Venator

  Lorin was in the back and stood with the guard in front of him. While they waited, the guard watched the children in the room play with more than a keen interest.

  The large door opened every few minutes and the next in line would be called in and escorted by another guard. The herald would ask for the person’s reason to appeal to the Baron and lead them in to see him. More than once as they waited, one of the wealthier-looking people lounging in a chair got up and walked to the front of the line. They would hand over a pouch with a jingle of coins to the first in line, then take the now vacated spot. Whoever was given the coin would walk back down to rejoin the line at the bottom. They made good money for standing around in a warm dry building.

  Lorin was surprisingly calm through the whole ordeal, even despite the crawling feeling he got from his guard. He had been thinking of this day for the past few months, and now that he was standing closer than ever before, his mind just wandered aimlessly. It was nice.

  While waiting, Lorin overheard some conversations of those in the room. Most of the people were meeting with Varron for issues that hadn’t yet been resolved from before the Baron’s death. Loans, pending laws, and promised projects were some of the topics the wealthy-looking people announced to the herald. Apparently, it was some sort of reputation-boost to let everyone know how important your request was. The more common folk spoke normally or whispered to the herald, and he treated them just the same as the others. Lorin did overhear that the rickety old woman half-carried by the young man was a seamstress there to discuss her progress on the bride’s dress. Varron apparently had been so busy dealing with his new position that the wedding had been postponed for quite a while.

  In time, he was the next person to enter the hall. His heart didn't beat faster. Instead, it felt as if each beat would bounce through his chest. His time came, and he entered the great hall for his second time.

  The ceiling stretched high above him with banners hanging down from the rafters. Lorin hadn't seen them before, but even if he had they would've meant nothing. During his study he had seen the emblems of the other cities and could now recognize each one prominently displayed on the banners. He was pleased to see the things he read about in real life.

  His chains tugged forward, which snapped him out of thought. Why was he so distracted? He followed in step and looked over the guard's shoulder to see Varron and Sofia. They sat side by side on a matching set of luxurious wood and fur thrones. The thrones were different and had a more aesthetic and comfortable design compared to the previous skull-infested throne. Varron sat forward on his chair, looking concerned and distant; he paid next to no attention as the two walked past the large banquet table in the center of the room. His bride to be, however, watched Lorin from the moment he took his first step in the hall. Her elegant dress flowed over her and the chair to the floor. He noticed her golden hair was styled to cover half her face. Behind the wavy locks, a pearlescent eye-patch peeked through with her head's movement. She looked like a Queen, and the whole time her good eye seemed to be a dot of fire trying to melt through him. It was off-putting, and Lorin could feel the stare.

  "M'lord," the guard said, pulling Lorin to a large velvet pillow set out before the couple. "I present you, humbly, Lorin Rhodes. He has served his sentence, and as per your order he is here before you for a final judgment." The guard then forced Lorin to kneel.

  "I remember, thank you," Varron said as his distant stare was interrupted and he turned his full attention on Lorin. "Lorin, last time we spoke… well, if my memory serves, I spoke, and you stared. Yes, exactly like that, I'm glad you remember as well."

  Lorin wanted to scream. Hearing Varron speak brought back memories and anger. But he remained silent, his face growing red and veins on his neck and forehead pressing out against his skin.

  "I read through the notes I had, and they said you were brought in for cursing and defiling my name. Calling me a murderer." Varron stood now and began to walk at a relaxed pace between Lorin and the thrones. "Yet when brought before me, you seemed dumb. The guardsmen who escorted you before me confirmed you did speak, just not before me." He stopped and looked to Lorin, his eyes scanning for something, compassion masking the monster behind those eyes.

  Lorin felt impressed. He wanted to ask in that moment how Varron could perfect that look of sincere compassion, as it was so genuine anyone could be fooled by it. But he didn't ask that; instead, he said, "Your guard did not lie, nor did he treat me gently, but in front of you he was honest."

  "I’m glad to hear you speak," Varron said, a wide, genuine smile crossing his face. "Though I am sorry to hear about the mistreatment, but criminals and guards don't have the greatest of relationships. Your time imprisoned seems to have been well spent—you look better then when I last saw you. I'm glad, truly. Please, I would like to hear your side of the story." Varron crouched down to eye level with Lorin, and they both looked at each other.

  "Where would you like me to begin?" Lorin said.

  "Don't forget your courtesies," the guard said, giving the back of Lorin's head a smack. His ears rang for a bit, and he could feel blood rushing and throbbing where he’d been hit.

  "That was not called for," Varron said, and stepped up to the guard, who shrunk and huddled into himself. Varron grabbed the chains that the guard had in his hands. He let some of the length hang past his grip, and like a short whip snapped the loose end of chain atop the helm of the guard. He had held back and didn't hit as hard as he could have. If he had hit the guard’s skin it wouldn’t have even bruised. The steel bucket around the guard’s head must've echoed, however, because the guard cried out in pain and backed away like a spanked toddler.

  "I'm sorry, M'lord," the guard said, holding his head in both hands.

  "Grab a seat from the table and let Lorin sit. Then bring some wine. I'm thirsty and I'm sure he must be as well," Varron said. He turned back to the thrones. Sofia remained seated, watching the scene before her. "If you like you may join us."

  She smiled and shook her head no. Her glare at Lorin had disappeared when Varron turned to face her, but Lorin didn't look to see if it reappeared when Varron's back was turned. Varron signaled for Lorin to sit on the chair the guard pulled out. Absolutely every scenario that had played through in Lorin's mind didn't come close to how this interaction had been so far. Lorin stood and sat in the offered chair.

  "Remove his binds. I can't imagine drinking with heavy manacles dragging the cup down," Varron said. The guard paused a moment, then did as he was asked.

  Lorin was getting an opportunity—Varron was almost gift-wrapped for him. Unless… Lorin scanned the room again while rubbing his now-freed wrists. He had seen them, but hadn't yet counted the guards in the room. It was an error that Ashmere had warned him time and again not to commit. He was to be wary of what was around himself, an advantage or disadvantage not seen was deadly. Fourteen guards filled the room, including the one Varron had hit. Varron knew he was safe. Lorin could finish the job, but not the way he wanted to.

  "Thank you for the kindness," Lorin said. His words were calm and confident; in his mind, though, it felt like sewage pouring past his lips.

  "I was told guests should be treated kindly. As I see it, so far you haven't been convicted of crimes," Varron said.

  "A year in a cell is a form of hospitality I haven't heard of before." The cups were placed before them along with a carafe filled to the brim with a sweet-smelling wine. Lorin grabbed his cup and checked for poison drops or something similar at the bottom. It was empty. Varron grabbed his own cup and the carafe, then filled his cup. Nothing felt right to Lorin.

  "Better that than a rash decision. Just tell me when to stop pouring," Varron said, taking Lorin's cup in hand. "If I had sentenced you for the crime for which you were brought before me, we wouldn't be able to talk now, and I couldn't be sure the execution was just. Quite thirsty, I see." Varron set the mostly empty wine container aside, then took a large drink from his cup. "Please tell me abo
ut this misunderstanding that cost a year of your life."

  Lorin was thirsty, and wine had a nice appeal at the moment—he took a sip and enjoyed it. If anything, it did help his dry throat.

  "I was brought before you on charges of slandering your name. I could repeat what I said, but I feel that would be redundant and incriminating," Lorin said. He had learned what those bigger, intelligent-sounding words meant in his study, which made him feel like he had an edge. But all the same, he still felt a quiver in his gut every time he spoke, since he wasn't completely sure which one meant which.

  "True," Varron said, nodding his head and leaning back into the chair. "But if one were to be arrested for saying something awful about another man, what would he have said?"

  "One would have a head filled mostly of air to say the late-Baron's son is a murdering rapist, with so little honor or worth that the bubbles made from a drunk man's piss would hold more respect than he," Lorin said, seeming to relax and enjoy the wine.

  "Empty headed, I agree," Varron said, laughing. "Bravado, or stupidity."

  Lorin cocked his head to the side, waiting for an explanation.

  "Which do feel you possess? My guess is bravado, since a stupid man wouldn't search for the guards around him. It was quite obvious—you even counted by moving your lips."

  Lorin's heart fell, and his breath caught in his throat.

  "A stupid man can't count, or wouldn’t even know to. Last year you looked rabid and it was easy to see you wanted to kill me. However, it would be unwise to assume I am a fool because I am sharing a drink with you. A fool wouldn’t have guards in plain view as well as hidden," Varron said then pointed to the near empty pitcher of wine and whistled. His pursed lips hadn't finished the tune before shattered pottery and wine splashed across the table. A bolt’s tail feathers vibrated from its sudden stop in the table where the pitcher had been.

  "It's a shame to spill wine and mark my table, but I feel the point has been made," Varron said, standing up and taking a few leisurely steps toward his throne. "You were brought here because you claimed in public that I am a monster, a murderer of your family in front of you after defiling them. I don't understand where that thought came into your mind, as I am not the man you think I am. Some research into you and your claims was done, at my behest. Your homestead is abandoned, and four graves mark the family you claim to have had. But your grave is also there. So I don't understand how you could be buried with your family, yet also be enjoying some of my wine."

  "I made my own grave," Lorin said, his heart still sunken, but his words calm. "My family and I died that day."

  Varron remained silent a long while, examining Lorin. "You are troubled," Varron said. "I am not sure where the idea came that I committed the crime you say, but I am sorry for your losses. Please understand I did not kill your family or scar your body." His words were genuine and carried a sympathetic touch. "You are driven, it's clear by the life you still show after a year of prison."

  Lorin stood and set his cup on the table. The guard behind him clasped his shoulder, but Varron signaled him away. The burning hate in Lorin was softened by the real compassion he could see in Varron. He walked up until he stood nose to nose with Varron. Nothing felt right. Now was not the time.

  "Your pain is great," Varron said once they were close enough to feel each other's breath. "I do not want you to suffer more than you are. There is a place in the north which has a good reputation for helping those who are troubled by life. I will send you there and pay for your treatment."

  Lorin was in reach of the man. In his mind, he could see Varron's face going red as he strangled the life from him. He was right there, so why not? Something felt wrong.

  "Lead him back to his cell," Varron said over Lorin's shoulder to the guard. "See that he has new clothes and a decent meal. Please, Lorin, go in peace."

  The guard did not touch Lorin—Varron motioned for him not to—but the guard stood by, waiting for Lorin to finish his measuring of Varron.

  "Why would you try and help me?"

  "You look to need some help that is within my power. What type of man would I be if I didn't use it?"

  Lorin felt his face grow warm, "What about Ashmere?"

  Varron's face scrunched in question.

  "The other prisoner that was with me, why is she still imprisoned?"

  Varron's expression dropped and he looked over to the guard behind Lorin, "Is this true?"

  "Yes, M'lord, she has been in there with this man for the whole year."

  "Gods forgive me, set her free!" Varron said, panic clear on his face. "Go, ask Sofia to point out clothes she will not mind parting with and bring them to her—she is one of the Venators. Hurry and make sure she is well taken care of. Now!"

  The guard saluted and rushed off to Sofia, who Lorin noticed was white as a ghost. Her hands were trembling. When the guard approached, there was a whispered back-and-forth between them ending with her wringing her hands in worry and the guard signaling for more to join him and exit the room.

  "I did not know she was still there," Varron said, taking another drink of wine. "My father vowed to me she would only be held a week. Did you talk with her much?"

  Lorin nodded.

  Excitement flashed in Varron's eyes. "What did she say? Were there stories of her hunts?"

  "She was more curious about my story," Lorin said, choosing deliberate words. "What did you call her, a Venator?"

  Varron's face dropped a bit. "Oh, I thought you might have known. She is a part of a respected organization. My father did not know about them either, and like so many other people who opposed him he tried to execute her. I begged with him not to, as Venators are extremely dangerous to cross, and he listened to reason enough not to kill her. But I thought she had been freed immediately after."

  "Why not free me as well?" Lorin said.

  "You deserve some help. If I freed you then you would be left on your own with nothing. It will only take a day or two to arrange travel. Once you get the help you need you are free to do what you wish. Until then, please try to understand I did not nor am I trying to hurt you," Varron said, then smiled.

  It took a lot of willpower not to act rashly, but that nugget of unease gave him enough strength to turn his back to Varron. Only just. He began to walk to the doors of the great hall, the guard at his side. Before walking too far, however, Lorin turned and said, "Nock, Theodore, and Karine. You know those names?" He didn't mean it to sound like a question, but something really made him believe there was a chance Varron didn't know.

  "I have heard those names before," Varron said. "They are criminals wanted here and in the other cities, a dangerous group to be sure. Were they a part of your family's deaths?"

  Lorin snorted and turned around to continue on his way out. Varron would live for today. Lorin needed a stronger plan and more preparation than just a few arrowheads hidden up his sleeve.

  A new guard grabbed him under the arm and led him to one of the doors along the wall of the great hall. Inside the room, a well-dressed servant had an assortment of decent-looking clothing for Lorin to try. After getting dressed, he was brought to the kitchen, where, at a table set up for servants, he ate a few chicken scraps with stale bread and washed it down with a crisp ale. It wasn't filling or tasty, but it was much more than he’d had over the year. The unease in his stomach hadn't let up, but the little food in his belly did relax him. Then a bell tolled.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  It had been a long time since that bell had echoed through those walls, though its sound was unmistakable. An execution had taken place. After the Baron's death the lottery had been stopped, and the bell hadn’t been rung since.

  Lorin felt his arms and back muscles tense as he stood and pushed into his guard blocking the door. "Move," Lorin said. "I need to get back to my cell. Take me if you have to, but hurry up."

  The guard looked amused and moved at a relaxed pace to let Lorin out into the hall. That wasn't quick enough, thoug
h, so Lorin planted a heel between and behind the guard's legs. With a pull of his foot and a push on the guard's shoulder, Lorin toppled the guard and got past him. In his sprint back to the cell, Lorin knocked over three other people and dented the plaster of some walls. The wail of the large door deafened one ear of Lorin's as he slammed it open and ran in.

  "Ash?" Lorin said, out of breath and panicked. No response came, and instead Lorin saw her cell door open, the cot broken, and her bucket splashed everywhere. Blood, teeth, and hair littered the ground of her cell, but she was nowhere to be found. Lorin turned back to try and flee, but the guards were close behind him and swarmed the door.

  "Where is she!" was all Lorin could say before he was swarmed by the four men. Lorin was exhausted from the day, sleepy from the meal, and distraught at what he’d just discovered. He did not win the fight.

  When he awoke, the cell was dark and his face felt hot and raw. He was seated in the middle of his cell, his hands and feet chained to a tether attached to the hook in the ceiling. There was enough slack for him to walk around to the corners of the cell, but not much further. Across from him the cell still lay empty and bloody. Ashmere was missing, but a new guest was in with Lorin. Between the cells sat a guard on a wooden stool, scratching himself and watching Lorin.

  "Where's Ashmere?" Lorin asked, though it hurt to talk.

  "Shut it." The guard threw at pebble at him.

  "Where is she?"

  "Who?"

  "Ashmere, the woman who was in that cell."

  "Ppffh! She's dead, mate. Her head fell off her body. By now the death doctor's probably feeling her up and deciding whether to burn or bury her when he’s done." The guard laughed and threw another pebble. "Now shut it before I have to come in there and put you back to sleep."

  Lorin sat back. No, he fell back on the floor. The room spun and he felt nauseous.

  She can't be dead. This was just an escape. It must be part of her plan. She can't be dead.