Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 38

"You are free to choose."

Of course, anyone could do this job of offering sacrifices-- which was naught but plain manslaughter, but not everyone was Pertheran Durinford, whom he had wrapped around his finger, who would not spill his secrets, who was but a living, breathing weapon for him to use however and whenever he pleased at the snap of a finger.

"I will do it, Captain."

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Outside the hidden dungeon, down in the dark bowels of Calbridge Castle, he dipped his blood-soaked hands into a barrel and wiped his face, leaving a ruddy smear across his cheeks.

Boots clicked against flagstone, and a shadow fell across Pertheran's face.

There stood Captain Reylan, dressed in regal, green robes, a lock of silver-blond hair dangling handsomely above his pale brows, hands folded-- hands which had commanded many a deaths, but not a drop of blood tainted them. And Pertheran's were never cleaner than a slaughterhouse floor.

Captain was back from his meeting with King Krugmann. The King had arrived days ago, with the entire company of his most favoured warriors of the land. Upstairs raged a grand feast which had been going on for what seemed like all eternity now. The finest cuisine from around Drisia had been arranged, the upper hallways wafting with the smell of roasted venison and spiced wine. Mead poured from barrels like fountains. Pertheran had heard one of the warriors had downed a whole keg in one go.

Upstairs was a rowdy, drunken mess-- one that Perth was glad to stay away from, however morbid his current job might be.

For someone with a plan to spill royal blood, Captain Reylan looked awfully calm. But then again, he would never do it directly, would he? He'll find someone else to do his dirty work, someone foolish like me.

"Missed me, haven't you?" Captain's pale lips stretched into a perfect smile across his sculpted face.

"You were gone upstairs for barely two bells," Pertheran drawled, splashing more water on his face, "what do you take me for? I've got work to do-- work you so graciously assigned only me to carry out."

The captain's smile did not waver, but his fingers hovered over his magic-imbued ring for a moment.

Pertheran winced. Days down at the dungeon had put him in a mood awful enough to snap at Reylan.

"Marvelous," the captain said, "just the pinch of salt my miserable, tasteless life needs. I'll let this one slide."

Thank you for having some mercy on my wretched soul you dragged back from hell. You are truly divine.

He set off further down the dark hallway in brisk steps. "I wish to speak with my good friend, Karyk. If you would be so kind as to light the way, Perth?"

Grunting, Pertheran grabbed the torch from the nearest sconce and strode after him.

Damp-walled passages and narrow-winding stairs found them before the cells in the other dungeon-- this one full of live prisoners rather than rotting corpses. Voices cried out, pleading and begging as they passed. Captain remained his cheerful self, and Pertheran tried not to listen. At the very end of the passage, was the captive Midaelian officer.

One look at his face, and the captain's smile vanished, as though it had never been there. The way his demeanor would change at the blink of an eye chilled Perth down to his bones. He made a mental note to be careful with his words the next time, no matter how foul his mood might be.

Startling every other captive and Pertheran, Captain Reylan hurled a kick against the bars. The metal rods trembled in their confines in the rough stone.