Chapter two

Kingsman

Williams pushed through the Castle doors holding his arm as it bled from an arrow injury, “I can't believe that little bitch shot me,” He said, ripping the arrow out of his arm and wrapping it in a bandage, the arrow clattered to the ground as he tossed it to the side. The three soldiers, one carrying Felix, stopped behind him. The other two soldiers held a rope that pulled four other Draftees like dogs on a chain, they winced as blood spewed on them from the arrow.

The castle was well-lit with torches and candles placed strategically for perfect lighting. The entrance brought you into a huge room with two staircases that followed circular walls to a second floor. Between the stairs were huge, worn oak doors that led to the processing chambers.

“You dare bleed in my citadel?” An ominous voice came from the top of the stairs where King Calvin stood. Williams, the soldiers, and the draftees all bowed their heads. “Ease yourselves,” He said, and the men stood, silence looming over them. The cobblestone stairs had a red carpet that ran the length of the stairs that the King walked on in his descent, which he took slowly so as not to trip on the fluffy regalia that drug behind him. Williams dared not to speak without permission. “There are less here than that I have called for,” There was a clunking noise, resonating from the heavy rings on the king's fingers as he counted the men tied to the rope. “Only half stand before me.”

“My king please,” the leading peasant speaks raising his tied wrist. He was dirty and bruised on the eye; his clothes were torn from what looked like a scuffle. “What’s the meaning be-”

“SILENCE,” Williams held cold steel to the man's throat. “Keep your mouth shut in the presence of the king.” Williams was snarling. He wanted to slash the man's throat for the disrespect displayed by a filthy peasant. “Your smell disgusts me.” He spat on the man’s bare foot, the man winced in response. He feared the blade on his throat and Williams wanted to use that fear, he pulled his sword away from the man's neck and watched as he took a deep breath of foolish relief. Williams thrust the blade towards the man who yelled and flinched backward, he tripped over nothing causing the line of four to fall to their asses. Williams laughed as he sheathed his sword; to his surprise, the king was already standing behind him.

“That is no way to treat a guest.” King Calvin says before Felix begins choking, isolated in a part of the room they have forgotten about. Calvin sped over annalizing the dying man, “You brought half the men I requested, one almost dead. You kill more kingsmen than you bring worthy enough for that title.” Calvin placed a hand on Felix's chest; the ring on his middle finger began glowing a bright red. Felix's chest boils like water over fire with smoke rising from his body. Screams fill the castle with no room for an echoing response and soon even the blood seemed to have disappeared. Felix lay there covered in sweat. The red stone that glowed bright red moments before cracked and then slowly turned to dust.

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Calvin placed two fingers on his forehead and Felix opened his eyes wide with veins brightened. Williams was terrified of his king's power, especially this one. The eyes slowly grew foggy and void of color. They both got to their feet, and Felixe’s eyes were glossed over like polished stone frozen in place.

“My king, if I may?”

“You may.”

“They fought back, all of them. Your spells aren't working anymore.” Williams shuddered in fear as he spoke. Would the king consider this disheartening and murder him on the spot, or would he listen to reason?

“I am aware, I am also aware of a solution.” The King spoke calmly, monotone in a way you could never find true feelings. He moved in front of Felix who stood unblinking, staring ahead at nothing, and placed his hand in front of his face. “Bury yourself in suppression and see the vision in which I give,” He whispered and Felix stayed, seemingly staring at nothing. The king pulled a small black rock from his regalia, it had strange cracks that burned a purplish color. “You will drop this into the well at night, past curfew when the guards stroll. You will do this once every full moon and they will see the draft as an honor, they will begin to see the vision I have cultivated.”

“My king please, I have family to tend to.” The king took a deep breath and strolled over to the leading prisoner who spoke. His footsteps were fast-paced and uneven; Williams thought he might have tripped at one point.

“Do I seem to care?” The king was angry, “You think you are free, what gave you that foolish impression? Surely it wasn't being tied like a prisoner.” The king was sarcastic while he spoke until his face turned grim. “No, no you will all be farmed.” He turned around and the others whimpered in a panic, they were all too afraid to speak. They didn't know what “farmed” meant, nor did anyone else outside the castle. The king followed the red carpet back up the stairs, “You know what to do, Williams.” then he was out of sight. Williams turned to Felix who already grabbed the gear all kingsmen wore. They wore thick steel helmets to hide their faces; it would be a mess if families found loved ones in this state.

“Take them to the processing Chambers,” he spoke and Felix nodded, obeying his word without question or direction, despite never being in the castle. That spell that Williams feared the most; the one that altered your mind to believe whatever the caster envisioned, truly a terrifying and rare ability to possess. It gave knowledge yet took so much, losing one's individuality was a gruesome thought.