Duty and honor

“Well, I suppose introductions are in order, then. My name is SunÆther. I’m not your liberator; I’m merely his emissary. He’s indisposed at the moment. This…”

The small dragon-born touched Cayden’s head with one hand, and the slave bracelet on his wrist with the other. A light burst behind his eyes. A warmth spread through his thoughts, and then into his body. For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t cold. Except for the metal circle around his wrist. It was suddenly ice cold.

“…Is from him. You have only one task this night, initiate. Do the right thing. You have to make the choices that allow that to happen. From here, the night falls to your will. Do Good, my friend.”

The light in his eyes and thoughts cleared. He looked around the cell and found it open, with the door very slightly ajar. For the briefest moment he could have sworn he smelled pine needles.

“Initiate. I guess that means this is a test.” The young man said, taking a steadying breath he moved to the cell door. He looked around. He knew the guard room had a window that looked right down his row, and the men inside would see if the door opened any further. Glancing around the darkened basement turned prison, he tried to find anything to use to his advantage. The walls were bare stone bricks. Nothing to give him cover.

There had to be something. The sound of water dripping echoed through the air.

Echoed.

Suddenly the runes of a spell blazed to life in his mind, and the idea of an echo clarified into a plan. Closing his eyes, the young initiate turned his attention inward, and found a ball of power flowing through his thoughts. It was the runes he had just seen. He willed it to move out into his body and down his limbs. He held the energy steady in his hands. Suddenly feeling confident, he stepped back from the cell door, cupped his hands in front of his mouth, and breathed the words of the spell

“Thurkear zyak”

He could feel a reverberation pulsing in his hands. He shouted into his closed hands “Shut up! They’ll hear you!” into the power of the spell. It caught his words and held them. Cayden moved the spell to one hand, and found his target; a small alcove between two groups of cells. He threw the spell, and watched its power splash against the wall, his words echoed around the enclosed prison.

A pair of breaths later there was a clatter from the guard room, and the door was thrown open. The two guards rushed out. They ran down the row of cells before his own looking for the source of the shout. Leaving the young man a clear path out.

He slipped out of the cell, and quickly made his way to the stairs, as he began to turn the corner, he heard the guards.

“Who said that?” One bellowed, his voice deep.

“They’re all planning something!” The other shouted, his voice high and scared.

“I say we kill’em all, and tell the captain they was all trying to escape. He can get more fodder from the walls.” The deep voiced guard said, as he reached for the sword on his other hip.

Dammit, Cayden had hoped to get clear of the prison without bloodshed, but he couldn’t leave if his actions endangered the prisoners here. There was no reason to think they weren’t as innocent as he was. But he didn’t want to kill the guards either. They might not have been honorable men, but they were following orders.

Again, the runes of a spell blazed across his mind. A similar effort of will, and in young initiate found he could feel the energy of the spell sparking through his thoughts. Yes, that might work. It wouldn’t kill the guards, but it should put them down quickly.

Cayden turned, and quickly crept up behind the two med, who were still trying to find the source of his shout. As he closed to within arm’s reach, he spoke the words of the spell, his fingers cooked into jagged shapes.

“Thalraek svern”

As he said the words, the first bursts of power leapt between his fingers, and he laid his hands on each man’s cheek. They both went ramrod straight, the second of the men letting out a sputtering scream. They each collapsed into a heap on the floor. The other prisoners were beginning to wake and look around. Cayden hushed them, and went to the guard room. He found the keys on the table inside.

As he exited the guard room, he saw the room where the prisoner’s belongings were kept. He used a key to open it, and then opened the nearest cell. He handed the man the ring of keys, holding out the key he had used.

“Quietly. Let everyone out. We all go upstairs together.”

As the cells were opened, Cayden retrieved his armor and weapon. He picked up his shield. He decided that it would slow him down too much, and laid it back down. He saw the symbol of his home city. A pang of guilt rushed from his heart, and seemed to settle as a weight in the slave bracelet on his shield arm. Cayden tried to ignore this new weight, and the cold from the metal that seemed to pulse back up his arm as he turned back to the stairs.

Quietly he took the lead up the stairs, and looked around the main room of the old brothel. It was empty. Odd. There should be been a group stationed at the top of the stairs. What would make them leave?

Cayden heard raised but muffled voices. One of the prisoners came up behind him and placed a hand on his back.

“We’re ready.” He said in a low voice. “How bad is the fight going to be?”

“There’s no one up here.” Cayden said, a slight question to his words. “It looks clear. Head to the right, and out the door. Stick to the shadows, and we should be able to beyond the Arena and into the city itself without being seen.”

They all came up the stairs together, the young corporal feeling more confident, he ushered the group to the door. He heard the voices again, followed by a thump and a scream. A woman’s scream.

The last in the line of prisoners turned towards the sounds at the same time as Cayden.

“No.” He said to the other prisoner, “Go. The fewer here, the fewer that can be caught. I’ll handle this.”

He drew his sword, and walked to the door. As he closed on the door hiding the source of the noise, the sounds of struggle became clearer. Pulling the door open, he heard a raised voice nearly screaming “How dare you refuse me whore! Do you know who I am? Do you know what I can do to you and everyone you love?”

Cayden recognized the voice before he laid eyes on the man. Captain Marlock stood over the woman. His eyes were wild, his lips drawn back in a snarl. The woman’s skin was bare from the waist up, and her skirts were torn about her legs, all modesty gone. She held a hand to a reddened section on her face, a trickle of blood running down her chin from a cut lip.

Cayden’s grip on his sword tightened. His own lips drew away from his teeth.

“CAPTAIN MARLOCH!” He thundered. "STAND DOWN!"

“The captain’s eyes snapped to Cayden, and then over his shoulder. The last of the “deserters” must have been leaving through the front door behind him. Cayden’s grip tightened on his sword. His feet shifted slightly. He didn’t want to fight this man, even if the captain’s actions begged for violence. He was still Cayden’s lawful commanding officer. The arm that normally held his shield felt as if the weight of the shield was still there. Cold pulsed up from his wrist.

“Cayden Wraith.” The captain said, an odd mix of honey and venom in his words. “Corporal, you know I can still reinstate you. You’re the best swordsman in 100 leagues. I think Master-at-Arms would suit you well. Simply close the door, turn around, and retrieve those mongrels running through the door. I’ll even make you a sergeant tonight, as soon as I finish here.”

Another pulse of cold, and the weight on his arm increased again. He found to keep from showing the weight, the pain of the cold.

Didn’t he deserve the promotion, the title? He had followed every order he’d been given. He had not only protected his fellow soldiers on the wall, but saved countless innocents. He couldn’t be sure what was going on here. He could tell himself that as he closed the door. And those men slinking through the shadows outside? They might all be true deserters. They could deserve whatever the captain did to them.

The cold of the bracelet nearly burned him. It reminded him of the undead on the wall, the cold hand of death reaching for him.

“No.”

The word wasn’t as loud as it should have been. But the sound of it shook those thoughts from Cayden’s mind. It took him a pair of heartbeats to realize he was the one who had said it. The cold seemed to seep out of his arm some of the weight lifted.

“No, Captain. We both know I won’t do that. I won’t leave this woman with you, and I won’t betray those men whom you cast out for your own entertainment.” Cayden turned, His empty shield arm toward the captain, and pointed with his sword. “Leave, now. I won’t follow you, and you will have however long it takes me to find the General before anyone looks for you. If you find a horse you might be able to get out of the city. Leave and there will be nothing between us.”

Captain Marloch’s snarl reappeared. He turned extended his hand and hissed a word, the venom in his voice making the sound garbled. His sword flew from where it hung near his bed into his hand. As the Captain turned, Cayden felt the strike coming, knew the target. His free hand formed the body of a spell he wasn’t aware he knew, and sent it out to meet the sword as the point plunged towards the woman’s chest.

“Shan'tek Sventi!”

A convex dome of soft blue light caught the captain’s strike inches before the tip struck the woman, who was already screaming.

The ensorcelled weapon threw sparks from the shield, but skittered off. Cayden stepped up, bringing his own sword to catch the captains as it bounced, and spared a glance at the woman, “Run, now, don’t look back.”

As the woman fled the room, the two men straightened. The captain tried to push the tip of his blade into Cayden’s eye, but the younger man was stronger, and diverted the weapon away. They separated and circled one another.

“Fool! You would throw everything away for a waif you don’t know, and men no more righteous than those in any prison?”

“I’m a wall-man captain. It is my duty to stand between innocents and those that would destroy them. And I’m sorry to say that tonight, that is you.” Cayden fell into his old stance. His empty fist held up, in front of his body, his sword arm arched over his head. As if his empty hand were presenting a shield. His eyes locked on the captain’s for a moment as the other man settled into a standard dueler’s stance, weapon pointed at Cayden’s heart off hand held behind him. Marloch’s eyes were fierce, his mouth still set in that snarl.

Marloch took the obvious first move, attempting to remove Cayden’s of his upheld hand. The strike sang to the young initiate well before the captain moved. He shifted his weight, and brought his own blade down and across, slapping aside the older man’s blade, a twist of the wrist, and Cayden’s blade sat against the captain’s chest.

“Last chance. Stand down. I don’t want to kill a fellow soldier, but I won’t let you continue to hurt everyone around you.” The words came out smooth. No malice, no bravado. It was a simple statement, with a strong promise behind it.

In answer, the captain jumped back, and slapped at Cayden’s blade, knocking it aside. Maloch didn’t miss a beat, and came thundering forward. The initiate felt every blow as they came, left, right, high followed by a thrust. Each was turned away; none were answered with a riposte. Cayden searched for how to de-escalate the matter. If he kept on the defensive, he would either be killed, or forced to do something he would regret.

Nearly lost in his thoughts, an attack slipped through Cayden’s defenses. He was forced back, falling onto the desk with its lit candle, his only hope to bring his shield back into being to save his throat.

“Shan'tek Sventi!” he said, nearly garbling the words. No more than a dozen hairs’ breadth above his throat, the tiny shield came into being, and the sword slipped to the side, knocking the candle over, and spilling the wax onto the paper. Cayden kicked the captain free and stood. Marloch’s face became clearer as the wax and papers began to light. The new luminance caught on the captain’s face as an idea flickered to life in his eyes. He rushed to the bedside table and picked up a cheap bottle of grog. As the older man grabbed the bottle, the moment seemed to crystalize; Cayden could feel his magic hanging on by wisps of power. This he didn’t have much more left in him. In slow motion he saw the man turn and throw the bottle, his arch perfect. But it wasn’t coming for Cayden, it was aimed for the fire. He would burn the whole building down to cover his tracks. Cayden didn’t react, the actions were faster than reaction, while the bottle flew, he took a step to close the distance, held up his left arm and spoke the words of the spell for the final time, the dome coming up at his command. But there wasn’t enough time to solidify the dome and stop the bottle fully. The shield gave as the bottle shattered, and then rebounded. The edges of the splatter of spirits caught, and followed the rebounded mass as it was sent flying back to the captain.

Cayden gasped and released the shield, already grabbing Marloch’s coat from the back of the chair at the desk as the flaming liquid and glass splashed over the older man. The captain screamed and swiped at the flames as the younger soldier tackled him, trying to smother the flames.

Mercifully the flames began to die, leaving behind minor burns and singed clothing.

Suddenly Cayden felt it — a blade moving.

Cayden’s hands had already began moving by the time he located the blade. A twist and a shove, and it was done. The blade rested between the captain’s ribs.

“Oh no…” Cayden said, through his contact with the weapon, he felt the other man’s heart shudder.

Maloch’s mouth moved, his last breath rasped out, “You…traitor…”

On his wrist, something silent, and invisible popped. There was no weight or cold there any longer.

A while later, Cayden sat alone by a small fire. He ran a stone to clean the knicks caused in the battle from his blade. It seemed like there was still blood on the blade, but perhaps that was just the fire. The rasp of the stone joined the sounds of the garrison behind him. The fire from the prison was out, and people were settling back down. He heard someone come up behind him. A man sat across from him.

“Torven. What was that commotion earlier?” Cayden said, he didn’t look up from the blade.

“Some details. Marloch’s inner circle turning on each other, and those of us that remember our oaths arresting those that were left.” Torven said. His eyes drifted to the fire. “Most of the men are shaken. We all followed his orders, you know? Some thought there was no choice. Others liked the unchecked power.”

“And you?”

Torven looked to Cayden’s eyes. “That man was a monster. The last man to stand up to him, though…”

Torven’s eyes drifted for a moment, and then snapped back. “You didn’t end a man’s life, Wraith. You ended a sickness. Now? We remember how to breathe. How to be men again.”

Torven stood, and took a deep breath while he straightened his uniform.

“The report to the Capitol will read that the fire claimed the slavers, and the prisoners escaped in the confusion. The cause of the fire isn’t known.”

“I KNOW WHAT CAUSED IT, DAMMIT!” Cayden suddenly thundered as he stood, throwing the stone into the fire. Embers erupted, landing around the small camp. A small clump of leaves slowly smoldered.

“I suppose you will have to find a way to live with that, Cayden. But the law’s satisfied.” Torven said matter-of -factly. He turned and walked away.

Cayden watched the man leave. He walked over to the pile of leaves, and put out the embers with his foot. There was something hard underneath. He bent over, and brushed away the leaves. Under them was a leather-bound book. On its cover was a silvered embossment showing a spellbook, with a broken chain. A simple latch held the pages closed. He opened book and found arcane writing, detailing spells and rituals. Oddly enough, he had little trouble reading the book.

“Well, I suppose my first task it to find out more about you…” He said to no one.