
Prince Tyran unrolled the scroll, nodding grimly as he eyed the message contained within. He leaned back in his chair after he’d finished reading, fingers stroking his lips as his mind digested this new information.
"Melshek is my brother, but our relationship has always been one of indifference," Prince Tyran explained. "I knew the difficulties of war first-hand. I’ve always fought to defend my subjects from those horrors. The war ended before Melshek could learn such important lessons. Until recently he’d lived a carefree life. Only after he met Rivatha did he start to exhibit any interest in wearing the crown.
"Lord Gereth is a scholar at heart," Prince Tyran said simply. "He lacks any skill when it comes to keeping out of trouble, political or otherwise," He set the scroll aside and nodded Kaltor’s way. "What do you suggest?"
"We need to find Melshek as soon as possible," Kaltor demanded, swallowing mouthfuls of gravy and biscuits. He fixed his eyes on Tyran’s thoughtful face, the prince soaking in every word. "He did this in a single night," he nodded toward the scroll. "Imagine what he could do to this city in a week!"
Prince Tyran nodded, standing as he finished the last bite of his meal. "I will alert the entire town watch. By tomorrow afternoon the entire city will be covered in wanted posters. I will put soldiers at every gate this instant, in case he tries to slip out of the city. He won’t be able to so much as scratch himself without being seen."
Kaltor sighed in relief, drew a dagger and flipped the weapon, catching it by the flat of the blade. "Let’s go," he said. "I can tell them what to look for."
Tyran shook his head, putting a hand on Kaltor’s shoulder. "Take it easy, Battleborn. Before he went to the vault, Melshek spent a week at my regent’s mansion greeting soldiers, nobles, and the like. I was worried he was considering supplanting me or starting a rebellion. Either way, half the city would recognize him."
He looked compassionately at the assassin-in-training. "You can’t possibly be as awake as you pretend. You’ve been drawing constantly on your power since you entered my city."
Kaltor’s breath caught. I never thought of that, he realized. I’ve always trained myself never to use my full power around people. I’d never considered my endurance to be a sign, as well. I’ve been constantly in motion since before the sun’s rising. A typical Varadour would indeed be exhausted to the point of uselessness by now.
Fortunately, Tyran misread his expression. "Don’t worry," he said comfortingly, leading them across his study toward the door, "I’ll take it from here. You have done well today, Battleborn," He opened the door and turned to one of his guards.
"Please escort the Battleborn to one of my spare rooms," he said. The guards nodded, their glares toward the assassin-in-training softening a bit. "He is not to be disturbed until I send a messenger to wake him. After that, send a messenger to the family of Jensai Battleborn to inform them of their loss. Take them a year’s worth of his wages in gold coins as a small token of our thanks for his service."
As one soldier entered the room, sword sheathed at his belt with a torch in hand, the prince turned to Kaltor and said, "It’s the least I can do for your friend’s sacrifice. Sleep well, Battleborn. I will summon all my councilors to the castle within the next few hours and send someone to wake you."
"Thank you, Prince Tyran," Kaltor said with a bow, too numb at his reckless use of Remnant power and the sudden image of Jensai’s empty, dead stare from that morning to continue arguing. "Thank you for the reprieve."
"Use your power to Deep Sleep," Tyran suggested. "I will only be a few hours and then will need your services for another full day. Regenerate quickly," With a snap of his fingers the second guard saluted and followed the prince down the corridor. Kaltor’s guard escorted him in the opposite direction. Without a word the man deposited him at the door of his quarters and continued walking.
After the attack the night before, Kaltor decided not to disrobe to sleep. He set aside some of his equipment, but kept his belt and its two daggers beneath his pillow, with his notched bow beneath his blankets. Lighting a candle, he rinsed himself in a washbasin at the corner of the room until his reflection looked somewhat presentable, clean of sweat, grime, and dirt.
A bare knuckle rapped against the door and a small, red-haired serving girl leaned in. "Do you require anything else, Battleborn?"
Kaltor waved her away. "Just knock before you wake me tomorrow."
She nodded, shrugging uncaringly and closing the door as she left.
Now he just had to repair the fatigue enveloping his body. As he settled down atop the bed, drawing on a bit of power to leave his body deeply relaxed but his mind easily awakened, he sank into unconsciousness. We will fix this, Jensai, he promised. We’ll stop Melshek tomorrow.
I just hope I don’t awake to another assassin’s blade in the morning.
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