Prophecy Of Kings: Volume 1 ✔️

Chapter 22 - Memories

"I... I don't know."

"Please, you must focus. Where did you last see her?"

Seonag winced every time she tried to speak. "Two weeks ago she tried tae escape. You'd been gone so long, she thought something had happened to ye."

"Stephenson's men caught her?"

"Aye. "A bout of uncontrolable tears poured from her eyes, spilling onto the floor below. "They strung her up in the courtyard, stripped her bare and..."

Firmin pried no more. He knew that whatever happened, Seonag was likely forced to watch the horrors inflicted on her friend. Mo leannan. There was no room in his previous life for love; shutting himself off from the harsh reality of the things he had done to become Knight Commander, was the only way to survive. Barabel had changed everything. She had softened his hardened heart, and filled it to the brim with the warmth of life; now the thoughts of her suffering, the possibility of her leaving this world, had made him feel like he had crimson stained-glass in his chest. Brittle, and moments from cracking.

After a moment of silence, Seonag dried her tears and looked upwards past his towering figure; meeting his eyes once more. "What happened to ye?"

The face of a conflicted man stared back at Seonag. His mouth twitched as his mind struggled in vain to formulate a response. "I... I couldn't take it any longer. I commited treason against my King, and disobeyed a direct order. Now I'm on the run, hoping to find the one I love."

With a weary hand, she pointed to a door to her right. Firmin nodded, unsheathing his sword in the cramped room as he headed for the exit. As his hand pressed against the cold wood, he heard the faintest of whispers, "I wish ye happiness." His eyes squeezed together as he leaned his weight on the heavy door; he couldn't bear looking at her for another moment. You can't save everyone, remember who we are here for. The voice in his head grew louder as the cold snap of the night air wisped past his silhouette. You're no hero. Never have been.

No moonlight graced the sky this evening; only the sparse torches that lined the battlement above shared a flicker of light with the inner-courtyard. The ghosts of Firmin's memories wondered the Castle as he slowly advanced to the building where Barabel had nursed him back to health. One step squelched in the mud. Deprived of sight, his nose recalled her wonderful scent; April flowers flowing gently in the morning breeze. Another step. His ears remembered her life-giving laugh, echoing in his head as though they were bouncing around the walls of the courtyard. One more step. Suddenly, he almost dropped his sword as he thought he felt Barabel's delicate fingers intertwine with his. A final step. The threshold of the room he had called home was just up ahead. Calm down, it is just your mind playing tricks. He tried to reassure himself as he peered through the window, but seeing the empty room made the painful warmth flood back into his chest. Slowly lifting the latch, he crept into the small room, sitting down on the single bed where they had watched Seonag sleep; where they held each other for the first time. Turning his head, he stared into the space where Barabel sat. Only a worn piece of armour -savaged by a druid- lay on the end of the bed. As he shifted to inspect it, he heard an unusual crumple beneath him, and, lifting the sheet, found a small piece of parchment and a white cloth beneath it. He scrambled to the window, squinting in the dim light. The handwriting was atrocious, but he could just make it out.

I am coming for you, my love. We will meet again. I know it. And should the fates keep us apart, I will wait for you in the other-world. I hope your eyes never meet this letter, as that means you are back in this awful place. Lord Stephenson somehow knew of our bond. His men have beaten me every day since. But I have kept you in my mind through it all. Tonight I will be leaving.

See you soon.

Yours always,

B.

The pain he felt was worse than the savage bite of any bear. Worse than the slash of fearsome claws from any eagle. Beaten me every day since. His eyes ran over the words again, oh Barabel, I truly am sorry. He lifted the hankerchief to his face, and suddenly, the world lit up again for a brief moment. April flowers. It smelled of her. Something as little as her scent was all it took to replace the pain in his chest with comforting warmth. He felt a rabid determination swell within him, clenching his fist as he marched for the door.

The obvious first choice was to check out the small prison in the dungeon of the castle. Skirting the inner wall, he made his way to the towering building that held the library; this time, however, he descended into the belly of the beast, stumbling in the dark as the narrow steps led him further and further underground.

"Who's there?" Said a voice from below.

The glow of torchlight and the sound of steel footsteps started to build as the shadowy figure approached the stairwell. Firmin pressed his back against the cool wall, his sword poised for a fight. This is it. With the element of surprise on his side, Firmin emerged, thrusting the tip of his sword through the guards neck. Blood oozed from the wound as he withdrew the sword. The man dropped to the floor, writhing as he choked on the crimson that gushed from his neck. One.

"Oi?" Alarmed shouts echoed from the adjacent room; three more guards burst into view, one with his sword drawn, and the other two brandishing short clubs, ready to fight. The narrow walls and low ceilings of the cramped room were not suited to fighting with a sword. So much for being subtle.

"Put down your weapon, Scotsman. You will hang for this you bastard." The boldest of the three ran towards him with his sword raised to head level. Firmin ducked instinctively under his wild swing, slashing at his exposed gut and setting free his entrails. He kicked the man backwards into his compatriates, staggering them. They pushed him aside as he dropped to the floor. Two. The pair attacked together from each side. Firmin swung and hit one on the shoulder, but the pauldron of his armour deflected the blow. They were on him in an instant, and pinned him up against the wall, one of them slamming a club into his stomach and forcing the sword out of his hand. He hunched over in pain as they continued to attack, Rupert. In his desperation he remembered the sgian dubh Rupert had given him before he left. His mind grew fuzzy with the intense pain as he felt another blow to his side, but this was what he had been trained to do. Ignoring the agony, he reached for the small blade hidden in his sock and jammed it into the eye of one of the assailants, who stumbled back, screaming in pain; slipping to the ground on the bloodied remains of his fellow guardsman. Three.

The last man grabbed him by the neck and tackled him to the ground; his eyes felt as though they were moments from bursting out of his head, as he fought to gasp the slightest breath. The guard looked like a starving wolf moments from a feast, as he pressed harder and harder on Firmin's windpipe; all he could see was the murderous eyes and bared teeth looking down upon him. Using the last of his consciousness, he grabbed the guard's fingers, snapping them backwards in an instant, and cracking them like brittle eggs. Finding an opening, he threw his weight around, knocking his attacker off and gaining top control. The screams of the guard slowly died as Firmin enacted his revenge, starving the man of oxygen for good. Four.

"THUD." Firmin lay limp over the strangled corpse. The third guard stood behind him, breathing heavily, with the sgian dubh still protruding from his eye-socket. "You'll fucking pay for this ah tell you!" He said, spitting on Firmin's unconscious body.

The end of volume 1.

Prophecy of Kings will return soon...

Volume 2 will be due to be posted chapter-by-chapter by the end of 2022.

If you have made it so far, thank you! And I hope to see you again in Volume 2!