It was some time in the middle of the night. A short squall of rain had brushed past the trail, puddling over the graveled trail to soften it to a slick and sticky mud. The squadron's steps had long since fallen out of unison, and the torches they carried were whittled beyond providing enough warmth to dry the rainwater that had soaked into their armour. Corian had discovered yet another strange gift in death. The night was no longer cold, and the warmth of the torches slipped off of him, unable to settle in his body. Despite everyone's displeasure, the group still kept to their walk. Inprobus had demanded the trek continue until they reached Stonesong, and although Corian could sense the tense air from the tired soldiers, not a single one dared to make a sound of protest.

They had left the broken carriage at the bridge, and had dispersed whatever supplies and equipment that had been hitched to it between the squadron’s small handful of horses. Corian was no exception.

Instead of a necklace of rope, his bindings had been upgraded to a steel collar that Quibbis had happily referred to as ‘prisoner bling.’ Corian had put up a struggle that had cost the necromancer an arm and a lot of leaves, but relented when Rikki intervened with their bow.

He had been hitched to a mottled brown and white horse for the entire walk, and the animal needed constant soothing from a nearby soldier whenever it happened to turn and notice Corian. Suffice to say, an escape during the walk was not happening. His vision was limited by the scratchy sack over his head, and if he did run, he would have to try and drag an animal that wanted absolutely nothing to do with him along for the ride. Last Corian checked, he wasn’t as strong as a horse.

And so, with nothing else to do, Corian plotted. This was his first time seeing his father’s squadron in one spot. His father always travelled with a larger group, at least twice the size of a normal squadron. Corian had expected to count twelve soldiers, but only saw eleven, along with Rikki, and Quibbis.

Amongst the soldiers, four were of a particular interest to him. They had earned their place as squires, and aside from his father, they had exactly what he was looking for. Plated helmets and thick iron shields.

If he was going to escape, he needed something to protect his head. He could run past the arrows and try to dodge any large branches Rikki swung at him. Any grievous injuries would just heal eventually.

What he couldn’t do is keep running if a well placed arrow flicked off the lights in his brain. And Rikki had shown that they never missed.

The soldier closest to Corian let out a sharp grunting noise, stopping the horse in its tracks. Corian mindlessly followed the gesture, so engrossed in his thoughts he hadn’t realized the area had grown brighter.

He pulled his gaze from the gravel, noticing the two burning braziers that sat in front of a simple wooden gate. His father, still at the head of the group, approached the gate with Rikki at his side. Just to the right of the gate there was a smoother block of wood made from a lighter tree than the rest of the structure. Inprobus rapped his knuckles across it, the piece sliding out for an older fellow to peek through.

Inprobus showed him an emblem before he could start any preliminary questions, the man’s eyes widening as he soaked in the golden piece. If Corian had to guess, it was a heroguard emblem that was far from quiet about his father’s rank.

"Ra'zerun's light shine upon you, Archon. Do you carry injured or sick?"

"Blessed without." Inprobus replied curtly. “Just goods with special handling.”

The chunk of wood slid back in, and within a few minutes the lone villager was able to lift the thick log of wood blocking the door from the inside, and struggled to drag the gates open. He stood to the side as the procession of soldiers entered, his head bowed low enough for Corian to catch the torchlights glinting off his greasy hair.

Once everyone was well inside, he rushed back to the gate, struggling to lift the log back into place and seal the gate. The soldiers watched.

He managed to finish without assistance, sluggish but still hurrying back to Inprobus to keep his head low in a way that reminded Corian of Quibbis. It was shameless. Most would willingly wipe his father’s arse if it meant that they could say they had the favour of an Archon. Meanwhile, his father hadn’t even asked for the man’s name.

“We have cleared a space for your tents and equipment.” The man started, motioning to a flatter space nestled next to the walls. “We have our best lodging as well if you would like a roof, but the indoor bugs are quite prolific this season.”

Inprobus nodded, speaking everyone’s mind as mannerfully as possible. “It’s a clear night, we will enjoy it. Are the hounds and the squadron still here?”

The man nodded. “By your orders they remain,” he said, his voice growing hesitant. “I can wake them.”

“They can rest until sunrise. I need a cell, and a carriage.” Inprobus said, nudging his head towards Corian. “There is no need to wake anyone, I will have my men keep watch. Their shift will be eased by iron bars however.”

“Of course sir.” The man replied, his eyes darting to Corian with some hesitation and reminding him of what he must have looked like to the villager.

A man wearing a potato sack with the eyes poorly cut through, bound by an iron collar, and stained with an alarming amount of congealed blood. He looked absolutely feral, and had the sack not been covering his head, he may have looked even worse. Corian hadn’t chanced his reflection since his unholy resurrection.

From his grimy bangs that sometimes poked at his eyes, he knew his hair was still the same golden shade of his father’s, and the sharp bones in his cheeks and jaw still gave him a haunting similarity to the man. The sun had long since departed, and the sack served a new purpose. Parading your chained up offspring through a town was not the best look.

“This man slaughtered an entire village” Inprobus explained, his words driving a nail through Corian’s heart. “Set it ablaze afterwards and blamed a demon. He is murderous and a beast of unholy magics set for trial. ”

Corian tensed, squeezing at the iron chains wrapping his wrists to silently let out his fury. He had killed only two. It was disgusting, but something he had learned to move past. Something necessary to save the one he loved as quickly as possible. But with the village razed, and that infernal woman running rampant as the only remaining eyewitness, there was no one left to say otherwise. He had burned the village to the ground, it was fact now. Every soldier that had helped his father with the task would claim this. Rikki hadn’t the tongue to say otherwise, and Quibbis was… Quibbis.

The villager stared at Corian, his lips pricked with disgust. “I have a cell, and tools if you fancy it.”

Corian turned his attention from his father as he wandered off with the man, anxiously squeezing at his bindings as he looked around the village. The soldiers, without a command otherwise, headed for the clearing the man had pointed out, beyond exhausted from their extended journey. Corian watched the soldiers wander about the clearing, gaze fixed upon the four squires, hoping to figure out where one of them would pitch a tent.

If... No. Once he escaped, every second would count as he fled. He needed to dodge the arrows on his way to a squire, get a helmet, or a shield, and take the quickest route out of the town. The town was small enough to see most of it from where he stood. There wasn’t an armoury in sight. What little weapons Stonesong held belonged to the Heroguard, or were locked up in the town hall tighter than a chastity belt. It just wasn’t an option to get armour from elsewhere.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A horse would have been even better.

He eyed the mottled steed, the beast still paying him a fearful side eye every now and then. Corian frowned. But horses now hated him.

He squeezed at the chain again, mindlessly rolling it in his palms as he turned back to the soldiers.

“Come on.” He growled, frustrated at their indecisiveness as the soldiers meandered about, pointing at random patches of dirt and sometimes laying pegs.

And then he felt a tug on his neck. He cocked his head over his shoulder, eyeing Rikki in disappointment as they unclipped the chain from the horse and wrapped it around their wrist. Corian stared at them silently, and for a moment they turned their head in his general direction. It was impossible to truly tell if their eyes had landed on him, the shadow their mask cast only left black holes, but he could feel some weight from their attention.

Corian eyed Quibbis in the corner of his eye, his voice filling with a playful mock as he motioned to his subpar mask. "Wanna swap?"

Rikki pulled the chain tight, forcing Corian into a walk.

That was a no.

He matched Rikki’s pace, allowing the chain to slack. From the corner of his eye, Quibbis disappeared, his steps fading off as he went to join the soldiers in setting up tents.

Corian eyed his father far ahead, dipping his voice to a tone so quiet he hoped that Rikki could hear it over the crunch of their own steps.

"Do you remember when you told me what you wanted to be when you were older? You said you wanted to grow flowers."

Corian paused, Rikki neither slowing nor speeding up their pace.

“And I told you that was stupid, and it wasn't a real job?" His throat tightened as he said it, and he could feel the chain pull as Rikki’s squeezed it.

The conversation was so insignificant when it happened. He hadn’t realised the weight of what he had said until many years later. It was one of the last times Corian saw his sister for what she wanted to be, and he had shrugged it off as silly. Demeaned her, just like their father had. It had played so many times in his head.

"Well fuck having a job. They suck. And you don’t need one to do that.”

Rikki tugged the chain, forcing Corian to stumble forwards. But despite the gesture, their own steps had slowed, and he found himself walking beside them.

He eyed Rikki, “Well? Do you remember that?”

He looked for a sign. A subtle nod, a tapping finger, a shrug. But nothing came. Rikki’s walk was like a soldier’s, commanded, void of choice or a care for one of given the opportunity. There simply wasn’t anything there that the Psyche Ward had left.

But still, Corian tried. "The next time I try to escape, don't shoot at me, please. Run with me."

Rikki remained fixed ahead, the rest of their walk spent in silence until they rejoined Inprobus outside of a battered shack of a building. Corian’s nose curled as the man unlocked the door, the stench of urine and feces thickening the air to a point where he could feel it settle on his lungs. He let out an involuntary gag, his father even taking a chance to raise his sleeve to his nose.

“Small town. Decided the skathouse and the cells went well together.” The man said, horrifically unbothered as he waved the small group inside. They were lead down a tight stairwell, the scent alleviating a bit with the stone walls that barred the room from its next door neighbour. Still, there was an abundance of fat flies buzzing about the unwashed pales and hay that were left discarded in each cell. Quantity over comfort had given enough space for three tight jail cells, all empty to at least give Corian some privacy.

Inprobus saved every second he could getting Corian locked up, and within minutes he was presented with his watcher.

Quibbis. It was no surprise to Corian at this point. Quibbis had likely volunteered for the task well before the ask was even made. As a small blessing, he wasn’t strict about Corian pulling the sack off his head, and had even found a rickety broom somewhere to sweep the dirt out of Corian’s cell.

Once all was in order, he found a small table to sit at, perched on the chair like a bird as he used a small stub of a candle to give the basement room some lighting. For the first few minutes, he worked away at making the new stitches on his arm cleaner, and then, inevitably turned to conversation.

“So nice to have a roof, yes, so so so nice. The indoor bugs don’t bite leaves and skin." Qubbis said, his body shuddering. "But the outdoor ones, they like to crawl inside, and they are so itchy.”

Corian tuned him out, leaning back on the cold stone making up one wall of his cell, and bouncing his eyes along the old metal bars. He sighed when he didn’t see a broken one, turning his attention to Quibbis as the necromancer tried to cut off a thread with his dull teeth. "If you're stuffed with leaves how do you die?"

"I have a weakness for being blown away," he snickered, lightly blowing and earning an eye roll. He wound up his remaining thread, carefully packing it away in his pocket. "I'm stuffed with dead stuff, so I don't think I can die. It does not work."

Quibbis smiled back at Corian’s frown, resting his cheek on his hand with a playful lilt.

"That makes us perfect for each other."

"Stay the hell away from me, Skathead," Corian growled.

"I have read some very lovely books." Quibbis snickered, laughing giddily through Corian's disbelieving stare. "Fighting is the first sign of true love!"

"If you touch me, I'll rip your other arm off." Corian glanced at Quibbis to make sure the necromancer was listening, his nose scrunching at the smile he still wore. "Maybe I'll take a leg too."

"Gosh, you just know the perfect things to say."

"You know, I wonder if you're fire proof," Corian said blandly, keeping his gaze on the ceiling while he rubbed the chains in his hands. "I wouldn't mind tying you to a post with Inprobus and lighting the two of you up."

"Such burning desires!"

Corian bit his tongue, his eye involuntarily twitching as he turned away to ignore Quibbis before the necromancer unleashed another violating pun on him. He wound his fingers around the chains on his wrists, allowing his thoughts to flow and distract him from the smell, the uncomfortably tight cell, and the world around him in general.

He thought about the wagon he had travelled in, the sensation pulling him back to his first carriage ride, sitting in his mother's lap as they rode shotgun to the driver, singing rhymes and trying to cast harmless spells. His father was in the back, teaching Rikka how to mend and clean armour with a spotty rag.

It was definitely before his initiation at Ra'zerun's temple.

Before his father's coddling pride had melted to disgusted hostility, and his thirteenth birthday, still barren of any magical abilities was rewarded with a dusty servant's closet and a hay bed.

And the public execution of his lying mother.

Corian cracked his eyes open, he didn't want to remember that night. The last thing she had given him and Rikka was a gentle smile, warm despite her tired grey eyes. But that was not the last thing he had seen. He had hidden in the stables with Rikki - there had been no time to find a better place of refuge, so he kept his sibling's head low and covered with hay. An old knot in the wall had allowed him to peek through to what they had escaped. They dragged his mother by her arms, up to a stage where a crowd gathered and cheered. Corian had thought the bucket they emptied over her head was water at first, but the fire they lit at her feet leapt across her body far too quick. It was a few short minutes, but it felt like hours as he covered Rikki's ears to block the sounds.

Years had stilled his sorrow to anger. She deserved it. She knew her fate, and still she tried to change it. She stayed with him, and because of that, Corian and Rikki stayed too.

Corian gritted his teeth, rolling the chain between his fingers and pinching it. He felt the chain in his hands bend. It was so subtle he would have simply continued with his nervous habit, but the metal he had pressed with his thumb felt soft, and dragged his attention to his hands. The part he had pressed had indeed bent inwards on itself, locking that part of the chain into an awkward fold.

He eyed the rest of the chain that he had been toying with, noticing the subtle deformities that had warped but not broken the bindings. He did not know a material that should have acted in such a way, but the strength it would take to bend iron with the flex of a hand was something Corian did not possess.

When he was alive at least.

It seemed that the strength it had taken to tear the wagon apart with his bare hands was something that had stayed with him outside of his feral blackout. There was even a chance it was something he held the moment Quibbis' spell had worked. He shifted around to settle the chains into his lap and away from Quibbis' view, slowly working at fixing the damage he had done. No one could know until the moment was right.

A bemused hum came from his right as Quibbis stared at him. "You look like you're thinking of something deep. I thought your brain was only capable of the shallows! What a revolutionary advancement!"

Corian smiled at the jab, earning some confusion from the necromancer. "I'll prove you wrong."

Quibbis purred in amusement. "About what?"

"You can die, just like my father can."