Day 12 in the Month of Snow, Year 973 in the Age of Steel
Storm clouds circled overhead as townsfolk shrieked and fled for their lives. Minions of darkness bearing dual-horned black helmets hunted them with relentless fury. Over his soldiers, a man stood alone in the courtyard, waving his bloodied longsword from side to side as he watched the carnage. The red sky above him tore through the thunder and lightning. Amid the chaos, a sneer appeared under his hooded face while a tattered cape fluttered from his shoulders.
Towering over villagers and guardsmen alike, the man watched the smoldering ruins of thatch buildings crumble to the earth. Ashes floated down upon his face from their cinders. He inhaled the smoky air until the soot stung his throat. Releasing a demonic laugh, the man that held the title of the feared Black Prince of Hostellus wriggled his fingers along the hilt of his blade.
He reveled in the crimson rivers coursing over the steel edge and returned his dark eyes to the corpse-infested scene before him. Emerging from the temporary stasis, the man narrowed his sights on a new target. He stepped forward with clenched teeth and heaved his weapon into the soft flesh of a poor farmer with one devastating stroke. The Black Prince sneered as the blood and bile of his prey’s abdomen drowned the cloth and spewed onto the ground.
His ears rang with all of the other peasants’ screams, but their cries left his heart unmoved. The salt-soaked soul underneath the scowl and scars of his face found no place for empathy in the slaughtered dead, nor within those who remained. With every movement, he felt his muscles vibrate with power. He did not care who fell in his wake; he only thought of his sole mission of annihilation.
The heat of the fire from the burning city singed his stained face. A moment of calamity arose, but he then unleashed the dormant energy within and opened his smoke-filled lungs. As the Black Prince released a bone-shaking scream of pure anger and ecstasy, he sensed more victims quivering in the distance.
“Kneel, scum of Imperion!” he shouted. “So I may tear the flesh from your bones!”
The prince bathed in the power of his wrath. The hatred that stemmed from his heart’s deepest pits surfaced, and he drew in the bitter aroma of the leveled village. After slaughtering those in his reach, the prince marched over the bodies like a feasting predator. His ears tuned to a faint and subtle weeping in the vicinity. He scanned the horizon with his bloodshot eyes before feeling a buzz in the back of his skull. Like a slow-moving giant, the prince pivoted until his piercing gaze hovered over the source of the cry. He paused once he discovered a petite boy cowering in the street near a ruined statue. Confused by his hesitation, the prince in his prime shook away the remorse, lifted his sword across his body, and flexed his upper lip muscle to reveal some of his teeth.
“Please, sir!” the boy said. “Have you no mercy?”
“I am the harbinger of your death, the unholy angel of lament!” the prince shouted, his red eyes glowing like fire. “I do not bring mercy, I bring … damnation!”
Even though the battered boy fell away from the statue, helpless and broken, the Black Prince channeled the lust for war that quaked in his blood. He met the frail child’s eyes in the street and saw innocence stare back into his own. Putting haste into his strides, the prince bellowed as he tore the boy open like a lightning-struck tree. The shackled wickedness escaped from its cage, and the nightmare he wreaked upon the ruined village reached its fiery summit.
~~~
Then, suddenly, everything slowed to a halt. The darkness of the vision faded as the man who hosted the nightmare woke from his slumber in a slithery, cold sweat. He flinched at the dream, hiding from the shame of that day earlier in his life when he had let his rage roam unchallenged. Heart pounding, his eyes dashed back and forth in confusion. He tried his damnedest to regain mental balance, but his solitude ended as quickly as it began. The illusion melted from memory as a loud knocking from the chamber doors shook his confusion away and brought the man’s attention to another issue. Sitting upright in his bed of wolf pelts and delicate silk, he pushed his hands across his face, eventually forcing himself to stand on quivering legs.
He stumbled across his room, illuminated by dim moonlight that glistened across the marble floors. A large bay window opened into the land several stories above the common grounds of the fortress and allowed the white light to shine through. The man gathered his cloth tunic from an old table across the room. He eyed a large map of the surrounding area and observed the markings on the coarse parchment, including a small dagger stabbed into the table through the left-center portion. He ran his fingers across the crude map until he circled the dagger point around the white symbol scripted underneath the blade along with the name of the castle he focused on: Vaedor Sellos, the City of Victors, written in an ancient language of the area’s founders. Thoughts of his older brother, the king of the land, angered him.
The prince placed his palm on his forehead, which throbbed and felt warm to the touch. He ran his hands over his shaven face and his short, dark brown hair to drive out the fatigue. As the knocking continued, he proceeded to dress in the rest of his usual attire: a tunic covering him from shoulder to mid-thigh, a black cloth undershirt that reached his wrists, a large ring that held a bright blue gemstone on his left index finger, and a leather bracelet that wove around a similar jewel. Next, he slid his slender legs through a pair of thick cotton pants. Stumbling in the darkness, he attempted to lace his leather boots. The click from his shoes against the floor rolled in his ears and overwhelmed the knocking and muffled words from beyond the wooden doors.
“Oh, for shit’s sake,” he said. “I’m coming.”
He threw a long, dark cape over his shoulder and then pulled the hood over his head. The torn cloak barely reached the floor behind his heels. His aggravated thoughts stirred and cursed the early summoning.
The concern and confusion from the dark dream that possessed his mind remained distant. Faltering once more, he moved toward the visitor at the door. The prince loosened his shoulders, stiff from the night, and cracked the bones in his neck. Iron hinges and handles jolted against the cedarwood, causing an echo to bounce against the chamber’s walls. After a moment, he sighed under his breath and raised his dry eyes to the man outside his chamber.
“What is it, Caedus?” The tall prince spoke in a dull tone.
His cerulean irises pierced the lantern-lit hall’s darkness as he looked to his summoner.
“My prince, a caravan is entering the Blackwood from the mountains behind us,” the shorter man dressed similarly to the prince answered with a deep voice that hummed.
“And?” the prince said as he started to place disbelief in the importance of his summon. “Caravans pass through our lands daily.”
“A Vaedorian escort surrounded it, Zededia. Dozens of foot soldiers. Don’t you think that’s a bit unusual? Not to mention that a Hostellian knight is leading the way.”
The muddled Prince Zededia paused for a moment. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he thought of the circumstances that could revolve around his soldier’s news.
“Why would Matticus send such a garrison through the Blackwood before the damn sun is even up?” Zededia questioned with closed eyes. “They have to know that the torches would be spotted from a great distance. And why are they coming from behind us? From Merrinine?”
“Some sort of military tactic?” Caedus asked.
“No,” the taller man answered as he thought with a hand covering his face. “Matticus hasn’t been able to march within two miles of the tower in his hundreds of advances. He gave up chasing after us in these hills a long time ago. However, if he thinks that a horribly disguised attack from the mountains above will differ from the past, he’s descended into a deeper madness than what plagues him.”
Zededia paused to consider his older brother’s bold tactics. With time, the most probable answer became clear to the prince.
“He’s transporting something or someone that he deems equal to the lives of his own men,” Zededia said with a tired sigh.
“Do you think he’s found the sword, my prince?” Captain Caedus asked.
The fabled weapon of his ancestor hadn’t passed through his brain in months. However, he hadn’t forgotten his family’s obsession with the artifact. The thought of holding it for himself infected his brain much like it did his father.
“Unlikely,” he replied. “If Matticus learned of the sword’s location, he’d ride out himself to find it.”
“Should we let them pass then?”
Zededia slowly shook his head. He thought for a moment about what Matticus could be transporting that was so valuable other than the Sword of Kings.
“No. Whatever they’re doing here, it rises above normal trade. Take Seether with you for an ambush. Bring me the knight and whomever else you deem necessary. None are to return to Vaedor Sellos.”
“Yes, my prince,” replied the loyal captain.
Zededia dismissed Caedus with a flick of his wrist and heard his footsteps fade in the distant stone staircase. The prince then exhaled and walked back into his chamber. To dissolve the exhaustion for good, he took a handful of cold water from a silver bowl nearby and splashed it on his face. Fully awake, the prince paced over to his bay window and observed the extreme morning darkness with the moon arched high in the sky. His eyes swayed over the vast, dense forest that surrounded his minuscule kingdom, and he noticed a thick fog that concealed his brother’s castle on the other side of the crater that encircled Hostellus.
Several minutes later, as the prince surveyed the foothills, he heard his fortress’s iron gates rise. He looked down below his chamber and listened to the metallic gallops of his men riding off from the great stronghold submerged into the mountainside.
Satisfied with Caedus’s swiftness, Zededia turned away from the window in the tower and inhaled once more. Releasing his frosted breath, the prince paused to align his priorities and decided to seek spiritual aid for his troubling dream and the haunting memory that it inflicted on him.
The prince departed from his chambers and navigated his way through the central tower. Widespread and open, the grounds behind the sturdy walls of his fortress that protected hundreds of merged buildings built from stone and thatch soothed his sight. The silence in his home warmed him. His small kingdom remained still, save a light rainfall that swept over the forest. He eyed the massive barracks where half of his army slept while the other half took posts on the walls. The night guard patrolled throughout his fortress, wandering between the paved streets, crenelated walkways, and at the entrances of every major building or sector of the city.
Zededia nodded to greet them as he passed, and when he traversed to the rear section of his fortress, the prince looked upon the grand temple entrance embedded into the mountain. Large, round columns stood tall from the peristyle outside the archway to the sanctuary. The rain highlighted the moonlight across their impressions as droplets flowed to the earth.
The prince approached the temple with crossed arms and a hooded head as if he were a monk. He scanned the insides of the circular interior and saw a woman in decorative robes kneeling in front of a large, godlike statue. As Zededia explored, he felt the priestess rise in his peripheral vision while his primary focus lingered on the marvelous marble figure. Pacing around the deep reflecting pool, he stared into the water and felt the soothing warmth of a lit altar nearby
He crept lightly to leave the priestess at ease. However, the prince’s careful actions became noticed soon enough. As his eyes drifted to the large tapestries that displayed religious symbols, Zededia snapped his neck around to face the priestess.
“Welcome, young Zededia.” She turned to face him and held out open arms. “Come, join me on this beautiful morning.”
The prince continued toward his beckoner and kept his arms hidden. He approached the edge of the reflecting pool and looked into the shining water as he felt the priestess’s touch on his forearm.
“Tell me, my friend,” the oracle asked. “What ails you at this hour and draws you here?”
He hesitated, reliving the nightmare through his thoughts while the matronly woman moved her hand to his shoulder.
“My sleep evades me,” the prince answered with a hazy voice. “I am troubled by a recurring vision.”
“Oh, I see,” the priestess responded softly. “Your mother often found distress in her sleep, sire. What do you see in these dreams?”
Pausing once more, Zededia looked to the pool to escape the answer. “Death,” the prince said. “At my hands.”
“Hmm,” the woman replied.
Zededia sensed his answer did not give enough information for the elder to advise him. He tightened his lips and replaced his focus.
“I am standing in the town center of Konkour. And I walked through the moments of that day as clear as they occurred.”
“Ah yes … Konkour has haunted you for many years now. What do you think prevents you from moving beyond your mistakes?”
“I don’t know,” the prince answered. “I can’t seem to shake my guilt.”
Zededia heard a chuckle rise from his counselor.
“Your guilt is held prisoner by your own mind. To relieve it, you need to forgive yourself for what you did to those people. Everyone else seems to have.”
“Tell that to the Vaedorians,” Zededia argued. “Matticus made me a villain for how I laid waste to Konkour, and his people still carry the image with them.”
His attention focused on the woman when a hand stretched out toward the pool beside them.
“Look into the depths of your struggles that hide behind these dreams, Zededia. Only within ourselves can we find what causes our energy to become unbalanced. You are wise enough to know those kinds of questions can only be answered through your own tenacity.”
The prince shifted his lips to one corner after hearing the expected answer. He knew the real answer to his afflictions hid inside him.
“Seek within your spirit, for your journey to peace begins there. Unmask the deepest fears that cling to your memories. Perhaps you can find a solution in your meditation, my prince. It is a powerful tool for the soul of an Osirian.”
Zededia nodded, thanked the wise woman, and turned to leave.
“Perhaps it is time you looked into the favor of our creator. Neshka watches over all of her children, especially Osirians.”
The prince emptied his lungs, having left any thought of Neshka and divinity sunken into the dirt.
“I’ve turned away from that path,” Zededia replied. “I need no help from the gods. I’ve made my strides through my hands alone.”
Zededia thought back to the grand day when he had bested his older brother and several of Hostellus’ finest young soldiers in gladiatorial combat in competition for the title of Hostellus’s primary warlord.
“No,” he continued. “The gods will be of no help to me in this realm. If I need them, I’ll travel to theirs.”
The thought of succumbing to the help of higher beings caused conflict within him. While his travels led him to many encounters with the old gods in the spiritual plane, many of them proved too constricting to make his efforts worth the trouble.
Leaving the temple grounds in the light, misty rain, Zededia longed for an alternate route of alleviation. The prince wandered around the inner sector of his encampment and saw the emptiness of the darkened morning. By day, his home would be teeming with life and commerce, but he enjoyed the quiet brought by nightfall. To avoid the cold drizzle, he stepped toward the shelter of the buildings in the town center. He eyeballed a small cave-like entrance in the mountain across the wet ground and stirred his courage to brave the rain once again.
As a perk to his home, Anzagaar Nostir, a natural hot spring flowed from the mountains that surrounded the Hostellian territory. A sheltered stone building had been built inside the cave and over the spring to domesticate them, and the warm waters gave him relief from winter’s bite in previous years.
Upon his arrival at the springs, Zededia’s facial expression returned to its normal state: blank and empty. He wiped the water from his face and turned his attention to the ceiling of the bathhouse. Over the rectangular pool that centered the room, hundreds of gems and rocks shone like stars in the sky. Zededia remembered stories of how his ancestors built these Illumination chambers to channel their spiritual energy. He pictured the same type of place that lay deep within the Hostellian Mountains directly behind Vaedor Sellos in a similar cave.
The prince removed his damp clothing piece by piece and laid them upon the rocky platforms nearby. He wriggled his spine and his dense, plentiful muscles shifted under his skin. As he moved closer, he looked up to the illusionistic auras above, and the white dots seemed to follow his eyes. They soothed him, giving him a sense of immortality. Slowly, the naked prince placed his feet on the first step of the spring. Hot coals kept the water warm, and the spring’s source ran deep into the earth. Zededia stepped onto the second step and felt the bath melt the frost in his bones.
After allowing his lower legs to acclimate to the temperature, the prince fully submerged himself into the calming pool. He surfaced, wiped the blurriness from his face, leaned against the wall with his arms along the bank, and rested his head with closed eyes. The spring’s humidity and mist kissed his bare skin and covered him in a film of condensation. His body smiled at the relaxing sensation. As Zededia began to unwind, his mind started to slip into a void.
The suggestion from the priestess took root. He loosened his body until it and his mind felt separated. His senses detached from the material world. The prince sank farther into the meditative state as the conciliating current of water surrounded him.
Warring in his mind, the dark illusions from Zededia’s dream battled with his own will to drive them away. He concentrated with all of his self-discipline in his dream time mindset to mentally force his brain to sharpen in focus. His physical body flinched when moments of spiritual and mental stress arose. Completely gone from the material plane, Zededia’s trained mind wandered through trials of meditative practices for nearly two hours. Time lulled and escaped from his grasp.
Finally, after a grueling process of concentration, the dissociated prince found the center of his composure. His mind ceased to fire as violently as it did before, and peace flowed like a calm stream. Once Zededia found balance, he released a colossal exhale and, with it, all of his stress. The tranquility didn’t last for much longer; the meditating monarch jolted from his trance after sporadic, wet footsteps trampled into the spring.
“Commander,” Caedus said as he jogged into the humid cave, “the raiding party has returned.”
The Black Prince clenched his eyes as he fell back into reality. He tensed his shoulders to release the stiffness in his torso.
“Your timing is impeccable, Caedus,” answered Zededia in a teasing manner as he remained in his relaxed position with closed eyes.
His body fought against his need to leave the pool, his muscles drained from the overexposure to the hot waters.
“So shall I let the Vaedorians make themselves at home? Maybe brew them a cup of tea?”
Zededia appreciated his friend’s comical acuteness and cracked a smile. He mustered the strength to pull himself out of the spring and walked toward where his apparel lay. As the prince shivered away from the pool, he gazed out of the cave entrance and discovered that the light spray of rain had shifted into a violent storm. A flash of light illuminated the dark bathhouse for a split second, and the deep roar of thunder followed shortly behind.
“You know, Caedus, with all the rain outside,” Zededia said as he dressed, “you would think that your sense of humor would not be so dry.”
The prince looked to his captain and expected to find a reaction of some kind from Captain Caedus, but he received nothing other than a raised eyebrow.
“Oh, c’mon, crack a smile, you damn statue,” he said with a snark.
Caedus ironically managed to pull the best out of the exiled Vaedorian prince. Zededia tightened the strings that held his tunic together and put a firm hand on his captain’s shoulder as he exited the spring. The prince surveyed the grounds of his small town like always and then looked up into the hazy sky. The monsoon rains covered his face, and he snapped back to the matters at hand.
The cold water seeped through his clothes and chilled his skin. As the sharp sensation froze his nervous system, Zededia flinched, and with the flinch, his mind shifted into the standard, more sinister state that drove him. He shook away the relaxing nature of the bath and poised his mind to focus upon the visitors waiting for him.
Before scaling the tower where the prisoners sat at the summit, Zededia entered his chambers to claim the blade that had made a name for itself all across Hostellus and into the surrounding lands from its previous ferocity. The prince walked over to the east wall, where a marble shrine jutted from the floor to meet his waist. Upon the shiny, minuscule mesa, Zededia’s great longsword rested within a bundle of silk. He removed the fabric cover layer by layer, and once the blade became visible, it glowed in the prince’s eyes from the candlelight behind him and the cleanliness of the white-silver edge.
As Zededia took a firm grip of the lethal steel, he felt the power vibrate in his mind. His memories scanned over the victories won by the razor-thin sword in his possession. With his weapon in hand, the Black Prince set off to greet the soldiers atop his home.
Once he had climbed to the top of his towering fortress, Zededia barged open the wooden door to the stone summit above. He stepped into the thundering rain and turned his head to observe his prey with glowing red eyes that appeared from the sorcery in his divine blood. Each guarded by one of Zededia’s soldiers, four poor souls from Matticus's transport remained. He felt the fear emit from the kneeling soldiers in white as the rain drowned the bottom inches of the tower top. Looking up to Caedus, who stood guarding the heavily armored knight, the prince stepped toward him first.
“I never thought that I would ever set foot inside the fortified walls of Anzagaar Nostir, much less see the Black Prince himself in all of his disgust,” the Vaedorian knight spat.
Zededia held a stone-cold facial expression with his hands behind his back. His hood, along with the darkness of winter’s morning rain, covered his face in a clouded shade. Glancing over the prisoners, Zededia remained unmoved and reserved.
“Courageous words for a dead man,” Zededia shouted at the highest-ranking soldier in chains to make himself audible through the barrage of water. “Vaedorians who wander through the Blackwood typically have a … two-hour lifespan. Seems you’re pushing the limit.”
The prince flicked his wrist and watched the paladin fall forward after Caedus kneed him to the floor. Zededia’s piercing gaze penetrated the white soldier’s bravery once he rose from the flooded floor, but the prince did not receive a response.
“The sand in your hourglass is draining,” Zededia said. “Tell me your orders, and I might extend your life a few minutes longer.”
“You’re going to kill me anyway. Why should I tell you anything, snake?”
The prince then raised his eyes to Caedus and clenched his lips. He then nodded and started to turn away.
“You make a bold argument. I am going to kill you,” Zededia mumbled as he nodded once more. “Bravery is admirable, is it not, Captain Caedus?”
No response followed his rhetorical question. Only a crooked sneer that held a toothless gap in the upper front position speared back toward him from the knight in white. The violence within the dark prince surfaced as he broke his reserve.
Once Zededia had turned his back to the kneeling soldier, in a split second, he furiously drew his sword, pivoted on his right heel, and decapitated the soldier in white as a bolt of lightning exploded in the near distance, thundering over the prince’s bellow that followed the strike. The veins in his arm and neck bulged and glowed the famous, bright red color that he and his relatives carried. After watching the blood and bile spewing corpse fall to the water-soaked floor, the prince covered his clenched teeth and recomposed himself.
He smelled the fear from his bound visitors, emitting a pungent odor, as well as a slight sense of adrenaline from his soldiers. The crimson liquid of the Vaedorian knight splattered upon each of the other men in a manner that the pounding rain could not wash away. Sneering, the prince took delight in the terror-filled reactions from the three trespassers that remained. He wiped the blood off his chin, smiled, and washed his coarse hand in the heavy rain.
Zededia jerked his longsword into his left hand and flicked it to clean it of the thick, Vaedorian blood. As the prince stared at his villainous blade, he ordered his men to dispose of the corpse. They tossed the headless knight over the tower’s edge, and Zededia returned to his neutral state. However, this brief, twisted sensation of calamity washed away after a moment.
“You’re a monster!” another captured soldier shouted out of panic.
Zededia met the fearful gaze of his verbal attacker.
“A monster?” the prince asked rhetorically in a quiet voice.
His blood began to boil once more with vicious anger, and he erupted into action, grasping the second man with his right hand and crushing his windpipe. Zededia lifted the Vaedorian soldier above his eye level, squeezed the man’s esophagus, and glared with hell in his eyes. The longer he held the prisoner, the more he enjoyed the squirms. He drew in the helpless plea from his crying victim, savored the surge of power, and smiled through the storm overhead.
“If you’re so loyal to your fellow soldier, why don’t you join him!” the enraged prince roared as he hurled the chained man toward the jagged mountainside below.
Once Zededia regained his balance from such a violent throw, he grinned at the pitiful cries from the soldier in white he had sent to a shattering fate. Shortly after, the screams ceased in the prince’s ears, and he heard the far more pleasing sound of bones and organs splattering against the earth like a sack of rotten meat.
“There are no monsters here, soldiers of Vaedor Sellos!” Zededia shouted in ecstasy toward the last two survivors.
The veins in his neck and face glowed with a bright red hue once more. He descended from the excitement to regroup.
“Only the damned.”
Zededia caught the frightened eyes of a young soldier looking back at him with a shaky gaze. Curiously, he stepped closer to observe the third prisoner.
“You,” the prince said as he raised the soaked tip of his sword toward his target. “You’re not of age to have seen the harshness of this war. You’re just a boy. What are you doing amongst this lot?”
The stunned prince watched as his present company struggled to mutter a response. For a brief moment, Zededia found a minuscule sensation of remorse growing in his bitter soul.
“I–I am Eros,” the small soldier said to the Black Prince. “Son of Eridos. I was–was sent here on my father’s behalf.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Zededia said in confusion. “You were sent here, through my lands, into my territory, and appear on my doorstep on your father’s behalf? Are you even aware of my reputation among your brethren? Do you even know who I am or where you are? Insufficient excuse. Explain yourself.”
Almost insulted that Matticus would send a boy barely able to speak among men into his Blackwood’s foothills, Zededia scoffed. He took it as a personal jeer, and his impatience rose to lethal levels.
“Speak, boy, while your tongue still wriggles in your mouth.”
Through the harsh rain, Zededia listened to the soldier’s reasoning.
“My father is ill and cannot serve the crown. By law under King Matticus, the next available heir must take the place of the injured or ill if the voyage merits able soldiers until said person is fit to serve once more.”
“And where the hell did good King Matticus send you?” the Black Prince inquired, sharpening his eyes on the boy.
“S-Skulpos … the coastal kingdom to the east,” Eros muttered.
“Matticus has affairs all the way in Skulpos, then, huh?” Zededia said in return. “I haven’t heard his name crawl out of my mouth this frequently in years before this morning.”
Zededia turned his eyes to the rain-filled base of the platform he stood on and then looked up to Caedus.
“Take this one away and keep a close eye on him,” Zededia ordered his captain. “We may have a use for him yet.”
As quickly as the prince’s order left Zededia’s mouth, Caedus nodded and pushed the boy forward. Zededia watched over his shoulder before returning his interrogative nature toward the final captive. However, when he caught a glimpse of him, the prince noticed that his remaining company differed entirely from the three previous visitors. It was then that Zededia deduced that he was actually a she. The prince paused for a moment to allow his brain to process what his eyes had seen. He paced forward and raised his sword to her chin.
“You …,” Zededia murmured. “You are neither a soldier nor from Vaedor Sellos at all, are you?”
Zededia looked at the poor girl and focused on her fresh cuts, scars, bruises, and torn clothing.
“Matticus found you in Skulpos, didn’t he?” Zededia inquired to himself. “And he was transporting you … back to the city? For what reason, though?”
He only received a fearful yet spiteful gaze in return. Nevertheless, the Black Prince leaned in.
“He needs you alive but gave little or no order to preserve your well-being.”
The prince attempted to reach for her bruised arm, but a sporadic series of defensive movements denied him. She struck his hand with her elbow, forcing him to retreat. He then heard the sharp sound of his soldier’s sword unsheathing. The prince raised his hand to signal that no harm was to come to the girl and that the gesture did not hurt him.
“It’s all right,” he soothed. “She’s been through quite a journey for it to end here.”
Zededia studied the girl as he knelt on one knee. He narrowed his eyes on her closed attitude.
“What need does Matticus have for you?” the Black Prince asked.
To his expectation, no answer came from the girl.
“Why was he looking for you?”
Growing impatient once more, Zededia struggled to maintain his temporary hospitality.
“I am going to find out one way or another. I don’t want to bring you unnecessary harm.”
Even though the prince displayed the effort to find a peaceful solution, he received no answer yet again. He then sighed as he stood to his feet.
“Fine. I suppose we’ll be doing this my way then.” He exhaled with a sly smile.
Zededia loosened the ties on the glove covering his left hand and stepped toward the girl. His eyes glowed with a green hue in place of the red one from before. As much as she resisted, she could not deny Zededia his desire for information. He reached toward the girl and firmly placed it on her right temple with his thumb over the bridge of her nose. The prince closed his eyes and concentrated on the dark magics from his ancestors. He took a deep breath, cleared his mind, and allowed his spirit to take over.
“Sel kar zant mythraedos,” (show me your mind) the Black Prince murmured in his forefathers’ language while staring into the tattered girl’s panicking eyes.
As he exhaled, a green, misty aura covered his shoulders and flowed along his forearm toward the girl’s head. Like a phantasmal force, the essence seeped into her skull and ejected itself back into its summoner’s arm after a few moments. Zededia staggered as the parasitic mist returned. He fought to catch his breath, coughed, and blinked several times after his brain attempted to decipher the reaped imagery. The pale green aura then dug its way into his veins, and his eyes shifted as it coursed through his nervous system.
He captured the sight of an ancient temple in his mind and sent himself into an intoxicated frenzy. Matticus’s desperately desired secret bounced through his head. At last, the Sword of Kings revealed itself to another Osirian.
A devious smile grew on his face, and the pale greenness in his eyes faded. As he returned to a normal state, the prince turned to his soldiers and broke out in a burst of subtle, sinister laughter.
“Finally,” Zededia Osiris bellowed, “I’ve found you.”
