Orion pushed Durran forward. The tribal moved with the push, turning and sitting on a chair ahead of him. The chair tipped to one side from the force, but Durran put his foot down and got his balance quickly. The prince stepped around Durran as he sat there, catching his breath.
Durran stayed quiet as Orion walked around him, turning his head to ensure the prince was always in his sight, even if only just. There was one thing that life had taught him—you could always say more later, but words spoken can’t be taken back. He stayed quiet, waiting, despite the fact his insides were turning with nervousness. The image of Drezki’s skull being crushed played in his head again and again, and he found himself watching Orion’s hands.
Orion had taken Durran into one of the deepest parts of the abandoned keep. Here, much of the walls had collapsed entirely, but overgrowing plants gave the illusion that they were still inside. He could hear dripping water somewhere, but beyond that, there was only his own breath and Orion’s steady pacing. Some water had flooded the place, causing the occasional splash as the prince’s feet fell.
Time passed like this for what seemed like an eternity. Orion simply walked around Durran time and time again, gray eyes staring down at him coldly. Durran thought nearly half an hour had passed, but he still stuck to his plan of saying nothing.
The prince knelt down before Durran, placing his face so close he could feel his breath. It startled him, and Durran reeled back his head.
“Did you kill my brother?” Orion asked simply, voice a low whisper.
Durran tried to speak, but his voice failed him. After swallowing, he said, “No.”
Orion moved his hand forward slowly and wrapped it around Durran’s neck. His fingers were uncomfortably long. “I can feel your blood flow. Every beat of your heart. It will tell me if you lie. I’ll ask again: did you kill my brother?”
“No,” repeated Durran, neck tight in apprehension.
“Did you have anything to do with my brother’s death?” Orion pressed, fingers steady as steel.
“No,” Durran said again. He swallowed, Adam’s apple pushing against Orion’s hand unpleasantly.
Orion stared straight at Durran’s eyes, and both held their gaze unflinchingly. The prince’s stare seemed to be piercing into his soul. Orion’s fingers straightened, releasing Durran from their grip.
“I couldn’t actually tell anything from that,” Orion confessed in a dire whisper.
Durran blinked in a mixture of confusion and shock.
Orion put his hand on his knee and remained kneeling in front of Durran. “Are you truly a faithful of Vasquer?”
Durran hesitated only a beat before answering, “Yes,” with a slow, steady nod.
The prince’s jaw clenched. “Were you always?”
“No,” Durran answered quickly.
Orion stood, staring down at him. “Why did you abandon your old faith?”
Durran stared up at the prince, blinking as he considered his answer carefully. “…because of Argrave,” he said, hoping to use that man as his saving grace.
Durran was hanging on by a thread, it felt like. Argrave had told him of some of the gods of Vasquer in case he had to interact with Orion, but the information didn’t stick well. He knew little of the Vasquer faith, any of its gods, or its religious practices. He barely knew his own people’s gods. All he knew was that Fellhorn trampled upon his people, and the gods were not his friend. All he could hope was that Argrave’s name might keep this man’s wrath away from him.
“What did Argrave say to you?” Orion grasped Durran’s chin, angling it upwards.
Durran took more time to think, then answered in staccato speech on account of his held chin, “Not what he said. What he did.”
Orion pulled Durran forward, and the tribal strained, standing up off the chair. “What did he do?” Orion insisted.
Durran put his hands on Orion’s wrist and managed to loosen his chin enough to speak normally. “He killed a herald for the strongest god in the Burnt Desert. Fellhorn, the god of rain and floods. An ancient god. And more than that, he saved my life.”
The prince released Durran, and he collapsed back onto the chair ungracefully.
“Who did he kill?” Orion questioned.
“Quarrus, the Lord of Silver,” Durran said honestly. “He also got others to kill yet more. The Lords of Copper and Gold both died by him, even if indirectly.”
“Yet why did you abandon your faith?” Orion knelt once again.
“Because I lost faith,” Durran said quickly.
“If it is lost already, you cannot be a true faithful now,” Orion growled.
“Argrave brought it back.” Durran leaned back. The words came easily, unlike the other lies about his faith. But then, Durran thought it might not be a lie after all. The man had defended him so readily against Orion, even saying he was like family. He had faith Argrave didn’t want him dead, at the very least.
Orion stared down Durran. “How? What did he say? What did he do?”
“Too many things,” Durran shook his head.
The prince kept his stare steady for another uncomfortably long while. Then, he sat down, uncaring of the slightly flooded floor beneath him.
“Tell me,” Orion commanded.
#####
Durran did not return that day.
Argrave’s shame at being incapable of stopping Orion from doing whatever he pleased clung to him like a disease. Though the prince had said some time ago he envied Argrave’s ability to persuade people, the reality remained that this weapon had failed him entirely. Durran was taken elsewhere because of something that Argrave had wanted him to do, and he could do nothing to stop that matter.
Worry made him nauseous. Though he floundered about for a time after, searching for solutions that did not exist, only one thing eventually offered him any comfort—studying the B-rank spell [Bloodfeud Bow]. The past few days’ eagerness to breach the barrier to a higher rank of magic morphed into an obsession, fueled by his feelings of humiliation, self-loathing, and powerlessness.
Argrave sat just outside Orion’s keep, the spellbook in his lap as he studied the matrix it conjured. Though Galamon and Anneliese both attempted to pull him from the task to seek rest, he stubbornly refused to listen. After a time, even Anneliese gave up the idea of persuading him, and merely stood guard as Argrave studied. The day passed, and then the night, but he refused to move.
The Waxknights and the refugees seemed to interpret it as a protest, or a proclamation of innocence. Argrave didn’t care what they thought of it.
The morning came and continued on into the noon. As Argrave mired himself in angry thoughts of all kind, Galamon standing a fair distance off to the side, someone emerged from the keep. When he saw golden tattoos, his head swam with haze. His tired eyes could barely stay focused, but he recognized the man.
In one motion, he cast aside the book and ran towards him. His eyes checked many spots, searching for injury.
“Durran, you… what the hell did that guy… I mean, what…?”
Durran held both of his hands out. “Do not put a damn hand on me. If some giant moron with big hands touches me once more, I’m going to lose my mind.”
Argrave frowned, perplexed.
#####
“He’s insane. Something… something that makes humans human is just missing with that guy,” Durran pointed back towards the keep. “Good gods. All night we talked. All night I kept thinking about Drezki’s skull getting crushed.”
“What did he ask about, then?” Argrave pressed.
“Your travels, mainly,” Durran pointed towards Argrave.
“My travels?” Argrave repeated, perplexed. His gaze went to Galamon, then Anneliese. “He might talk to you, next, then. Corroborate the story.”
Galamon crossed his arms, nodding. He seemed ready.
“He has insisted I come to him daily for lesson on the Vasquer pantheon,” Durran crouched down by the mud. “What did I do to deserve this?”
Argrave looked down at Durran, feeling great sympathy for the man. Then, his reason resurfaced.
He stepped over the crouching Durran. “Did you have anything to do with Magnus’ death?”
Durran looked up at him. “Do you think I have soup for brains? I hope you’re saying that because you’re tired, otherwise I’m going to bash my head against a rock until I pass to this promised land Orion speaks of.”
“So, no,” Argrave concluded.
“Of course I had nothing to do with it,” Durran stood. “If I’d known things would end like this, I would never have agreed to this stupid request, finding out Magnus’ stupid motivations.”
Argrave put his hand on his hip. “You offered to do this, as I recall.”
“Choke on your tongue,” he threw his hands up in frustration and stepped away, shaking his head rapidly.
Argrave watched Durran’s back as he paced about, kicking stray leaves and stones in frustration. He looked to Anneliese. He felt the urge to hold her, like she was a feather that could be blown away by any stray wind. This event served as a reminder that he was still fallible, and he needed to learn it well.
“Durran received the harsh treatment—not me,” she reminded him.
Argrave sighed, nodding. He was not content inside, though.
Never again, that thought ran through Argrave’s head again and again, like some mantra vested in him. Never again. You must have the power to say ‘no.’ If Durran died because of me… Galamon… or Anneliese? I don’t think I could go on.
Argrave had been repaying the debt to Erlebnis diligently, and he suspected he’ll have fully repaid the debt in two more days. Still, even if he had that power back then, he would have been powerless before Orion.
Things ended without incident… this time. Orion returned Durran without harming him. But Argrave had another goal, now. He had to make sure something like that could never happen again. He’d been too lax—too content. He had gained much, and that had led him to rest on his laurels. He had to ensure that nothing could take from him.
Argrave’s gaze refocused, his tired golden eyes lit with a veritable flame as steady as a pilot light. He looked at Durran who still fumed and questioned, “What did you learn from Magnus?”
“What does it matter now? He’s dead.” Durran turned his head back.
“Durran,” Argrave said patiently.
Durran turned around. “I found out that nearly everyone should be glad he’s dead. I found out a bunch of knowledge about your family. I found out some very uncomfortable things, like which mushrooms in this swampland make you hallucinate. Beyond that?” Durran threw his hands up once more. “Nothing. Not a peep of your Gerechtigkeit. What am I, a mind reader? How am I supposed to find that out?”
Argrave said nothing, thinking of the implications. Too much was amiss here, and much of it felt like active sabotage. The fact stood, though, that there was nothing Argrave could do presently to weed out the truth.
With his mind settled, Argrave nodded. “Alright. I don’t know what this means for the expedition, and I suppose all we can do is wait. Ideally, things will proceed as planned. With Orion… I don’t know if that will happen.” Argrave shook his head. “I’ll try to press him into hurrying this along. If word of this reaches Induen, he might come out here. For now, we should stay near Silvic, ensure that Orion—”
Argrave trailed off as he spotted a flash of gold outside their ward. One of the Waxknights roamed about the camp, clanging a ladle against a pot and shouting. It was muffled from beyond the ward, and Argrave dispelled it at once.
“Gather in the square! Gather in the square! Our Holiness, Prince Orion, wishes to speak! Gather in the square!” the man shouted again and again.
A wave of nervousness passed through Argrave—it seemed that Orion had come to a conclusion. Considering they had not been seized, that spoke well of his half-brother’s decision. Argrave gave a gesture and led the four of them towards the square before Orion’s keep.
A great gathering of people already waited. They could not exactly blend in with the crowd—when people noticed them, they moved away. It was a great irony that the diseased shied away from touching them, but Argrave was not complaining.
Soon enough, Orion emerged from the keep. He stepped to the head of the crowd, though the cheers that met him were not as unanimous as they always were, like some heavy anticipation had set over the crowd.
Orion’s gaze wandered the crowd, and soon enough, all grew silent. His gray-eyed gaze lingered on Argrave for half a second, then jumped away.
Prince Orion stepped back and shouted, “People! Yesterday, my brother, born of the same father, born of the same mother, was found murdered!” he declared.
Silence met his words.
Orion held his fist to his mouth, and he appeared to be holding back tears. Then, his grandiosity returned as he moved around, shouting, “There are some who have come to this camp recently, that many believe may have had a hand in this.”
Again, Orion’s gaze stopped on Argrave for a passing moment.
“But… I listened to them. I listened to those who were accused. I listened to the gods, communing with them all through the night…” Orion bit his knuckle, falling silent. Then, he said quietly, “The gods told me to ask who benefitted from this. And what I came to…”
Orion stared at Argrave directly, this time. “Our enemies sought to sow disunity. They sought to throw us into disorder, to cast our unbreakable will against the earth that it might shatter! Indeed, I say it plainly: our enemies are behind my brother’s murder! They fear the wrath my brother and I bring upon them!”
The crowd came alive for the first time, some cheering.
“I will not allow the grasping tendrils of the enemy worm itself into our burgeoning crusade. The sum of their efforts will be delaying our righteous wrath by a mere day.” Orion held his hands up and decreed, “Tomorrow, my brother and I will lead a force into the depths of the wetlands. We will strike down the enemy, and all of you will be freed of the great malevolence which wracks your bodies even now!”
As though given permission to cheer, the crowd frenzied. Orion stared up at the sky.
When the prince spoke again, his voice seemed to split the air, so loud it was. “And as for my brother!”
Orion strode towards Argrave. The crowd had moved away from them, and so there was nothing preventing him from doing so. Argrave stepped ahead of his companions, coming to stand just before Orion so that they were not so near to him.
Orion stared at Argrave, gazes locked. The man was still larger than him, still as intimidating as ever. Yet for the first time, Argrave felt no fear.
The prince fell to his knees. Then, he bent forward, slamming his head into the ground. He was kowtowing, Argrave realized.
“Brother! I apologize for my distrust!” he shouted, voice splitting the air even still.
As Argrave stared down at him, he could not deny he felt some of the emotions that had been brewing the past twenty-four hours urging him to step on Orion’s head. But…
Argrave sighed, then knelt down. He grabbed Orion’s shoulders and corrected his posture.
“We have work to do, Orion,” he said levelly. “It’s an early day tomorrow.”
His words were those of peace. But as Anneliese gazed down at Argrave, concern was evident on her face.
