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M
ARCO AWOKE IN A windowless room to the smell of mold. He felt the cold stone of the floor against his bare flesh, and realized he had been stripped completely naked. For a brief second he allowed panic to overwhelm him before he was able to take a calming breath. His cloak was gone and he knew exactly who had it. Even worse, he found himself in another jail cell yet again. He knew he had not been unconscious for too long because he could still feel the cloak’s power coursing through him. It would stay with him for the next couple of days. Long enough for him to escape, track and kill Owyen in the slowest and most painful way imaginable.
After slowly coming out of his daze, he sat up to see the three windowless walls that surrounded him. Lanterns hung in the hallway, shining light through the bars and casting shadows on the floor. Unlike most cells, which usually had a bucket to relieve yourself in, this one actually had a squatter. As unappealing as it seemed, it could be a means of escape if all else failed.
Marco got on all fours and proceeded to scrub the ground with his hands to see if he could find anything of use. He couldn’t count how many times he’d found random objects that guards or former prisoners dropped or purposely left during their stay. He swept the floor clean, finding nothing, then began to do the same with the walls, searching for any loose bricks or anything out of place. This went on for an hour until he scrubbed the cell clean. Nothing.
Feeling slightly dejected, Marco then looked at the squatter, as it was the one place he had not inspected. He swung his ponytail around his neck and exhaled in disgust. Well, let’s be on with it. As he took a step toward the stench-filled hole in the ground, he heard the echoing voices of men off in the distance. He stood still as the voices grew closer. The sounds of armored men approaching were unmistakable. For a moment Marco felt embarrassed, having been stripped of all clothing. He thought of covering himself with his hands until his pride forced him to embrace his predicament. He unraveled his ponytail from around his neck, stood up straight, and crossed his arms, prepared to stare down whoever appeared opposite the bars of his cell.
First two knights carrying polearms came in and stood at attention. Following them was a man equipped in elegant armor along with a yellow and green cape. He wore a long sword at his side and his hair was in the middle of turning gray. Engraved on his chest plate was the golden tree, the symbol of House Scollick. Marco assumed he was in the presence of the Warden of the East. Owyen stood next to him as the two men stopped in front of Marco’s cell.
“Brother,” Owyen said as he greeted Marco with a smile. “Before you speak or lash out, please listen first.”
“Oh, don’t toy with him.” Lord Adair waved his hand at Marco. “He is an assassin, is he not? Give him the offer and be done with it.”
“Of course, my lord.” Owyen nodded his head to Lord Adair before turning his attention back to Marco. Marco’s eyes were fixed on Owyen. He calculated ways to kill Owyen from behind the bars. If Owyen were just a foot closer, he might be able to grab him. “The Warden of the East, Lord Adair, would like to hire you. You were paid to sneak into the city and assassinate the warden. Well, Lord Adair would like to hire you to leave the city and take care of a different warden. If you do that, you will earn your freedom and a handsome bounty for your services.”
Marco was confused. He was not sure if Owyen’s ruse was for him, the warden, or the both of them. With Owyen you never knew his true intentions, oftentimes until it was too late. Marco finding himself standing naked in a cell was a perfect example of that.
“Well?” the warden said impatiently. Marco remained silent and continued to stare at Owyen.
“Come, brother, I know you are angry but—”
“I am naked!” Marco firmly interrupted. “The warden couldn’t spare any breeches for his prisoner?”
“I spared your head,” the warden snapped. “You aimed to make an attempt on my life and are still breathing. That is the only grace you will receive from me until I can be convinced you are worth more to me alive than dead.”
“You carried a lot of blades on you, brother,” Owyen added. “Frankly, I had no idea it was even possible to carry that many knives. The guards had to strip you down to ensure they caught everything. Your weapons along with your cloak are safely tucked away.” Owyen’s mention of the cloak raised Marco’s anger.
“Are you sure this man can do what I want?” Lord Adair asked. “He’s as pale as a corpse. Is he sick?”
“Quite sick, and that sickness is why he will do exactly as we ask.”
“Owyen.” Marco’s cold tone matched his icy stare. “The only thing I will do is escape this cell and take your life. I promise you one day I will stand over your lifeless body and bathe in the sight of your demise.”
“I like him,” Lord Adair said as he nodded his head. “He’s a scary one. Full of confidence, even with nothing to justify it. He is definitely the man for the job.”
“Yes, my lord,” Owyen said with a smile. Marco turned his focus on the warden.
“He is using you,” Marco warned Lord Adair. “I don’t know what his endgame is but he is using you. I was not sent here to kill you.”
“With all of the weapons that were found on you, I am sure you were sent here to kill me and half of my war council. What was that contraption you had wrapped around your wrist? Owyen said it could propel knives.”
“Owyen says a lot of things.” Marco uncrossed his arms and lowered himself to the floor then lay on his back, placing his hands under his head. “I am not doing anything. I will lie here until I am killed or set free.”
“How ridiculous,” Lord Adair scoffed. “You were hired to kill me and you accepted. Now that you were caught and I extend a new offer to you, then you wish to stand some sort of moral ground. You are an assassin, are you not? What of your creed, gold for steel?”
“That applies to sellswords, not assassins.” Marco corrected the warden.
“The same difference. Tell me why one job is so unappealing compared to the other.”
“I like Lord Tarius, for one.”
“Lord Tarius.” The warden laughed. “Lord Tarius will be dealt with in the next few days. No, I speak of Lord Derryl Tallis. The cheat of a warden who conspired against me with Lord Tarius in an attempt to unseat me from my title.”
“Why would they do that?” Marco’s interest was piqued.
“House Barrington has always been at odds with my house ever since the Sovereignty Wars. I couldn’t tell you the root of the animosity, and I doubt Lord Tarius could either. Somehow he has infected Lord Derryl with his prejudiced thoughts about me and my house. They found out plans I had for my daughter, which do not concern them in the slightest. So the two of them conspired and plotted a way for them to openly attack me. They created lies about me hiring some outlaw to attack Lord Tarius’s men in his provinces. The accusations are absurd, and yet without any true evidence Lord Derryl ruled in favor of Lord Tarius. They will not stop, no matter what they say. The only way I can keep myself and my family safe is by removing them from the equation.”
“I see,” Marco said as he gave a slight nod.
“So then you will take care of Lord Derryl. I will double the pay you were supposed to receive for my assassination. Two thousand crowns will guarantee you will live the rest of your life wanting for nothing.”
“Unfortunately, I will have to decline your offer,” Marco said calmly as he closed his eyes.
“Why?” Anger flashed through the warden’s voice.
“Nothing has changed. Owyen is using you and I do not know for what. I do not trust him and neither should you. If he wants me to take this job, then that means I should probably stay here in this cell until I am released or brought to the chopping block.”
“There is a third option,” Owyen said as he walked closer to the cell bars. Marco opened his eyes to see Owyen grip his hands around the bars. “You will not escape this cell, brother. Nor will you be brought to the headsman. You will not hang or be stretched. You will simply rot. You are still sick, remember?” A look of concern ran across Marco’s face before he was able to stop himself from showing emotion. “One week you will be okay, correct? Within a fortnight how will you feel? Something tells me time is on our side. I think soon you will beg for it back. You will not receive it until you accept Lord Adair’s request. Until then you will remain here, as bare as the day you were born.” A wicked smile spread across Owyen’s face. “Give him time, Lord Adair, and he will break.”
Lord Adair nodded in approval. Marco fought to keep his emotions in check. He wanted to rush the bars where Owyen stood. He was close enough to grab now, but Marco doubted he could make it to his feet and reach Owyen before he pulled away. He tried to think of something he could say that would sound intimidating or at least make them question themselves but came up empty. Besides, without any clothes on it would be difficult to verbally put Owyen and the warden on edge. So Marco decided to relax with his hands underneath his head. He closed his eyes and acted as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Marco could feel the stares of the two men as they waited to see any sign of worry from him.
“Well then,” Lord Adair said. “Let us be off. My champion will awake in a few hours. I have preparations to make.” Marco heard the guards shuffle as the warden made his exit.
“Owyen,” Marco called out without opening his eyes.
“Yes, brother.”
“Its power still runs through me. I will be free in three days. You will be dead in four.” Marco made sure to smile, knowing that Owyen would see it. He listened as Owyen made his exit. When he was sure they were gone, he peeked one eye open. When he saw no one there, he opened both eyes and jumped to his feet. Panic set in, as he had no idea how he would escape. Memories of the last time he had gone without his cloak came back to Marco in a flood. First there was the pain of the cloak’s energy leaving him. Then there was the agony of his sickness returning. Last time it was unbearable.
Marco had taken many jobs as a sellsword and even more as an assassin. No matter how dangerous or grave the situation, he was always able to find a way out of it. He was always able to survive. People thought this was because he was a skilled killer, which was partially true.
The reality was that he respected and had a healthy fear of death. Marco did not want to die. He did not want to die in his sleep. He did not want to die rich or poor. He did not want to die in the arms of a woman. He did not want to die period. He especially did not want to die the slow and painful death that he would surely face if he went without his cloak for too long. That was why he appeared so skilled and so lethal. He was willing to do whatever it took to survive even until the last second. There was never a time when he would accept death or tell himself it had been a good life. There was nothing he would not do to survive, and may the gods and Isaac bless any man, beast, or being that threatened his next breath.
Marco let out a sigh and looked at the squatter. Let’s see what I can find.
