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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 eyes 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 life's work amounted to a faded map saddened him. In the beginning, it was not youthful ambition that had driven him to carve an empire as the history books now said. Something he wished to forget had compelled him.

A polite knock upon his heavy study door intruded his memories, his regrets. At his call, the door swung inward. "Your highness," the captain of his bodyguard 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 rose 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 under penalty of death."

"I don't know, your highness," the captain stammered.

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

Down they walked as fast as the aches in Damion's legs allowed, descending into the nethermost region of the keep. Soon, the great metal-studded wooden doors of the dungeon loomed before them. One stood partially open. Beyond, the wail of a soul being ripped from its shell reached them. Damion offered a silent prayer for strength to any of the gods that might be listening. 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 Damion's eyes broke his heart and confirmed his fears. 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 at those restraining him.

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, Damion's voice boomed, "Leir!" It was the same voice he used to rally his soldiers on battlefields of legend. The same voice that brought the splintered nomadic tribes together to stand against the onrushing tide from the mountains. The same voice that conquered most of the northern regions and forged an empire. He was Damion, the warlord, general, and the first ruler of the empire. 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 the breath labored in and out of his mouth. The rich, fine fabrics used to tailor his royal clothes had been reduced to the tattered rags of a street beggar. The disheveled mass of hair on his head more resembled the risen hackles of a wild dog than that a child of royal blood. With his arms outstretched between the restraining 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 showing on 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 toward him, Damion cut off the boy's words. "No! That name is forbidden! No one is to mention that name -- ever," he seethed. "His name will be forgotten. I have decreed it."

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

Damion grabbed Leir's face with a wrinkled hand. "I will not be defied by my own blood. That name is not to be uttered again. Do you hear me, boy?"

Leir smiled again before spitting in his grandfather's face. The child laughed as Damion stepped back and wiped his face with his silk sleeve. "Take him back to his chambers and lock him in" Leir resumed his kicking and struggling as the guards dragged him toward the dungeon exit. When one guard loosened his grip, Leir sank his teeth into the guard's hand. The guard yelped and released Leir's arm. A swift kick to the other guard's shin and Leir was free from human bondage. He bolted down the passage toward the cells, maniacal screams trailing the boy's flight.

Though the boy disappeared into the tunnel's darkness, Damion followed the sound of Leir's feet running ahead of them. The passage changed as they descended, turning from man-made stone to the jagged surface of the natural cave. The 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 distance to throw back a dull reflection. As they neared, 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 openings through the barrier were the small barred window centered in the door and the small drains along the base, relics that predated the castle above.

They found Leir hanging from the bars, struggling to hold himself level with the small window. The boy's strength seemed to give out as the guards approached, and he collapsed weeping to the dirt floor. At the captain's order, the two guards seized Leir by the arms and began dragging him back toward the dungeon entrance.

Through the darkness beyond the bars, piercing yellow eyes appeared accompanied by soft laughter. Damion moved before the door 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, fool," Damion hissed. "It'll do you no good here."

A low, rumbling, yet musical voice flowed from behind the bars. "What's the matter, little horse lord? Dressed you are in fancy silk now, but I remember you riding down from the hills with nothing but rough leathers and a barbarian's yell," the voice sneered. "Has your beloved grandson lost his mind? I am not sure how that could have happened."

"Do not mock me," Damion spat.

"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."

"Leave him alone!" Damion choke back the emotion from his voice. "He is an innocent child."

"He does not seem innocent any longer," the voice said. 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. His dropped torch sputtered out and darkness enveloped the passage. 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. "Why?" it repeated. "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 take me from my people, you break me before them, you bound me to your throne and spat in my face, and still your feeble mind wonders why?"

Then the familiar pain returned, searing agony behind his eyeballs. "Stop!" Damion yelled. "Get out of my head. Stay out of my dreams!" He clenched his eyes closed and concentrated, as he had been taught. Concentrate. Slowly, the pain ebbed away until only its memory remained. Spent, he rested his forehead against the cold stone. Only his heavy breathing disturbed the silence for a time.

Then the mocking voice returned. "I will long outlive you, horse lord. I will live long enough to haunt and torture generations unborn. When your name is nothing more than a legend, I will break free to do as I will with your descendents. Your people will be slaves once again and mine your masters. The times before the Plague will return."

Damion trembled as the prophetic voice's echo drifted away toward the dungeon entrance. He reached a quivering hand to the captain lying next to him, but the heart did not beat in the still chest. The dead man 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 will never leave this cell. Even if you outlive me, you will remain confined to this cave." Damion tried dragging the dead captain away from the cell. After stumbling several times from the effort, he abandoned his old friend and staggered toward the distant light at the dungeon's entrance. "It is your name that will be forgotten, not mine," he called over his shoulder. Tripping over some unseen object in the darkness, he nearly fell before regaining his balance. "Your bones will be found someday and scholars will speculate what monstrosity bore such a frail frame." He turned back to the yellow pin points glowing in the distance and shouted, "No one will remember you! You'll be forgotten. I will forever seal this cave and you will rot in the darkness where you were formed."

Nothing but silence answered. Satisfied, Damion turned and continued his way to the surface. When Damion reached the massive doors and the faint light beyond, the voice drifted again 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 will dig up your bones, if the worms have not devoured them, and I will place them about the foot of my throne."

Disgusted, Damion closed the door, shutting out 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 would allow. Determination carried him past the pain to the courtyard above. Damion swore the prisoner would not outlive him.

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 locked dungeon doors, he saw the two guards standing to the side, silently watching Leir weep at the door. 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 limply in their arms 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.

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