" king's oath? fuck it."
---------------
The dungeon beneath Tarkun's stronghold reeked of piss, blood, and the
particular stench of fear that had soaked into the stones over years of use.
Tarkun stood before his prize, studying the broken figure chained to the wall
like a trophy hunter admiring his kill.
The wanderer hung from thick iron shackles, his wrists and ankles secured to
bolts driven deep into the blackstone. His shirt had been torn away, revealing a
torso mapped with fresh cuts and older scars some from recent beatings,
others that spoke of battles fought in distant lands. Blood trickled from his split
lip and ran in dark streams down his chest, pooling on the floor beneath his
feet.
But it was the mystery of him that gnawed at Tarkun more than any satisfaction he felt from the beating. What in the seven hells was a king's blessed doing in this godforsaken corner of the realm? His men whispered that maybe the Dabru had hired him, but Tarkun knew better. No family could buy a king's blessed they were bound by oaths older than gold, loyal only to the crown. Except this one wasn't, was he? A wooden bucket sat nearby, filled with water that had already been used once to revive the prisoner. Tarkun kicked it, sending droplets spattering across the stone floor.
"Wake up, you fucking dog!" he roared, his voice echoing off the dungeon walls. Nothing. The wanderer's head lolled forward, consciousness fled from the pain and blood loss. Tarkun's scarred neck flushed red with rage. He grabbed the bucket and hurled its contents across the chained man's face and chest. The wanderer's eyes snapped open, and he drew a shuddering breath that turned into a wet cough. Water and blood mingled on his chin as he raised his head with obvious effort. Then he started laughing. It was quiet at first barely more than a chuckle but it grew until it filled the dungeon with sound that made Tarkun's skin crawl. Not the laughter of a broken man, but something darker. Something that suggested the joke was on everyone else.
"What's so fucking funny?" Tarkun snarled.
he grabbing a fistful of the wanderer's brown hair and yanking his head back. Their faces were inches apart, and Tarkun could smell the copper scent of blood on the other man's breath. The wanderer met his gaze with eyes that held no fear, no pain, only a terrible amusement.
"You," he said, his voice a rasp. "Thinking this changes anything."
"Changes everything, deserter. You're in my chains now."
The word hit its mark. The wanderer's smile faltered for just a moment. barely a heartbeat. but Tarkun caught it. He leaned closer, sensing weakness.
"That's right, isn't it? You ran. Broke your oath. The great king's blessed warrior, and you tucked your tail and fled like a whipped dog."
"Careful, fat man," the wanderer said quietly. "You don't know what you're talking about." "Don't I?" Tarkun's grin was ugly.
"My sources in the east tell interesting stories. About a battle that went wrong. About an army that got slaughtered while their blessed champion disappeared."
The wanderer spat, but there was less defiance in it now.
"Your sources are drunk fools spreading tavern gossip."
Tarkun's fist crashed into his ribs, drawing a grunt of pain.
"My sources saw the aftermath. Saw good men die while you saved your own worthless hide."
"Those men were already dead," the wanderer wheezed.
"The order was madness. Fight to the death against impossible odds? For what? Glory?"
"For duty!" Tarkun roared. "For the oath you swore!"
"Fuck the oath." The wanderer raised his head, defiance blazing in his dark
eyes.
"And fuck the fool who gave the order."
Another punch, this one to the stomach. The wanderer doubled over, chained rattling as his body convulsed.
"So why are you here, deserter? Why not hide that royal blade of yours? Why carry something that marks you as clearly as a banner?"
The wanderer was quiet for a long moment, breathing heavily. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'm hunting something."
"Hunting what?"
"Something that threatens the king."
Tarkun stepped back, confusion replacing anger.
"The king? The same king you abandoned?"
The wanderer's laugh was bitter.
"You wouldn't understand. Your world is this shithole town and your petty wars with the Dabru. You know nothing of what moves in the shadows beyond these walls."