The noble scars, p.10
The Noble Scars, page 10
“Great. When do we leave?” Nantrait asked.
“I’m sorry to both of you, but I move better on my own. Hold on to the axe for now. I’ll be back for it.”
“Zerin, it’s not safe for you anywhere in this city. You shouldn’t travel without an escort.”
“Actually, Nantrait, it’s not safe for me anywhere in the empire, which is more reason why you shouldn’t be seen with me. It would mean your deaths as well as mine. Besides, I’ll be fine. I always am.”
“Mathen was right about you, Zerin. You are a fool, and you take too many risks.”
The sailor paused. “Aye, risks that I’ll no longer burden others with. I’ll see you both shortly.”
He left his friends at the store, proceeding through the back alleys and smaller roadways heading to the castle, making sure to keep his hood up and avoid eye contact.
The guards and soldiers carried themselves at ease in LionBerg, confident in their numbers, which were particularly heavy at the castle’s gate. Guards walked the battlements on top of the castle wall while others patrolled the grounds outside the moat. Soldiers with crossbows were at every turret. The monster was somewhere inside that castle in the lower depths, but Zerin would have to get past these guards to confront it. At some point, Bardek would invite guests into the castle to view the executions. Perhaps he could steal his way in then? Certainly, there was no way to gain entry during the day. He would come back later.
Anxious to see more of the city, Zerin decided to return to Grandall’s store by a different route and melded into the hive of the LionBerg crowd.
Unlike the narrow alleyways where merchants and street vendors filled every gap, the city’s core was full of wondrous architecture that towered above the streets. Every corner held a concourse full of marble décor lined with manicured vine and floral arrangements. A commotion, however, lay ahead. A large crowd gathered near LionBerg Square. He passed dozens of Noble citizens who were fleeing, crying and distraught. Zerin pushed his way through, his curiosity festering the farther he went. When he broke through, he saw soldiers in the midst of three executions set high upon the platforms.
One prisoner hung in the noose, dangling without a hood, turning blue and lifeless before the crowd.
Another man was tied to a stake amid a pile of oiled lumber that had yet to be lit.
Worse yet, was the third prisoner, who was attached to a large wagon wheel suspended high in the air. His arms and legs had been broken and wrapped around the wheel spokes. Fractured bones pierced through his skin. Blood dripped on the women below who cried for his release. His feeble moans could be heard across the Square, though he barely had the strength to utter them.
Above, on the executioner’s platform, a soldier pulled out a scroll. He yelled above the torrent of cries. “Let these three be an example for all who oppose the laws of the Noble Empire. They’ve been found guilty of treason.” He paused for a moment as he lifted his head to face the crowd. “Their punishment… is death.”
The mourners let out another wail as they heard the finality of the sentence. Then the soldier turned to the executioner and gave a signal. The tall, gangly, black-hooded man lit a torch and dropped it into a pile of wood, setting it ablaze.
Zerin placed both hands on his forehead, his lungs convulsing as he came to the realization of Noble’s blatant decay. How meaningless a few carts of grain seemed in the face of such atrocities. His stomach turned, and his eyes welled as he looked back and forth between the three victims. The hanging man’s feet continued to dangle while his eyes bulged farther out of his darkening face. The broken man lay perched upon the wheel, delirious with pain and without semblance of life, other than his gaze that pleaded for death.
The young man tied to the stake struggled to free himself as the flames crept closer. When the blaze finally reached him, he screamed at such a pitch that he sounded more like a boy than a grown man.
As the host of shrieks rippled through the crowd, Zerin’s mind lost touch with his surroundings. With the abandon of a wild animal, he charged the group of soldiers that formed a barricade between the prisoners and the crowd. He punched the first one in the face, then stole his crossbow and smashed the next soldier over the head with it. He loaded the bow and took careful aim, piercing the heart of the young man who was burning alive. But as the arrow struck its mark, a soldier jumped on Zerin’s back. Zerin leaned forward and flipped his attacker to the ground, losing his cloak in the process. Within seconds, soldiers bearing swords, shields, and clubs converged on him. He drew his sword and readied for an onslaught he knew he couldn’t survive.
“It’s the Sailor of Jorjun!” one of the soldiers yelled.
He was more well known than he’d thought.
“Take him alive!” shouted another.
Zerin took the blunt end of a sword to the back of his head, sending his face to the cobblestone. It stung like a mule kick, but he clambered to his feet and fought his way toward the gallows. He leapt up onto the scaffold and, with a single swipe, cut the noose, sending the choking man sprawling to the ground.
Again, he was hit from behind, and again, he went down. The world spun before his eyes, the clouds racing by as if they were being wiped from the sky, until his gaze caught the broken man on the wheel, his head bobbing back and forth as he looked at Zerin. A single glance convinced the sailor he had one last task before he succumbed to the onslaught.
He charged across the stage, in view of the Noble populace, until he was within range of the wheel. He leapt into the air, and when he came down, he severed the man’s head, relieving his misery. Zerin rolled off the stage and landed on the ground, where the guards surrounded him. He was beaten into blackness.
Chapter 12
Zerin awoke with a pain in his head that rivaled any he could remember. He stirred for several moments, slipping in and out of consciousness, his efforts to rise held back by his injuries and the chains that bound his hands and feet. He didn’t realize his predicament until he heard a voice.
“So… this is the Sailor of Jorjun. I thought he was going to be more of a challenge.”
A roar of laughter ensued. Zerin rose to his feet to confront his captors, stumbling in the process. Determined to face his enemies, he found solid footing, which brought their laughter to an end.
The room was round and dimly lit by four torches. Three guards circled him with their weapons drawn. Three figures hung in the shadows.
“Do you know who I am?” one of them asked.
“No, sir,” Zerin answered politely, “but I’m sure you’re cause for the god-awful stench in here.”
“I am King Bardek!” he shouted, coming forth into the light. “I am Noble royalty, and you are a loathsome criminal and fool, who has condemned himself to death by killing men who were about to die. Can you explain to me why, after years of smuggling, stealing, and killing, as you did in Brakton, you would commit such idiocy?”
Zerin’s wits were still a moment away. His face was covered with dirt and dried blood, and he could barely see. He squared himself as best he could. “I could explain it, but not in a manner a buffoon such as you would comprehend.”
It took Bardek less than a second to strike Zerin across the face with a foot long whip he held behind his back. Zerin absorbed the blow as if it never occurred.
“If indeed you are king,” Zerin continued, “then this must be your fool.” He nodded toward the figure behind Bardek. Zerin could hear the shudder from the soldiers behind him.
The small figure slowly emerged from the shadows. “I trust you’ve enjoyed your life, as worthless as it’s been,” the figure said.
“I’ve experienced more worth in a single day of my life than you ever will, wizard.”
“So, you know who I am.”
“I know who you are, and now that I’ve laid eyes upon you, I understand you better.”
The wizard’s ever-confident grin flattened.
“You’re a pitiful excuse of a man,” Zerin continued. “Sorcery is the only way you can assert yourself. You’re a greater coward then he is,” Zerin said, motioning to Bardek.
Maeldroth took another step toward Zerin, a small smile sprouting upon his face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve encountered such defiance. I had forgotten how admirable brazen courage can be.”
Maeldroth casually raised his hand, holding it waist-high, his smile beginning to curl. Zerin felt tightness in his belly that turned to searing pain. His chin fell to his chest, and he began to tremble. The wizard kept his hand out, demanding Zerin’s submission, but the sailor held his ground, raising his head to face the wizard.
Maeldroth’s grin evaporated when he saw the gaze in Zerin’s eyes. The wizard shot his hand out full length from his body, and Zerin fell to his knees, yelling in anguish. The pain ran from his stomach up through his chest, then through his face until blood burst from his nostrils and splattered across the dungeon floor, inciting bouts of laughter. Zerin slowly raised his head.
“Please,” he said, blood dripping off his chin. He struggled to stand, raising himself from one foot to the other. “Please tell me that’s not the best you’ve got.”
The wizard raised his hand to strike again.
“Enough of this, Maeldroth!” the king said. “Zerin of Jorjun, you’ve been found guilty of treason and are to be executed at the hands of the Monster of Maeldroth. It would seem your revolution has ended long before it began.”
Zerin stared at his captors, unfazed by the proclamation of his own death.
“Have you anyone you’d like us to notify, parents perhaps, siblings, anyone? Oh, yes, that’s right, you’re an orphan, aren’t you? Can you tell us anything about your childhood, where you were born, who your parents were?” Bardek asked.
Zerin thought for a moment. “I have no parents that I know of, but if I did, I wouldn’t taint their lives by having you contaminate their presence.” With that, Zerin spat toward the king, but the offense fell short of its mark.
“Sire, I beg of you, let me kill him,” the third figure said. “Let me cut him down before the people of Noble.”
“It’s too late for that, Trenwulf. The arrangements have been made. The Monster will have him.”
“So, this is Commander Trenwulf?” Zerin said, “I didn’t think you fought anyone other than helpless girls. I accept his challenge.”
“You face the Monster!” the king bellowed.
“Fine, I’ll face the Monster. Then I’ll face this gutless pig you call a commander.”
Trenwulf sprung forward and swung at Zerin. The sailor ducked and quickly thrust his knee into Trenwulf’s ribs, but his maneuver was weakened by his restraints. Trenwulf responded with a backhand to Zerin’s face that sent him to the dirt floor, where Trenwulf proceeded to kick him.
“Enough!” Bardek commanded. “Leave him for the beast.”
Trenwulf kicked him one more time.
Once again, Zerin rose to his feet, grimacing. The wizard stood before him with an inquisitive look.
“I need a moment alone with him,” the wizard said.
The king paused for a second, looking warily at the two. “Fine. Goodbye, Sailor of Jorjun,” Bardek said, stopping in the doorway on his way out. “To think, we almost considered you a threat.” He laughed heartily.
“Zerin the Fool,” Trenwulf said, cackling his way out of the cell, the guards following.
The wizard entered the dim light under the torches and lowered his hood. The whites of his eyes bulged, and his oily hair glistened in the torch light. He stood like a young man, but he had the wrinkles of someone dead a dozen years. Zerin could no more decipher his age than his intent for remaining back.
“I’m rather disappointed to see you traveling alone, Zerin. Where is your companion?”
“Who are you talking about?”
“The pirate Escura. We know you’re in league with him.”
“What’s he to you?”
“Has he not spoken of me?”
“I don’t know him.”
“You lie,” the wizard said calmly. “We know he rescued you on the Sea of Jorjun. Tell me where he is.”
“Go to Belth!” Zerin snapped.
The wizard smiled. “I certainly hope to,” he said.
Zerin looked back at the decrepit little sorcerer, realizing he faced a man who was seriously deranged.
“Zerin,” the wizard continued, “your bravado does not escape my approval. I sense strength in you but am disappointed you didn’t prove to be a greater rival. Tell me, how long have you been a follower of the Grand Spirit?”
“I’m not!”
“You’re not a believer?”
“If there was an all-encompassing being responsible for our conception, then why in Belth would it create something as loathsome as you? That certainly wouldn’t be very grand of it.”
The wizard laughed. “The Grand Spirit created us all, my boy, free to seek our own brand of enlightenment, yours as well as mine. Have you never wondered how you’ve managed to avoid capture all these years? How fortuitous you were to be rescued by the pirate Escura? Do you not see that you’ve manipulated fortune in your favor? If not for today’s blunder, I would have sworn you were an agent of spirit.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m searching for worthy allies, and I believe the essence of spirit is within your grasp, were you not such a fool. With proper guidance, and servitude to my vision of the Usurper’s emergence, you could be extraordinary.”
Zerin thought for a moment as he looked into the wizard’s over-sized eyes. “I have visions of my own.”
“Of what?” the wizard eagerly asked.
“Watching you die.”
“I offer you life, and yet, you shun me. Such courage is rare. I wish I had time to entertain you in my dungeon.”
Zerin looked away, unimpressed by the wizard’s threat.
“Very well then, I will leave you to your untimely fate, but before I go, I have one final question for you. Have you ever met the Lady of the Hood?”
“Yes, I have.”
The wizard’s eyes lit up.
“Just the other day I had tea with her and the Grand Spirit,” Zerin quipped.
“You would make a wonderful sacrifice to the Usurper. A vulgar death from one as righteous as you would advance his forthcoming farther than I could imagine.”
“Thanks just the same, but I like my chances against your monster.”
“But you needn’t die at all, Zerin. You have devout qualities.”
“Does the Lady of the Hood have these qualities? Is that why you seek her?”
“She does, but I seek her for other reasons. I’ve traveled a great distance to acquire her treasure.”
“What treasure is that?” Zerin asked anxiously.
“I’m not sure. She fled her homeland to take refuge in Noble, carrying with her a treasure of insurmountable force, one that could either overthrow the Usurper’s power or serve to strengthen him.” The wizard took a step closer. “Do you know of any artifacts foreign to your country?”
The sailor thought for a moment then looked straight into the diminutive wizard’s eyes. “I’d rather die in your torture chambers than help you,” Zerin said.
“Don’t be frivolous with what you don’t comprehend. You can’t imagine the horrors of my chamber.” The wizard raised his hood and headed toward the dungeon door, then stopped at the entrance. “After today, you will be forever remembered as Zerin the Fool.”
When the cell door slammed shut, Zerin sank to the floor, unable to feign strength any longer.
Chapter 13
Zerin awoke to the sound of the dungeon door colliding with the stone wall. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Most of his wits had returned, and yet, he ached.
Three guards entered the cell to collect him, but he was on his feet before they arrived.
“It’s time, I suppose,” Zerin said.
The guards smirked beneath their helms as they removed his chains and escorted him out of the cell. Two held his arms while the third steered a crossbow in his back.
They journeyed through several long corridors before the hallway expanded. The murmur of a crowd preceded the opening of a round arena that was fifty paces across.
The soldiers shoved him through the entrance and closed the gate behind him. The crowd erupted as Zerin stumbled. He looked up to see a mob encircling the upper edge. Embroidered tunics and silk dresses adorned the Noble dignitaries who paid homage to the tyrant with their presence.
At the far end of the pit was a large opening; the entrance to the Monster’s cave. Zerin had come to LionBerg to face the beast, but not under these circumstances and certainly not without the axe that Nantrait had given him.
The pit smelled like death; there were bones and skulls scattered everywhere. The crowd cheered anxiously, until Bardek stood and raised his hands.
“Zerin, I wish to thank you. Never have we filled the arena so well, and with so many high-paying guests. Your last act upon this world has managed to earn me a bountiful profit.”
The forced laughter of Noble’s elite echoed off the cavern walls.
“I guess your days of killing condemned men and stealing grain are over.”
The crowd laughed again.
Zerin patiently waited for the rabble to subside. “Actually, Your Highness, things could be worse for me.”
“And how is that, Zerin?”
Zerin paused as the crowd slowly quieted. “I could be one of your cowering pigs up there.”
The crowd went silent.
“As for my quest, it doesn’t end here. After I defeat your monster, I’ll continue my search for the secret that plagues you in your sleep.”
A hush went over the crowd as Bardek sprung to his feet. Zerin could see fear in his eyes. My spirit, Zerin thought, that son of a tavern trull really is hiding something.
“Bring in the beast!” Bardek bellowed.
Zerin heard the rattling of chains and a loud hideous roar billowing from the depths of the cave. The spectators were silent at first, but their chants grew as the Monster approached. Zerin stared into the entrance, but then slowly backed up as he saw an enormous, dark figure swallow the void of the opening.
