Ash to Iron

Chapter XXIII

The fall days grew colder as winter was about to take hold with its icy grip. The sky was grey and dreary, the wind polluted with smoke. Faric had been under the guise of Valgrad's men for a while now. He had amassed a few more soldiers for his fight, but it wasn't enough. We must act fast... he thought as he ate his meal. It was stew with some sort of meat butchered by the marauders, most likely stolen. Faric had thought of every possible escape route he could, but the King's immobility was a problem. They wouldn't be able to go far, even if they made it out of the castle. The passages were either too narrow, or too far out of reach. Even the sewers were problematic because of the iron gates at the end. The more he thought, the harder the plan seemed to be. He hadn't slept very well for the past few nights, constantly in fear of the worst. He scarfed down his meal like a savage as to not let his guard down, for even one slip up could mean his death and the death of those following him.

Faric noticed that there was a rather large piece of bread left on the table beside him, probably from one of the other men. Faric picked it up and placed his bowl down.

Something for the King and Orwell. Faric walked by several other men and women that hurried passed him. He thought it was odd for them to be in such a hurry. Maybe I should visit them later this evening... Faric thought to himself. No... He must be starving. Making his way down the winding halls and staircases, Faric found himself back in the dungeons. There were no guards on duty. Well, this is odd... He thought. There's no way they would leave him alone. Faric remembered the others who were in such a hurry to leave but waved the thought off. No, this is more important. Just in case though, he drew his dagger and crept behind the shadows. The cells were as decrepid and barbaric as they had been, but now the cries of pain and suffering were worse. Faric made his way through pools of blood and cells littered with bodies when he finally had come across the right cell.

"My King?" Faric whispered. But there was nothing. No response. Just an echo. Faric felt a shift in the musty air behind him, the hairs on his neck standing tall. He turned quickly, but there was nothing. Faric gave out a sigh of relief, but then felt a jab in his side. Pain radiated from the area, but it wasn't enough to keep him down. Fair twisted and sliced, cutting off a hand in the darkness. There was a howl as the marauder clutched his bleeding limb, crimson spilling onto the stone floor. Faric's heart was beating out of his chest as he tried to run into the shadows but was met by several others armed to the teeth. Three arrows pointed at him, and a grime smile lurked in the darkness.

"Take him alive." Valgrad commanded. The archers shot and fired into Faric's legs, leaving arrows sticking out. Faric screamed in agony and fell to his knees. "Wow, and to think this is all I had to do to take down the last of your kind."

Faric roared and launched his dagger straight towards the darkness, but it was met with a sparked clang before falling to the ground.

"These iron plates these people wear do come in handy, heavy though." Valgrad chuckled. "To think I almost forgot who you were when I saw you in my halls." He raised his hand to where his heart would be as if to mourn, "The last of the great assassin clans, Feng Ravi.

What did you have these people call you? Faric?" Valgrad laughed hysterically. "You could've picked anything!" He walked out of the darkness. His pale skin almost glowing in the torchlight. Leaning down, he placed a hand on one of the arrows, driving it deeper.

Faric grimaced but kept eye contact with the monster before him "You're a coward; you will never win."

Valgrad grinned and picked up the fallen dagger. "Oh, but I already have." He took the pummel and slammed it across Faric's head, black nothingness taking over.