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An enslaved princess is sent to retake her throne, working with a human terror to succeed. |
| Kikarii poured water on the warm embers. Smoke rose lazily from the ground. He looked around and his ears caught a sound on the wind. Calya sat up and looked at him. Something was wrong. The young woman looked in the direction they were headed, then back at her companion. “What is it?” “Something is not right about this.” “About what?” asked Skara. “I don’t know,” He answered. “Come, let’s reach Barkit by nightfall, and we can rest there.” “But…” “Kikarii, we don’t have time to delay.” Calya said in frustration. “You’re right, let’s move on.” He did not feel comfortable with continuing, but he had no arguable reason to hold back. They packed up their camp and mounted their horses, setting out to the north. The sun beat down on them without mercy, its rays seeming to burn through their cloaks. Hours passed, and they seemed no closer. The scenery looked nearly the same, and the sun was lower in the sky. Suddenly Kikarii stopped. His elven eyes narrowed, and he pointed to the trees to their left. “To the trees,” he whispered harshly. “Sounds of battle rage ahead.” They kicked their steeds and found shelter in the woods. “We shouldn’t have come.” “We need supplies, Kikarii,” Skara reminded him. “We have no choice.” He turned in his saddle and pointed out their route. “Okay. We’ll skirt the battle, and come out from the woods in the village. Let’s move quickly.” They urged their horses forward, going as quickly as the forest would allow. Keen eyes darted away from the battle to the cover of the trees. A hand moved to mouth and a shout echoed over the din. “Fallon! The trees!” Another mercenary shouted back and, calling out orders, took a few men with him and headed toward the camp. The pounding of hooves reverberated in Fallon’s ears as he galloped over the even terrain. They reached camp and put their horses in a circle of trees. The men put away their swords and Fallon drew his longbow. They hid at the mouth of the village and waited. Kikarii stopped a hundred yards from the edge of the trees and listened. No new sounds met his ears, so he continued. They trotted to the village. No birds sang, and no animals made noise causing the air to be eerily still. An arrow flew past Kikarii’s ear, and he halted. Skara looked around, but saw nothing. None of them could decipher from where the arrow came. Another arrow thudded into Calya’s shoulder, and she gasped, falling off her horse onto the grassy carpet below. Skara let out a yell as she was pierced in the left side of her chest by a third arrow, knocking her off her steed into the leaves and brush. Kikarii dismounted, but was struck in the side mid-motion. He pulled the arrow out of himself, and tried to raise his companion. He heard the rustling of leaves, and pulled Calya to her feet. Turning to check on Skara, he came face to face with what could only be described as death itself. An arrow slammed into his side again and he went down. Men grabbed the princess, and kicked him. Calya’s eyes sparked and turned to flame. Massive lesions marked the men’s arms and backs, and blood poured from the wounds. Some of the men screamed. The man that held her let go, and fell onto his back, shrieking. She took the chance to run. She heard Kikarii as he struggled to his knees, trying to crawl to Skara, his voice screaming after Calya to flee, before his grunt as he hit the leafy ground again. The princess fought to breathe as she took flight. Fallon looked at his arms. Boils formed and broke open. He laughed and strode forward after the young woman. He saw her trip and fall, and fight to regain her footing. She turned and looked over her shoulder, yelling at him to stay away. Twigs snapped under his boots and a whistle slipped from his pursed lips. His hands were slick with blood, but he stepped over the root she had collapsed at, and grabbed her hair. He yanked her to her feet, and looked coldly into her eyes. “Enough.” He slammed his head into hers, and broke off the arrow in her shoulder, before throwing her to the ground. His wounds went away, and he snorted loudly, before breaking into a bellowing laugh. “There, dogs! See? She’s just a child playing with fire. That is how you take care of her.” They checked their skin and stood, laughing along with him. Sweat dripped down Calya’s face, and her eyes cracked open. She was lying over a horse sideways, and her hands were bound. She sneaked a peek to the front of her horse and saw a rope pulling it. There was no one near her. She moved her left foot and found that her feet were not tied. Sucking in a deep breath, she rolled off the horse, and hit the ground hard, almost losing her breath as white hot pain tore through her injured shoulder. She stood, and made a break for it. One of the riders turned his horse and rode up behind her. He leaped off the animal’s back and tackled her. He rolled her over in the grass and grinned wickedly at her. “Is this what you want?” He reached for her collar, tugged at it and chuckled. Men hooted and hollered behind him. “That’s enough, Giatro.” The leader’s sword tip was at his throat in a moment. “But, Fallon, she asked for this.” The other men all laughed wickedly in encouragement. But no laugh exited Fallon's mouth. “I said that’s enough.” He jumped down and nearly threw Giatro off of her. He pulled her up roughly, and shook her by her shoulders. “The next time you try something like that, I’ll let him have his way. You hear me?” Calya winced and let out a yelp, nodding her head, but never made eye contact. “Hasin! Rope!” A dark skinned young man tossed him a length of cord. Fallon backhanded her before pushing her up back onto the horse and tying her bound hands to the animal’s neck. It was then that she noticed Kikarii starting to awaken. She glanced at Fallon, but felt a thud on the back of her skull and everything went black. Fallon opened his eyes and saw cruel faces glaring down at him. A rough hand jerked him to his feet. Where is my family? Who are these men? What do they want with me? One of the men pressed the hilt of a sword into his palm. “Fight or die.” The words echoed in his mind, yet there was no meaning attached to them. Mom always told me not to fight. Besides, who do they want me to fight? There is no one else with a sword. Suddenly a muscular man came into the chamber with a broadsword. Fallon’s eyes grew wide with horror. How could he possibly hope to win against such odds? The last two words still hung in the air. “…or die.” He lifted the heavy blade as high as he could and tried to straighten his shaking knees. The other man came at him and swung wide, pulling the boy’s sword from his hands and throwing it across the chamber. He was told to pick it up again and he did so. What else could he do? Years passed and he was using a broadsword. He was barely a teenager. After his last practice of the day he would go to classes where he would sit through "mental training". But not today. Today his fate was to be decided. His older opponent came up to him and clapped him on the back. “You beat me three times today, Fallon. Are you one of us?” Fallon was confused. Hadn’t he always been one of them? He said as much and his challenger nodded to the guard at the door and they escorted Fallon to a part of the fortress he had never been to. He came to a small room and entered with the guard. A man came up with what looked like a branding iron and put his hand on top of the boy’s head. “Put your head down, Fallon.” The boy obeyed. The hot brand was laid on the skin on the back of his neck. It sizzled. It burned. Fallon gritted his teeth, trying to remain silent. Then he passed out. When he awoke he had a wet cloth wrapped around his neck. He remembered the brand and felt the back of his neck. He could feel the disfigured skin under the cloth. Now he was official. He smiled. A look of sick satisfaction came over his features, and he chuckled. He really was a mercenary now. The day Fallon turned sixteen he was issued his permanent broadsword to use. The young man preferred it to other types of blades for normal combat. He handled it with an expert hand. He finished sparring and went down to the armory. He put up his sword and went to his sand bag. An hour passed like a minute, and one of the understudies came in and stood in the shadows. He stopped and turned around. “Yes?” “Hannon told me to bring you up to him.” Curiosity marked the teen’s features as he strapped his sword back on and followed the other man up through the corridors. They came to a guarded room. The man nodded to the guard holding weapons. Fallon took a branding iron from the guard’s hands and walked into the room. The sight he saw brought him up short. His older brother sat in the chair before him. He looked sideways at his authority. The other man nodded at the older boy. “We found him after years of searching.” “Why were you searching? What was the point of this captive?” “We must test your loyalty, Fallon. I want to see the product of your… education. Even Aanohean didn't have such a test.” He began to walk out of the room, but stopped at the doorway. “The resemblance is unmistakable.” Fallon turned and looked at the young man, his face uncertain. The other spoke. “Brother…” He gasped as Fallon slammed the brand into the burning coals, and smiled. Jain’s eyes looked into his with pure horror. The guard shut the door. Screams echoed down the corridors and through the fortress. Eventually the corridors fell into an extended, eerie silence. Fallon came out and handed the sword back to the guard. The man looked beyond him into the room and saw the brand lying in the cooled coals. When he turned back to Fallon, the sixteen year old was nowhere to be seen. Fallon felt the back of his neck where burned flesh had healed into a disfigured scar. It was time for him to officially meet his charge. He walked into the room, and looked the girl over. She was barely over five feet tall and was slim. She wore a black and silver-embroidered corset over a green tunic with dark brown breeches and darker boots. He turned to one of the guards and she glimpsed the brand on the back of his neck. Why did he look so familiar? Quietly he spoke to the guards before dismissing them and turning back to her. He spoke sarcastically. “I guess it’s about time we get to know each other. First of all, I think you had better tell me your name.” “My name is Tahnni.” Her voice was confident. “Tahnni is a dancer’s name which you obviously are not. Don’t make this any more difficult than you have to.” Calya swallowed hard, and this time her nervousness showed. “Now, say we start this all over again with the truth.” “What do you care about truth? You’re a mercenary.” “Technically I don’t, but you do, because I can make it very difficult for you here. Only we know what we do in the darkest watches of the night.” He saw her resolve begin to wane already. “Do you know what they do to females here? They are used for our every pleasure, then thrown away as toys for wild beasts to be torn apart and eaten with no trace left but an unidentifiable pile of bones… sometimes. Sometimes we just use them till they die, taking our pleasure until their last breath before we move on to another one.” She looked away. “So let’s begin one more time. What is your name?” She answered, ashamed of her weakness. “Calya.” A glint in his eyes caught her attention, and she looked at the floor, betrayed by her own fear. “So you really are the missing princess. I thought as much. What a pleasure it is. Really.” He replied, both sounding and looking extremely bored. “So what now?” she asked, her composure somewhat returning. “Why does it matter to you? Did you forget you came here with someone else?” Anger surged through her and she started forward. “You leave him alone!” He shoved her back onto the bed and pinned her down. “I’m not even going to touch him.” “You needn’t touch someone to harm them.” He looked darkly into her eyes. “And you would be one to know… now wouldn’t you?” She looked away again. Horror struck her. That was how he knew who she was! She had given herself away! In the woods. She was so afraid that, in her desperation, she hadn’t thought her actions through. With one look beyond her to the barred window, he moved from the room with a loud slamming of the door. He would be back, but would she be ready to face him when he returned? Kikarii heard footsteps and jumped to his feet. His guard came down the solid, stone stairs. A smile played on Fallon’s lips as he strode up to the bars. “I’ll spare you my greetings.” “As if I’d return them,” Kikarii mumbled under his breath. “You would do well to remember who is on the other side of the bars…” Fallon’s anger flared at his words. “And also… who controls Calya’s fate.” Kikarii slammed against the bars and grabbed at empty space as the mercenary backed off. “You will not touch her!” “Or what?” he taunted, “Or you’ll scream at me, helpless behind your bars?” He chuckled and continued. “It is much too late as it is. I’ve had my taste of her already.” He bellowed a laugh. “Do not let yourself forget that you failed to protect one of your precious women already. You wouldn’t want to make the same mistake a second time by being reckless, would you?” With that remark, he turned, and disappeared back up the steps. Kikarii shook his fist and tugged at the bars, reaching through and screaming in desperation. Calya awoke in the morning and got dressed. She took a tooth from her comb and sneaked to the door. She put it in the key hole and tried to unlock it. It was a fool’s plan, bound to fail, but she had to try something. Footsteps. She stopped and listened. Nothing. The princess listened a moment longer and then continued her attempted escape. The door was kicked open, throwing her backward. Fallon stepped through the doorway and grabbed her by the wrist. Her eyes sparked red and cuts appeared on Fallon’s arms. He smiled maliciously. “You want to get out?” He could see her eyes begging and he let go of her wrist. “Good. Go.” She moved to look out at the hallway. The man’s cuts began to heal. She glanced back at him. He gestured to the outside, nodding for her to continue. She took one cautious step testing the man. Nothing. She took a second step, her foot landing just past the threshold. In a moment he took her hair in his hand and pulled her back into the room, slamming the door shut. She screamed, tearing at his hand with her nails. Her eyes came alive with red flame and weeping wounds appeared all over Fallon’s body. Blood and puss seeped out and covered his skin. Deteriorating skin began hanging from him. He brought her back to the bed and turned her to face him, his bleeding hand still entangled in her long, dark, wavy hair. He cursed and spat in her face. “This is really getting old, you know. You’re just like an insect; something for me to crush underfoot.” Fallon tugged at the neck of her tunic. She kicked him in the shin. He let go of her hair and backhanded her across the face. “You worm! I should just take what I want now!” He looked her over and laughed, grabbing her arm and pulling her up so her face was a mere inch from his. “Even if I don’t, the other men will.” He threw her onto the bed and walked out, slamming the door behind him. As he moved from the door his lesions healed. He chuckled, shook his head and walked away. Calya wiped the blood from her split lip, felt her burning cheek and listened to his footsteps fade away from the door. She slowly rose from the bed and looked in the mirror. A red handprint had taken residence on her right cheek. Her head ached. Her injured shoulder burned. She was trapped. Picking up the comb again, Calya proceeded to pull it through her now knotted hair. She eventually curled up on the bed and fell asleep, tears drying on her battered cheeks. When she awoke, the sun had run its course for the day and was setting in the west. A plate of food lay on the floor in the middle of the room. She stretched wearily and felt sore from being thrown around the night before. Wincing, she grabbed her shoulder and let out a sharp breath. She slipped out of bed, grabbed the food and sat on the floor, back against the bed, hungrily stuffing her face. The bread was stale And the soup was cold. She coughed and made herself swallow the chunky liquid from the bowl. The soup would have been terrible if it was warm, but it was much worse now that it had hours to sit there untouched. She chugged the small glass of water when she finished forcing her food down and left the plate on the one small, round table in the room beside the door. She looked into the mirror, picked up her comb and slowly began pulling it through her thick hair. She stole a glance out the window at the courtyard. The men were finishing training exercises and some were already dragging women from the brothel across the yard to their rooms or wherever else they decided to start mischief. She heard muffled squeals and forced giggles as men impatiently groped the women before they were in private. Calya’s stomach turned with the knowledge that any day one of those women could be her. She could be forced to endure the groping and carousing of selfish, filthy men night after night or whenever else they may want some downtime between training and assignments. She forced her eyes away from the scenes playing out before her eyes and back to the mirror. She tried to focus. There had to be a way out. Think, Calya. Think! Nothing came to her. The sun finished setting and all was dark. She had managed to get a lantern lit before it was too dark to see. She heard a noise at her door and spun around, startled. Fallon stood in the doorway, dark and imposing as usual, a sinister yet unreadable expression on his face. He slowly closed the door with his heel behind him and walked over to her. “How did you sleep?” She backed away from him, unnerved by his expression and even more so by the eerie pleasantness of his question. She didn’t answer. “I asked you a question.” Her voice was soft and filled with a deep fear. “F… fine, I guess.” He glared at her. “You slept until evening and made the kitchen waste your breakfast. It is as if you do not actually care about the fact that you are allowed multiple meals a day. I could snap my fingers and take away every crumb you get instantly. Do you understand that? I could make you starve to death in front of my very eyes.” He looked down the length of her body and added, “You wouldn’t be so feisty then, would you?” She took another step back and her heel hit the bed, Fallon saw a flash of fear and uncertainty flit across her face and took advantage. In a couple steps he stood over her, tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back. He put his mouth to her throat and breathed out deeply. “Do you realize what I could do to you? Do you realize the privilege you have had in being left alone for so long? You smell so good. I’m sure you taste good, too.” He put his lips against the skin on her ear as he pulled her hair down and forced her back and down onto the bed. He got over her, soaked in the terror that displayed itself in her eyes and watched the obvious, rapid pulse in her neck. He put his fingers on it. Calya writhed inside, horror and helplessness combined into a seemingly never ending nightmare. He put his lips against her ear again, making it so his body was pressed against hers on the bed. “I wouldn’t be caught dead pleasuring myself on a piece of filthy, royal scum like you.” He let go of her hair and got off the bed. She barely moved as she watched him near the door. “You’re too much fun to terrorize. You make this job too easy. It’s annoying that they haven’t ordered you killed yet, but at least you aren't making more work for me.” He chuckled sadistically and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Calya whispered to herself to calm her racing thoughts. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Curled up in the corner of the room on the bed, covered in sweat and hugging her knees, it finally hit her. She made his job easy because she was afraid. He played on her fear to have fun. As he said, he wasn’t going to use her physically. He enjoyed seeing the fear in her eyes, the panic that overtook her, the racing of her pulse. She made up her mind right then. I will no longer be his play thing. I will not be his toy to help him wind down after a hard day of murder and torture. I am a princess and I will be regarded as such. Whatever happens, he will not get the pleasure of seeing me cower in fear anymore. She steeled herself and tried to sleep. Whether she lived or died was not up to her, no matter what she did. However, if she was going to be a prisoner and if she was going to die, she would do so with dignity no matter how afraid she might feel inside. She was up at dawn the next morning. Fallon came in with her food and put it on the small table. He stared at her. She eyed him coldly. He studied her for long moments. Something changed about her since the night before. He couldn’t quite place it, but she was different and he did not like it. He stared at her a moment longer before leaving the room. Calya breathed a sigh of relief that he left so quickly. She got up and took the plate of food back to the bed and sat down facing the window. The sun was bright and rising higher in the sky every minute. She had lost count of how long she had been held captive here. She did not know what day it was or even what month. She did not know if she had slept away more than one day at times or if what seemed like endless weeks were actually just drawn out days made to seem longer by the solitude and torment. Suddenly her door flew open and Fallon barreled in, slamming it behind him. She jumped from surprise, but quickly regained her composure. She put her food down beside her on the bed and gave him an icy stare. He looked angry. At what, she couldn’t tell, but she was afraid to guess what more he would do when angry versus when he was just winding down and bored after work. He stalked right up to her and stared down, eyes blazing. She steeled herself for possible brutality and met his glare with her own chilling gaze. He grabbed the front of her tunic and lifted her off the bed so their faces almost touched. Her expression stayed as cold and stone-like as before. A slight change, a flicker of something unusual crossed his features, but was gone in an instant. Had she imagined it? Did he just look uncertain? No. Not possible. Not this man. But then again, she couldn’t deny she saw something different in his features for that split second. He snapped her out of her thoughts by back handing her across the face and throwing her down on the bed, straddling her aggressively, his knees digging painfully into her forearms. She winced and he grabbed the neck of her tunic and ripped it open. She lay there, startled, but shockingly composed and reserved. Fallon put his hand on her throat roughly and began putting pressure on her windpipe. She swallowed hard, and choked in a breath but stared him down, nonetheless. Despite her internal panic, she remained externally composed, fighting her captor in the only way she could. Slowly, unnervingly, he slid his hand down. It moved to just below her collarbone and he stopped. Her tunic had one more clasp before she would be exposed to him. He slid his hand down more and stopped on her chest, just above the clasp. He stared at her chest, hesitating for some unknown reason. Calya could see that he was thinking, weighing out his options. The gears in his mind were grinding against each other and he seemed unsure of his next move. She steadied her breathing, and stared at him with cold, unwavering indignation, daring him to make whatever move he determined to be pleasing to him. He took his hand from her chest and backed up, off the bed. She sat up. He glared at her with all the hatred he harbored inside. She stood and instantly felt a sharp stinging as her head snapped to the side and she crumpled to the ground. She hadn’t even seen his hand come up for the backhanded slap. She managed to look back up at him. His face was filled with rage, and his breathing was heavy with hatred and a seething abhorrence for her very existence. He picked her up and threw her against the wall. Then he stormed out and threw the door shut so violently that she felt every stone shudder. What just happened? she thought to herself in confusion, looking at the food now scattered across the floor before staring at the closed door to her room, not daring to move. The pain from slamming against the wall radiated through her as she waited for him to return. Fallon stormed down the corridor in a rage. The men in the hallway stepped to the side the moment they saw him, not daring to get into his path. He was in rare form and no one was stupid enough to stand in his way when he was seething with wrath. One man was groping a woman in the stone stairwell. Fallon could hear them as he neared while barreling down the steps. His anger boiled onto the surface at the sound. They came into view. The mercenary was unabashedly taking his pleasure while the woman stood pinned against the wall. Fallon’s anger erupted. He grabbed the man by the back of his neck and spun him around to face himself, slamming his back against the wall. His eyes burned with such a fiery hatred and fury that his victim squirmed and pleaded. “Fallon, it’s me. It’s Laidof. I didn’t do anything!” And yet he knew that pleading and yelling was useless, Fallon was the most unfeeling and sadistic soldier in the fortress, surpassed only by their captain and maybe not even by him. Fallon gritted his teeth and barked out, “Why?! Why do you only want women? All day and night! What is wrong with you? Why do you only want sex?! Above fighting, above training! You scum! You weak, distracted soldier! I should teach you a lesson you won’t ever be given the chance to forget!” Laidof struggled out of fear. He panicked and his foot slipped from the step, throwing them both off balance. Fallon caught his footing in an instant and used the momentum of his comrade to slam him against the stone steps. The man cried out as his back hit the cold, hard rock. Fallon let him go and spun around, the woman was nowhere to be found. He turned his eyes back to the man on the ground. Staring back at him were the terrified eyes of a man knowing his death was imminent and there was no escape. Fallon spit on him, disgusted, and continued down the stairs, cursing. Laidof stood shakily and hurried to Hannon’s chambers. Fallon arrived at his destination. His sandbag hung ready and waiting for his rage to be poured out. He beat upon it with all the malice he felt. He sensed a presence behind him, silent and brooding, watching. Fallon stopped and stood still, his head partially turned to the side, breathing heavily, waiting for Hannon to speak. “Fallon, Fallon…” He shook his head and clicked his tongue like a father gently chastising a child who didn’t know any better. “Why must you torment the men?” Fallon rolled his eyes, let out a deep sigh of irritation and turned to face his captain. “That is why you came all the way down here tonight? To tell me to be nice?” He snorted out a frustrated grunt of disapproval. “If that’s it, you can save your breath, Hannon, because I don’t want to hear it.” Fallon turned back to the sandbag and resumed his exercise. Hannon’s voice boomed above the sound of his fists against the thick, rough material and the creaking chain. “FALLON!” The young mercenary stopped instantly and turned around to face his authority again, expression no longer readable. “Yes, Hannon?” The only thing Hannon hated more than a weak man was Fallon. Not Fallon himself, but Fallon’s ability to not care about discipline, punishment or torture. No threat would work against him and no penalty or punishment would curb his defiant malice stored up from years of unimaginable, internalized and unhinged anger. From what he could tell, his only concern was honor and status. He was unpredictable and fearless. Unfeeling, uncaring and sadistic. A man after the captain’s own heart, or lack thereof. But Fallon was another creature altogether. If Hannon believed in hell he would have bet his own soul on the assumption that this mercenary was spawned from the devil himself. His nickname Black Demon was well earned. “You will not talk to me as if you are some insolent child! I made you what you are and I can take everything from you in an instant. I can strip away your status, your privilege, and what little sanity and humanity you may have left in that black, dead soul of yours.” A slow, chilling smirk lifted the corner of Fallons lips. “And how would you do that, Commander.” He spat the word out sarcastically like a vile taste he couldn’t wait to expel. “Tell the men not to follow me? Lock me up? Tell me ‘no’?” He chuckled. “I am the best, most reliable soldier you have, Hannon. And you know that. Your men are weak. And they are made weaker by their lust for women and ale. They can be seduced by physical desires. But me?” He sneered and took a step closer. “No. Not me. I need nothing, I crave nearly nothing. I only lust for blood and death. I need neither women nor ale. What more could you ask for?” Hannon hated him. Loathed him more than anything. Yet Fallon was right. He was the perfect mercenary. Loyal to whoever offered the highest price, willing to betray anyone at any time for any reason except his men during a fight. He may be insubordinate and more stubborn than a mule, but he was not replaceable by any means. Even Anohean did not come close to the perfection that was Fallon. “Don’t argue with me, son. If there is no order, there is nothing. You belong here. You do not want to be the reason the Harta fortress falls.” Fallon blew his shaggy hair off his forehead in a mocking gesture and rolled his eyes, turning back to his bag. “Right. Are you finished?” The superior shook his head in disappointment. “You had better get your anger under control, Fallon. I do not want to have to put it under control myself.” Fury flared in the young man’s eyes. “Are you threatening me, Hannon?” he raged, spinning around, loathing seeping from his pores. The other man simply shook his head and slowly walked back into the shadows. And there he was, left standing there seething alone. He looked at the sandbag then back at the shadows and then back at the bag. He growled furiously in frustration, landed one last solid punch to the hanging bag and retired to his room, unable to keep focused any longer. Kikarii felt hands grab the back of his tunic. He lifted his head, sight still foggy with sleep. The elf was hauled off the floor and thrown through the cell doorway. A groan exited his mouth as he hit the stone floor. Clenching his jaw, he studied the iron-lined boot next to his face. No. Not again, he thought frantically. In desperation, he clawed at the floor, trying to pull himself back to his cage. A laugh filled the room, cold and merciless. “Kikarii, do you not remember how futile these petty attempts of yours are?” The burn marks on the prisoner's body had just begun to heal from the last set of tortures. “No!” He screamed, the sound ripping from his throat in despair. His voice broke in panic. “Let me alone! I'll stay quiet! I'll just die! I promise!” Annoyance showed on Fallon's hard face. “That would be too boring. And I haven't been given leave to kill you yet. So scream and cry all you want because it changes nothing.” The mercenary crouched down, wrapping his fingers around the elf’s already bruised throat “You've been wanting to kill me for long enough. So here is your chance. If you lose, I take whatever small shred of innocence Calya may have left. If you are able to hit me even once, I will leave her alone a while longer.” A sword was pushed into Kikarii’s hand and Fallon threw him back against the wall. “Let's make this more fun. Make him panic more.” The man who had given him the blade held his face and forced his mouth open, pouring a bitter liquid down his throat. The prisoner coughed and choked on it. A sinister smile crossed his captor’s face. “I've learned how to make poisons that have the ability to impair the one who ingests them. Let's see how well you defend your princess now.” Kikarii’s memories from the last four days had massive blackouts. Every time he woke up, he would be covered in more deep cuts and blood. All he could remember was that somehow he had been trying to save Calya and had failed in some way. This time, however, Fallon was outside his cell when he awoke. The mercenary had a chair pulled over and was sitting, surprisingly relaxed. He was leaning back in his chair, the wood resting against the wall, his fingers loosely intertwined behind his head. His laid back posture and attitude was maddening. “Ah. You're finally awake. I am sure you are wondering about the gaps in your memory recently. Elixirs tend to have interesting side-effects, I've found. Do you want to know what my favorite effect of this one is?” He glanced at Kikarii in amusement. When he received no response, he continued his speech. These monologues were routine now. Playing with the mind worked incredibly on this captive. “This specific poison causes a temporary blackout in memory. Once what has happened is brought up, you remember it all in detail. You never lose consciousness with this one, which I, of course, prefer. It was quite bitter wasn't it?” A flash of memory hit Kikarii suddenly. He saw himself on the floor, Fallon holding him by the throat, a sword being placed in his hand. He gagged again as he remembered the unbelievably bitter liquid he had been forced to drink before being dragged behind Fallon. The mercenary laughed aloud, watching the fear make its way unto the elf’s gray eyes. This was where the fun began. “I see you remember the taste. Is it as bitter as the knowledge that I violated your darling princess in ways you wouldn't even dare imagine?” Another memory slammed into the prisoner like a punch to the gut. He gasped desperately as days of Fallon's taunts and threats came back to him. “If you even touch me once, I will leave Calya alone. Otherwise, I will ravage her body so violently, she will beg for death.” A strong wave of nausea came over him as he remembered yesterday's threat. He had been too weak to even lift the blade after drinking the poison. Starvation and lack of sleep had weakened him significantly as it was, but Fallon made sure his elven blood could not make up for it. He had more than succeeded. “You are much weaker than I expected. You failed to block even a single blow. How embarrassing.” Kikarii cried out in despair as he remembered the cuts inflicted on him after he had been thrown into the room with the mercenary. “How?” the elf said in a broken voice. A low harsh chuckle met him in reply. “I made it. Anyone can be bought for the right price. I found an herbalist in Dorsha. My job is simple, and yet I desire more from it. You were beginning to bore me, so I found a solution.” Talking was becoming bothersome, so with a dismissive wave of his hand, he rocked the chair forward so all four legs were on the stone and he rose. He left without sparing another glance at the broken man in the cage. Fallon was tiring of his games with the elf. The killing, the torture… it was all becoming bothersome. When did this start to be so unsatisfying? A month ago? Two months? Did it begin before the girl came or after? He could no longer remember when his discontentment started. Somehow it felt as though he had always been lacking something, yet at the same time he knew that the recovered princess was the root of his problem. Her bullhead nature was the reason he was not enjoying this. The sooner he broke her, the better. She was wearing at him. He would break her if it was the last thing he did. The long days continued to turn into even longer weeks and Fallon continued his games, visiting Calya in her chamber and then playing with Kikarii’s head and sometimes physically torturing him in and out of his cell. The princess had become a stone, unmovable and unbreakable. Her defiance wore at him and irked him to no end. He pushed his own boundaries day after day going to the brink of his own disgust to break her resolve and confidence and, each time he did, she held his eyes with cold disdain. His wrath burned inside him every time he left her room. He lay on his back in his bed, staring at the ceiling, fuming to himself about his inability to break the princess. He looked at his hands above his face and noticed some of her hair wrapped around his finger. He pulled it off and looked at it for a moment. He had ripped out a chunk of her hair tonight. She had screamed and held her head in pain until he threw her against the wall and knocked her unconscious. He had gone as far as he dared physically and she didn’t respond. She didn’t cry out, she didn’t whimper, she didn’t even flinch. The pent up contempt was beginning to boil over. Fallon could have killed her tonight. In fact he almost wondered if he did. If not, she was going to wake up intensely miserable. He felt her hair between his fingers and blew out through his pursed lips. Hanging his hand off the edge of his bed, he opened his fingers, letting the strands drop to the floor. He tossed and turned on his bedding, angry at himself for his continued failing, furious at her for being how she was. Her self confidence ate at him and her lack of fear made him fume with restlessness. He was losing control of her and he knew it. But there was something more rage inducing than even that. He was losing control of himself. It was only the third hour of the night and Fallon couldn’t sleep, which was abnormal for him. He rolled back and forth on his bed before finally getting up, throwing on his tunic and breeches and heading to his charge’s cell. Kikarii sat, slumped against the cell wall, half asleep and overtired to the point of near delirium. There was no bed in his cell; not even a mat that he could pretend softened the hard, uneven, stone ground. Fallon appeared at the bars and called his name. “Kikarii, are you actually sleeping?” Kikarii looked up, his eyes straining to focus, his throat raw and feeling like a sheet of sandpaper. He had a beard. It was dirty and probably infested with whatever bugs lived down here. His skin was raw from lack of hygiene and hours of torture, and his hair was a mess, matted with dried blood that tinted the hair on his head and beard. He squinted and moved his head forward for a moment before finally recognizing his guard. “What do you think?” he said dryly, trying to sound alert, and confident, but coming off like the half crazed, half dead man that he was. He was nearly all bones. The lack of food, light and genuine human interaction made him weak and drove him nearly out of his mind. The stories of Fallon’s escapades with the princess tore at his very soul, making him feel more helpless than he had ever felt before. He had failed at his duty to protect her and bring her back to her kingdom. He had failed and he was facing the painful, bitter consequences of it. “What a shame,” came Fallon’s response. “I was hoping you would be rested when I told you another story.” Kikarii gritted his teeth weakly, his voice coming out in rasps instead of the screams he was no longer able to muster. “You shut your mouth. I won't listen to another word you say, scum.” Fallon chuckled. “What are you going to do about it? How are you going to force me to stop talking? Do you even have the strength to cover your ears anymore?” Kikarii growled in anger and frustration, but the man was right. He was barely even a skeleton of the man he was when he was put in here. He was helpless except for the few phrases he was no longer afraid to utter. “Shut your mouth.” A low laugh came from outside his cell as his captor dragged the chair up to the bars. Ugh. Here I go again. The only fun in this is the reaction I am guaranteed to receive. “I went in to Calya last night.” Kikarii ground his teeth together in pure hatred for what he assumed would come next - for what always came next. “She didn’t whimper this time. No. Quite the opposite.” he continued, his words eating the prisoner alive in his bondage. “I threw her on the bed, and she looked up at me quite contentedly, positively anticipatory, I would even say.” His voice paused. “Would you like me to tell you of the night we had? She did not quite meet my standards or come out quite as… uh…. alert as I was expecting. But then again, it never was for her anyway, was it? It may have been my last pleasure in that room, but it certainly did not disappoint. She’s learned not to fight me. And who knows, her acting is so expert by now, she may actually enjoy me as much as she appears to.” That was it. The thought of the princess being manipulated and broken to the point of desiring this monster was too much. Kikarii took the little strength he had left and threw his body against the bars in bitter desperation. His hand shot through the metal and grasped onto Fallon’s boot laces. The man looked down as if a fly had landed on his boot. Then he lifted his boot and brought it down hard on Kikarii’s fist. He let out a pitiful excuse for a cry and tried to pull his hand back in the bars. Fallon held his hand against the floor under his iron-lined tread, breaking the man’s fingers. “You really have not learned yet, have you?” With that, he kicked away the captive’s now broken hand, tossed the wooden chair back into the corner and headed up the steps. Kikarii cursed in the darkness and tried to drag himself backwards to the wall again. He was unsuccessful. Another noise. More footsteps. No more! Just let me die already! Please kill me! He let out a whimper and, using the last of his strength, he shouted hoarsely. “Kill me already! No more! Please no more!” A sob of despair exited his lips before he lost consciousness. Fallon opened Calya’s door quietly. She was still sleeping. She was no longer falling asleep curled into a ball like a terrified little child who is afraid of the dark. She slept stretched out and peaceful. He looked at her in the moonlight. Silently, he cursed her confidence and resolve. He wanted to dispose of her now, to be done with this assignment. But something intrigued him about her. She was a mystery. A dignified mystery. He turned and closed her door again, beginning to head back to his room, when all of a sudden footsteps came thundering towards him. A group of men stopped a yard away. “Fallon! The prisoner in the lower level is missing!” Fallon laughed immediately. “That is not possible. I was just down there a few minutes ago. He could barely move and was half delirious.” “He is missing,” the man repeated sternly. Fallon took off running and reached the downstairs chamber in record time. They were correct. His cell was empty, the door was open, the metal burned and melted where the lock had hung. He looked around frantically. There. In the corner, behind where the chair had been. There was a hole in the floor. Someone had removed just enough of the brick and stone to fit through and drag Kikarii out. They couldn’t be far. He bounded back up the stairs to Hannon’s chambers. His captain was wide awake, obviously waiting for him. “Send out a party now.” Fallon roared. “Someone made it past the watchers, broke through our wall and took our prisoner.” Hannon let out a sharp whistle. Another man in his early forties appeared in the doorway. “Gather your men immediately. You have a fox to find before he returns to his hole.” The man disappeared as quickly as he had come. Anger twisted Fallon’s features. “I told you that your men are weak and distracted! They are easily seduced and lured away from duty by sex and alcohol!” Before the last word had completely left his tongue, he was already storming out of the room. Hannon called after him, “Tell her we executed him.” He did not need a response. He knew Fallon had heard him. He returned to Calya’s room. He flung open the door to see her wide awake and staring out the small window at the frantic, scrambling mob of yelling men below. She did not turn when she heard him enter. He shut the door and walked over to the side of her bed. “What happened?” she asked as if expecting an answer she knew she wouldn’t get. “Preparing for an execution,” he said, dully and uncaring. “Whose? I thought I was the only…..” Her voice trailed off as the realization dawned on her. Her head snapped around and she looked at him in horror. “We have one other prisoner here. Did you forget so quickly?” His smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Anger and tears erupted from Calya as she lunged at him, fists flying. Fallon was actually caught by surprise at the speed in which she changed her demeanor. The first punch hit him square in the jaw. There was no pain from it since she was weak and unskilled. The other punches he easily avoided. He grabbed her wrists and held them in the air above her head as she struggled. Tears streamed down her face. She looked up at him, broken, weak, pitiful, small, and yet she was completely herself. She did not become timid. She did not become afraid. Calya met his eyes with a burning rage, spit in his face, ripped her wrists free and managed to get a slap across his left cheek before turning away from him. “Sleep well,” he whispered into her ear smugly as he turned and walked out. She spun and followed after him, but the door slammed in her face. She kicked it once and retreated to her bed, silently falling to pieces and utterly alone. More alone than she had ever been in her life. Fallon retreated to his room, hearing a loud bang against Calya’s chamber door as he walked. He lay on his bed, staring at the stone ceiling. He thought about how upset she was and how easily it broke her. The man felt his cheek. He let a smile play on his lips. Then he pictured her stern confidence and stamina and refusal to give up. And suddenly something broke. Something in him cracked ever so slightly. When he finally fell asleep, he fought demons in his mind until dawn. |
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