Fenros groaned as he woke up in the corner of his tiny cell. The pain of his most recent wounds flaring up again. His left eye was swollen shut and black as night. He winced as a he moved, he felt at least one of his ribs were broken. His face was hard as if there was dried blood all over it. Grunting he pushed himself up and moved to the old rusty bars of his prison. Leaning his head against the ice cold iron he looked down the the dark musty dungeon hall, a few old torches flicking, nearing the end of their life. So it was with him. He already lost track of the days he spent down here… he didn’t know if his execution was today or three days from now.
It was probably close to time for his daily beating though, that was for sure. He closed his eyes and turned his back to the bars, sliding down them as he thought of better days. His days with El… He envisioned her smile and laughter, and longed to see her one last time.
His thoughts turned to Ritza as well… he hoped a fate similar to his was not befalling her as well. He honestly didn’t know what his charges were. He felt perhaps it was somehow revealed of his close relationship with Eleanor. But he still hoped that Ritza would be safe. He was heartbroken that they didn’t at least come to see him...but he was also glad. No way he would want to have them see him in this state.
Liram wasn’t use to stone structures. Every building in his life was bound by twine and cloth or mud and limestone, nothing like these gargantuan rocks collected together to form the prison. It had been a challenge to sneak past the gates, but nightfall aided him in his mission. While any normal Cordathian might be easily spotted under the faint glow of the guards’ torches, Liram’s skin was dark enough to remain unseen. He crept through the silent corridors on silent feet.
The Veiled One wasn’t exactly sure where he was going; the whole kingdom of Cordath was foreign enough, yet the Ouroboros had only given him vague instructions. Liram knew how to bullshit his way through bad situations, but that was in the desert, his home landscape. Out there, there were no brick walls to confine prisoners and kings to dominate the people. There was only the sands and the gods.
After what felt like hours of tumbling through endless hallways, Liram came across a door with a padlock on it. Guards of heavy stature and broad width were stationed outside, spiked spears in their hands. How more obvious can they get? the boy asked himself.For fuck’s sake, none of the other doors had guards with them. Staring at the two men and their bulk of armor, Liram almost regretted agreeing to take the job. Yeah, he wanted to meet the legendary General Fenros, but damn, if he was so legendary, couldn’t he make it out himself?
Liram continued to grumble to himself as he looked around. ”Fucking Cordathians,” he murmured to himself in his mother tongue. Slipping a throwing knife from his robes, Liram took aim at the weaker looking guard. Knife-throwing was definitely not his specialty, but fuck, it would have to do. Lucky for him, the guards wore no helmets.
The boy held his breath as the knife soared through the air. If not for the dimly lit torches hanging nearby, he wouldn’t have been able to see it clatter to the floor right next to the guard. Both men stared at the crudely-made weapon before grumbling loudly, “Who goes there? Step out in the name of the king!”
Fenros glanced over at the door when he heard the guards call out. That wasn’t normal obviously. A surge of adrenaline rushed through him. Whatever it was he was going to jump on it. Perhaps it was one of his men...Actually he saw Ritza doing this more likely. He quickly got to his feet, ignoring the pain in his side as he looked around for anything useful. Finding nothing he moved to the bars and squished his face against it so he could get a clear shout towards the door.
“HEY! I’M TRYING TO SLEEP IN HERE SHUT THE HELL UP!”Fenros roared. If he knew anything about prison guards...they didn’t like their prisoners to be comfortable. “BUT WHILE I’M AWAKE I COULD USE ANOTHER PILLOW! PREFERABLY A FEATHER FILLED ONE!”
Liram held back a grin at the sound of General Fenros’ voice echoing from the chamber.
“How about you shut the fuck up in there, huh? Puny fucking general,” one guard spat.
“What’s that? I couldn’t hear ya over how pathetic your life is guarding a ‘puny’ general!” Fenros spat back.
Liram could only imagine how red the guards’ faces were. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,” one growled as he flipped through his keys, trying to find the right one for the door.
Smart man, Liram thought. He knows how to goad.
The Veiled One began to creep up on the guards as both faced the door, ready to pummel the general’s skull in. His footfalls were silently and deadly, but even if they barely echoed, he doubted the men would be able to hear it over their own anger. The key slipped into the lock and the door clicked open, but before either could storm in, Liram shoved a thin dagger through the smaller one’s neck. The guard sputtered and expelled soft blood from his lips before thudding to the floor. The other man gazed at Liram, his mouth idiotically hanging open. “A fucking misto?” the guard said to himself. Liram was beyond familiar with the slur; he practically slept with it every night.
Before the guard could react, Liram unsheathed his Khopesh and slashed it across the man’s throat. Deep bright red erupted from the jagged wound and splashed into little droplets onto Liram’s clothes. The last guard crumpled as the Veiled One tried to smear the blood off his face.
”Of course it would get in my fucking beard,” Liram mumbled in Shrikanti. He looked up to find General Fenros cornered in his cell, bruised and bloody. “I thought you’d be bigger,” Liram said in the common tongue.
Fenros gazed at the man with a queer look. He didn’t even recognize him from his vanguard...and in all actuality he expected Ritza. ”I thought you’d be a woman.” He retorted gruffly.
Liram frowned at the general, beyond perplexed. “Fair enough,” he noted. Searching the guards’ bodies for the keys, the Veiled One thought of how to introduce himself. “My name is Liram Najaho, the warlock clan of the Ouroboros sent me to get you and bring you back to the city of Caella for further instruction.” He opened the cell door and held a hand out. “You coming or what?”
As the vision ended, Marcaeus knew where he needed to be, jumping from his desk he ran for the door, his soft muttering flowing through the room “Let these doors know the path I seek. From here to those who reek.” As his hand closed around the handle, light flashed around the edges of the door, opening it to the sight of General Fenros exiting his cell. His battered body made guilt twist in Marcaeus’ stomach, and for just a moment he froze. Should he help them? Or destroy them now?
Stepping over the threshold of the door, brought him into the room so that they could see him now. Carefully he told the General “I can only give you but a moment. You are a hero to my family, a hero to the throne. But my loyalty is to that throne and they’ll hang me if I don’t stop. Go now, before I kill you and your friend.” Raising his hand, he summoned pure energy to it, he stepped to the side and prepared to either defend himself, or kill them if they did not begin moving.
Fenros took Liram’s hand in thanks as he stepped out of his cell. “Of course… even if the help is coming from Ouroboros.” He said quickly as he leaned down, wincing and pulled one of the guards swords from the sheath. It was then a door opened with light. As the man stepped through. He was prepared for a fight till the man spoke, honestly he rather not fight someone with magic at this very moment and nodded. He looked to Liram and tossed his head to the door. ”I thank you, but you should know.” He said as he looked back at the man in front of him as he sidestepped towards the door. ”I was loyal to the throne as well, and still I am being hanged. “ Which was sort of true, he was loyal to Eleanor.
He looked to the other door that lead to the castle...to Eleanor and Ritza. He was torn to actually try and get the princess away from the madman king. But in his condition now… it would be a miracle. He nodded once more to the magic user and stepped through the door he provided.
Liram warily glanced between both of the men, somehow feeling in the background of the whole conversation. There was a lot going on he didn’t understand, and he knew that. But he trusted the general’s judgement and followed him through the archway. Blinding light flooded his vision, searing through his whole body before fading, leaving behind an empty sensation. Liram blinked and blinked and blinked until his eyes finally cleared. At first, he thought they were still in Cordath, but the thick forestry proved his assumptions wrong. [color=chocolate]”Any idea where the fuck we are?”[/i] Liram asked his new companion.
Fenros followed him through the door, and after blinking a few times himself, hearing Liram’s question he looked around the forest till he then turned to see the university behind them. “We are about a mile or so outside the capital.” He pointed to the university. “This building is west of where we were.”
He then looked around some more. “You don’t happen to have horses in your pouch?” he asked.
Liram frowned at the general. “Would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Instead of fulfilling Fenros’ wishes, the boy pulled out a compass. “We’ll have to travel on foot to the desert. If we’re lucky, we might run into someone with a horse or camel, maybe.” Starting west, Liram glanced over his shoulder at his companion. He finally got a good look at him in the somewhat proper lighting of the street lamps nearby. “Macea, they really banged you up, didn’t they? I thought the people of Cordath adored you.” At least that’s what he had been told. Liram had been listening to stories of the great General Fenros since he was a teenager. “Maybe we should rest for a bit. Shrikant doesn’t like foreigners in his land; he will be much more harsh on you crossing through the desert than me.”
Fenros looked to his new companion as he mentioned how he looked. “The people of Cordath have a much different outlook than the king himself, as he was the one who put me in there.” He glanced back towards the castle even though he couldn’t see it. When Liram mentioned rest he liked the thought of it but they need some more space between them and the capital.
“There’s a small town long our way we can rest in. I know a few people that can shelter us for a day or two and provide provisions for the journey.”
Liram nodded in agreement. “Lead the way, general.”
…
A few days rest had done Fenros some good. He looked less colored and more of that pale complexion of the kingdom, the kind Liram’s father had. The two trekked through the last small hills separating the greenery from the desert sands and arrived at the tongue to Cealla. It wasn’t a hard city to find, if you knew how to get there. Thankfully, Liram knew his land well.
It was only just starting to set in that Liram had saved the general Fenros, the man he had grown to look up to and to admire. Part of him even hoped they might run into bandits so he may see his fighting skill.
The desert sun was harsh and unforgiving, but Liram’s misto skin was used to the abuse. He pulled a spare colorful cloth from his person and handed it to Fenros. “Wrap this around your head; the sun will surely burn your frail skin otherwise. We should reach the remains of my old encampment soon enough. We can restock and rest there before reaching Cealla.”
Fenros nodded in thanks as he took the scarf, and wrapped it around his head in a similar manner to Liram. He looked to the odd man, He didn’t speak much during those last few days due to him resting and hiding in the cellar when the king's soldiers came looking, they could not dare to whisper. “Thank you.”
He then decided to ask him about his name...it sounded oddly familiar. “Your name sounds a lot more Cordathian than Shrikanti. Is there a reasoning behind it?”
Liram bit his tongue in disdain. He should’ve expected that question. ”Once we encounter more people from my tribe, you may notice that many of them have much darker complexions than my own.” The wind whipped through his black curls, sending a gust of sand through his nose. Resisting the urge to sneeze, Liram lifted a hand to fight off the oncoming desert gale. The wind split between his fingers and an invisible dome seemed to form around them, the sands coasting over their heads and to their sides. “My mother was born a Veiled One but my father is Cordathian. Not sure who, but he insisted I have an old family name of his before leaving.” It was hard to hide the bitterness and resentment in his voice.
Fenros nodded, he did indeed know that the Shrikanti were a far darker skin than Liram, and his explanation was so obvious he should have realized it. He looked at little evidence of the dome they were in. He then added, “I only ask, because the name sounded familiar… I can’t place it.” To be honest he actually looked similar to someone he knew a long time ago...but who the person was he couldn’t place it just yet.
Liram nodded. “I have been told it is a rather common name.” The two trudged on in silence. The sand storm ceased, allowing Liram to rest his arm and recharge his essence.
They soon reached the old remains of Liram’s tribe. Limestone and burnt cloth lay scattered on the ground, but it was nothing he didn’t expect. Ever since this stirring of rebellion, many of the dispersed tribes had migrated back to Cealla or Tychan or even Yabella. The Shrikanti needed unity in times like this, so they gathered together.
The community well was still fruitful, with some good amounts of water in it. Liram summoned the water from the dark depths and deposited it into a few separate buckets. ”Drink,” he told the general. The two sat in the shade, their backs pressed against a broken fragment of a wall. ”Just so you know, you are a guest in Cealla, one of the only Cordathians allowed inside our walls in centuries. They barely let men like myself in there, so do not disrespect our culture or people, or you will be thrown to the desert hounds, do you understand me?” He wasn’t telling Fenros these things to intimidate him or scare him. Liram believed that the general was a smart man and do as he was told. “You shall wear a veil, similar to the ones my people wear when in your kingdom. The elder witches will want to parade you around a bit, so be prepared for that.”
Fenros glanced at Liram as he warned him about not offending his people or culture. ”You don’t have to worry about that. I’m just grateful for the hospitality.” He took a sip of the water, ”I hope they don’t parade me around too much, I have to get back to the castle and see to it that Princess Eleanor is safe.”
He then asked, after thinking for it for a bit. “Why would they parade me around?” He asked.
Liram let his eyes slide over the general, pursuing his pale yet strong figure. [color=chocolate]”Many little mistos have never seen a man like you.” The Shrikanti boy laughed heartily at the thought of the faces of his people as a man as white as the hot sands would be strut around the city. Children would stare in awe, women shriek in horror, men quick to defend their families. ”Shrikanti use to believe Cordathians were demons of the forests, but things have changed. You’re more like a freak show now.”
We’re more like a freak show now, a voice in the back of Liram’s head corrected himself. So caught up in calling them ”his people” but nobody was his people. Not the mistos or the milk faces, but he would always be a Cordathian to the desert.