Raven's Flight
by Alice Montrose
Chapter 1
It was the perfect night. Moonless, the sky overcast - one could have easily gotten lost on a night like this, disappear without a trace, never to return among the living. A night when a wrong step could mean one's doom, when not even ruffians would risk being up and about lest they become prey to Eyas' demons. The night of the damned, and the doomed.
The other men swore under their breaths as they rode with their torches at full blaze, lighting the way. Afraid of whatever demons the night might bring out of hiding, perhaps? But there were no real demons, as there were no real gods save Nature itself. And true to its laws, Nature had made this night perfect.
Perfection. To most people, it seemed attainable. To him, it was an ideal that would never be reached by man, no matter how hard one tried. Man was not meant to be perfect. Man was made to suffer and complain, no matter how good his life was. Man would be damned to never reach perfection.
He, of all people, knew that. He, who had once believed that Heaven could be reached and that Benidys, the Goddess of Light, was as real as his mother and friends had been.
But no, he had been wrong. He had never believed that. Mathias had, foolish young Mathias whose universe had revolved around his Order and the massive Palace Library.
Mathias, who had died long ago in a prison cell, his soul slain by betrayal.
The rider closest to him let out a particularly foul curse, driving his horse sideways to avoid some unseen obstacle. It pulled him out of his thoughts as he turned to the man. The guard paled visibly and quickly brought his horse back in formation, not daring to look at him.
He shrugged; he was not even sure the man could see his eyes, his heavy cloak's hood adding to the shadows already surrounding them.
They feared him, and it made his mood lighten. They would keep fearing him long after he was gone, telling their children and their children's children tales of King Valerian IV of Dakya's Demon Strategist. Ensuring his name's immortality had not been part of his plans, but it was a pleasant bonus nonetheless.
And even as darkness would prevail, he would prevail; for he was immune to the things that had better men give up hope and crumble to their destiny. Darkness and pain, loss and fear - they did not affect them any longer. He had conquered them all, and was now strangely free.
It did not take them long to reach their destination. Torches marked the entryway to Sagata's prison, a series of catacombs that stretched out well under the city. It was a clever trick, he had to admit; for there were few ways to escape from this underground prison, and currently all were heavily guarded. He had personally made sure of that.
He ignored the glances his escorts exchanged as he dismounted and strode towards the heavy iron-forged gate, dark cloak trailing behind him and disturbing cobblestones as he passed. But they had their orders, and from the king no less, and every single one knew what would happen if they disobeyed the man they were supposed to be guarding. Those that had died painfully after doing just that had served as an example, and now nobody dared disagree with him. Not openly, anyway.
He did not ask them to like him. In fact, he encouraged them not to. All he demanded was respect, loyalty and proficiency.
The gate opened at his first knock and a young man's head poked out to see who it was. His eyes widened considerably and the colour in his face drained instantly - there was enough light here for the cloaked man to see that quite clearly -, and trembling hands opened the gate just enough for him to pass through. He did, two of the guards following him. They were his guards, these two, not those assigned to him by the king, and he had hand-picked them from a dozen or so of the best candidates. They had been trained to obey without a second thought, and not speak unless given permission to. They would follow him to the darkest pit of Hell and back, no questions asked.
He almost felt bad they would have to leave his service soon.
Almost.
He strode through the corridor without sparing the empty walls a second glance. The governor of the prison was waiting for him in the first access hall, a burly man with a scarred face and a mop of hair that might have been blonde once but was now too slimy to be called any colour. The odours coming from the prison's lower levels were not quite so strong in this place, but they would get worse the deeper they went. Any ventilation shafts that the place had must have been half-blocked by dirt by now.
The place was familiar to him. Five years before, Mathias had been dragged through here and down below under the watchful gaze of the same man that greeted him now.
Such irony of fate. But he was good at what he did, this ugly man, and loyal only to his duty. That was why he had been allowed to live when other important men and women of the former regime had found themselves at the end of the executioner's axe.
And he was not alone. There was another figure at his side, wearing the king's colours and arms on his uniform, and also very familiar to the strategist. He was Sandris, captain of the king's guards; and while his presence here had not been specifically requested, there were a half a dozen valid reasons for it, and all good ones at that.
"Lord Corvino," the governor greeted him, and there was hint of fear in the man's voice that did not escape him. "We have been expecting you. Everything has been prepared according to your wishes."
He nodded, and turned his head towards the other man. "And you?" he asked.
The governor trembled. Corvino's voice was by far not what one would call normal, his damaged vocal cords turning what had once been a lovely tenor into a harsh almost-whisper. It did not matter to him - he did not talk often, and when he did he liked to keep it short and meaningful. Most people found it disturbing, however.
If Sandris had ever taken notice of it, he did not seem to care.
"King Valerian wanted me here," he said.
It was enough. The validity of his presence acknowledged, he received another nod.
A strange silence enveloped the room for a few moments, before the governor shifted uncomfortably. "This way, Lord Corvino," he prompted, pointing at the archway that opened to the right.
He followed the man through torch-lit corridors and down the screeching wood-covered stairs that had long ago been carved in the earth, Sandris and his guards a comforting presence behind him. He would not be trapped in here like Mathias had been. No one was brave enough to dare it, not even the king. Valerian needed him like he needed the air he breathed.
"You do not have to do this."
Sandris' whispered words made his lips curl. "You are wrong. I very much need to do this."
"I can do it for you."
Corvino shook his head. "No, captain," he said, removing the hood of his cloak to be able to meet the other man's eyes. "And while I very much appreciate the offer, this is personal."
He saw the man flinch as he was addressed by rank rather than name. As friends and occasional lovers, there was no need of formality between the two of them. But Sandris did not know all the details concerning Corvino's current visit to the Sagata prison, and the strategist did not plan on revealing them to anyone. For someone in his position, Sandris could be incredibly warm-hearted. He would not like to hear what Corvino would be able to tell him.
And the strategist did not wish to get emotional. Not tonight.
Ahead of them, the governor stopped in front of a door. "Here we are, my lord. Would you requite anything besides what was specified in your letter?"
Corvino shook his head. "No. I would be most grateful if you would have Captain Sandris wait for me in your office, however."
The man offered Corvino the key and bowed even as Sandris let out a small sound of protest. But cold grey eyes reminded him that his presence was not requited. He finally nodded and followed the governor, while the two guards posted themselves on each side of the door.
Corvino unlocked it and entered the interrogation room.
The place had been prepared to his exact instructions, a torch on each of the prisoner's sides the only source of light. The prisoner himself had been chained to the wall standing, arms spread wide and securely fixed by thick iron shackles and legs bound by similar devices. His head was lowered and his face hidden by dirty hair that had once been the purest blond but was now a washed-out ashen colour. A wide array of bruises could be seen through the tears in his clothing, and it seemed to Corvino that this prisoner had little in common to the knight he had once known.
The two guards had stood to attention as the door opened and Corvino had entered, and he could not help but note the irony of the situation. He motioned to one of the guards, who quickly retreated into the hallway to return moments later with a bucket full of cold water and empty it over the prisoner's head. The man finally raised his head, eyes of the palest blue focusing on his surroundings. He tried to move, but the restraints prevented him from doing so - which was precisely the point, Corvino thought, his smile concealed by the shadows.
He motioned again for the guards to exit, the rustling of his clothing drawing the knight's attention. The two men hurried out of the room, closing the door but not locking it.
Corvino nodded to himself, appreciating their efficiency in following orders to the letter. Then he turned his attention back to the prisoner he had come to visit.
The knight, of course, was not stupid; still, his mind was clouded by days spent in a damp cell on rancid bread and water, with rats his only company. He simply looked at the cloaked shape he could see, his once handsome face bruised and his lower lip split, undoubtedly by some overzealous guard's attentions. "I did not ask for a priest," he finally said, throwing his head back so his now damp hair would not be dripping in his eyes.
A few minutes passed by, the rustling of burning torches the only sound, until Corvino spoke. "I am no priest," he said, his near-whisper the sound of rocks scraping against one another.
The prisoner let out a startled laugh. "So, the Demon Strategist has finally come to see me. And what were you sent to find out, Lord Corvino? I'm afraid my most esteemed brother's torturers got all the information they wanted out of me."
Corvino winced at the venom in the knight's voice, but steeled his will and did not falter as he stepped into the torchlight. "I only want to know one thing," he said, keeping his voice low so it would not sound quite so harsh. Throwing the folds of his cloak back with a sweeping gesture, he pulled back the hood and allowed his own gaze to meet the knight's as he asked, "Why?"
The knight's pupils dilated as he stared at the man before him in disbelief. "Mathias?" he finally uttered, blinking as if to make sure his sight did not deceive him.
No answer came, only a narrowing of silver eyes and a thinning of pale lips.
The captive knight jerked, shackles cutting in his flesh as he furiously tried to break free. "Mathias?!" he repeated, not a question anymore but pure disbelief.
Corvino watched as blood soaked through the remains of the shirt's sleeves, immobile and composed.
"Why, Leon?" he asked again once the blond prisoner finally stopped struggling, undoubtedly realizing his was a futile attempt. "Why did you do it?"
"Mathias."
Not amazement, but pain. Not disbelief, but pleading. A lesser man would have been moved to tears.
Corvino merely shook his head. "No, Leon. Not Mathias. Mathias died five years ago; you killed him, remember?"
"I did not... No! I did not!"
"Didn't you? Didn't you tell your friend Vincent to do with him as he pleased? Didn't you have him disappear? Do you even realize what slavery does to a man? It breaks not only one's body, but one's spirit as well." Corvino did not need to raise his voice; in fact, he would have found it difficult to do so without his ruined vocal cords starting to hurt. But the accusation was clear, and it had the knight thinking. "That is what you did to me," he continued, "but it was not that which killed Mathias, knight - for he was long dead before that. He died the moment you betrayed your friendship and the trust he had placed in you."
"Liar!" Leon snarled. "You double-crossing, lying snake! I should have sliced your throat that night!"
An arched brow was raised mere inches. "You should have," Corvino confirmed. "It would have been preferable to the future your well-meaning friend Vincent designed for me. But it is of no consequence now, as you are to be executed in the morning. All I want to know is why you did it."
Blue eyes flickered, studying the dark-clad figure in front of them. The strategist did not move, did not flinch. This did not impress him, did in fact not make him feel anything but pity for the knight. Leon had been a good man before Vincent had come along, but easily corruptible by a few whispered words in dark corners. He had been, in a way, even more naïve than Mathias.
"It was unnatural," he finally said. "What I felt for you was unnatural. Religion condemns such feelings. I did not want my soul to burn in hell."
Excuses, excuses... What use did Corvino have for excuses? None. He wanted the true reason, not made-up excuses.
"What you felt was unnatural? You were obsessed, Leon. And what about what Mathias felt? Nobody asked him what he felt, before or after your cronies dragged him out of his room in the middle of the night with no valid explanation for their actions."
"You bewitched me!" the knight accused. He tried to lunge forward, but not even physical force was of any use against the shackles built in the room's walls. Corvino knew that all too well.
"I am not Mathias," he reminded Leon. "But I regress. Nobody bewitched you, except perhaps your own foolishness. 'Death before dishonour' - is that not the motto of your Order? Would it have been dishonour to talk matters over with Mathias instead of listening to that bastard you fancied as your friend? I suppose so - after all, he had fairly earned his position in the Order where you had just inherited it."
The knight's snarl was... a most interesting reaction, to say the least. Perhaps Corvino had found the sore spot without intending to.
"So a blood prince can feel jealousy after all," the strategist continued, mostly to himself. "I had wondered, once... A pity, truly; you had everything your heart desired, and it proved not to be enough."
"I hate you," the captive seethed.
"As you well should. I did nothing to deserve your love. And I can guarantee that you will hate me even more for what I am about to do. But as I said, it is of no consequence. You will be dead by noon tomorrow."
"Vincent will save me!"
Corvino's lips twitched. "Vincent? My naïve knight, do you truly believe he would be allowed to roam this country alive for long, when I want him dead?"
"He escaped. I saw him escape!"
Ah, knights! It seemed the world was filled with buoyant knights... Corvino sighed. He hated to shatter one's illusions... or not.
"I got a present over breakfast this morning," he said casually. "It was a nicely-wrapped picnic basket. Do you wish to know what was in it?"
Leon glared at him, wearily. Apparently he could not see the point of this sudden change of topic. Only it was not that, not really. Corvino finally moved within a hand's distance, raising the prisoner's chin with two fingers.
"It was Vincent's head."
The knight shuddered, knowing Corvino was not lying - not when he looked one straight in the eye like he just had. "You are right," he said when he recovered his wits enough to speak. "You are not Mathias. He would have never done such a thing. He would have never betrayed his country, or his father, the way you just have. You are nothing but a deceitful traitor!"
The strategist let out his best evil laughter. "I knew you would eventually see the truth. Now, shall we proceed?"
~ To Be Continued ~
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