Prologue: The Prisoner

Damion rubbed age's dull ache from his hands. The years have nearly caught me, but my hands remain strong. Countless years marked by even more battles had strengthened the tendons and muscles of his hands, but time had also worn them down, replacing strength with occasional sharp pain. Closing his tired eyes, Damion dreamed of his past life. Battle and victory marked most of his memories, but darker images tainted his successes. A single frightening image loomed before him, mocking him and reminding him of his one great failure. The one that haunted his dreams.

He opened his eyes before the pain in his head could build and gazed down at the unfurled parchment before him, willing his mind to focus on something else. He traced a smudged line with a finger, following the ink that told men this land now belonged to him. The map's boundaries had changed countless times over the years, but the land remained the same. He had achieved much during his life, but the realization that his sacrifices only amounted to a faded map saddened him. In the beginning, it was not youthful ambition that drove him to carve an empire as the history books now said. Something he wished to forget had compelled him.

A polite knock upon his study door intruded his memories, his regrets. At his call, the door swung inward. "Your majesty," the captain of his personal guard said.

"What is it?"

"It's your grandson, sire." The captain, whose own legend was first heralded by crows of the battlefield, suffered his voice breaking as he tried to continue. "He's been talking with the prisoner again."

Damion lifted his gaze from the cracked parchment and met the captain's apprehensive eyes. "The prisoner?" Damion's arms shook as he gripped the table's edge, but cold anger seeped into his voice. "Who let my grandson into the dungeon? I forbade anyone to visit the prisoner, especially him."

"I don't know, your highness."

"Take me to him." Damion drew his purple robe about him, suddenly cold. "Take me to my fallen grandson."

Damion followed the captain down the winding stairway into the nethermost region of the keep. Soon, the great metal-studded wooden doors of the dungeon loomed before them. One hung partially open. Beyond, the wail of a soul being ripped from its shell howled. Damion offered a silent prayer to Auberon for strength. This battle should've been finished long ago, he thought. Before I created my empire, I should have finished this.

Squeezing through the doorway, the scene that greeted him broke his heart and confirmed fears that lingered in his dreams. Two armored guards fought to restrain a young boy of seven years, and were failing. The soul-wrenching cry tore from the boy's throat as he kicked and lashed out.

The soft, mocking laughter that drifted from the back of the dungeon lit a fire in Damion's gut. Drawing himself to a regal height, his voice boomed, "Leir!" It was the same voice he had used to rally soldiers on untold battlefields. The same voice that united the splintered tribes to stand against the onrushing tide from the Underworld. The same voice that later forged an empire. He was Damion, the warlord, the general, the emperor. To hear his voice was to obey.

At the sound of his name, the boy's spasm ceased and he slowly turned his head toward his grandfather. Saliva dripped from his chin and red circles surrounded his dull eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly as breath labored in and out of his slack mouth. The rich, fine fabrics of his royal clothes had been reduced to tattered rags. The disheveled mass of hair on his head more resembled the risen hackles of a cur. With his arms outstretched between the guards, Leir stared at his grandfather from beneath his angry brows.

"What are you doing down here?" Only the boy's hateful glare offered any sort of answer. Damion struggled to keep the pain in his heart from reaching his face. "You were talking to the prisoner again."

"That's not his name!" Leir shouted, a crazed look entering his eyes. "His name is ..."

Stepping closer, Damion cut off the boy's words. "No! That name is forbidden! No one is to mention that name," he seethed. "Ever. His name will be forgotten. I've decreed it."

A mischievous smile spread across Leir's lips. "His name is ..."

Damion clenched Leir's jaw with a wrinkled hand. "I won't be defied by my own blood. Don't speak that name again. Do you hear me, boy?"

Leir smiled again before spitting in his grandfather's face. Child laughter filled the tunnel and Damion stepped back to wipe his face with his silk sleeve. "Take him back to his chambers and lock him in." Leir resumed struggling as the guards dragged him toward the dungeon exit. When one guard stepped too close, Leir sank his teeth into the guard's hand. The guard yelped and lost his grip. A swift kick to the other guard's shin and Leir was free from human bondage. He bolted down the passage, maniacal screams trailing his flight.

Though the boy disappeared into the tunnel's darkness, Damion followed the flapping sound of running feet, not waiting for the guards scrambling for a torch. The thought of killing the prisoner entered his mind, but the familiar pain stabbed his head, staggering him. He forced the agony aside and cursed himself for forgetting. The captain and the guards caught up with the torch, worried. He waved them away and started after Leir again.

The passage changed as they descended, turning from hewn stone to the jagged surface of the natural cave. The bouncing torch light caught the sharp protrusions along the cave walls and floor, sending shadows fleeing ahead of them. Damion cursed each rock that jabbed through his soft shoes but kept running.

Soon, until a large metal disc appeared in the darkness to throw back a dull reflection. As they grew closer, the light revealed the cell door that covered the entire passage, sealing the cave from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. A massive hinge was imbedded into one wall and an intricate lock mechanism in the other. The only opening through the barrier was the small barred window centered in the door.

They found Leir hanging from the bars, struggling to hold his head even with the small window. The boy's strength gave out as they approached and he collapsed to the dirt floor, weeping. At the captain's order, the guards seized Leir by the arms and began dragging him back toward the dungeon entrance. Damion took a steadying breath and faced the prison door.

Through the darkness beyond the bars, piercing yellow eyes appeared accompanied by soft laughter. Damion moved to block that hated gaze from his grandson. The captain moved to his side, though Damion noticed the veteran stood a little behind, holding out his dagger. "Put the knife away," Damion hissed. "It'll do you no good here."

A low, rumbling, yet musical voice flowed from behind the bars. "What's the matter, horse lord? Dress you now in fancy silk, but I remember you riding down from the hills with nothing but untanned leathers and a barbarian's hunger." The voice paused to consider the boy being dragged away. "Has something happened to your grandson? I'm not sure how that could've happened."

"Do not mock me."

"I grew bored taunting you long ago," the voice said, the casual indifference more infuriating than the mockery. "So I decided to try something younger."

"Get out of his mind!" Damion choked back the emotion from his voice. "He's an innocent child."

"He doesn't sound very innocent."

Sounds of the struggling guards drifted from down the passage mingled with curses spewed in a twisted child's voice.

"Why do you do this?" Damion pleaded.

"Why?" The voice let out a deep, chilling roar.

Damion clapped his hands over his ears and dropped to one knee. Behind him, the captain fell shaking to the dirt floor. The torch rolled in the dust and sputtered out, letting the darkness envelop them. The faint light at the dungeon entrance did nothing to alleviate the oppressive gloom. After what seemed an eternity, the roar subsided. Damion trembled as he removed his hands from his ears, while beside him the captain's spasm quivered to a halt.

The voice spoke again, all jeering pretense gone. "You imprison me for over forty years and you ask why?" Damion looked toward the direction of the cell door. The only thing visible in the darkness were those piercing, glowing eyes. They weaved back and forth as the prisoner paced from side to side like a caged animal, feral yet unbroken. "This after you took me from my people, broke me before them, and bound me like a beast to your throne to spit in my face, and still your feeble mind wonders why?"

Then the familiar pain returned, searing agony behind Damion's eyes. "Stop!" he screamed. "Get out!" He clenched his eyes closed and concentrated, as she had taught him. Concentrate. Slowly, the pain ebbed away until only its memory remained. Spent, he rested his throbbing forehead against the cold stone. Only his heavy breathing disturbed the silence.

The mocking voice returned. "I think I'll outlive you, horse lord. Long enough to haunt and torture generations unborn. When your name is nothing more than legend, I'll break free to do as I will with your descendents. Your people will be slaves once again and mine your masters, as they should be."

Damion trembled as the prophetic voice's echo drifted away up the tunnel. He reached a hand to the captain lying next to him. The brave heart beat no longer, though the captain still clutched his impotent dagger.

After a moment, Damion found his courage and rose to his feet. He did his best to meet the prisoner's seething gaze shining bright in the darkness. "You're wrong," he said finally. "You'll never leave this cell. Even if you outlive me, you will remain confined to this cave." Damion tried dragging the dead captain away. After stumbling several times from the effort, he abandoned his old friend and staggered toward the distant light of the dungeon's entrance. "It is your name that will be forgotten, not mine," he called over his shoulder. Tripping in the darkness, he nearly fell before regaining his balance. "I'll seal this cave and you'll rot in the darkness where you were formed." He turned back to the yellow pin points glowing in the distance and shouted, "Your bones will be found someday and men will wonder what monstrosity bore such a misshapen frame." Only silence answered

Panting, Damion whispered, "My dreams will be my own again."

When he reached the faint light beyond the doors, the prisoner's voice drifted up from the depths. "I will be found, horse lord. It will be one of your kin that ushers in my glory once more. Then I'll dig up your bones, if the worms have not devoured them, and I'll place them about the foot of my throne."

Damion slammed the door on the derisive laughter. He jammed his knife's point into the keyhole and snapped off the blade. The broken lock was not enough, he decided. Middle of the night or no, the tunnel would be sealed immediately. He took the torch from its stand and ascended the stairs as fast as his old knees allowed. Determination carried him past the pain to the courtyard above.

He nearly crossed the inner bailey, when he heard sounds of a chase behind him. Turning, he saw two guards run down the stairway leading to the dungeon. Recognition hit him after they disappeared from view. They were the same guards who escorted Leir.

Calling for the night watch, Damion stumbled back the way he came and nearly tumbled down the stairs in his haste. When he reached the sealed doors, he saw the two guards standing to the side, silently watching Leir weep in the dirt. His fingertips bled freely, further staining his soiled clothes. The gouges in the oak door above him dripped crimson. Damion touched the guard's shoulder. Though Damion had been standing so close that he could feel the guards' body heat, the man leapt in surprise. The emperor quietly asked them to return Leir to his chambers.

This time, Leir did not resist. Defeated, he hung like a limp doll while they carried him away. Leir's crazed but empty eyes stared at the door over the guard's shoulder. Sick with pity and fear, Damion watched his grandson until they passed from sight.

After a moment, Damion leaned down to examine the bloody gouges in the door, wondering what could have caused such madness in his grandson. The answer came as a desperate plea from the top of the stairwell, as Leir called out to his new master. At the mere sound of the prisoner's name, pain exploded in Damion's head and he fell to his knees. Damion was not sure whether the laughter he heard was real or in his mind.

Copyright © 2010 by Stuart A. Etter. All rights reserved.

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