Stolas snapped his eyes open and remained mute. The terrifying prospect of making a sound froze his limbs, slowed his breathing. He still sat huddled by the door, wrapped in his cloak with his clothing damp from a cold sweat, pulse racing. In a few seconds, the fear ebbed away, and the deep aching he had predicted earlier flooded through his body as the adrenaline wore off. He let out a sigh and buried the dreamed memories back into the recesses of his mind. Stolas gazed longingly at the beds. The empty beds. What had woken him up dawned on him: the door was ajar, Ferin and Iana left? Still sluggish in his movements, Stolas raised himself from the floor and peeked through the open slit. The hall and stairway were clear. He stood there for a moment, quiet, the feeling of curiosity smouldering in his gut intensifying. Hundreds of ideas circulated inside his mind, and the need to find out where they disappeared to became unbearable. Stolas wanted to trust them, but he would consider himself stupid for it.
He made his way downstairs, wiping sleep from his eyes. Aside from the fire burning down to glowing coals and some slumbering men having moved on top of the tables, the room was still empty. Yet he spotted the warm glow of an illuminated lantern outside, held up by the shadow of an arm. "Hello?" called Stolas as he opened the door, a blast of cold air slamming into him as he did so. The sound of smashing glass echoed from the stables. Stolas' hands instinctively gravitated to the handle of his dagger. He held his breath and approached the source of the sound, snow crushing beneath his feet. "Hello?" he repeated.
"Éirean-" Stolas' blade halted an inch from Ferin's throat. "It's me!" His hands were up in surrender, one holding a lantern and the other the reins to a brown horse. Stolas dropped the dagger.
"I'm sorry, you startled me."
"It seems you're well trained with a blade, eh?" said Ferin, dropping his arms.
"I'm not."
"Sorry if we woke ya up, but one of our horses is missing." They turned the corner to the stables, where Iana stood next to a shattered lantern with a look of relief on her face.
"Ah, it is you," she said.
Stolas smiled as he spotted his horse was still there, although it took him a moment to recognise it. Having it washed and groomed transformed the creature. It's coat, sleek and pale, with a long, light mane. The name 'Bleach' popped into his mind
"The thief got away, whoever they were. But we're all awake now, let's get a move on, eh? The sunrise is nice from the forest anyhow." Ferin pulled himself up onto the brown horse. Stolas saddled up Bleach, feeling for the hidden coin. His fingers grazed across the pouches, each one accounted for. He mouthed a small prayer of thanks as he, too, mounted his horse. He may as well go along with it. There's no way I'm going back to sleep now, he thought. Iana looked up at him expectantly. Oh, no. Stolas groaned, now socially obligated to offer her a ride.
"Would you like to ride with me? There's not much space, and the saddle is unpleasant. Bleach is a rowdy horse." Stolas squirmed. Wrong. There is plenty of room. The saddle is weirdly soft, and Bleach is a lovely horse.
"Thank you," said Iana. She got herself comfortable and wrapped her arms around Stolas' chest, cinching up as close to him as she could get. Swallowing hard, Stolas exited the stables, close on Ferin's coattails.
The trio navigated the snowy plains at a steady pace and approached the treeline. After a time, the trees became denser, evergreens towering over them from every angle. Soon the group immersed themselves within the confines of Twin Pine Forest.
"How far away is the house?" asked Stolas after another half hour, trudging forward. Only now were the orange hues of sunrise breaking through the canopy.
"Do you want to be rid of us that badly?" Said Iana, squeezing him lightly. A small whimper escaped his lips, and he pushed her arms away, squirming. His wounds throbbed again.
"Sorry," said Stolas through gritted teeth. Iana frowned, confused. "I have a few wounds that are not altogether healed."
"What happened?"
"I was attacked,"
"Where does it hurt?" Said Iana almost sympathetically.
"My ribs." She gingerly stroked up his side.
"Here?" she dug in her nails, breaking the bruised skin. Stolas doubled over as an acute pain radiated throughout his body, like liquid metal coursing through his veins. Startled, Bleach reared and threw them both flying off of his back, plunging into the snow. Before Stolas processed anything, Iana scrambled atop him, thrusting Kalou's dagger up to his throat. Her pretty face twisted into a gleeful, homicidal smile. "You shouldn't abandon things as nice as this, you know." Stolas stared at her wide-eyed and dumbfounded. His suspicion hadn't been nearly enough.
"She's got a point," said Ferin as he descended from his horse. His voice was colder, a sinister, grating tone now. "You rich kids don't understand the concept of value. Something as fine as that could feed a family for a long time." Stolas twitched. A flash of irritation amongst the panic.
"There is no need anymore." He said hesitantly, in a strained, small voice. "This country has more than enough now. No one will starve." Ferin looked at him with a smug smile, striding over to Bleach. "I never said we were going to use the money for food, boy." he paused, opening the saddlebags. "What's your actual name anyhow?"
"I told you."
"You told strangers you met in a tavern your real name?" Ferin chuckled mockingly, "Naïve."
Ferin cursed under his breath and clawed through Stolas' belongings. After what felt like hours of tense silence, he threw up his arms in defeat. His bounty; damp and worn clothing. "Well? Where is it?" He hissed. His entire presence seeping malice. Stolas bit his cheek. Iana punctured his skin with the blade, and a drop of blood cascaded down his neck. He wavered.
"I have nothing more than what we agreed on."
"You're lying to me!" Screamed Ferin as he grasped Stolas' shirt, hauling him up from the ground, seething, spittle flying out from between his rotten teeth. Stolas fought to suppress the sense of hollowness in his gut. This man was no longer sane. Neither of them was. "Who are you?" He debated telling the truth. Even using his abilities. Both would reveal his identity. Would they dare attack a prince if they knew? He doubted.
"Enough," Iana growled. "We can sell the horse and his body for a good amount. It doesn't matter who he is. Let me kill him."
A twig snapped.
Ferin dropped him back into the snow. All three of them searched among the trees for movement, a shadow, some person or beast.
"Who's there?" Called Iana, her eyes shone with a petrifying dark enthusiasm. The crack of a branch echoed from the left. "Come out!" she commanded, twirling around to face it. Her hand clenched so hard; her knuckles whitened.
"Iana, calm down," Ferin whispered. Even he seemed fearful of her bloodlust.
"Why should I listen to the likes of you?" a disembodied voice resonated from within the trees. Stolas let out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding. Someone had come.
"Where are you?" Iana yelled, analysing the forest. Stolas caught a wisp of a darting shadow. Again, to the right, then left, and behind him.
"Guess." The voice came from every direction at once. Stolas peered through the trunks again. At that moment, however, he looked up. Hidden within the pine bristles, the barman perched. His fingers holding back the drawstring of a bow.
The metallic scent of iron invaded his senses. Dark, thick blood poured out from the new gaping hole in her throat. Iana's jaw hung low; her face contorted into an outraged confusion. Those eyes, filled with such a fearsome energy seconds ago, dimmed and died as she drained. Like a rag doll, now pale as porcelain, she toppled and lay limp, staining the snow she rested on. The second arrow pierced Ferin's eye just as cleanly. His eyeball burst like egg yolk and dripped down his cheek. A murky white. Stolas gasped in a rush of relief.
The barman jumped from his branch. "Stolas, what the fuck has your father done now?"
"Thank you!" Burst out Stolas as he clambered to his feet, taking in the sight of the man before him. Like his father, this man radiated an air of authority. Not regal, however, more like that of a captain, a knight. His skin, although hardened with age, glowed a pale tone with a slim white scar across his nose. In the snow's light, his previously dark eyes illuminated to match his moss-green hunter's cloak, the hood of which he wore up. As Stolas approached, Caine looked down at him pitifully.
"I couldn't let this country's most valuable asset die to thieves who didn't even know what they were looking at. What are you doing here, what does the King want with me?"
"Well," said Stolas, eyeing the leaking bodies. "Could we discuss this somewhere else? I don't think a prince and a royal acquaintance killing two peasants would do much for either of our reputations." He chuckled, standing coated in blemished snow and trembling as his chest and neck bled. Caine bit his lip. Rest would be best for both. "Can you still ride?" he asked. "We can talk at... well, you will see."
"Yes. Thank you," replied Stolas. He grimaced, kneeling beside Iana's corpse. Regret clouded his features. What a waste, he thought, plucking Kalou's blade from her grasp. He would not forget it again. Upon sheathing the dagger, the warm embrace of security and a sense of achievement enveloped him. Armed and allied. Good. He pulled himself back onto Bleach. Caine took Ferin's horse, and they rode together in awkward silence further north into the forest. The length of the brief trip, Stolas speculated who this man was, what he was like, what kind of relationship he and his father had. Caine seemed at least a decade younger, yet they carried the same jaded, battle-worn expressions. The familiarity reassured him. Stolas felt confident he could trust his new auxiliary.
A half-hour later, they arrived at a small clearing. Caine dismounted, and Stolas followed suit. At first, nothing but trees and bare shrubs stood out to him. The single sound being the soft trickling of a nearby stream. The floor, however, seemed unusual, unnatural in formation. It felt perfectly flat. Stolas kicked away the layer of pine needles and thin soil to reveal thick stone tiles. He noticed then the giant arches protruding from the forest floor, the stone blending with the trunks, each adorned with ivy roots and weathered carvings. The toppled snow-covered walls and the crumbling altar became clear. "It's an abandoned church?" thought Stolas aloud.
"It is not abandoned, your royal highness. Come, I tied the horses up by the stream." Said Caine, carrying both saddles across his shoulders. He nodded to an overgrown trap door. "Open it," The door revealed a set of stone steps descending into hazy darkness. "After you." Stolas went down tentatively, holding his breath in anticipation, each step causing a longer echo than the previous, until he arrived in the supposed crypt. The distinct musty scent of aged books mixed with the smell of wood-smoke invaded his senses. Stolas's jaw dropped. Between each stone arch, ancient books stacked neatly atop one another. The thousands of blockades formed hallways weaving deeper inside to where he could not see. A candlelit labyrinth of books and knowledge with no end in sight.
"These books," said Stolas breathlessly as he ran inside to grab one. He examined the metal clasps and caressed the supple leather cover in wonderment. Each one possessed the same, if not superior, levels of craftsmanship. "Do they all speak of angels?" He turned back to the sound of their saddles hitting the floor. A haunted look flashed in Caine's eyes, and Stolas suddenly regretted mentioning it early.
"Why are you here?"
"Well," replied Stolas carefully. "Please allow me to explain." He replaced the book. "Now, I would like to clarify my father has nothing to do with this and neither does my brother. This is my quest to prove my hypothesis. That is as to whom is responsible for the disappearance of seventy-five Lazerian citizens." Caine's steely expression faltered.
"What are you talking about?"
"And one angel attacked me, which is why I'm like this," Caine's eyes flicked down to Stolas' hand. Blood dripped from his fingers. A small puddle formed on the floor. "Not because of those thieves. Mind you-"
"Stop." Caine interrupted. "You will tell me later. I need to address your injuries first."
"I blocked the pain out a while ago. My side is numb. I feel nothing. See?" Stolas prodded his ribs in a demonstration. Caine led him further into the maze.
"Yet I will feel the business end of the King's sword if you die here. There are few men I fear in this world and your father is one of them."
"I agree with you," Stolas murmured. The two turned a corner into a small square space where the arches lay bare. Inside was a makeshift hearth with a smouldering fire and a great wooden armchair facing it.
"Please sit down and remove your shirt." Said Caine as he vanished into another corridor. Stolas removed his cloak, heavy with damp and lay it down to dry. Noting his cotton shirt had turned crimson, he resorted to tossing it into the fireplace instead. He curled up in the chair, covering himself. A few quiet moments passed until Caine returned laden with medical supplies.
"I am disfigured," Stolas warned.
"Don't be dramatic," Caine scoffed, nodding for Stolas to reveal himself. He unravelled. Across his slender frame, nineteen indurated red scars marred him. He peeled the soaked bandage from his shoulder, revealing the primary angry wound. Caine tensed. "Oh," he whispered, glancing at the supplies, at the hearth, then back at him. "A trial by fire it will be." Stolas pressed deeper into the chair as Caine stuck a metal poker into the flames. "Will you be able to block this out as well?"
"I don't know." Caine passed him a half-full bottle of wine, looking on in surprise as Stolas finished it in one swig. A quick couple of bottles later, the poker glowed white-hot.
"Are you ready?" Asked Caine. Stolas gave a slight nod before immersing himself inside his consciousness once again. He sat deathly still, limp, and relaxed. Caine drew a deep breath. "Iordan, forgive me," he whispered, touching the scalding metal to Stolas's sizzling skin. His fabricated void imploded on contact. A harrowing cry escaped Stolas' lungs as he writhed in pain. His face twisted into an expression of agony.
"Stop! Stop it!" he begged. Caine retreated and cast the rod back into the fire. Wrenching back around, he grasped the pale of water and drenched the prince. Stolas heaved, sweating, panting as he worked to subdue the residual pain. "That was awful." He spat out.
"It worked," said Caine as he analysed the cauterised flesh. Stolas slowed his breathing, taking deep, measured breaths. "What went wrong?"
"My mental fortitude isn't as strong as I'd hoped. The whole thing collapsed. However," a tired grin stretched across his face. "It is good I have found a limit. I can build on that."
"For now, concentrate on cleaning yourself up." Said Caine, still mildly concerned for his own safety. "There's a hot spring less than a quarter league from here, and while you do that, I'll hunt us something to eat."
"What do you want?" Said Stolas as Caine got up to leave. "Pork? Mutton or chevron? Would you prefer steak or beef?" Caine frowned. Stolas smiled. A small, limp pig appeared at the entrance of the room. "Should be about the right size for a spit."
"I forgot you could do that for a moment." He uttered in awe,
"It's just a body without a soul, I didn't see the point in giving it life just for it to die minutes later," added Stolas, seeing the mounting confusion on Caine's face at the deceased state of the animal before him. "There is nothing wrong with it, but, uh, do you have any fruit or vegetables?" Stolas continued. "I don't eat meat, you see. If you knew how animals looked and worked inside on the same level as I do, then you would also find consuming them revolting."
"I'm sure I can find something for Lazeria's saviour." Caine grinned. Yet, as he turned away, Stolas noticed his smile transform into a harrowing scowl.