Kedemar tensed as Mendenlau stepped toward him, but the king of Kathiare merely grasped the young lord’s jaw and turned his face to the light.

“Definitely Gavin’s boy.” Mendenlau mused, still smirking as he studied Kedemar’s face. The king’s hand was cold and hard. Kedemar tugged his jaw out of his grasp, and Mendenlau let him. The young lord glared at Mendenlau as the king resumed his slow walk, stepping around the chairs and out of Kedemar’s sight. He heard Haeil’s sharp intake of breath as the assassin came face-to-face at last with the man he'd once sworn to serve. Then Mendenlau’s voice reached his ears.

“The little traitor.” The king purred. “We meet at last. Do you know what we do to traitors, boy?”

“Yes.” Came Haeil’s soft, slightly choked, answer.

"Hm." Mendenlau said, then gave a low chuckle. "I suppose you know what you have to look forward to, then."

Haeil's breath sobbed quietly in his throat, and Kedemar swallowed hard. He almost didn't dare imagine what pain awaited his friend. In the last year, Haeil had grown up from the boy he had been when Kedemar had first met him. He hardly showed fear of anything these days. But for him to be scared now-- it scared Kedemar too.

Boots tapped on the floor-stones, and the king stepped back into Kedemar’s sight, reached down and flicked up Kedemar’s sleeve. Mendenlau surveyed the brand for a moment, then looked up and met Kedemar’s gaze. The king smiled again, darkness flickering in his already black eyes, and laid his cold hand on the young lord's angry-red brand. Kedemar gritted his teeth as he felt Mendenlau reach out with his mind and wrap his will around the frayed, broken strands of the black magic tethered to the young man's brand. The magical threads roiled and seethed welcomingly as they felt Mendenlau's manipulating influence. The Kathiran's twisted mind pushed and pulled the broken strands. The magical manipulation hurt, terribly, and sweat beaded on the younger man's brow, trickled down his cheek to drip from his chin. He squeezed his eyes shut, rallying the strength of his mind.

The king was trying to repair the tether, Kedemar sensed.

But— he— would— not— let him! The young lord groaned, clenching the arms of his chair in a white-knuckled grip as he fought Mendenlau with all his mental strength. Mendenlau fought back, lashing at Kedemar's mind with his own, using the brand tether as a conduit. White-hot pain exploded behind Kedemar's eyes. He cried out.

“Hey!” Haeil shouted over his shoulder. “Leave him alone, Menden-lump!”

Mendenlau immediately released Kedemar’s tether from his mind, his face contorting in fury. The young lord sagged in relief, panting. Fear threatened to loosen his bowels as he realized just how close Mendenlau had come to succeeding in his intent. Kedemar's pain slowly subsided, the threads of his brand tether swirling back into submission. But he was in no condition to intervene as the furious king stalked around the chairs.

"You will pay for that insult in blood, you insolent cur!" Mendenlau snarled. A second later there was the sound of flesh smacking into flesh. Haeil grunted. Something wet splattered on the stone floor. There was a thump, and Haeil grunted again. Then the young assassin hissed in pain. There came the soft shring of a blade being drawn, and Haeil's hiss of pain became one of terror. His chair jerked as he fought to get away from his tormentor.

“Stop!” Kedemar cried, coming back to his full senses at last. He strained against his bonds, but to no avail.

"No. Please," Haeil choked out pleadingly, his words oddly distorted.

"Stop it!" Kedemar roared at Mendenlau, bucking against the straps holding him down. Haeil gave a choked, muffled cry.

"Stop toying with us, Mendenlau!" Kedemar snarled. "If you're going to kill us, just do it! Please, a quick death, that's all we ask."

Haeil was suddenly taking quick, gasping breaths, footsteps sounded on the stones once more, and the king walked back into Kedemar's view. A short dagger, its tip glistening red, was held loosely in Mendenlau's hand.

"A quick death, perhaps." The Kathiran said calmly, conversationally, as he wiped the bloody tip of his knife on the hem of his regal robe. "But not yet." He looked up into Kedemar's eyes and grinned with savage, twisted glee. "I want to see Dathran's face as he watches you die. I want to see his face as he realizes that there is nothing he can do to protect you."

"You're sick in your head." Kedemar curled his lip in angered distaste. Mendenlau inclined his head mockingly.

"Maybe so." He replied. "But I assure you, I am in full control of my mind, and my decisions."

Kedemar wanted to be sick. He swallowed as Mendenlau's eyes flickered with darkness once more. The king laughed at the fear in the young lord's eyes. Then he sobered, and said, almost thoughtfully,

“I have a proposal for you both. One that will stave off your deaths for the rest of your natural lives." Mendenlau paused, letting the silence stretch. For the longest moment, all was quiet in the cell except for Haeil's sobbing breaths behind Kedemar.

"State your proposal, filth." Kedemar coldly broke the quiet. Anger flitted across the Kathiran king's face, but, surprisingly, he made no move toward Kedemar. After a moment, he merely smiled coldly and said,

"Serve me, repair your brand tethers, and I will let you both live. Defy me, and you will both die horribly, starting with Haeil." Mendenlau suddenly darted forward, slamming his hands onto the back of the chair on either side of Kedemar's head. He leaned down and spoke into the young lord's wide-eyed face, pitching his voice so that Haeil would hear as well.

"I will personally kill Haeil in front of your very eyes, slowly, painfully, and I will enjoy it. Unless you choose to serve me wholly, this is what will happen." Mendenlau straightened and stepped back, leaving Kedemar stunned silent, wide-eyed, and pale as snow. Haeil hunched in his bindings, his breath still coming in near sobs.

"Decide wisely, boys.” The king smiled and flipped over the hourglass on the table before leaving the room. His parting words:

“You have three hours.”

The cell door slammed closed with an echoing boom, and the lock clicked with finality.

***

“Three hours.” Kedemar grunted, fighting against the leather straps that held him securely in the chair. He could hear Haeil doing the same behind him.

“Three cursed hours.” The young lord uttered a foul word under his breath, gasping slightly as he tried to wriggle his wrist from beneath the leather strap restraining it. The thick leather chafed and dug into his skin. He glanced up from time to time at the hourglass.

The sand in the top bulb of the hourglass was draining much too quickly for Kedemar's taste. Each falling grain added to his anxiety and sense of urgency. He peered as far as he could over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of his friend's dark hair.

“What do you think of Menden-low’s offer?” He asked.

“Pig slop.” Haeil grunted.

“Yeah, that’s what I think too.” Kedemar replied, tugging both his wrists against the chafing leather fetters. One hand slipped slightly beneath a strap, and he renewed his efforts.

“You going to accept it?” Haeil asked, panting slightly. His chair scraped slightly.

“No.” Kedemar said, his hand slipping free at last. He immediately set to loosening the other straps restraining his chest, ankles, and other wrist. “You?”

“Never.” Haeil replied. “I’m going to get you out if it kills me. Tell Myra I love her.”

“Tell her yourself.” Kedemar finished unfastening his fetters at the same time Haeil did, and both men stood on bare feet, and looked at each other.

Kedemar winced. Haeil had a large, rapidly darkening bruise on his left cheek, blood stained his lips slightly, and he cradled his ribs with one hand. Five bruises in the exact shape of Mendenlau’s fingers marked his cheeks. A small wound on his throat was bleeding more than Kedemar liked. Haeil's face was still snow-pale, his dark eyes haunted.

"What--?" Kedemar began to ask, then bit his words off.

Haeil's free hand came up and swiped at the blood running down his neck.

"No, it's fine. You can ask whatever you were going to ask." The young assassin told his battle-brother. Kedemar swallowed, his eyes on that wound in his friend's throat. He said hoarsely,

"What... was he going to do?"

Haeil grimaced, pressing his hand over the wound.

"Vocal cords. He was going for my vocal cords." He answered. "It's a classic revenge among the assassins when they feel insulted."

Kedemar's eyes widened.

"That's... cruel." He whispered. Haeil gave him a twisted, sorrowful smile.

"Be glad you aren't one of us." He replied.

Kedemar's hand leaped almost of its own volition to cover his forearm where his brand lay. Haeil's gaze followed his movement, and the assassin closed his eyes, exhaling deeply.

"Right." Haeil said. "Sorry. I didn't mean... I just..." He sighed, turning his head away. Kedemar laid his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"It's alright." The young lord reassured him. "I know what you meant. I'm glad too."

"Be glad," Haeil whispered, "that you weren't one of us from the time you could walk. Like I was." Kedemar squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that." He said softly. Haeil opened his eyes and met his gaze. Smiled sadly.

"Well," the young ex-assassin took a deep breath, dispelling his gloom and fear. "As a wise man once said, 'It's in the past now.' I got through it, by the grace of the One, and I got out. It's over, and I'll die before I go back."

"So will I." Kedemar agreed, tearing a strip of cloth from his ragged tunic. He held it out to his friend.

"Here. I know it's not particularly clean, but it'll help stem the bleeding."

"Thanks." Haeil replied, taking the rag. He balled it up and held it against his throat.

“Let’s go.” He said, meeting Kedemar's gaze.

"Well, we would," Kedemar replied, looking around, "but I don't see anything in here to unlock that door."

Haeil gazed around the cell, then pointed to the hourglass.

"Try that." He said. Kedemar strode over to it. Picked it up and examined it. After a moment, he raised it over his head.

"Watch out." He warned Haeil, and the assassin turned away as Kedemar hurled the wood-and-glass instrument to the stone floor.

It shattered, sending sand and glass in all directions across the stones. Sharp glass shards pricked Kedemar's bare feet, but he hardly noticed as he crouched and sifted through the sand and fragments for a piece of wood suited to their needs. Found it a moment later and held it up with an exclamation of triumph. Haeil took it and stepped swiftly to the door on his side of the room. The door that Mendenlau hadn't used.

It was a simple matter for the young ex-assassin to pick the lock and let them out of the cell. The two men threw open the door, startling the two guards in the hallway on the other side. Acting nearly in unison, Kedemar and Haeil took on a sentry apiece, hooking their arms around the guards' necks in a chokehold. Both young men held on grimly, even after the guards stopped spasming and twitching. They lowered the bodies to the floor. Bodies that weren't just unconscious. The guards were dead. Very dead.

Kedemar and Haeil had no time to do anything more than strip the guards of their swords before a squad of sentries rounded the corner down the hall. A black-clad assassin was at their head.

“Stop!” Cried the assassin as they all drew their swords.

Kedemar and Haeil didn't stop.

They ran.

Pursued by an increasing amount of soldiers and assassins alike, Kedemar and Haeil pounded through the corridors of the castle. Still weak and not quite recovered from their respective ordeals, their breath soon was coming in gasps and the blades felt heavy in their hands. Still, they ran doggedly on. The little castle was laid out logically, and it didn’t take the young men long to find the stairs up to the main floor of the castle. From there, dodging servants, assassins, and guards alike, it was a short matter to locate the main courtyard.

Kedemar and Haeil skidded to a halt, unsure for a moment where to go. They surveyed the courtyard for a few precious seconds before spotting a long building from which were heard the sounds of many horses.

"Close the gates!" Came a shout from behind them.

“The stables!” Kedemar pointed, gasping for breath.

They raced toward the stables, but a squad of soldiers beat them there and cut off their escape. The two young men skidded to a halt, switched direction, and dashed toward the gatehouse, within which the gates were slowly closing. But again, they were foiled. Five assassins stood in their way, swords out and ready. One of them, Kedemar recognized as the young assassin he'd almost killed the night the young lord had taken the brand. Kedemar narrowed his eyes at him and watched the man recognize him. The assassin's eyes widened. But there was no time for old rivalries as soldiers poured from their barracks, from the gatehouse and parapets, from the keep proper, into the courtyard.

Kedemar and Haeil halted and pressed back-to-back, raising their swords as they were slowly surrounded.

“With me?” Kedemar panted. Haeil nodded.

“Always, brother.”

With that, they launched themselves into battle and fought desperately for their freedom. A flurry of blows and a furious clashing of steel later, a way was cleared to the gatehouse.

“Go!” Haeil cried. Kedemar finished off his current opponent and went, trusting that Haeil was right behind him.

Steel clanged on stone and a strangled cry rang out, a voice he knew. Halted him in his tracks, and he turned. Kedemar's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat.

Haeil was caught fast in Gavin’s grasp, a garrote around his neck, his sword lying on the ground a few feet away. Haeil was clawing at the leather string around his throat and at Gavin's hands, groping for the assassin's face and eyes. The young man struggled wildly, but fruitlessly, as the more seasoned assassin effortlessly evaded his every attempt to break free.

“Go!” Haeil gritted out as Gavin's garrote dug into his wounded throat. Kedemar hesitated, unwilling to leave his battle-brother.

“Just go!” Haeil choked out, fighting Gavin’s relentless grip. Reluctantly, Kedemar turned to flee.

“I’ll kill him!” Gavin warned Kedemar, putting enough pressure on the garrote to secure his prisoner, but not enough to knock him out. Yet.

Kedemar halted and turned back.

Haeil cried out as Gavin kicked at his knee. The younger man went down hard, and choked as his breath was cut off. Gavin compensated, adjusted his grip, and Haeil dragged in a ragged breath.

"Go!" He rasped. But the damage was done. Kedemar had hesitated too long. The way to the gatehouse was now closed. Kedemar backed away from the soldiers surrounding him, his heart sinking.

“I’m sorry.” Kedemar said softly, meeting Haeil’s eyes. The same despair he felt was mirrored in Haeil's gaze.

“NO!” Haeil gritted his teeth, angry tears pooling in his eyes to spill down his cheeks. The young ex-assassin threw himself against Gavin's garrote, hoping to die right there. But, again, Gavin compensated, and the younger man's plan was foiled again.

The enemy closed in, and though Kedemar fought them as Gavin dragged away a wildly struggling Haeil, the young lord fought without hope, and was quickly overwhelmed.

Kedemar, still weak from his ordeals, tired quickly. His arms grew numb, his sword ever heavier. Finally, it was beaten from his grasp.

"Fools!" He gasped out, sweat soaking his tunic and hair in the chilly air as he stumbled wearily. "Fools, the lot of you! 'Serve me', he said. 'You will be spared', he said. Well, Mendenlau is a heap of stable sludge and a thrice-cursed son of dogs! I'd rather die than serve him!" Kedemar balled his fists and held them up defensively.

"Come on, you lot!" He roared. "Come and kill me, if you can!"

And come they did.

A boot made contact with his knee from behind, and he went down on that knee with a grunt of pain. A fist smashed into his face, a knee into his gut. He toppled onto the cold stones in a haze of pain, blood dribbling from between his lips. Someone slipped a garrote around his neck and hauled him up again. Two or three men pressed in and hammered blows into his ribcage. Kedemar grunted with each strike, the world swimming before his eyes. He snapped back his head, made contact with the man holding him up. There was a cry of pain, and Kedemar abruptly fell forward, free. He untangled the garrote from around his neck and flung it at his assailants. Attempted to get back to his feet, but exhaustion and injury made him fail. A boot made contact with his face, and his head snapped back. He blacked out for a moment. Came to, choking on his own blood, just in time to receive blow after blow from boots and then fists, as somebody hauled him up and held his arms. It wasn't long before Kedemar lost count of the hits he received, lost all sense of time.

Beaten into subconsciousness, he barely knew it when they dragged him back into the castle and chained him securely in a one-doored empty cell. The echoing clang of the iron-grilled portal closing reverberated in his head, and Kedemar barely managed to turn onto his side before he was sick.

When his stomach was empty, he somehow pushed himself onto his back and lay there for a long while. Time passed, but he knew nothing, and didn't care that the world was beyond his ken. Somewhere deep in his mind he hoped that they had put Haeil in with him.

But when Kedemar opened his eyes, Haeil was nowhere to be seen. He was alone.

***

Dath sat at his desk in his chamber in Dinfel Crag manor, face stained with tears, and grateful he was alone. When Kedemar's messengers had finally tracked him down-- having already been to Ajalon to look for him-- it was already far too late to send aid to Kedemar. Fellvale Keep had fallen. Kedemar was dead or worse.

On top of this disaster, there was no word from Haeil at all, which meant something terrible had befallen the young assassin. Dath had a terrible feeling that Haeil had never made it to Syrdrin. So, there would be no help coming from that quarter.

The king sat there, watching his kingdom’s defenses crumble around him, knowing his oath-son was dead to him, and wondering where it had all gone wrong.

His thoughts wandered to the people he had left. Natalya. Myra. Adalyyn and Jashur. Dannyl.

Nat was heartbroken. When she had heard the news about Fellvale, she had gazed at the haggard messengers who were likely the last two of Kedemar's men. The lass had gone white as milk, then abruptly turned and fled from the room.

Myra, when told, had merely bowed her head, putting a hand to her mouth.

"May the will of the One-Who-Made-The-Stars be done." She murmured. Then she too left to be alone.

***

A knock sounded on Dath's chamber door, and he looked up, scrubbing at his wet face with his sleeve.

"Come!" He called hoarsely. The door creaked open and Natalya let herself into the room, Myra right behind her. Both women had been weeping; they sported red-rimmed eyes and pale faces.

Dath sighed, put his own grief aside, and rose and embraced them. Fierce anger against Kathiare lit in his chest. When would that wretched kingdom stop taking from him? It had taken his wife and blood-son. Had taken both of his oath-sons. Had taken the gateway to the domain he stewarded. It now threatened to take everything else he loved.

Dath knew he must push back the Kathirans and reclaim Fellvale Keep. He said as much to his oath-daughters, speaking his thoughts aloud.

“I mean to take back Fellvale.” He told them hoarsely, holding them close.

“We’re coming with you.” Nat said, looking up into his face. “There’s nothing left for us here.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Myra gazed up at him as well, her eyes resigned and determined.

"No." Dath replied. "You're both staying here, where it's safe."

"You really think Dinfel Crag is safe, Dath?" Nat countered fiercely. "Menden-crap's fleet sails closer with every hour that passes. Dinfel Crag is one of the first ports they'll hit. We'll be safer with you, even in Fellvale. And if you tried to leave me behind, I'd find some way of following you. Short of imprisoning me, you can't keep me from going."

"She's right, Dath." Myra agreed. "And I'd be right with her."

Looking into both of their faces, Dath knew he would not be able to deny them.

He hesitated, and then nodded in acquiescence.

“Very well.” He replied. “But you both are staying with the healers, at the back of the war-train. Neither of you will be engaging in any battles. Not even as archers. If I cannot leave you here, you will be as safe as I can make you.”

They both readily agreed to his terms.

Dath sighed, feeling he was making a mistake. Women and war-- the two just did not mix.

***

Dath mustered all the men he could spare, making his force five thousand strong. With Natalya and Myra in tow, they rode hard for Fellvale Keep, making a four- to five-week-long journey a mere three and a half weeks. In the mountains, they found a plateau on which to camp, not far down the pass from Fellvale Keep itself. Dath sent out his men in patrols, and they cleared the surrounding forests and mountains of Kathirans, making the pass this side of the border more or less secure.

But they could not eradicate the enemy from the stronghold itself. Gavin was in possession of it, and refused to surrender. Kathiare provided him with provisions from the other side and he could not be starved out. So Dath simply cut off Fellvale Keep from Gibethon.

Day after day, Dath treated fruitlessly with Gavin, attempting to appeal to reason. But no accord was reached and many angry words and curses were exchanged between the two men. At the end of each parley, each of them walked away-- Gavin back to the keep proper, and Dath back to his camp-- frustrated and seething with fury, Dath always expecting to feel a crossbow quarrel punch into his back at any moment as he retreated down the pass.

"You owe me service still, Gavin!" Dath roared up at the assassin one day. "I never said you were done!"

"I say I'm done." Gavin yelled back. "I swore an oath to my king, Dath! That supersedes all else!"

"I paid in blood, curse it all!" Dath shouted, his voice echoing off the mountain walls around him. "You owe allegiance to that too! Give me the cursed castle, Gavin!"

"I'm done with you, Dath!" Gavin said. "You will never regain Fellvale Keep while I hold it."

"Then at least give me Kedemar and his men." Dath proposed, determined to win in some way. Gavin's face became as stone.

"Kedemar is in Kathiare, in the hands of King Mendenlau." The assassin replied. "He is out of your reach. But his men, those that live at least, I will gladly give you. That is all I will do for you, Dath. Then my service is paid in full."

Dath's eyes had widened as he learned where Kedemar had been taken. The blood drained from his face. Truly, Gavin had sent his son to a fate worse than death.

"You fool!" He shouted. "And here I thought you had maybe actually cared a bit for the lad! Do you realize to what fate you have sent him? Mendenlau will show no mercy, you thrice-cursed fool! Not even the mercy of a quick death!"

Gavin's stone mask didn't twitch.

"I am merely obeying my king." He replied. "Do you want the boy's Two Hundred, or not?"

"Release them to me." Dath growled.

"Tomorrow morning at dawn," Gavin promised, "they will be outside the gates, returned to you."

Fists clenched and nearly growling with frustration and anger, Dath spun on his heel and strode back down the pass to his camp.

It was only because of the fact that Gavin still owed Dath service that the assassin refrained from killing him outright.

***

Gavin proved true to his word, and sure enough, the next morning at dawn, Dath and three hundred men trekked up the pass to Fellvale Keep and found Kedemar's Two Hundred huddled on the rocky ground outside the fortress gates. The former prisoner's hands weren't chained, but tied, and Gavin hadn't bothered to release them. The Two Hundred were dressed only in thin tunics and trousers-- no boots, no belts, and no cloaks. They pressed close together, shivering in the cold, late winter air. The pale dawn light showed clearly their thinness and some dark bruises, but overall they appeared healthy.

Upon spotting their comrades, Dath and his men dared to come right up to the walls of the stronghold, mindful of the patrolling crossbowmen atop the battlements. Noting the prisoners' thin, shivering bodies, pale skin, and slightly blue lips, Dath and his men quickly took off their own cloaks and covered their comrades. The Gibethonian king worked alongside his men, slitting the ropes binding their comrades and bringing them all safely down the pass back to the camp. They sat them around roaring fires and fed them hot soup and fresh bread. Myra and Natalya worked with the healers, inspecting the recovered men for injury. Nat didn't bother searching the ranks for Kedemar; she had already been informed by Dath of her betrothed's situation.

***

Kedemar lay on his back on the cold stones of his cell, an arm over his face, wishing the screams would cease. The agony-filled cries had been echoing through the dungeon for the better part of three hours, by Kedemar's reckoning-- screams that had been increasing in hoarseness, yet still retained the power to penetrate the young lord's skull and make his head fill with splitting pain.

He'd been sick again, twice, with that pain.

But the screams continued, and Kedemar was forced to lay there and listen. He wished he were unconscious again. He wished whoever was screaming would fall unconscious. He wished he could march over there and knock him out himself. It would be a mercy, for the both of them.

Instead, he was locked in here, alone and tangled in unyielding chains, at the mercy of a sadistic man who reveled in the pain of his adversaries. He did not even have the company of Haeil.

But Kedemar thought he knew where Haeil was.

He had the terrible feeling that Haeil was the man screaming in ceaseless agony. And that though made Kedemar turn over and empty his stomach of what little was left in it. Digestive acid. That was all that remained, and then the young lord was left dry-heaving on the stone floor.

Kedemar flipped onto his back once more, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth as the echoes bounced around the cell. When would it ever end?!

And then the screams abruptly stopped.

Kedemar opened his eyes, reveling in the silence, and fearing that the same silence that he welcomed meant that Haeil was dead.

Or maybe, after the agony that Kedemar had heard, his friend was better off dead. Kedemar didn't know what he wished for-- that his oath-brother was still alive, or that his agony was ended forever.

Footsteps and the sound of a body being dragged echoed off of the stone floor outside Kedemar's cell. The harsh, wavering light of an un-shuttered lantern penetrated through the iron grille of the door. Kedemar groaned, squeezed his eyes shut, and, with a tremendous effort, flopped his arm over his face.

The footsteps stopped right outside his cell, and keys jingled. The lock grated, and the door squealed open. Kedemar peeked out from beneath his arm as four soldiers, all armed, trooped into his cell. Two were dragging a body-- whether that body was a corpse or still alive, Kedemar could not tell. Must have been still alive though, if the soldiers were putting the unfortunate man in a cell.

Kedemar's heart sank as he recognized the tattered black tunic and blood-matted dark hair of his battle-brother. So, it had been Haeil.

One of the soldiers stayed by the door, while another strode over to Kedemar, drawing his sword and lowering the blade to the young lord's throat.

"Stay where you are, if you know what's good for you." The soldier growled down at him. Kedemar's lips twitched in a faint smile. What did the man think he was going to do? Leap up and attack him? Kedemar barely had the strength to turn his head.

The two soldiers dragging the unconscious prisoner dropped him unceremoniously onto the stones and fastened a set of iron manacles around both wrists and ankles.

They chuckled as they stood and left the cell.

"Have fun with yer mate!" One soldier taunted. "I doubt he'll last the night."

The very air seemed to vibrate with skull-splitting cacophony as the cell door clanged shut and the key screeched in the lock. The soldiers marched away, and Kedemar listened to their footsteps echo to silence.

Anger at the taunt, at the soldiers, at Mendenlau-- may the One send his soul to the hottest hellfires-- lent the young lord strength to turn onto his stomach and find his way to his hands and knees. He crawled over to Haeil, dragging his chains with him, and surveyed his friend's wounds.

"Oh, Haeil, what have they done to you?" He whispered as he brushed the young ex-assassin's blood-soaked hair back from his forehead. He sent his gaze over Haeil's body, noting the charred and bloody rents in his oath-brother's tunic and trousers.

His heart sank further. The soldier might have been right. It would be a miracle if Haeil lasted an hour, much less the night.

The ex-assassin's knee was shattered where Gavin had kicked it. His hair was matted with sticky, drying blood where someone had bashed it. He was covered in cuts and burns; Kedemar fought the urge to be sick again as he studied the exposed, burnt muscle-- and in some places, bone. It reminded him of Dath's treatment at the hands of Ulrek.

The cell stank of burnt flesh and blood, of vomit, of filth. Kedemar could not resist the urge to dry-heave. His body shuddered as he fought for control, and he nearly blacked out from the pain than flowed in waves over his body.

But finally, he was able to turn back to Haeil and continue his inventory of his friend's wounds.

Haeil's right wrist was broken, twisted and bent at an unnatural angle; the ring finger and little finger of his left hand were nothing but bloody stumps. Bruises were mixed in with the cuts and burns, and the young assassin's throat--

His throat was a mess of blood and gore. On further inspection, Kedemar found that someone had expertly slashed through the vocal cords and esophagus without severing any main arteries. It was a cruel, calculated wound, one that was still streaming blood.

Mendenlau, it seemed, had finished what he'd started. And Haeil would most likely never speak again.

Kedemar groaned in pain as he shed his own tunic and proceeded to tear it in strips. There was no water in the cell, nothing he could use to clean wounds and splint bones. He was forced to make do with his own blood-stained garment.

The young lord let his tears fall freely as he bound up the worst of his friend's wounds. He tended to the throat wound first. It was by far the worst of the wounds, and if not tended, Haeil would end up bleeding out.

Kedemar slid his hand under Haeil's head and gently lifted it up, feeling sticky and dried blood against his fingers. The gaping wound in his throat sucked and spurted, and Kedemar hastily pressed a wad of cloth against it. The wad quickly became soaked. Haeil's eyelids cracked open, and his gaze locked onto Kedemar's face. He moved his lips, but no sound came.

"Hush, sh." Kedemar whispered hoarsely. "Don't move. Don't try to speak. Just rest, brother."

Haeil's eyes opened further, and Kedemar saw in their depths the agony and grief that his friend was experiencing. His lips moved again, and this time Kedemar was able to read the words his friend was trying to say.

>Kedemar. Please. Kill me.< Haeil mouthed. Kedemar shook his head, tears falling from his eyes to drip on Haeil's face.

"No." He choked out. "I can't. I won't."

>Please. Kedemar, please.< Haeil pleaded, tears slipping from his own eyes down his temples to soak into his bloody hair.

"There's nothing in here to do it with, even if I wanted to." Kedemar whispered.

>Use the chains to strangle, or head against stone< Haeil suggested.

Kedemar shook his head. "I can't."

He watched his friend's eyelids slide shut as Haeil slipped back into unconsciousness. The young lord gazed at the young assassin, his heart skipping a beat in fear as he failed to see Haeil's ribs rise and fall with breath. Kedemar laid his ear against Haeil's half-open lips.

And-- there it was. The subtle intake of breath, the faint brush of air against his skin as Haeil exhaled. The ex-assassin was still alive. Kedemar sighed in relief.

Stifling his groans as pain and chills wracked his body, Kedemar moved to tend the rest of his friend's wounds. He straightened the knee and the wrist and bound them as best as he was able, grateful that Haeil was unconscious. The ex-assassin made no sound during the whole thing. From time to time, Kedemar checked to make sure he still breathed. The young lord managed to tear open Haeil's tunic and bandage the worst of the cuts and burns on his torso with the tattered, filthy strips of his tunic. He changed the bandage on Haeil's throat three times before he ran out of cloth. With a heavy heart, he had to leave the soaked bandage as it was, and hoped it would suffice.

As he bandaged the ex-assassin's broken wrist, Kedemar reached his mind toward his friend's brand scar. To his immense relief, the magical tether there remained broken. Kedemar sighed, bowing his head. At least Mendenlau had not succeeded in repairing the frayed and severed threads. Haeil had won in that regard.

By the time Kedemar finished all that he could do, he was exhausted. He dragged himself back to Haeil's head and lifted the assassin's head and shoulders onto his lap. The young lord leaned against the wall of the cell and closed his eyes, shivering as the stones chilled his bare flesh.

"Have to stay awake to check on him in a few minutes..." Kedemar thought tiredly. In seconds he was sound asleep.

***

Kedemar jolted awake as his cell door squealed and scraped open. The same four guards filed in along with a hard-faced man dressed as a healer. One of the guards carried a basin, rags, and a lantern, and a second soldier bore two full buckets of steaming water. One soldier strode over and dragged Haeil away from Kedemar, pulling him effortlessly out of the young lord's weak hands. They laid out the unconscious ex-assassin on the cold stone floor and the healer knelt and bent over him.

"Leave him alone!" Kedemar rasped angrily. He tried to rise, and failed. Collapsed to his hands and knees. His arms shook with the effort it took to hold himself up. He crawled toward Haeil, determined to defend him at all costs, but rough hands seized the young lord and dragged him back.

Kedemar gathered his strength and fought. The soldiers laughed as they easily subdued him. Three fists to the ribs later-- each of which caused Kedemar to utter a choked cry--, Kedemar ended up on his knees, held down by the hated guards. They pressed his head into the floor and used his chains to yank his arms behind his back. He struggled, then cried out as their grip on him tightened. Everything hurt. Breathing hurt. A lot.

"Cease!" Snapped the healer, looking up from unwinding Haeil's bandages. "Leave him be! His Majesty wants these two alive, which is why he sent me down here to tend them and make sure they stayed that way! I will not have you damaging him further. Unless you want to explain to m'liege why his revenge has been thwarted?" He cocked an eyebrow at the guards holding Kedemar down.

Chagrined, the guards released Kedemar and stepped back to the edges of the cell, grumbling all the while. But not one of them dared to go against the healer.

Panting and gasping in nauseating pain and relief, Kedemar straightened himself out and lay belly-down on the cold, slick stones. He decided he hurt too much to move. Didn't have the strength to, anyway. The healer regarded him with a stern eye.

"I'll get to you in a few minutes." The man told him. "Can you remain conscious for that long?"

"Yeah." Kedemar gasped out. The healer gestured to the mess of bloody cuts and burns that covered Haeil.

"Which of these is the worst wound-- which of these should I tend to first?"

"Throat." Kedemar rasped. The healer nodded, and unwound the bandage from the ex-assassin's neck. He grimaced as his hands became instantly coated with fresh blood.

"Don't know how he's held on this long, with this much blood-loss." He muttered before returning his gaze to Kedemar.

"Well done with these bandages, boy."

Kedemar made no reply, only closed his eyes as darkness called to him and tried to pull him into its sweet embrace of oblivion. Blinked his eyes open again as the healer snapped,

"Hey! I need you to stay awake! Don't fall asleep on me now, boy!"

The world faded around Kedemar.

He was brought back to reality by a harsh slap across the face that set his ears ringing. He realized he'd been turned onto his back. One of the guards stood over him, his hand raised for another slap.

"Do it again if he falls back asleep." The healer ordered. The guard crouched next to Kedemar and smiled at him maliciously. Kedemar curled his lip in a silent, defiant snarl.

The healer worked on Haeil for a couple of minutes more, soaking the clotting blood away from the ex-assassin's wounds and sealing them up, before standing and stepping over to Kedemar. The young lord stared up at him as the man studied him impassively.

"He's going to need something to bite on." The healer said finally. One of the guards tugged off his leather gauntlet. Kedemar closed his eyes in despair at the thought of the pain that was sure to follow. The glove was shoved between his teeth, and he did not fight it. Instead, he bit down as hard as he was able. The soldiers grabbed his limbs and pinned him to the floor. The healer's warm hand landed on Kedemar's bare chest, and cold pain spilled into his body. Kedemar jerked and screamed into the glove as broken ribs and fractured sternum shifted and knitted back together. Something sharp pierced something else inside of him, and Kedemar's eyes opened wide as searing agony spilled through him. He didn't have breath to scream. Didn't have breath at all, actually. The pain was that intense. When he tried to fill his lungs, white-hot agony streaked through him and he knew nothing more.

Kedemar regained consciousness to hear the healer's ranting cursing, and to the feel of warm, slick blood coating his skin. Pain flowed in waves over his body, but he didn't have strength or breath to cry out. He rolled his eyes downward and saw--

A gaping chasm in his chest. A blood-stained knife in the healer's hand.

They'd cut him open.

The guards' faces blanched as they watched.

"What-- did you do to him?" One whispered.

"I didn't do anything other than try and heal him somewhat!" Snapped the healer, punctuating the sentence with yet another foul word. "Thrice-cursed broken rib went and ripped into his lungs!"

Two of the guards turned a faint shade of green. Kedemar turned his eyes on the ceiling, unwilling to watch the healer extract his broken rib from his lungs. More pain washed over him, and darkness pulled him back under. He sank into oblivion, grateful.

Woke again to a cell empty of the healer and the soldiers. Only Haeil was left with him, shirtless and laying where they'd left him. Kedemar realized he could breathe without pain once again. He sucked in the stinking air, filling his lungs to capacity, and was grateful he could do so.

Sore, but nowhere near as hurt as he had been, the young lord rolled onto his stomach, shivering as the cold stones met his skin. He climbed to his hands and knees, then stood unsteadily. Braced his hand against the wall and looked down at himself.

His bruises were faded, his cuts were mostly healed over. A new, thin, red scar ran down his chest alongside his sternum, evidence of the healer's aid. The scar was seven inches long, by Kedemar's reckoning, and he reached up a trembling hand and traced its tender length. Sighed and dropped his hand back to his side. What was, was. The One's will be done.

Kedemar stumbled over to Haeil, chains clinking. The ex-assassin's wounds no longer needed bandages it seemed, Kedemar observed as he knelt beside his sleeping friend and laid a hand on his shoulder. A gentle shake later, Haeil's eyes blinked open and he stared up at Kedemar.

Grins broke out on both their faces, and Kedemar offered his hand to Haeil, helping him sit up. Relief shone in their eyes, because, no matter what had happened, they were both still alive, still together, and the One-Who-Made-The-Stars had not forsaken them. The two men embraced.

"Brother." Kedemar wept. Haeil pulled back slightly and tried to speak. No sound came, and he grimaced. The young assassin reached up a hand and ran his fingers over the half-healed wound in his throat. Tried again to speak, and again, failed.

Kedemar watched Haeil gently explore the scabs and new flesh that covered the wound, and winced. Haeil paid him no mind. After a minute, the ex-assassin let his hand drop, met Kedemar's eyes, smiled, and shrugged.

>It's good to be alive.< Haeil mouthed.

"Indeed." Kedemar answered. "The One is good, even in the darkest of places."

Haeil smiled and rested his arms on his knees. His chains clinked softly.

>Always.< A puzzled look came over Haeil's face. >What now? Why does Mendenlau still want us alive?<

"Revenge." Kedemar replied grimly. "I think he means to kill us later."

Haeil grimaced again. >And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?<

Kedemar shrugged. "Pray. Heal. Rest."

Haeil scooted back against the wall, shuddering as he leaned against the cold stones. Kedemar wrapped his arms about himself as he, too, began to notice more the chill.

Haeil cast his gaze about the cell, and his eyes lit upon a dark pile of cloth by the cell door. He crawled over and shook it out. Then smiled, turning to Kedemar. Two worn, black tunics hung from the Protector's hands.

He tossed one to Kedemar and began pulling the other on, wincing in pain. Kedemar smiled and did likewise. The rough cloth of the garments didn't do much to shield from the cold of the dungeons, but it was a relief to have something covering their skin again.

***

Days went by, maybe weeks, and the two young prisoners passed the time sleeping, eating infrequent meals, scratching day-marks on the walls, and healing from all their wounds except for the sores chafed onto their wrists and ankles by the cuffs of their chains.

As Haeil's throat mended more, he began trying to use his voice again. At first, there was no sound. But he refused to be discouraged. One day, he spoke, really spoke. His voice was no more than the faintest of breathy whispers, but it was there. He and Kedemar laughed and embraced.

"By the One's grace, He has given you a miracle!" Kedemar exclaimed. Though his face was coated in grime and filth, Haeil's smile could not have been brighter.

He continued exercising his healing vocal cords, now that he knew that they could be used. Days passed, and Haeil's voice grew steadily stronger. By the time Mendenlau's guards came for them, dragging them from the cell and marching them up out of the dungeon, Haeil's voice was a soft rasp. Quiet, but useable.

***

Dath continued trying to get Gavin to surrender, traveling up the pass to the keep every morning, hoping to wear the assassin down until Gavin either surrendered or shot him. A small, dark part of the king hoped that it would be the latter.

But Gavin did neither. After a time, he stopped coming to the wall to parley with Dath. But Dath didn't quit. He tried all sorts of things, from threats to offering bribes to the Kathiran soldiers. But to no avail. This tactic did frustrate the assassin, however, and Dath had to smile and chuckle when a furious Gavin appeared on the wall above him to tell him off.

Dath laughed as he trotted back down the pass toward his camp, ducking his head as a crossbow quarrel sailed past his ear and ricocheted off of a stone. He wasn't deterred.

On the contrary, he'd finally gotten somewhere with Gavin. Had caused the assassin's self-control to break.

But the next day, Gavin wasn't there to meet him. Mendenlau was.

Dath went still and pale, anger rising up in him as he thought about all the atrocities this man had committed during his long years. Images flashed through the Shadow King's head: cities and villages burning; bodies hung, shot, stabbed, impaled-- men, women, and children alike. Desolate fields plowed under with salt and stones. Cities razed to the ground, not an inhabitant left inside who breathed. Countless prisoners, tortured before they were killed, all because the Kathiran king enjoyed it.

"Do you have something to say to me, Dathran?" Mendenlau asked, amused, languidly leaning on the wall. Dath realized that he had been silent too long, just staring up at his nemesis.

"I do, Mendenlau." The Shadow King replied. "I demand the safe return of Kedemar."

"Demand?" The Kathiran purred, resting his cheek on his long fingers.

"Indeed." Dath replied.

"Just Kedemar?" Mendenlau asked, almost perplexed. Dath's brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"What do you mean?" He asked. Mendenlau smiled, showing teeth.

"Never mind." He replied. "So, you want your precious heir returned to you, hm? What are you willing to give up for him?"

"Treat with me formally, and you'll find out." Dath said.

"Very well. I will treat with you, Dathran." The Kathiran agreed, smiling. "A parley, below that rise, tomorrow at the ninth hour of the morning." He pointed to a ridge between the keep and the camp.

Dath turned and looked it over. He knew that rise. It was a good place for a parley. He turned back.

"That is agreeable." He answered. "I will see you there tomorrow?"

Mendenlau's smile grew wider.

"Of course." He purred. "You have my word on it."

"Don't trust that word much." Dath muttered as he strode back camp.

It was a mere hour later, when Dath was reviewing messengers' reports from all over his kingdom, that he realized why Mendenlau had asked such a question as 'Just Kedemar?'.

It was because the Kathiran had another prisoner that he thought Dath cared about.

And Dath thought he knew who that second prisoner was. A feeling of terrible dread settled in the Shadow King's gut.

***

Dath took twenty men with him to the parley the next morning. It would be foolish not expect trouble, although he hoped he didn't run into any. He allowed Nat and Myra to accompany him, after they had pleaded and threatened and begged. After all, twenty men should be a large enough guard, the king reasoned.

They stood below the appointed ridge for fifteen minutes past the morning's ninth hour before Mendenlau showed his face. And when the Kathiran finally arrived, he stopped atop the low rise, and stood staring down at Dath some eight feet below him.

And he did not come alone. Six assassins and at least twenty soldiers were at his back.

"This does not look like a parley!" Dath snarled, stepping backwards a pace, hand on the hilt of his sword. His twenty men all drew their weapons. The Kathirans didn't react.

Mendenlau tilted his head and smiled.

"Actually I didn't come to parley." He said calmly, with twisted amusement. "But I thought maybe you would like to watch an execution."

Dath, Nat, and Myra watched in horror as Mendenlau gestured and two bound and hooded, ragged, barefoot prisoners were brought forward from the back of the Kathiran company to stand at the edge of the rise. Chains that shackled their ankles and wrists were connected to a longer chain that ran up to an iron collar around each captive's neck. Chains clinking, the two prisoners were forced to kneel, and Gavin and one other assassin held cocked and loaded crossbows to the captives' backs, right over where their hearts would be. Gavin stood behind the prisoner on the right, the other assassin behind the prisoner on the left.

Mendenlau chuckled at the stricken looks on the faces of the two women below him. He gestured again.

"Let them see." He commanded. The prisoners' hoods were pulled off.

Myra and Nat gasped in grief and horror.

Dath went white, and his mouth opened and closed as if he gasped for air. His thoughts whirled. He should have expected this kind of treachery and malicious revenge from Mendenlau. He must be getting addled as he grew older, to not have seen this coming. Or his brain was fried from running this thrice-cursed war.

Whatever the reason for his mental blindness, it had cost him, and dearly. And now he was having to pay up in the blood of those dear to him.

The whole Gibethonian company went silent and pale from shock as the hoods were pulled off to reveal Kedemar and Haeil, the ex-assassin on the young lord’s right. Nat and Myra covered their mouths with their hands as they watched their loves about to be executed in front of their very eyes.

"No. No. No." Nat's tear-choked, muffled murmuring could be heard in the quiet air.

Mendenlau regarded them all, amused.

"Nothing to say, Dathran?" He purred. "No? Very well."

The Kathiran king turned to his prisoners. Kedemar tensed as he felt the sharp head of Gavin’s crossbow quarrel prick through his thin, ragged tunic.

"Any last words?" The Kathiran king asked.

Haeil spoke first, smiling sadly down at Myra. His voice rasped quietly in the still, cold air, but it still carried clearly to his love's ears.

"Myra, love of my life and light of my heart, forgive me that we didn't wed sooner. I'd ask you to marry me now, but I seem to be a bit indisposed at the moment. Just know that I die loving you."

Myra smiled through her tears, blowing Haeil a kiss.

"I won't mind if you ask me now." She replied. "I told you I'd wait for you. I'm still waiting, Haeil."

Tears trickled down the young ex-assassin's cheeks as he asked,

"Myra, will you marry me?"

Myra choked on a sob.

"Yes, my love. When and where?"

"Six months from now, in the mid-summer, on the seashore in Kenrath, by the giant oak outside of Dinfel Crag."

"I'll be there." Myra promised. Haeil gazed into her eyes, all his affection shining forth.

"I love you." He said softly.

Kedemar spoke next, gazing sorrowfully down at Nat as tears gathered in his eyes.

"Natalya," he said, "I'm so sorry I cannot be the man you need. I regret every day I did not tell you I loved you. I'm sorry I waited too long. You deserved to know before now. Please, heal from this. Don't mourn me. I'm not worthy of that. Find someone to love again and build a life with him. Just-- please forgive me. I love you, Nat."

At his words, Nat let out a heartbroken shriek. She darted forward toward Kedemar, but Dath and another man caught her fast and held her back. She collapsed in their arms, sobbing as they held her up.

"Please," She choked out, stretching a hand toward the Kathiran king and his captives.

"Very touching." Mendenlau chuckled. Then his expression turned dark and sadistically amused, even as all audible laughter fled. He ordered,

"Now execute them."

Kedemar held his breath as he felt the sharp head of the dart prick his skin high on the left side of his back. He settled his gaze on Natalya, determined that his last sight would be of the woman he loved.

"I love you." He whispered. And then Gavin's finger squeezed the trigger and the limbs of the crossbow made an ugly cracking sound as they snapped forward.