Nikolis’ heart sank. If he had eaten anything that morning, he would surely have lost the contents of his stomach on the grey flagstones of the courtyard. They hadn’t called his name. He hadn’t made it. He was to forever be branded as the worthless son of a traitor. What would he do? How could he go on with the mundane happenings of his life? Certainly, there would be no reason now to continue his training. Master Drennen would most likely send him back to Master Littlefield, to spend the rest of his days as a page. At first, he could not fathom why he had been overlooked, had been passed by, but after a while he realized that he knew the reason. Besides his less than adequate birth, and the king’s clear dislike of him, there was the recent matter with Lady Karlene. Obviously, there was suspicion he had done something inappropriate. Perhaps she had even lied about what had happened, like Erad and Dally had all of those years ago, to protect herself from being scolded for what she had done.
Long after the sun set, those thoughts were still battling in his head. Disappointment, anger, and suspicion all fought for control of his mind. He had barely noticed the crowds disperse and then the red clad pages come and disassemble the staging and haul the royal throne away. Everything was as if it had been a dream, and the only reality was the torrent of emotions he now felt. The edges of his consciousness were shrouded in a fog as he mechanically made his way across the bridge and into the keep. The night air was chill, and he wrapped his arms around himself as if it could protect his very being from the cruelness of the world.
He made his way across the dark yard behind the keep and was nearly upon the entrance to the master of arms tower when something caught him. It was a hand on his shoulder, and it was soon pulling his unresisting form toward the armory. Once inside, a lantern was lit and in the soft glow of the reddish light he saw Jak set out a stool and push him down onto it. What is this now, a former friend taking an opportunity to knock me down a peg or two more, if that is possible?
But Jak only handed him a mug so full of a dark brown liquid that it was spilling over the rim. Nikolis took it and downed it without thought. It was a bitter ale and he nearly choked as he swallowed it, but he fought the feeling and forced it down. It left his head feeling a bit lighter, and the room spinning ever so slightly, but he gladly took another mug from Jak after he filled it from a barrel in the corner of the room.
“Wha…why?” was all Nikolis could manage, after he polished off the contents of a third mug.
“We’re friends, Nik,” Jak said without hesitation. “Sometimes we ‘ave a spat. Sometimes we make mistakes. But we got somethin’ stronger than that. Least to my thinkin’.”
Nikolis couldn’t help but feel a rush of guilt at those words, swirling around and mixing in the vortex of emotions he was already feeling. “Jak, I’m sor–”
“No need.” Jak pointed first to Nikolis and then to himself. “Friends.”
Nikolis nodded and tried a smile. He held up his empty mug and Jak took it and filled it again. When he had taken the mug back, he downed another swallow. “This is horrible,” he said after a time.
“Aye,” said Jak. “But it lessens the sting a bit.” Nikolis nodded, knowing full well what he meant.
Without any prompting Jak continued, saying, “You know how many years now, I’ve stood out there in the courtyard, waiting for my name to be called?” He looked down for a moment, his face turning red. “I know I never even was asked to train, but I practiced a lot. Even before me and you started trainin’ together. I didn’t let too many see, but I let Drennen. Every year I thought that maybe I had shown him what I was made of, that I could be honorable too. Even if I was only the bastard of some peasant who had been taken in to sweep out the armory.”
“I’m sor– ”
“None of that,” said Jak, with a shake of his head. He finished off the mug in his hands with a large swallow and then filled it again.
“It could still happen for you, Jak.”
“No, not for me. I’m too old now, I fear. I was never meant to lead that life. But you, you still have a shot. You have the skill.”
Nikolis shook his head. “Skill alone won’t get me there. I’ve made yet another mistake, I’m sure that’s what kept me out.”
“Oh?” asked Jak, clearly interested.
Nikolis’ cheeks started to burn, and he turned away. “It’s nothing.”
“This doesn’t happen to involve a certain lady of Highkeep, now does it?”
“How did you know?”
Jak took another swallow of ale. “You know me, I hear things.”
“What did you hear?” asked Nikolis, with some reluctance.
“I heard the two of you got quite close after you saved her from jumping off the balcony of the Ladies Garden.”
Now his cheeks were on fire. “I–I didn’t…it wasn’t exactly like that.” He was at least happy that the story was close to the truth, though at the same time he wondered what other stories were about, those that Jak might not tell him. He knew how keep gossip worked, there were sure to be other tales, more sinister, more lurid. But, at the least he supposed some truth was being told.
The two continued to talk and laugh into the night and it was soon as if nothing had come between them. They told stories and jests they had heard, and sometimes only half understood. Nikolis made reluctant comments about Karlene, and Jak talked of a serving girl or two that he had his eye on. They reminisced about old times and talked about what they still hoped would come of their lives.
It was very late by the time Nikolis left the armory and stumbled toward the tower door. Both his heart and his head were a fair bit lighter, and he was having a hard time keeping his footing. With some difficulty he managed to grapple the large iron ring on the entry door and fell back as he attempted to pull it open. He landed on the ground and had to push himself up again to enter the stairwell that led to his room. It was no easier to pull the door shut than it was to open it, and he was sure the master of arms would have been awoken by the crash the door made when it slammed closed. He was on the ground again, though he didn’t remember falling, and this time he had to pull at a chair to get on his feet.
Slowly he climbed the tower stairs, bracing the wall for support, and stopping several times to let the room stop spinning. When he finally made it to the landing, he spent several minutes fumbling at the latch on the door to his room. After many attempts he got it open, and stumbled into his chamber, falling on the floor again. With too much noise, he managed to close the door behind him with his foot then tried to rise again.
The room went round and round him as he tried to stand, though he eventually did manage. The few steps to his bed were slow and laborious, but he made it, and sat down with a huff. He was leaning over to pull at his boots when he heard a scuffle off to the right. Suddenly something was being pulled over his head, his vision obscured by darkness, and then he felt a tightness at his throat.
He struggled at his neck, where something was wrapped tightly, and kicked his legs. Throwing an elbow to his right he heard a huff and a curse, so he kicked out with his feet. For a few moments he caught nothing, but then one of his boots connected with something, and there was a groan and another curse. Someone said something, though he couldn’t make it out.
He struggled and kicked, threw his elbows and fought for breath. A sharp pain seared at the back of his head and then another. The last sounds he heard before the world went dark, were a few muffled curses and the piercing screech of ravens.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
There was an unbelievable ache running through his shoulders. The underside of both of his arms were sore and he could feel the iron grasp of men on either side of him, their fingers like steel talons digging into his biceps. He was being dragged, that much was clear despite the fact that his eyes had remained obscured from the moment he had regained consciousness. There seemed to be little use in struggling, as he was at such a monumental disadvantage. As present, he could see little way out of his predicament. No ene
rgy sparked within his limbs, his legs felt cold, lifeless, as they were dragged along the stone floor.
For many moments he didn’t even want to think, didn’t want to consider what was going on. When he finally gained enough courage to accept what was happening, survival was his first instinct. How could he get out of this? He had no sword, or other weapon, his senses were clouded, his eyes covered and his head thick and cloudy. There was no strength in him. Inevitably, as more rational thoughts pervaded, other questions surfaced. What is going on? Who has done this? What do they want from me?
The first, most obvious answer was that he was being punished, perhaps for the incident with Karlene. But that made little sense. The king, with hundreds of guards at his beck and call, could have taken him captive at any time. Why would he need to go through all of this? Was it some elaborate measure to teach him as severe a lesson as possible? Or, perhaps worse, did it not have to do with the king at all? Was some other sinister plot afoot?
Nikolis had no idea. A cool blast of air hit him as he heard a large, heavy door open, and the sound of stone grinding against stone. Then he was being dragged in to a cold, dark place. What light that had been in the hall was now gone. The sharp toe of a boot was implanted into his stomach and he winced in pain, huddling into a defensive ball. He tensed every muscle in his body, expecting another blow, but none came. Suddenly he was aware that he did not know how much time had passed, in fact wasn’t even sure if his captors were still in the room. He hadn’t heard the door close or anyone exit. As much as possible, he stilled his breathing, listening for any indication that there was someone with him. Try as he might, he heard nothing. Not a sigh or exhale, no signs of breathing, not the scuffle of feet or the wrinkle of clothing.
For what felt like hours he dared not move, despite every perception available telling him that no one was there. When he finally took the blindfold off of his eyes, visibility was little improved. The room was so dark that he could make out no detail, despite being long since accustomed to the dark. The entirety of his body ached as he stood and stretched. He felt as if he had been beaten from head to toe, though a quick inspection revealed he did not seem to have any serious injuries. The worst was his neck, his throat still feeling as if it might close in on itself. Besides that, he felt alright.
As time passed, his courage grew, and he began to move about the room. Slowly at first, feeling his way around, making sure the ground below him was stable. Eventually he came to a wall – hard, cold, mortared stone, polished smooth. He felt along this and came to another. Then another after that, and then as if there were any expectation otherwise, he came to the fourth and final wall that made up his prison. He had not expected otherwise, but the mysterious and disheartening fact was the discovery that he could not find the door through which he had entered. Not a barred gate, or frame, or even a seam in the wall. After long investigation it was clear that this room had no apparent exit.
Nikolis paced about and then he went back to the wall and felt the corners, he felt the seams of mortar, he felt around the edges of each surface. Then he got down on his hands and knees and shuffled about the floor, just to ensure there was nothing that he was missing. After some time, it occurred to him to check higher on the walls. So, then he started moving about, feeling along each wall, reaching as high as his arms allowed. When all possibilities there had been exhausted, he searched for handholds and footholds where the stones of the wall met and tried to climb where he might. The possibilities were limited, the stones being seamed so close together and so smooth besides, but he kept at it. The task must have occupied hours, but being as there was nothing else to do, he continued. He stumbled and fell, and had to continually keep pulling himself up, but he climbed, and he felt along the walls. After all hope at finding anything had left, he continued, just to keep himself busy, and to aid in ignoring the pangs of thirst and hunger that were starting to creep up over him. With that, the most horrible thoughts of what might happen to him raced through his mind. He threw himself back into searching the room.
Finally, when he was exhausted, nearly ready to give up, his hands chanced to pass over something. At first, he ignored it, continuing on, but then as his mind, numb from fatigue and hunger, caught up with his actions, he realized how out of place it was. Under normal situations one would probably not remark upon it at all, but in his current predicament it was of the utmost interest. There was a spot in this wall of perfectly cut stone where his hands had met a gap. He hurried back, feeling along the wall to find the place again. There it was, undeniable. He started to feel along the gap and found that it was a smoothly cut channel that ran up and down about three feet or so. It was only a few inches wide, and it was with a little trepidation that he reached his hand into the darkness to discover how deep it was. There his hand hit something hard, metallic. He raced over it, inspecting it, feeling it. Within moments he found that he now held a thick link of chain in his hands, pulled taut by some unseen weight.
Nikolis tried to pull at the chain, tried to move it, but it would not budge. He braced his legs against the wall and grabbed onto it, trying to push against the stone, but the chain still wouldn’t move. Finally, he let go his inhibitions and put his full weight into the effort, pushing with his legs and allowing only his grasp on the chain to hold himself upright. What little strength was left to him he put into that effort, as if his life depended on it. When exertion had taken its toll, when he was nearly to the breaking point, the chain budged.
The links of iron gave way and he went with them. As the chain shifted in place he fell backward. Nikolis had forgotten how high he was, and though the pull of the chain stopped a foot or so from its original position, he did not. His grasp on the chain was lost and he went flying to the ground, landing hard on his back. At the same moment he heard a grinding of stone on stone, and the wall before him started to open. Blinding light came streaming in, and he had to back away, covering his eyes. Immediately he took as defensive a position as he could muster, putting his arms up before him.
After a few moments he realized no one had come. The pain in his eyes receded as he wiped tears away. When he finally opened them, and they adjusted to the new source of light, he realized that the room was still a lot dimmer than he would have imagined. There was only a single torch set in an iron sconce on the wall outside of the cell. It was only the sudden contrast to this dimness, after hours of utter darkness, that had made things seem so spectacularly brilliant.
A portal had opened in the stone, no fanciful door or decoration; just a large, square chunk of the stone wall now lay before him. He approached the opening slowly, creeping and peering out to ensure no one was there. Beyond was a long corridor of the same smooth stone that wound around to the left. He moved into the hall and took down the torch from its place on the wall. Holding it high and straight before him, he started to slowly make his away along the corridor.
Around a bend he spotted a figure leaning against the wall. He could barely make out the form, could only tell that it appeared to be a man, younger, perhaps in his thirties, with a sheathed blade at his waist. Without thinking too much, he started to sneak up behind the man. Thoughts fought to get into his mind, but he decided it was best not to give into them, to let instinct control his actions. Survival was his only thought – survival by getting out of wherever he was.
As he approached, the man started to turn. Nikolis froze. But it turned out to be only a slight stirring, a stretching of the arms and legs, and then the man had his back to Nikolis, leaning against the wall.
Taking a silent breath, Nikolis began to approach again, holding his torch firmly in hand. As the light of the torch started to brighten the corridor, the man started to turn. Nikolis sprinted forward, thrust the torch toward the man’s face and watched as he stumbled backward, caught off-guard.
Nikolis took the advantage of surprise to bring his right arm back, letting the torch move down in his left, slamming his elbow into the face of the unknown man. Th
e man spun around, and Nikolis dropped the torch and rapped his left arm around the man’s chest, drawing on unknown reserves of strength, and pinning the man’s arms to his sides. As fast as lighting he reach for the sheathed sword at the man’s belt and drew it forth. Releasing his hold against the struggling form, he heaved the man forward, and brought the sword upward. With a crack the pommel of the weapon came down on the back of the man’s head, dropping him like a sack of rocks.
There was no time to see who the man was. Nikolis knew that there were others about, and they had probably overhead the commotion. Taking the slender blade firmly in hand he sped down the corridor, running full out, making sure only to stay afoot and caring for little else. He sped around twists and turns in the dim-lit hallway, breaking left then right then left again, before pushing all out down a straightaway. When he finally came to an open room in the path, this brighter than the rest, he skidded to a halt.
Before him was a man dressed in dark clothing, from head to toe. He wore a tight, padded vest over a shirt of flowing sleeves, and breeches that ended at a pair of boots that came up to the knee. Upon his face was a mask of wire mesh like that a man might wear when training with practice blades, for sport. Though no facial features were distinguishable, the man clearly looked up, toward him, and hesitated as if surprised by Nikolis appearance. While he seemed to have been waiting for something, nonetheless he was taken aback by the man that now stood before him.
Nikolis hesitated himself, but only for a moment. All of his training and discipline came to him now, with full force. As if by second nature his blade was up, and he was rushing at the man. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was scared to death of what was happening, but for now he pushed it away, blocked it out. With timed strokes, yet with as much force as he could manage, he slashed at the darkly clothed man. Down and down again his blade came. But each time the stranger managed to parry the blow, though barely.
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