Remnant of Power

Chapter Thirty-six

Mal

Mal heard footsteps stomping up stone stairs, getting gradually louder. Suddenly the key rattled in the lock and there was a thud as the wooden door was pushed open. Two large soldiers stood in the semi-darkness.

"Get out of bed!" one of them bellowed, cuffing him. "Stand up now, Prisoner, His Most Royal and Magnificent Highness King Ulric and His Grace the King's Grand Vizier Lord Rassten is coming to speak with you!" The other soldier ripped the rough blanket off him, nearly pulling it from the bed. Mal stood up, bracing himself, but the man laughed at him, then grabbed him by the shoulder, and punched his arm. "Make sure you're awake when he gets here," he ordered. The door slammed shut.

Mal sat on the bed, his heart pounding. The King. He was going to see him face to face. Could he attack him; would he be able to reach the dagger from the end of the bed in time? He could try. Or had they come to kill him?

He heard a noise outside the room, and in the nick of time, moved the dagger to between the wall and the edge of the bed, and pulled the thin cover over it.

The door opened and a portly man with grayish beard entered, followed by four soldiers. Three more soldiers followed. The room was full of sweating aggression, each of the soldiers trying to please the older man by being the most intimidating. Mal stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. Was this man the King?

The man didn't say anything to him, the first words he spoke were to a soldier carrying a roll of parchment, "Unroll it and put it on the bed," he said, pointing. The soldier opened out the sheet and laid it out on the bed. As it had been rolled, the edges wouldn't lie flat, so the soldier had to roll it the other way.

"Hurry up, soldier," the portly man snapped. Mal saw that it was a labelled drawing.

Once the parchment was arranged on the bed, the man glared at the soldiers.

"Put the cuffs on again." Grundle grabbed Mal roughly. Mal tried to shake him off, but one of the other soldiers hit him across the face. Grundle fastened a set of handcuffs around his wrists. The portly man opened the door and went out.

Mal heard him say, "We're ready." Ready for what? wondered Mal. He didn't have to wait long to find out. The door opened again and a tall, gold-clad figure entered, a deep scar across his face crossing one eye, and a similar one across his mouth, pulling his lip out of shape. His stained doublet was stretched across an enormous belly.

"You," he said, "Look at the map. Show me where the wolves live, you may as well be useful before I kill you."

Mal stepped forward to look at the parchment. "They haven't told me where they live. And I've never seen a map," he said, "I don't know what to look for." The portly man slapped Mal's head. Mal ducked, anger burning his stomach.

"This is His Most Esteemed and Excellent Majesty, King Ulric. You must address him as 'Your Majesty' at all times."

Mal looked at the King. So this is him, he thought. His eyes look identical to mine. Mal breathed out. He killed my parents. He clenched his fists, thinking of the knife.

The portly man who was therefore the Grand Vizier, Lord Rassten, turned his head to look at Mal, "Pay attention. How long the rest of your life is depends on how long it takes you to learn to read the map." He nodded at Grundle. The soldier punched him hard in the belly. Mal folded over, clutching his stomach, but by massive strength of will, stood up, and kept his expression blank.

"Pay attention, or it'll get worse," barked Lord Rassten. "We think they are somewhere around here," he said pointing to the north of the Glimmering Mountains.

Mal swallowed. "Yes, I think it's there somewhere."

"What's the land like where they live?" asked the Grand Vizier, his toad-like face squinting at Mal.

"Sort of a bit hilly, then mountainous," said Mal, trying to be as vague as possible. He'd already said he didn't know. The King seemed to think he'd been to the Talahund Kingdom.

"The young man needs some help to remember" said the King, in a hoarse, rasping voice. The first soldier stepped forward and punched Mal again in the stomach, harder. He couldn't help crying out, but this time he tried not to bend over, so they didn't know how much it hurt him.

Lord Rassten smiled. "Have you remembered any more details?"

"No." said Mal. Lord Rassten nodded at the second soldier. He punched Mal in the back and side, then on the back of his head.

"Yes, alright, I have, stop," muttered Mal. He thought quickly. He'd be out of here tonight. Whatever he described, he'd be gone by the time the King found out it didn't exist.

He pointed at the map towards the bottom of the range of Glimmering Mountains. "I think it was there somewhere, you have to go through a wide, pinkish-colored cave to get to their land."

"That sounds more like it. But you should have said that to start with," said the King, He nodded at the soldier again and the man kicked Mal several times in the shins and thighs, then grabbed the map and rolled it up.

Lord Rassten, who had been watching Mal while the King questioned him, suddenly pushed Mal aside and stepped behind him so that he was between Mal and the bed.

"Very well, I'll investigate what you have said. For your sake, as well as for the sake of your parents, I hope you've been truthful." Without looking at Mal again the King stepped towards the door. The nearest soldier jumped to open it for him, bowing deeply as the King passed him.

Lord Rassten waited while the King walked through the door, then gestured to all but two of the soldiers to follow him. The Vizier looked up at Mal and frowned. Then in a slow, deliberate fashion he looked back at the bed again. Reaching over, he grabbed the cover and pulled it towards the head of the bed before walking out of the room.

"You have your instructions," he muttered as he passed the soldiers. Pushing the door shut, they both stepped towards Mal and let loose a volley of vicious kicks. He tried not to cry out, but as a hard boot struck the back of his head he fell to the floor and groaned. Laughing, the guards left the room.

Mal dragged himself onto the narrow bed and lay still. His head throbbed and shooting pains stabbed his back. How long would it be before the Princess came for him? He didn't know how fast he'd be able to run – right now he felt like he could only hobble like an old man.

He thought about the Princess, and rubbed his beard, remembering their kiss. He liked her. He liked her a lot and it would be good to escape with her, but as another spasm of pain shot into his kidney one thought in his head pushed all of the others out of the way.

Ulric. He'd seen him face to face now. He'd seen that the rumours of his brutality were true – he'd just experienced it for himself. As he reached down the bed to clasp the dagger the Princess had left him, his hand grazed the rough stone of the wall. He'd been born in this castle – his parents had lived here. If it wasn't for Ulric they would still be here – walking around, alive, laughing, talking to him, touching him. But instead they were dead. Instead, his uncle had taken their love away, and he'd probably done the same to thousands of people right across Arvad. This man, Ulric, had changed the whole course of Mal's life because of his greed, and his jealousy.

A vein began to pulse in his neck. A spasm of utter hatred gripped him. He staggered off the bed and shuffled to the window, thumping the hard stones of the wall. Staring outside, he screwed his eyes up and let out a groan. Somehow, I'm going to get out of here. And somehow, I will take his life, as he took theirs. I swear it. And I will stop his wicked killing. Somehow.

behind him paddM]IQ