They took halt at a local tavern located in the heart of a small town at the outskirts of Orlon. It was already midday, but they had stopped for their first meal of the day. Both of them doned cloaks to cover themselves.
A map was spread out before them on the unstable wooden table.
"Do we have a plan?" She raised her eyebrows. Oh but she knew Arechin always had a plan.
He cleared his throat, pointing at a landmark on the map. Her eyes followed his slender fingers, and remained fixated on a forest close to the Northern Canyon.
She frowned, "Ianor." But she soon realized why Arechin had planned to visit this Elven town. She looked up at Arechin, and he confirmed her theory with a nod of his head.
"We're going to confront the old Lord Syel at Ionor. The town head."
"That's right." He said, leaning forward. "He is the only creature who's lived to be as old as Verena, possibly older." And since Verena was a dead end, he was perhaps their only lead.
"If Verena herself has no clue about this sword, why do you think Lord Syel would know?" He stopped rocking his chair and clicked his tongue.
"Reaper, you really didn't pay attention to those history lectures." Faith rolled her eyes, "Because Lord Syel and his clan allied themselves to King Arawan, and to the Kingdom of Eltarin during the war against Oriph. He was part of the Light Alliance, Faith. Do you recall what the Light Alliance was?" Yes she was aware of what the Light Alliance was. The Alliance of seven kingdoms and several elven clans, formed during the Dark War against Oriph—led by Arawan Ravenswood and Emrys Versepan. "And according to the records I found in the Royal Library, he was a trusted ally to my ancestors, especially Arawan—until my grandfather came to power. So, I suppose Syel is our only lead now."
She realized that there was very little of the true history left anymore. She wondered to what extent Oriph had shaken his beloved, that she was prompted to alter history itself. She wondered how destructive these instruments of Oriph really were, that she had erased their entire existence itself. She wondered how brilliant Oriph's magic must have been. Magnificient.
Now, a magic ban is imposed in almost every kingdom. And in Eltarin it is a law on its own. Yet, every year they do find such rebellious wizards that are executed before the Emperor.
Hot porridge was served before them, and both of them evidently cringed. This was a very upsetting tavern.
"You're trying to kill me, Arechin." She complained.
"Your Highness." He grunted. "And this is the only choice we have." She groaned, stuffing a spoonful into her mouth. She almost immediately spat it out. It tasted like brick.
Arechin seemed to have the same reaction, which was followed by chugging two glasses of water. Now she was really beginning to question the purpose of this tavern.
Both of them set aside their bowls for a while, but there was little room for awkward silence and regret.
The entire miserable tavern was filled with chatter regarding Prince Kaien's declaration. Evidently, there was panic instilled among the common people.
One of the old men at the table beside them grumbled, "And where is the Emperor? Dead! I wager that he's dead!" And then in a lower voice he said, "I heard he was suffering from some sort of a disease of the blood. . . Er—"
"Don't make a fool of yourself, you old man! The Emperor cannot be dead." A younger voice replied, "His death would mean a war for succession. I heard that the youngest Prince is the spawn of Lilith. He is a man of gruesome motives." But she didn't see Arechin so much as flinch.
"Oh! What misery has befallen Eltarin!" A lady cried out, "Our only hope was invested in Princess Serria, now she is dead and gone. Nothing but another reign of slavery awaits us." Faith wanted to yell out that she couldn't have agreed more, but then her eyes fell again on that wounded hand of the Prince and she grew just as quiet as him.
"The Night brings us business. . .Good business!" One of the bartenders cried out, "And now the night has been seized from us. O! Constellations! What misery has befallen us!"
One of the customers pushed over a barrel of booze in frustration.
"Demons? Ha!" The man cried out "It is one of the Emperor's dirtiest tricks—fabricated to instill fear and submission. That old bastard." Faith's hand slid to her hilt. She was trained to mutilate such rebellious men, and this was instinct.
"Faith." Arechin said firmly. "Your food is growing cold. We must leave soon." How was it possible for him to eat out of that grimy bowl, without showing any sign of displeasure? She watched the poor waitress scrambling to her knees, to clean the mess made by the arrogant customer. Even in this small town, there is a hierarchy of the poor, rich and richer. The entirety of Eltarin was a hierarchy of the same on a larger scale. And she supposed she fell in that topmost category, just below the Emperor. She had never stopped feeling guilty about all that she was handed, without having to work for it.
"Your Highness," Her eyes shifted to his wounded palm, now wrapped in gauze. "If that day were to come. . . When you have to ascend—" She cut herself off. There was no reason for her to engage in such unfruitful conversation. Not when she knew the kind of man Arechin was.
But he shifted in his chair, angling his head. But he didn't ask her to continue, he was not interested.
Would Eltarin change for the better if you were its ruler?
Both of them whipped their heads when they heard a squeal from the bar. It was the waitress, calling out for help. She was young, barely twenty. She had the most beautiful, long brown hair and it was braided down her back, with flowers decorating the plaits. She was pale, maybe paler than Arechin. She couldn't make out the colour of her eyes from here, but maybe they were a light brown? Amber, maybe?
Tears welled in her eyes, as her wrists remained gripped by a drunkard, who seemed to be far too older than her.
"Please, Obeq." She begged the man. "I cannot marry you. My mother is dying, I cannot leave her." But the man—Obeq—would not let go. He only tugged her closer until he was practically forcing her to sit on his lap. He muttered promises of love, or what was clearly lust masked at the rear of love.
Her blood boiled, truly boiled. One moment, she was walking up to the man, and the next his hand was on the floor. All it took was a quick stroke of her sword, and Obeq was screaming, mortified. The woman gasped, quickly freeing herself from his clutches to hide behind Faith.
"You bitch." Obeq swore through the pain, "You—you—"
But half a dozen men were already on their feet, knives and daggers drawn, to kill the woman who had just severed their boss's hand. Little did they know that she was Faith Reaper. Arechin was by her in an instant, guarding the woman who cowered behind him. Two of Obeq's men had already rushed to his side, tending to their now screaming leader.
"You're safe, miss," Arechin reassured the shivering woman, "You are safe, calm down."
The tallest of the men stepped forward, he was perhaps twice her size, and twice her built.
"You," The man addressed Arechin, not her, "Your woman will pay for what she has done." He sneered.
"Will she now?" Faith could almost hear his wicked smile forming beneath his cloak. He lazily shifted on his feet, "I must see you try."
The man closed the distance between them, grabbing Arechin by the fabric of his cloth. He drew his hand into a fist, but before it could find its mark on Arechin's face, Faith's sword cut true.
She drew the blade apart from him, now slick with blood. The man fell to the ground, coughing up blood. This aggravated the rest of them, and at once they all charged.
"Run, take the girl with you." She commanded, and Arechin obeyed.
She was surrounded in an instant, her back nearly pressing against the bar counter. Two daggers were hurled at her, and she ducked effortlessly. They found their mark in the rack of expensive spirits. Glass shattered, startling the bartender who took to safety. She jumped onto the bar counter, dodging another knife.
She mentally counted seven men. Her eyes found the wooden rafters of the ceiling next, and she knew what had to be done. She ran across the bar counter, shattering glass beneath her feet as she dodged their attacks. People screamed in terror, many running for the exit.
She flung herself from the counter, towards one of the brick shelves containing empty glasses. With a swipe of her left hand, they fell to the floor. She climbed onto the shelf, her small frame allowing her just enough space. But for those men, it would be difficult. More weapons were hurled, and one blade sliced past her cheek, drawing blood. Her lips curled upwards in fury. Oh, her beautiful face!
The ceiling was low so it was easy enough for her to climb onto the rafters. She drew her knives, three in each hand. With a motion of her fingers, the knives danced in the air. Four of them slashed the men's throats. One found flesh of the man's thigh, injuring him from further movement. One missed. But just as she was about to reach for another blade, Arechin appeared behind the surviving man. The man realised, turning—but too late. The Prince gutted the man, and soon he too lay dead at his feet.
That must be all of them.
She jumped from the rafters, landing perfectly before Arechin.
"Trying to show off, Reaper?" He sighed, sheathing his sword. Arechin drew back his cloak—everyone seemed to have fled.
"You know I can seldom resist putting men in their place." A tilt of his head told her that he knew. "Where is Obeq? The girl?"
"He was trying to flee. You may find his body buried in the snow somewhere outside the tavern." He said, "And the girl—" He nodded towards the door leading to the kitchen. "Hiding in there. You must speak with her, calm her down."
She gave him a nod that said, Understood.
The door to the kitchen opened with a croak. They found the girl crouching beside one of the cabinets, shaking. Faith knelt down to her, taking the girl's hands in hers. She looked at Faith with both fear and gratitude.
"What is your name?" She asked. Only when Faith asked for the second time, did she answer hesitantly.
"Karys." She murmured. "Obeq—is he d-dead?" She looked up at Arechin who's hood was back on.
"His body grows cold on the snow." He confirms.
That makes her anxious. "I can't live here anymore, Obeq—his men—they'll come after me, a-and then my mother." Karys crumples into a mess on the floor. She could feel Arechin go completely still beside her.
"Who is Obeq?" Faith prodded gently. "We only wish to help you." It took the girl a few minutes to regain her composure. Tucking away an errant hair, she looked back at Faith.
"He's the tax collector." Her dry mouth parts open, and now Faith really heard the girl's sweet voice. "Pardon me, but I'm sure you're aware of the corruption that runs deep rooted within Eltarin. Here is no exception. My poor father could no longer bear the weight of the hefty taxes that we were forced to pay. He. . . fled the village, leaving me and my ma at the hands of Obeq." She paused, "My mother is extremely ill. She lives on borrowed time, the healers say. So I started working at the local inn to pay off our debt to Obeq. But he didn't need long to realise that I'm incapable of paying back such a huge amount, much less taking care of my mother. He found new ways to taunt me, and one of them was asking me to marry him. He told me that if I married him then my debt would be nullified. But if I did accept, then I would have to leave my ma. And in no way would that monster support my mother—and now he's dead—and his men, they will find me and r-ruin me." She wiped at her tear streaked face. She could not live here any longer. But where could she possibly go?
Faith could not understand if she had helped this poor girl or made her miserable life worse. She bet on the latter.
But Arechin crouched over to meet her level, pushing his hood back. As soon as the girl's eyes found his eyes, they widened uncontrollably.
"I recognize you—our tavern served food at last year's winter festival and—" Arechin rose to his feet quickly, just as her forehead found the cold hard floor, seeking forgiveness for her words.
"Rise." He commanded. She hesitated, but obeyed. "I apologize for the distress that such an officer under the Crown has caused. It is truly shameful." He said, speaking slowly and assertively. "Karys, I do wish for you to start anew. Please, go to Orlon. To the castle, where you will find Sylvia who heads the castle staff. I will write you a letter recommending you a position in the castle. The pay is quite sufficient, it is far better than here I assure you. And take your mother with you, I will mention her in my letter. She will be under the care of far better healers. This much, I can give you. This much, I owe you."
The girl fell to Arechin's feet again, and she couldn't stop thanking him—couldn't stop crying.
And she watched.
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The crickets chirps thronged the night sky. The two of them sat around a lone fire in silence while Arechin roasted the deer meat that they had purchased from the village marketplace earlier today.
Now they were away from any sort of settlement—perhaps they'd find some belonging to forest monsters and that is all. Once the meat was well cooked, he simply leaned into her, placing the skewer onto her plate well balanced on her knees.
"Your Highness, have you no appetite?" She asked him when she realised that he wasn't eating. He shook his head, staring into the harsh flames.
"We are approaching Ianor. But," he bites his lips, thinking. "I cannot imagine where to go from there if Lord Syel has nothing to offer." He's distraught. He's thinking, strategising.
Her hands found the loaf of bread she had bought for herself, and she found herself breaking it into two. She warmed it over the fire along with cheese until it had softened. She offered one half to the Prince, who seemed to be reluctant.
"You must. The porridge was hardly food." He looked up at her in silence. His eyes were nearly grey under the starlight—like twin moons. She could not comprehend if she was meant to hold his eyes, but she did. Until he eventually sighed, snatching the piece of bread away from her.
"Sharing bread with Faith Reaper." He sighed, "One must curse the Lord Time."
Faith rolled her eyes, "I'm not pleased either, Prince." She said with a clenched jaw.
"It is Your Highness for you." He pointed out, stuffing a mouthful of bread.
She blew out a laugh, "Your title will be of little significance to me soon."
He narrowed his eyes onto her, as if to say explain.
"I will lay down whatever you desire before you." She said, trying to make her voice sound deeper—like Arechin. She laughed, but the Prince was sitting still.
"Well, what is it?" He asked, then waited. "What is it that you desire?"
She traced her fingers across her leather bound thighs, trying to put her thoughts into words. She arranged and rearranged the syllables in her mind, until it sounded right.
But then she breathed out, "I want to leave."
"You want to leave." He repeated. "Leave what? To where?"
"I want to leave Eltarin. Leave the Northern Continent." For long seconds, there was only the sound of the wind, the rustling leaves, the crickets. But Arechin simply nodded his head.
"You must break your Oath." The oath she took all those years ago, to the Crown, for the rest of her life. That was the way of a Reaper, to serve and protect. But she wasn't a true Reaper. At heart, she wanted nothing to do with the Empire and its deep rooted corruption and misery.
"I'm aware. Free me from the shackles of my oath, Your Highness." She worded out the words she'd practised several times. "I wish to have no bounds to Eltarin. My heart sways Eastward. To the Scholars' Lands." The Eastern Continent. Where magic and mages still lived on. Where it was not so dark and cold.
"Magic is a curse, Reaper." He said instead, "Look at what it has done to our lands, our ancestors. And for you to give up your warriorship for magic?" He laughed mockingly, "I cannot grant you that wish."
Of course he could not. These greedy Ravenswoods. Why would they let go of a warrior such as Faith Reaper?
"Your blood is simply selfish." She could feel him glaring at her, but she simply spoke her mind. For her, and for the little girl that would lock herself in Abraham's library reading everything about the Scholars' Lands and their ways with magic. "You will utilize me to retrieve vengeance, to assure victory. But you will not grant me the reward I seek. I do question the integrity of your oath to me. Does your wound truly run deep, my lord?" She continued, "Is the purpose of our undertaking vengeance, or is it to ensure your position on that golden throne? Must you use Serria's name to gain the acceptance of your people—" She was pinned to the snow in an instant, his elbows digging into her sides harshly. Their food scattered onto the grass beside them.
"Do not question my integrity, Reaper." He yelled at her, "You are but a low born, an abandoned child. Abraham was generous enough to take you in, but do not forget that he serves me, his true king. On my command, he is prepared to do anything. Even beheading you."
Fury overcame her, "My father would do no such thing."
"Would he not?" His weight was nearly crushing her. He was perhaps nearly twice her weight. "If it were ever to come down to Abraham Reaper's loyalty to the Crown and his affections for his daughter, we all know the former would have his favour."
"My father would not—" But he enclosed her mouth with his hand, not allowing her to speak.
"He would." He repeated, "He would. Every time. He would choose the Crown. Every time."
It was hard for her to take in his words. Abraham's love for her was the only thing that had ever come close to parental love for her and she was afraid that what this Prince was saying was not entirely false—
Before she knew it, she was tasting the coppery tang of his blood.
He yelped in pain, withdrawing his hand. Now both his hands were injured. For she had bit right though his palm.
"You crazy bitch." He said, sitting up. Faith rose as well, looking at him in spite and anger like no other. She panted, slowly gaining breath.
But she held his gaze, flames swelling in her own pair. At this moment, she wondered why she was helping him, Him who she had despised all her life.
Prince Arechin Ravenswood.
She was helping him because she had loved and respected and served his sister all her life. And now that Serria was dead, to her it felt as though her entire life's purpose had been snatched away from her.
But he had spoken about beheading, and—and her mind had brought her back to the past, all those years ago when she had watched the general behead his servant who had been a secret sorceress. Her name was Celine, and she had raised Faith—looked after Faith for twelve years.
That gloomy day in the city square when people had gathered with excitement to witness her execution, Faith had climbed the stone statue of Eltar that stood tall, and she had yelled and begged and cried for Abraham to spare her dear servant's life. But she only saw a head topple to the ground. And then she had heard the cheers of those crooked men.
The lines were starting to blur for her now, and soon in her memory it was no longer Celine that was kneeling on the executioner's platform, but it was her. And her dear executioner—Abraham—
"Faith. Faith!" Arechin was calling out her name. His hands were gripped around her wrists, tight. But there was blood beneath her nails, and a gash across Arechin's right cheek. She had attacked him again, completely unaware. And now he hovered over her, the fury in his eyes giving way to confusion as she grew quiet before him, trying to tame her mind. "Get a hold of yourself, godsdamn."
His grip slackened, only slightly.
She sighed, looking down at the grass, "So you will not let me go." And she wasn't speaking about her wrists.
"I will not." He replied firmly, "And if you were to escape then I would send my army to hunt you down, and to kill you for betraying the Crown."
"Very well."
She remained quiet for a long moment, but her mind was still racing.
"Then give me a reason to serve you, Prince." She looked at him now, "To not run. Serria had always begged me to give you a chance. Tell me that if you ascended the golden throne, then you would be kinder to your people. That you would forgo your father's principles. Swear to me, and I will bind myself to your eternal service."
He looked at her, and all she could see in his eyes was something close to disgust.
Then his grip completely disappeared, and soon he was walking away from her.
"Do not expect anything of me Faith, you learnt that lesson a long time ago." He said over his shoulders before disappearing into his tent.