•Hran∙Prison•Mount∙Ista•

"Kneph?"

Arman cautiously whispered into the darkness. "Kneph, are you there?" The hot, stone walls of Hran Prison echoed with the concern that crept into his voice. "Kneph?" Silence. Arman looked at the guard, unconvinced that this was where they were holding the last of Cethyn's council, but guard remained silent and unblinking, his stare focused on the shadows that danced along the flame lit walls. Arman sighed and edged closer to the bars that split the darkness from light. "Kneph. It's Arman."

"The little lord prince! The little lord prince!" Kneph sang from the endless abyss. Arman's eyes strained to see him. "The little lord prince has come to play." The old man continued to sing, his voice echoing in the darkness of his cell.

Arman chuckled awkwardly at the use of the childhood nickname. A name he'd not been called since the passing of the Queen. "The little lord Prince, yes. But I've not come to play."

"Everybody plays, doesn't matter if they want to or not. Everybody plays. We pick a side and we play our part. We play our part."

Arman moved closer to the cell, his fingers curling around the hot iron bars. He ignored the burn that moved through his hand and peered into the shadows. He saw nothing. "Kneph, is it true?" He asked, confused yet hopeful that the rumours were nothing but a lie. After a few seconds, the silence was replaced by giggling. Arman frowned, his voice more stern as he repeated his question. "Is it true?"

Kneph's giggling intensified. "Truth and lies are one in the same. One in the same. I lie, you lie, and we all lie together. Fact is fiction. Fiction is fact and a table is just a table. I have a table. It's small and rickety. He does its job well, my beloved table. Would you like to meet him?"

The prince, in his frustration, shook the iron gate that separated him from the old man. "Did you kill King Cethyn?" he shouted. "Did you murder my father?!" From the darkness, Kneph flew at him in a swirl of purple robes. His bony fingers gripped the hand of the prince tightly, so much so that the old man's knuckles turned white

"The king?" the old man questioned. His eyes darted from right to left as he fought to silence the maddening voices inside his head. "The King!" he exclaimed, "He's dead. Dead! Oh how the Princes and Angels of Aracelia weep for him. I feel their tears upon my cheeks as I sleep and their grief in my heart when I wake. Oh how they mourn him, my King." Kneph looked up at Arman, his white eyes clouded with sorrow. "They mourn him, just as we do. He was taken too soon. Too soon."

Arman stared down at him, his face a mixture of sadness and regret. He looked into Kneph's eyes and repeated his question again, his tone softening. "Did you kill my father?"

The old man shook his head. Glassy tears crept to the corners of his eyes as his madness gave way to clarity. "I swear, My King. His highness did not die by my hand. I swear on the sacred book of Tyr"

"He lies" Aysá's sweet voice broke though the calm silence that had settled in the warm air.

Arman, so caught up in Kneph's words, failed to hear her approach. He stared at Kneph as his face changed. The old man's eyes lit up with a smile. He giggled wildly; a sure sign that his insanity had returned. He released Arman's hand and span away from the door, vanishing into the dark. The Prince stared at the empty space where Kneph once stood.

"I found messages in his chambers. Instructions to be specific. All from Aracelia. I discovered them long before we went to war. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen. The Council had your ear and they drowned me out every chance they got. The Angels of Aracelia condemned our father to death, Arman, and Kneph, in his blind loyalty, served as his executioner." Aysá looked and sounded full of regret. "I tried to tell you, to warn you."

Arman turned to face her, noting that the guard that once stood watch over him had disappeared, no doubt dismissed by the Queen. Their new found privacy was unexpected but welcomed. "I should have…" He began.

"Listened? Yes, you should have." she cut him off and continued quickly, leaving him with little time to think. "Now our City has to prepare for battle so soon after fighting a war that should never have been fought in the first place. Your weakness has cost us, dearly, but now OUR strength will lead us to victory. You heard them out there; they want justice just as much as I do, and just as much as you should want it."

Kneph giggled and sang from the darkness. "Winners and losers. Winners and losers. Blood is blood and death is death. Victory and defeat are one in the same. Don't you agree, your Highness?"

Arman glanced over his shoulder, his thoughts lingering on the madman's lilt before looking back at his sister. "Justice." He reassured, and stepped past her. The rattle of iron bars made him pause. He turned to see Kneph's face pressed tightly against the hot metal.

"Be warned, Little Prince, Lady Justice has many faces and not all of them are pretty."

"Come, Brother. We have much to prepare for." Aysá ignored the madman and ushered Arman towards the passageway.

"Shan sian mana! Shan sian mana!" Kneph screeched after them. "Shan sian mana!" He laughed wildly and slipped back into the darkness, repeating the same ancient words over and over again.