Valiant

Chapter 32: Birthright

" What do you miss most about the upper world?"

Rydir starts at the question, dim eyes lighting up like torches. "There is much that I miss. A cool glass of ale, the trees, the scent of animals and pine. Snow falling over the mountains. Thunder, soaring across the hills to our east. Hunting with my brothers on a cloudless day. The wind. I miss her sweet song with all of my heart. But do you know what I miss most?"

I shake my head, never letting my eyes stray from their mark on his left eye. No, his right. Gods damn the lighting in this place.

"Quiet," he laughs, shaking his chains as he heaves up another wad of blood. "I miss the silence that comes without the endless chattering of rats. And you? What is it that you miss so?"

I ponder for a minute, letting thoughts string together in my head like a tapestry. "I miss the knowing," I begin softly. "I miss being able to find something out if you didn't know, or being able to see for yourself if what you think is true. That is what tortures me most- the not knowing. This purgatory in which everything is possible and nothing is certain."

He looks at me with his skeletal gaze, utterly taken aback by my response. But still, his dry, cracked lips part in reply. "You worry about your loved one. Is her husband such a monster?"

I bite back an angry swell of responses, and try to glean the truth from the dazed realms of my head. "He seemed average for a man his age, but it there would be nothing I could do if I didn't think so."

"Pah! You mongols and your phony rules. In my tribe, the king is held accountable for his actions by his people. His army keeps him as a servant, and that is where his power truly comes. But even your prince here runs amok in a palace that is not his to rule in the first place!"

Confused, I peer into the cup of dirty rum at my lap. A stain of dark, rotten something clings resiliently to the lip of the mug, and its poplar tree rims makes my head spin to look at it.

"The people know loyalty to their gods and their king in all respects. To doubt him would be to doubt the gods themselves, for it was they who ordained the line of Maximus. Their actions are governed by the Tome," I respond warily.

"And yet, here you sit doubting away, Raphael," chortles the older man. "It was your ordinance which drove my people from this very castle. With fire and steel and magic, your people stole the very castle in which we now sit!"

"Castellan," I murmur, half to myself. "Was built by the holy monks of Eagle's Ridge, and Alakai."

"Stolen, not built." Rydir slaps the statement between us like Orik serving up a slab of roast ham. "Alakai was a traitor to the Barbarians, buying off our land for swords and cattle and horses and plows. He promised my forefathers that he would preserve the tribes and their lands. And now my tribe, Chat'thaka, is the only tribe left of five, with only a fraction left of our former glory."

"So that is why you attacked the castle. This is your justification for the Rape of Baelik, the Battle of Raining Blood, and all the horrors afterward," I spit with contempt, to satisfy the pounding roar in my head at his absurdity of his speech.

"Ignorant boy! We went north because we were being chased. When you and your army stood in our way, was it not fitting for me to call the banners and meet your people in battle? Not that it matters anymore," he adds as an afterthought, smiling sadly into his lap. "The Lions will come soon enough, and that will be the end."

I unsheathe my tongue to smite the curiosity building in my stomach, but before I form the words, the door opens. Confused, I whip around to the noise. Has the gaoler come again already? A thrill of fear holds me captive for an instant, and then a sort of cloud settles over me. It is very peaceful and very sad. I almost don't need the torch to see the Scarlet Cloaks flooding through the door. Four of them.