Chapter Two

His golden eyes snapped open and he jumped into a sitting position. No longer was he lying in the dirt at the entrance to the compound, rather he was resting on top of a pile of rags that were likely used for a bed. The walls and roof of the hut was made from tin that was filled with hundreds of rust holes that let in the light. A chamber pot sat beside the bed and a crooked doorway led to the only other room in the run down building.

The Lieutenant stretched away the stiffness in his neck and rubbed a hand across his face. His sensitive fingers ran over the roughness of the scabs that ran from his left eyebrow across his temple and above his ear. Once again it had been cleaned and dressed.

With a sigh he got to his feet, subconsciously reaching over his shoulder to make sure his sword was still clipped there, but his fingers did not feel the soft black leather of the handle, he felt only air. Desperately he spun around and grabbed at the rags of the makeshift bed, tossing them around the small room, but soon his hands only scratched at dirt. His eyes darted around the room; his sword had to be there, but it was nowhere to be seen and despair clutched at him.

“Ya didn’t have to make a mess,” said a voice from the doorway where a small old man stood.

Quickly his despair turned to anger and he strode towards the old man. Grabbing him roughly by the collar of his jerkin The Lieutenant slammed the old man hard against the wooden frame of the tin wall.

“Where is it?” The Lieutenant demanded desperately.

“What is wrong with ya?” the man said gasping as he struggled feebly against The Lieutenant’s iron grip.

“My sword, where is it?” The Lieutenant demanded again.

“Ya never had a sword.” The ancient man pleaded, “Let me go.”

With a growl he let go of the man’s dirty shirt and turned away, kicking the chamber pot as he did and causing the contents to splatter across the dirt. Once again a sense of despair seeped into his mind.

“That is a fine way to thank the man who helped ya,” the old man grumbled as he hobbled into the next room.

“You, old man,” the Lieutenant said as he followed. “Where am I, which prison is this?”

The old man sighed deeply as he sat down at a small table and looked at him, deep lines creased between his bushy white eyebrows.

“My name is Mercile, not ‘old man’,” replied the old man indignantly. “And ya have the honour of being within the walls of the great Gaia Mountain Penitentiary. The place they send not the criminals, although I am sure there are quite a few of them, but the lot they want forgotten. Political refugees, soldiers of the people, the powerful nobleman that they want to get rid of or the unlucky soul who someone powerful simply doesn’t like, and like every other prison there is no chance of escape for ya lad, a magicks field surrounds this compound eliminating the use of other magicks.”

“I don’t need a lecture,” The Lieutenant replied. “I know of the Gaia Prison, and I know of the magicks field.”

“So, The Lieutenant knows everything does he?” Mercile snorted. “He knows the inner workings of the prison, of the Faction leaders in each Quarter and how they are constantly vying for control of the entire compound?”

He looked blankly at Mercile. “Do not call me Lieutenant.”

“Do ya have a name then?” the old man retorted.

He shrugged. “When it suits me, one is as good as another.”

“Then why not Lieutenant?”

He sat down opposite Mercile, never taking his stern gaze from the old man. “Lieutenant is a military rank, not a name.”

Mercile smirked. “If I shortened it to Lieut would that bother ya? Like that it’s an elven word meaning wanderer, nomad or vagabond depending on the context in which ya use it.”

The remark made the Lieutenant pause and look away from Mercile thoughtfully. “Li’ute also means lion,” he mumbled softly.

“What?” asked Mercile squinting his eyes, “Speak up, my hearing ain’t so good.”

“Nothing.” He shook his head.

“What?” Mercile asked loudly again.

“Nothing,” Lieut growled irritably.

“No need to yell.” Mercile sat back on his stool.

Lieut’s hand balled into a fist and he glared dangerously at the old man, but Mercile just burst out laughing, although his mirth quickly turned into a spasm of coughs, and after much struggle he coughed up a mouthful of phlegm that was red with blood. Casting his red spittle off into the corner Mercile wiped the bloody dribble from his chin and smiled weakly at Lieut.

“So, Lieut, care for something to eat?” Mercile asked with a smile.

“Just water,” he replied, and Mercile passed him a demijohn of water from the stash in the corner.

“Ya lost a sword then?” the old man asked between mouthfuls of stale bread.

“Yes.” Lieut nodded.

“Ya should talk to a man called Vythe over in the West Quarter,” suggested Mercile.

“Why are you trying to help me?” Lieut was quick to ask.

Mercile shrugged. “Everyone needs help at some point.”

Lieut narrowed his eyes at the old man. “Who is this Vythe?”

“He is a thief, and a good one at that, maybe he knows who took it,” replied Mercile. “He’s got his hand in a lot of pots that one, half the fights between Quarters have him and his friend Legin to thank.”

“A master of puppets,” Lieut mumbled after he took another swallow of water.

“And Vythe spins a web ya do not want to get caught up in,” Mercile said seriously. “Which makes me wonder why he-”

A loud bang on the front door interrupted the old man and made him jump in surprise and grab at his chest as if he was about to have a heart attack.

“Merc, we know ye got the guy who killed Haster in there,” shouted a gruff voice. “Open the door or we’ll knock it down.”

“I’ll handle this,” Mercile reassured Lieut as he got to his feet and shuffled over to the door.

“He’s not here fellas,” Mercile said as he opened the door, but the two men would not hear any of what the old man had to say.

As soon as the door opened the closest brute drove a rust-pitted dagger into Mercile’s gut and shoved past him. Lieut was on his feet and ready for a fight even before Mercile had opened the door, and with a confident smile on his face he waited for the two men to charge at him.

He did not have to wait long, for as soon as the first thug saw him he hollered and raced in, bloody dagger leading the way.

As the first one neared, Lieut exploded forward with a front kick blasting into the man’s gut, stopping him in his charge. As his foot touched down he grabbed the assailant’s head with both hands and slammed his knee into the man’s face, shattering his nose. Before the thug fell backwards into unconsciousness Lieut ripped the dagger from his meaty hands and turned to face his next victim.

Hardly learning from his companion’s errors the next thug charged in just the same as the first one. With a smile Lieut quickly flipped the dagger over in his hand and like a whip launched it into the oncoming thug’s throat causing the man to stop in his tracks and clutch desperately at his neck in an attempt to stem the blood flow. But inevitably the man stumbled backwards as his face drained of colour, and he collapsed to the ground.

Lieut started to move towards Mercile as the first thug began to regain consciousness, so he absently slammed his heel into the man’s throat. Walking past the second brute he picked up the dropped dagger and slid it into his belt at the small of his back.

Lying on the ground Mercile was coughing up blood when Lieut knelt beside him, and with a quick look at the wound in the old man’s gut he knew there was nothing to be done.

“It’s … it’s over for me,” Mercile stammered looking up at Lieut’s blank expression. “I hope … ye find yer sword … lad.”

Lieut watched impassively as the light left the old man’s eyes before standing up and looking briefly around the room for anything he could use. Taking a skin of water from Mercile’s stash he turned to leave.

“What have you done?” exclaimed someone angrily from the doorway.

Lieut turned to see a dark-haired man, roughly the same height as him, wearing a richly designed vest and stark white sleeves of a fitted shirt. His pants were black leather with embossed designs throughout, and his boots were high with silver buckles up the side.

“I haven’t done anything,” Lieut replied simply as he studied the man.

“Mercile just happened to stabbed himself in the stomach?” the man replied sarcastically, his darks eyes flaring.

“No.” Lieut shook his head. “These two thugs killed him. I killed them. And now I am leaving.”

Lieut pushed past the dark-haired man, who made no attempts to stop him. As a second thought he turned back to the man who was looking sadly down upon the body of Mercile.

“Do you know of the man named Vythe?” Lieut called out, making the man turn to regard him curiously.

“There are few who do not.” The man smiled as he turned from Mercile’s body. “Such is his infamy. Why do you look for him, if I may ask?”

“You may not,” Lieut snapped. “You can tell me where in West Quarter I might find him.”

“Can I?” the man replied, narrowing his eyes. “Luckily for you I have my own business in the West Quarter so I can point you in the right direction.”

“I did not ask for company,” Lieut said calmly.

“His location is such that it will be easier to show rather than tell,” replied the dark-haired man with a smile. “Shall we?”

The man headed off without another word, so with a frustrated sigh Lieut followed.

“You will expect payment I assume,” Lieut remarked as he walked beside the man.

“Of course,” came the reply. “But we can work that out later my friend.”

“I am not your friend,” Lieut replied quickly.

The man stopped and looked upon him as if wounded. “Do you prefer I call you Lieutenant?”

Lieut shot the man a curious glance, which was returned with a knowing smile.

“You had a reputation before you even set foot in this wretched place,” the dark-haired man explained. “These walls talk, if you know how to listen. ‘Newcomer’ they say, ‘a Lieutenant’ they whisper. If you listen hard enough you will also hear a tale of how this Lieutenant killed Commander Razaless during an interrogation by means of the Fog gushing out of his head.”

The last comment concerned Lieut, but he dismissed it. “You listen to fanciful gossip?”

The man laughed. “There is a shred of truth even in myths, and Commander Razaless is indeed dead my dear Lieutenant.”

“Don’t call me that,” Lieut replied sternly.

“Very well.” The man shrugged. “What shall I call you then?”

“Call me Lieut, if you must.”

The man laughed. “Elven for vagabond. It suits you.”

Lieut was losing his temper, but there came a shout from down the road as a group of inmates walked grim-faced towards the door of a large structure that was built into the main wall of the prison, and where the guards were barracked.

“It appears as if another rumour holds some truth,” the darkhaired man remarked as he nodded towards the group.

“What rumour?” asked Lieut.

The man smiled knowingly. “Some members of the guard are being thrown in with us.”

The two large doors of the barracks slid apart and several guards were pushed into the compound. Immediately their magickal binding dissipated and two of the guards dashed to get back into the safety of the barracks, but the doors were already closed. A cheer erupted as one of the prisoners launched a large rock that crushed one of the guard’s heads against the wall.

Lieut was about to move and be on his way but the shimmering red hair of one of the guards caught his eye. It was the blood elf, Fairris, who had initiated his interrogation.

“Why would she be cast in here?” Lieut mumbled to himself and clenched his jaw in frustration as he came to the only reasonable conclusion.

But he needed to be sure, and that meant talking to the elf, which unfortunately meant he had to save her from this rabble of prisoners.

Gritting his teeth in annoyance he started towards the group, but he was stopped short when the dark-haired man grabbed his arm and fixed him with a questioning look.

Lieut twisted from his grasp and shoved the dark-haired man back a few steps.

“There is no point aiding them,” said the dark-haired man as he regained his balance.

“Not them, her,” Lieut replied, wondering why he was even explaining himself.

“But why help at all?”

“It is not your concern,” Lieut replied sharply before darting off towards the fray.

Lieut picked his path quickly and headed for a small hut. He launched himself off a rock and jumped onto the roof. Without slowing he jumped from the roof and catapulted into the group of prisoners, drawing the rust-pitted dagger from his belt as he did. Lieut landed atop several inmates, shoving his dagger through the temple of one of them before rolling to his feet. Three other prisoners fell away from him clutching at their spilling entrails and the rest looked on in stunned silence. Lieut was upon them in seconds opening arteries and showering the rest in blood and gore.

Lieut worked his way through the mass of bodies towards Captain Fairris, who was fortunately still alive. He could see her red hair flashing through the gaps in the crowd as she executed skilful unarmed attacks. The last line of prisoners fell away desperately grabbing at their severed arteries and there stood the blood elf. A mixture of relief and confusion appeared on her face before she turned back to face the attackers, but the assault had stopped. Lieut paused as he waited for the next attack, but none moved and a circle began to form around him and Fairris.

“Hold, men of the East,” shouted a loud voice from the roof top from which Lieut had jumped and where the dark-haired man now stood confidently. “You have your work to be returning to.”

A murmur flowed throughout the group of prisoners, each wondering if they should be taking this man seriously.

“Who are you to tell us what to do?” called someone from the crowd, which induced several more shouts along the same vein.

“You are mistaken, my friends,” replied the dark-haired man, an arrogant smile across his face. “It is not I that demand this of you, why if it were up to me those two fools would be carrion food by now. Alas, it is not up to me, and as it were this command comes from Argyle. Am I correct in assuming that we are still all under his employ?”

More murmurs rippled throughout the crowed, accompanied by many concerned glances.

“Hold up, I recognise you,” shouted one of the prisoners, “You don’t work for Argyle, and you don’t even follow a faction. So how do you know what our Faction Leader commands?”

The dark-haired man smiled in response. “An apt question, but easily answered. I was with him only moments ago, and he paid me well to convey his message to you all. Any more doubts, perhaps you would like to talk to Argyle once you are done here, I am sure he will be pleased with your lack of discipline.”

The crowd of prisoners practically jumped to get on their way, many with worried looks on their faces.

“No way I’m going against Argyle’s command again,” Lieut heard one of the prisoners say. “I don’t want to spend a week in the Pit, last time nearly killed me.”

As the crowd left, the dark-haired man jumped lightly down from the roof and swaggered arrogantly over to Lieut, a wide smile on his face.

“I thought that went rather well,” the man said, his dark eyes glimmering.

Lieut did not bother replying, and turned towards Fairris who was stumbling over towards the bodies of her fallen comrades.

Several times she fell to the dirt and rocks, ripping the thin material of her uniform, which was now deprived of magicks. After what seemed like a painfully long time, she reached the body of one of her friends, who was barely alive. A few words were exchanged before the man died and Fairris began to cry.

Lieut sighed, he did not have the time or the patience for this and he needed answers now. Calmly he walked over to where the elf knelt by her friend, tears running down her face.

“Why are you imprisoned here?” Lieut demanded, his voice causing the elf to jump in surprise. “Was it the Regional Commander who sentenced you? Is he here at the prison? Tell me.”

“Have you no sympathy?” scolded the dark-haired man. “Her friends have just died, give her a moment to mourn.”

“Do not interrupt me.” Lieut glared at the man. “This is not the time to mourn. I need to know, now.”

The dark-haired man gave a disgusted sigh and turned away.

“It is because of you,” the elf mumbled.

“What?” asked Lieut insistently, hardly hearing what the elf had said.

“It is because of you they are dead!” Fairris screamed as she got to her feet, fists clenched by her sides. “If you had just died at that crash site none of this would have happened.”

The elf’s eyes burned with anger and tears as she lunged at him, but Lieut easily knocked aside her punch and sent Fairris sprawling in the dirt. With her uniform torn and her skin scratched, she was up in a flash, sending kicks towards his head. Lieut was getting annoyed as he agilely dodged the kicks, and with a growl he ended the fight quickly. As one of the elf’s kicks flew to his ribs, Lieut grabbed it firmly in mid-flight and at the same time knocked her other leg out from under her, causing Fairris to fall heavily on her back. Coughing for breath she did not return to the fight.

“Now you will answer me,” Lieut demanded.

“Enough of this insanity,” the dark-haired man cut in, and he moved to help the elf to her feet, but she pushed him away.

“They are all dead,” said Fairris quietly as she looked back to the bodies of her friends.

“Not all of them,” the darkhaired man replied softly to the elf. “The other woman was taken by a couple of the prisoners.”

The elf’s features brightened slightly. “Which way?”

“They left in the direction of the brothel.” The man nodded towards the West Quarter.

Without another word Fairris took off, her hands clenched at her sides and her face set with determination.

“Stop,” Lieut demanded. “You will answer my questions first.”

“I don’t have time for you,” Fairris snapped over her shoulder. “Leave me alone.”

Lieut growled in frustration, but he let the elf go, she had said enough for him to come to a reasonable conclusion. He was the reason why Fairris and her friends had been imprisoned, which meant the Regional Command had indeed betrayed him and was now tying off loose ends.

“Why save her, only to interrogate her before letting her go?” asked the dark-haired man as they watched the elf stride determinedly away.

“The only reason I did save her was to ask why she had been imprisoned here,” Lieut replied simply. “Weren’t you taking me to Vythe?”

The man studied him for a moment before a smile shot across his face, “Of course.”

Lieut headed off alongside the dark-haired man as they made their way from the wide dusty area in front of the guardhouse.

****

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