When the boy awoke, he felt the warm crackling of a fire. Bandages hugged his body and face comfortably, and his pain felt dulled. Leather straps bound his arms and legs. He cursed silently, doing his best to keep his body limp and his breath steady, keeping his eyes closed.
“Ah, you’re awake. Well, I must say, in all my years, you are by far the hardiest little mongrel I’ve ever had to deal with,” noticed Tanril, “Stop pretending to sleep, child. Best you eat, get some energy, I won’t be carrying you the whole way on my own.” She continued dolefully, briefly caressing the knife she held before taking a cut from the spit of meat cooking over the fire. The boy remained silent, unmoving.
“Fine,” Tanril tossed the slab of freshly cooked meat in front of the boy. “Eat when you’re ready, come daybreak we continue back.” She sat down, next to the flames. Confident she was far enough away from any nearby patrol of Absolvers, she let the fire burn bright, as she tended to her wounds.
The night dragged on, and the boy saw his opportunity to escape at the sight of his capturer lying by the dying flame. He slowly wormed his way to the dimming light and reached within for the bone in the charred center. He stuck his hands into the embers, teeth bared, biting into his cheeks as his fingers felt through the cinders and ash. The remnants of the flame crackled as soon as he pulled away the smooth bone, nicking his fingers on the sharpened edge when he grasped it.
Startled by the sudden noise, he paused. A glance at his captor showed no change in her demeanor, and he began to cut away at the restraints on his legs. Careful to avoid any unnecessary sound, he held his breath as he cut the binds. Slowly, surely, every mark cut, guaranteed his eventual freedom.
Soon, he loosened his legs enough to shimmy out of their bindings. Looking around, arms still bound, he spotted a blade, stuck in the trunk of a tree. Creeping towards it, he struggled to take it out silently. When he pulled the knife free, dead bark toppled out, pittering across the dirt and his bare feet.
Careful not to crunch the freshly fallen source of sound, he approached Tanril, blade in hand. With every step, he sliced away at the bands wrapped around his forearms. As soon as the restraints snapped off he lunged toward his quarry.
He, however, was not prepared for Tanril’s cracking retribution for his attempt on her life. She snapped out her fist with the speed of a whip as he began to dive, landing a crushing blow to his groin.
The boy howled in pain and could barely take in a breath, as he buckled to the ground writhing in the dirt.
“You’re a fool to think you could get the better of me, even while I rest,” Tanril sneered, as she stood, throwing the boy off her. “This knife. Is not. Yours!” Her voice rose in anger to overtake the boy’s cries, as she stole away the knife and kicked his bandaged torso.
“You’re sloppy! Indiscreet! How will you serve Marek, when you pride yourself over everything?” She continued to yell out, as she set her knee pressed atop the boy’s reopened wound, pushing ever more into his chest.
The boy’s agonized screams were silenced as Tanril’s viselike grip shut his throat. His choked coughs petered out. Tanril drew close and venomously growled, “I wish I could kill you, mongrel. Every day now, I’ve had to suffer your presence in my course. Desperately, I wait for the day that I can end your miserable life.”
She held her position a moment longer. “But I cannot, Marek wills it so.” Tanril proclaimed, getting off the gasping, agonized boy. “For whatever reason, he finds enjoyment in your antics, your pathetic escape attempts, your ‘will’ as he so deftly put it.” She spoke, kneeling back down to address the boy’s wounds.
He whimpered, as Tanril removed the bandages, bloodied and ruined by their recent abuse. She threw them into the smoldering flame, along with the dry wood she had gathered previously. Once the fire was brought back to life, Tanril placed the blade of the knife into the flames. She grabbed her waterskin and began to clean the bleeding wound with a wet rag. Once free of the grime, she began to stitch the wound closed once more.
The boy was drenched in sweat through the pain he felt and winced at the insertion. “Oh please. You’ve dealt more pain to yourself than I have. Besides, these pinpricks aren’t going to be enough to stop your bleeding completely.” Tanril gleefully said as she reached for the now dully glowing red hot blade, wet rag in hand.
The boy’s eyes widened as he began to shuffle backward. “No. No, no, wait-,” he croaked before screaming out in agony, as Tanril pressed the burning blade onto his wound.
“There, there. All done” She said, as she took the flat of the knife off his seared wound, now fully closed.
After the string of painful experiences, the boy felt nauseous; his vision faded. He tried to rise deliriously but fell back to the ground taking short sharp breaths, his face contorted before he fell unconscious.
“Well, this will delay travel again,” remarked Tanril, “didn’t even eat the food I gave, ungrateful brat.” Picking up the discarded meat from the ground, she wiped off the dirt it accumulated and took a bite. No point in letting it go to waste, she ate the stale meal while she packed up her supplies. Once ready, she tied the boy up and dragged him out of the clearing, into the night.
The light of the sun high in the sky penetrated the waking boy's eyes forcing them to shut tight before they slowly opened, slightly dazed and dry. He was being dragged across the ground; his limbs bound together behind his back. He began to squirm, to free himself of the line that pulled him along.
Tanril noticed the sudden movement behind her. “Finally!” she groaned, taking out her knife and approaching the boy. He tried to wiggle away, but Tanril quickly caught up with him, cutting the bindings of his legs, and threw the pack of supplies she was carrying on top of him.
“We’re less than a day away. You’ll be carrying these for the last trek,” she ordered, wrapping the handles of the pack across the boy’s torso. She walked ahead and pulled on the line as the boy began to rise again and toppled him over. She waited until he stood at the ready, before she walked onwards, the boy following indignantly.
They continued to walk toward the setting sun, up the barren rocky terrain, and came upon a solitary mountain in the distance. Coming closer they found a city nestled above the bare mountain’s base. The city walls were built of sandstone, clearly sourced from the same climbing mountain beside it, further defended with wood and metal spikes, and enclosed by a gate paired with a watchtower.
The entryway they now neared was of monolithic construction narrowly reaching up to the height of the walls it was surrounded by. Those dense, colossal, sun-whipped wooden doors wore their scars from ages of protecting its inhabitants proudly. On the partition, the symbol of a grasping hand holding a jewel, its defined shapely edges kept clean, was maintained as though it were a badge of honor.
As they drew close, a horn sounded from above, and the gate began to scrape away the rocks and dirt, kicking up dust as it strafed into the walls. A pair, heavily dressed in makeshift leather armor, slowly moved each door from the inside. The entrance widened with every step they took until it was completely opened. They waited patiently as the rumbling of the ground ceased and the dust had settled before they continued inside. Tanril took the line she held and led the tied boy onward.
They walked briskly, scuffling along the twisting paths and routes of ragged tents and worn aged wagons. The people housed within these traded and sold myriads of trinkets, wares, and supplies, boisterously calling out to the pair and many others passing by in the bustling sandy streets. Not to be delayed from her course, Tanril pushed onwards, pulling the boy along.
As they drew away from the outer reach of the town, the crowds thinned, the sun set deeper into the horizon, and an enormous palace came to view. The steps at the front, short and wide, weathered and worn, tapered to the entrance. The opening was carved with congruous geometric patterns from the smooth stone. The walls surrounding the entryway were made of the same material, though untouched by craftsmen, and were raised high towards the sky, casting a shadow from the palace upon the rest of the city.
They entered, the sterile jade light that came from within juxtaposed the warm low light from the outside torches. Their steps echoed on the polished floor, the sound dissipating off the spiraled columns lined with gold. Stopping just before the rising steps of a gilded throne, they looked at an elderly man as he sat upon it. His face, slightly obscured by thick strands of grayed matte hair, was shaped by deep grooves accenting sunken predatory eyes. He observed his subjects, posture lazy, and continued to let them kneel, waiting silently.
The boy had started to become tired. His arms tied behind his back had become numb, the uncomfortable position they were in cut the flow of blood. The pack on his torso strained his back, heavy from the material scavenged on the trip. His knee ached from all the weight on top of it. He took a step to stand, to relieve some of the pressure, but Tanril kicked his leg, sending him back to the ground.
“You may rise,” gestured the elder with his hand, a slight smile on his face as Tanril rose and the boy staggered to his feet.
“Tanril, your report," He commanded.
Tanril let her hands fall behind her back and slightly bowed as she began. “Yes, Lord Marek. Jarq and I traveled three days northeast into the territory of Newforest to gather information on the military presence in the nearest village and capture someone with more information on the greater movements in the region.”
She looked pointedly at the boy before she continued, “Rynok had followed us during the trip. When we approached the outskirts of the village, he ran to it. Jarq was able to capture and gag him with the prisoner mask we took before he managed to enter the village proper.”
Lord Marek remained stoic as Tanril continued. “We decided to return to Jewel Crest. On our way back, this one dropped the cart and himself down the cliffside back into the Newforest path. The commotion attracted a pair of Absolvers, and Jarq,” Tanril choked for a brief moment, “Jarq was killed in combat.”
“I retrieved Rynok, treated his wounds, and returned to Jewel Crest.” She finished.
Lord Marek let the silence drag out, contemplating the information given. "You were wise to return. The appearance of Absolvers in the outskirts of Newforest bodes poorly," he paused, "Your brother's death will not be in vain Tanril, you may retreat to your quarters. Rest."
Tanril bowed deeply, she cut away the pack the boy still carried and left Marek to deal with the still-bound Rynok.
Lord Marek waited until Tanril had stepped out from the chamber, "So, how did you get caught?"
Rynok looked at him quizzically, unsure of how to respond.
"Three days travel through the wastes without detection from my best trappers, and just before reaching sanctuary, you lose your head and get caught," the lord explained exasperatedly. "Your skills may have grown, but you remain the same callow child that first arrived in my domain."
Marek had shifted forward and shook his head, "I've provided so much, what a waste."
Rynok held an incredulous look. Lord Marek snapped his fingers and Rynok felt strength sap from his body. Tendrils of white light left him and melted together into a jagged glowing stone in the open palm of the elder man.
"What- what was that!" Rynok yelled out, the pain from his escapade crashed around him all at once. His body turned heavy. He fell to the ground, aching. A cold burning was felt crawling through his flesh.
"My blessing, boy. I have taken it back. You will relearn everything from the beginning,” Lord Marek proclaimed. He waved a hand and two figures stepped out from the corners of the chamber.
“Some time on your own will remind you of what you have disdained," he said, as they stripped Rynok of his bindings and dragged him deeper into the palace.
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