There was one positive about being taken prisoner by the Cliff Town guards; it was a good way to see the whole town. Arc, Jack, and Julie were marched along while the citizens looked on with glee. They’d dealt with enough troublemakers, especially of the green-skinned kind, and it was a welcome victory to see ne’er-do-wells being taken off the streets.

The trio were marched along the asphalt and into a fenced compound which appeared to have once been a carpark, but the painted lines had long since eroded away. To the left, sat four cars and six pickup trucks that had recently been buffed up, but the degraded paint had left just enough holes for rust to eat at.

At the far side of the compound stood a tall building with four circular pillars supporting the triangular awning beneath the peaked roof. Engraved in the stone awning was an imagine of a man wielding a trident who rode a chariot over water while fish leapt into the air beside him.

Rather than being guided up the stone staircase, Briggs led his prisoners around the back and through an iron door. After being brought down a cold corridor, the trio were taken into a small side chamber where iron bars had been grafted to opposite walls and into the ceiling and floor, creating a cell. Based on the ugly filler used on the ceiling, this was a creation within the last decade rather than having been around before the apocalypse.

A guard standing in the room walked over and opened the cell, and Briggs gestured for the three to enter, which they did without a hint of defiance. Once the door was locked, the guards all stepped out of the room except for the one on watch and Briggs himself.

“Someone will be along to see you shortly,” he said sternly before departing too.

Jack and Julie leaned against the wall and slumped to the floor while Arc scanned the room as though looking for a way to escape. After a short while, he walked over to the wall too and slid down onto the broken tiles.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” he said calmly to the not-so-calm Jack and Julie. “I’m a people person, as you both well know. A few charming words later and we’ll be laughing about this whole ordeal as we march back to Pembroke.”

“You don’t happen to have a spell cartridge that can charm someone into releasing us from prison, do you?” asked Jack with a quivering voice.

“No, they’re hard to find,” said Arc, leaving the twins uncertain as to whether he was joking or not, but neither felt much like asking right now.

“Keep it down in there, prisoners,” said the guard crossly.

Arc smiled at him pleasantly. “Apologies, Officer. I’ll lower my voice.”

“I can’t believe they put us in here too,” said Jack, his frustration palpable. “You’re the one who tried to bribe the weapon dealer and we still ended up behind bars. It’s unfair and unjust.”

“I didn’t want the bullets,” said Arc. “We needed to test the waters. It was a test, as you very well know.”

“Well, that test had very real consequences. And stop saying ‘test the waters’ because it’s only making me angrier with you.”

Arc grinned with his eyes wide. “At least we’re close to the king now,” he said with a wink. “No other building in the town is this grand.”

“You…surely not?” asked Jack.

“Did you get us thrown in here on purpose?” asked Julie.

Arc simply shrugged and smiled while staring at the wall. He starting cracking his knuckles and then cracked his neck, all the while smiling.

“He’s bluffing, Jule,” said Jack, nudging his sister in the ribs. “Look at that cocky face. He’s trying to make us think it’s all part of a master plan he cooked up. Don’t buy it. We don’t even have our weapons anymore.”

“I don’t know,” said Julie, moving in front of Arc and staring into his eyes. “He seems so…calm. We know he’s a smooth operator when he wants to be.”

Jack moved beside her and watched Arc carefully, who stared past the twins while continuing to smile. “Nah,” he said. “You’re…you’re definitely bluffing. You’re not a smooth operator, you just make things up as you go and then claim you’re a genius when it just so happens to work out.”

Seconds later, the door swung open and in walked a tall man of such large frame that he had to angle himself to the side to get through the doorway. He had tanned skin and more than his fair share of scars. His hair was a deep shade of dark brown and held away from his eyes by a makeshift headband made from bandages.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He walked forward confidently as his metal boots and shoulder plates clinked. His heavy-duty cloth body armour covered his thick torso and his green trousers had so many pockets that they would have been difficult to fill. Strapped to the man’s back was a steel claymore and, on his waist, was a holster holding a snubnosed revolver that looked like he could have crushed it if he squeezed the grip too hard.

The man stopped in front of the cell with the bars an inch from his face. He had no discernible expression on his face, which made Arc uncomfortable, but the twins even more so. The man said nothing as he stared at the three occupants of the cell, none of whom were smiling anymore.

Arc didn’t want to be the first one to speak; no doubt the man was waiting for him to break first. The bounty hunter stared back at the man the entire time while Jack and Julie sat awkwardly to the side, glancing around, afraid of making eye contact with the hulking man for more than a second.

“Arc the Hawk,” said the man breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“And you are?” asked Arc.

“Lancelot of the Right Hand of Obsidian.”

“May I call you Lancelot?”

“You may.”

“Lancelot,” said Arc, standing up. “Why have we been arrested? Surely, keeping us here would mean resources that your town doesn’t want to spare?”

“Who said you were getting food and water?” said Lancelot, giving away little with his voice.

“If you wanted rid of us so badly, we’d have been thrown from the cliff and into the river below or simply kicked out of town. What is it that we’re being held for?”

“You’re the man who killed Nolt of the Redbrook Bandits, are you not?”

“That’s me,” said Arc proudly. “Unless he’s a friend of yours. In that case, it wasn’t me.”

“Kristoff the Grey, Franco Saxon, Colt the Scourge. All you?”

“All me,” confirmed Arc. “Plus many more, of course. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised you heard about Colt so recently after his death.”

“Guard,” said Lancelot without breaking eye contact with Arc. “Release them to me, but keep their handcuffs on.”

“Ah,” said Arc, taking his hands from behind his back and revealing that his wrists were free and he was holding his handcuffs. “These sorts of things aren’t so great at holding me.”

The guard snatched them from Arc before opening the door.

“Come with me,” said Lancelot, turning around and walking out the door.

“You heard him,” muttered Arc to a terrified Jack and July. “No funny business, alright?”

The two nodded and the trio walked into the corridor, following Lancelot. Arc couldn’t but help admire the shining claymore on the man’s back. It was a weapon that had no doubt felled everything from orc to giant. The spellslinger wondered if it was enchanted, so untarnished was the mighty blade.

It had been some time since he used a sword, but it had long fallen out of favour with him. Guns were smaller and perfect for both long and short range. Last time he used a sword, he had been shot in the side, which had made up his mind about retiring from carrying around the needlessly heavy weapons.

“Where are we going?” Arc asked as Lancelot navigated the network of corridors and stairs.

“To see King Obsidian,” replied the king’s man.

At last, the trio reached what must have been the entrance hall, for it was a grander room than any other they’d seen on the journey. To the right sat a set of heavy wooden doors that appeared to lead outside and to the left, up four marble steps was another set of double doors, but these doors were much more polished than the two.

Lancelot took two steps to clear the stairs and placed a hand on the leftmost door. When Arc, Jack and Julie caught up to him, he gave it a small shove and it flung open as though it were made of cardboard. He nodded them inside and followed them in afterwards.

The room was as impressive as Arc had expected with the marble floor being kept immaculate, save for a few small chips. Even the windows at the far side were more cared for than any windows he’d seen in years. There was nobody else in the room with them save for a single man who sat on a golden throne at the fair end of the room.

He wore a full suit of dark plate armour and his gauntlets were so black and thick it was no wonder he was called King Obsidian. He was shorter than Lancelot—as most men in Nuvaria were—but he was nonetheless burly and had a slick black hair that ran down his back. The king’s face bore considerably less scars than his servant, although there were still a few. His battle scar that stood out the most was the missing lobe of his left ear.

“Arc the Hawk for you, my liege,” said Lancelot.

“Thank you, brother,” said the king in his deep, rumbling voice. He stood up with a stoic look on his face. “You may remain with us, Lancelot, but I ask you to remain silent unless spoken to.”

“Yes, King Obsidian.”

The king looked at Arc, and then Jack, and then Julie, before his gaze fell back upon Arc. He held up a hand and beckoned the three to approach before flicking his wrist and holding out his palm when the trio reached the halfway point of the room. The three obediently stopped and Obsidian sat back down.

“I have heard that you flaunted my rules earlier today,” he said. “After being so graciously invited into my town and warned of the dangers we face, you still thought you would make an attempt at buying rationed resources. You thought that wise, did you?”

“I didn’t want the bullets,” said Arc. “I wanted to see if your citizens were truly afraid of orcs or if that was just a cover story. It’s very clear to me now that it was the former.”

The king smiled grimly. “You came to kill me, didn’t you? I’m aware of the bounty on my head.”

It dawned on Arc why Lancelot had asked him about his previous kills. Every single one of the names listed had been bounties that he had fulfilled. He felt stupid for having answered in such a braggadocious manner.

“Yes,” said Arc, seeing no point in lying.

“And you still wish to claim it?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“That depends,” said King Obsidian, reaching for a holster on his waist and pulling out a familiar golden gun. He pointed Arc’s spellcaster at him with a devious grin on his face.