The Shattered Path

Chapter 22 - The Betrayal

The next ten days blended together as Aerham sank into despair. His father had been there for him his entire life and had taught him much about becoming a Brother. Deivean had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. When they had become betrothed, his father had granted her a room at their estate, which was just before Aerham had left for the fortress. If only she had stayed at her father's manor, she would still be there waiting for Aerham's return. Surely, she was a alive somewhere. Perhaps, his father had sent her away with an armed escort at the first sign of danger. Captain Meagus wouldn't have had the resources to learn of her whereabouts after such a short stay in Ornek. He clung to a tendril of hope that she and his father still lived, having escaped the surprise attack. Something deep inside told him to accept their deaths but he wrestled against that feeling. He had not seen their bodies, so it had to be possible that they still lived. He knew it was desperate hope and nothing more. He prayed for Ravyneira to give him a sign of hope or a sign confirming their deaths. Nothing happened. Not even some insignificant event that he could force some hopeful interpretation from.

Uth Garenthil had ordered an empty supply wagon prepared for Aerham. He had instructed the servants to drive a pole through the bed of the wagon, and shackle Aerham's arms and ankles around the pole. That was how he had traveled each day. Like a freak in a carnival. A man shamed by his crimes and put on display for all to see. When the other Initiates rode by, they didn't look at him. Aerham wasn't certain whose shame kept their gaze away.

Late afternoon on the final day, the Fortress of Light gleamed in the distance, mountains rising on either side. Seven months before, Aerham had seen the same view and it had taken his breath away. It was painful to remember the anxiety and anticipation; and the dreams of glory. He had known some day he would wear the shining plate armor of a Brother. He never thought he would return wearing filthy rags, shackled to a pole. He had fifteen days of beard growth, hair hanging in greasy clumps, partially blocking his vision. He refused to move at all. He had sat in the wagon for the past two days. Twice each day he had been unchained and allowed to relieve himself. He was surprised that he had been allowed that much respect. He assumed Uth Garenthil would want him to soil himself.

As the great iron doors swung open to allow their procession to enter, Aerham garnered some hope. Entering the fortress once more made the memory of Uth Arthgrin much more real. The Lord of Light was a fair and just man. He would hear both sides and any honorable man would understand that the oaths to Ravyneira superseded all else. The Brotherhood of Light was sworn to protect the Southern Lands, namely the two countries which had provided a levy of soldiers and tithes for so many centuries, Minogradia and Saroken. His father had lived that oath his entire life. Honor required the Brotherhood of Light to answer the call to arms to save his father. Or at least make the attempt.

The force stayed in the courtyard, greeted by servants with trays of water, wine, and fruits. Twelve guards surrounded Aerham's wagon as it continued through the second set of doors into the tunnel passing through the fortress. They emerged on the far side in the inner courtyard on the frontier side of the fortress. This had been the staging area on the day they had begun the training march. How he had experienced very different thoughts on that day about what this day would be like; the day he returned.

A guard wearing chainmail hauberk and hood climbed onto the bed of the wagon and unlocked the chains on Aerham's ankles. He unlocked one wrist manacle long enough to clear the pole. Aerham was pulled to his feet and handed down to two guards who took him by each shoulder, causing his left shoulder to erupt in pain. His eyes went blurry and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. They had to see the bandage and know he had a wound. He would not give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

Fighting the intense pain, Aerham didn't see where they dragged him. He felt the cool air and glimpsed heavy doors with small, barred windows as they moved down the hallway. He knew he was in the dungeon below the fortress. Though the Brotherhood didn't call the area a dungeon; it was the holding area or the cells. If someone called it a dungeon, they were always corrected by someone else. It was a series of dark cells with little ventilation below the fortress. It was a dungeon. They could call it what they liked. It was only Aerham's second time down there. He recalled how thankful he had been last time that he was not a prisoner there. In truth, he had never heard of anyone being locked down there before.