Echoes of Shadow-Chapter Four

Oba watched as the assassin disappeared into the night. He clenched his fists and resisted the urge to let out another roar. It would do no good. He turned stiffly, the paralytic effect still lingering in his legs, and walked toward the body of his emperor.

The emperor lay face-down on the carpeted floor, blood soaking the once-brown carpet and turning it a muddy red.

Oba knelt beside his friend. “My friend. I am sorry,” he said. He removed the murder weapon, a shard of his broken blade, from the back of the emperor. More blood trickled out. He then turned the man onto his back and closed his lifeless eyes. He placed a hand on his friend’s forehead. “May the blessings of the Creator be upon you.”

The door to the emperor’s chambers burst open. Rai’Vynn stood there. Several of the emperor’s advisers stood behind him. His eyes widened at seeing his father lying dead on the floor and the shard of Oba’s blade lying nearby. “Murder!” he shouted. “Guards, seize him!”

The advisers, who were gaping at the scene, were shoved aside as half a dozen guards entered. They drew their swords once they were free of the gaggle of advisers. They surrounded Oba. Men he had been in charge of now pointed steel at him.

Oba rose slowly, glaring at the guards. At least two took a step back. “I did not kill your father, Rai’Vynn,” he declared. But you had a hand in it, I’m sure of it, he thought.

“The murder weapon lies at your feet, Oba. What other explanation could there be?”

He’s trying to set me up, Oba realized. He gestured toward the open window and the hidden door behind him. “The assassin came through the secret tunnels and left through the window.” He pointed a finger at the window where a cold wind blew through.

“How convenient,” Rai’Vynn said with derision. “An assassin just magically showed up, without being detected, and escaped…how again?”

“On a shadow drake.”

“A shadow drake,” Rai’Vynn repeated. He paused and gave a derisive sneer the advisers could not see. Then he laughed out loud. “Oh, the tales the true assassin tells to absolve himself of guilt.”

The other advisers laughed nervously. Some had once been friends of Oba. Now they laughed or stood silent as the blame for the death of the emperor was placed on his shoulders.

“I loved the emperor,” Oba said firmly. “I would never harm him.”

“Seize him,” Rai’Vynn ordered.

Four of the six guards approached him, swords pointed and ready to strike.

Oba raised his arms. Fighting would play into Rai’Vynn’s hands. His innocence would come to light. Darkness met him as he felt a jolt of pain at the back of his head.

***

Oba awoke. His hands met cold stone as he pushed himself to his feet, shivering. His head pounded. Metal bars met his eyes. He turned and found a stone wall behind him. A tiny window let in cold air. His armor was nowhere to be found.

Imprisoned, he thought. Why would they imprison me? “Guard,” he croaked, throat dry. “Guard.”

No one came.

He looked into the cell to his right. A mound of ragged clothing marked another prisoner.

“You,” Oba said, stumbling toward the bars. His body still ached from the battle against the assassin and whatever rough treatment he’d suffered at the hands of the guards. “Can you hear me?” Was everyone deaf in the dungeon?

The prisoner lifted his head and looked at Oba. He was an Engrall man with a long brown beard and green eyes. “Stop speaking.”

“But…”

The man held a finger to his lips and made a shushing sound. “Stop speaking or the guards will hear you,” he whispered fiercely.

Oba fell silent, looking around at the other cells. All the prisoners sat or lay in their cells in silence. He didn’t want to be silent, though, he wanted the guards to let him out.

“Guard!” he shouted.

The prisoner shook his head and laid it back down on the floor of his cell. “Fool,” he said.

Three guards answered his shout. Two leveled their spears at Oba while the first opened the door to the cell.

“I must speak…” Oba began.

The guard who had unlocked the door approached him and slammed the butt of his spear into Oba’s stomach.

Oba doubled over in pain while surprise paralyzed him. Why had they hit him? “Why?” he asked.

The guard did not answer. He simply slammed the spear into the same place again.

“Any other words to say, prisoner?” the second guard asked from behind the first. “Keep talking and we’ll keep beating you.”

Oba opened his mouth to speak but snapped it closed. No, it would do no good to be continually beat if he could avoid it. He remained silent.

“That’s better,” the second guard said. “I can’t wait until you’re sentenced, murderer.”

The first guard turned to go.

“I didn’t kill the emperor,” Oba blurted before he could stop himself.

The second guard arched an eyebrow. “You are a special kind of stupid.” He stepped into the cell and motioned for the first to turn back around. “We will teach you the hard way.”

Was this how all of the prisoners were treated? With such a callous disregard for their prisoners? Oba had no idea how they had become so brutal.

Two sets of fists began pummeling him. Blows rained on his body, slamming into his groin, legs, arm, side of his head, and more. He fell to his knees and instinctively raised his arms to protect what he could of his head. He could not say how long the blows lasted, nor did he remember them stopping.

He awoke a time later on the floor. This time his hands touched something wet. He opened his eyes. A thin layer of blood coated the stones. He reached up to where a sharp pain emanated from his head. Oh, it was his blood. The door was locked again and the two guards were nowhere to be seen.

“I told you,” the prisoner Oba had spoken with earlier whispered, startling him.

Oba, mindful of the reason for the beating in the first place, only nodded. He had brought it upon himself, in a way.

He sat in his cell for an indeterminate amount of time. He stared at the bars, at the ceiling, at the floor, at the other prisoners. Anything to keep his mind off his predicament. If they truly believed he had killed the emperor there was only one fate that awaited him – death. He had to either convince enough to support him or escape.

Oba fell asleep naturally but was awoken by a clanging noise. The guards were back. Here to beat me some more? He thought, not daring to speak.

“Get up, prisoner,” the first guard ordered. He held a pair of shackles. “The emperor wants to see you. Hold out your hands.”

Oba’s breath froze in his lungs but he held out his hands. The emperor? Could he have survived?

The shackles went on and he was led from the prison cell. The other prisoners huddled with heads down, not daring to make eye contact with the guards.

Oba was led up the steps and through the cold, damp corridors of the Obsidian Tower. He kept his head held high as he walked. To show weakness was to be as good as dead. They passed numerous guards on their path – guards who yesterday would have saluted him as the right hand of the emperor but now looked at him with anger, suspicion, and hate.

The doors to the throne room swung open at their approach. Oba looked at who sat upon the throne. “No,” he rasped.

Rai’Vynn sat upon the throne, wearing purple robes and his father’s crown. “Bring the traitor here,” he pointed at the foot of the stairs.

Oba was dragged before Rai’Vynn. He felt like bowing his head in defeat but forced himself to stare at Rai’Vynn and give him his deadliest stare. Traitor.

A gaggle of advisers stood off to one side of the throne. Some looked around nervously, while others glared at Oba or looked fawningly at Rai’Vynn.

A group of regal-looking Warbinders stood opposite the advisers. They did not glare at Oba. In fact, they didn’t look at him at all, but just looking at them made Oba feel itchy. Their ability to get into the head of others was legendary.

Oba sought out Head Mistress Saibinn Rue with his eyes. She stood at the head of the Warbinders and looked toward Rai’Vynn. Why would she be going along with this? Had the whole world gone mad? Could they not see he was innocent?

“Oba Kahn,” Rai’vynn spoke loudly. “You are accused of the murder of my father and our beloved emperor Kulan Gaidian. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Not that it will matter, Oba thought. Rai’Vynn was up to something and Oba feared no testimony he gave would be believed. Still, he stood straight and dragged his gaze over the advisers and Warbinders alike. “I did not kill the emperor,” he said firmly. “As I told you before, the emperor was assassinated by an unknown woman. I believe she was affiliated with the Assassins Guild.”

“Your broken blade was found beside the emperor.”

“It broke while I fought the assassin.”

“I find it unlikely an assassin breached the Fortress of Shadows, let alone the Obsidian Tower, without being detected.”

Oba shrugged. “I do not know how the assassin reached so far without detection, but I did not kill the emperor.” He pointed toward the group of Warbinders. “Have one of them read my mind. They will tell you I speak the truth.”

Rai’Vynn cast a glance toward the Warbinders but dismissed his idea with the wave of a hand. “I will not further waste their time with distractions. As the new emperor of the Engrall it falls to me to decide your guilt or innocence.”

Oba glared at Rai’Vynn. Do it, you coward, he thought.

“I find you guilty of murder of the emperor and my father.”

The room fell silent.

Oba stood silent. He had expected no less.

“The punishment will be death by crucifixion on the morrow. You will be made to suffer, as my father did before you die. Take him away.” He waved dismissively and the four guards grabbed Oba and dragged him toward the door.

“You will regret this, Rai’Vynn shouted. I swear it by the gods. You shall not get away with this. Justice will be done.”

Rai’Vynn smirked. “What’s done is done, old man. You shall be punished for your crime.

Oba was dragged indignantly down the aisle and once again through the double doors. He eventually stumbled to his feet and walked as the guards led him, forcefully, to his cell. They removed the shackles and once again threw him in and locked the door.

***

He had only been there for what felt like a short while when the door to the dungeons opened. Back for more beatings? he thought.

Instead of the guards from earlier, an Engrall in black armor with a skull helmet stood in front of him. “Arise, Oba Kahn,” the figure said.

Oba rose and squinted in the dim light. He recognized that voice. “Takris?” he asked.

The figure Oba believed was Takris did not respond. He slipped a key into the lock and turned it. The lock popped open and he swung the door outward. He then dropped a bundle that had been slung on his back to the ground. “Take these and go. You have a small window to escape.”

Oba narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why are you helping me?”

“I was there at the Battle of Entrigall. I saw your true heart.”

The Battle of Entrigall. The day the emperor’s hunting party ambushed and surrounded by Shado Elvanians near the Blackwoods, had almost been eradicated. Oba had led the emperor’s guard that day and held the enemy back until General Takris’ forces could arrive. Oba had spent weeks recovering from the wounds he’d received that day, but the emperor had not received a scratch.

Oba nodded. He believes me. “Thank you.” He did not say the general’s name again, not wanting to implicate him further.

The general grunted, turned, and departed the dungeons.

Oba approached the equipment and assessed it. A set of leather armor and a helmet, blade-staff, belt, sword, and knife lay at his feet. He wasted no time donning the armor and fastening the scabbard and knife sheath to his belt. He hefted the blade staff. It wasn’t his perfectly weighted one, but it would do. He cast a glance around at the prisoners. He could release them, but he did not know what all of them were there for. At least some must have been therefore legitimate reasons, right? No, he had to escape and warn Tirrin of the coup.

He stepped quietly down the corridor toward the dungeon door. How had Takris gotten in without observation? Or had he used his position to intimidate the guards into letting him pass? Had he told them he wanted to beat up or otherwise abuse the prisoner?

His question was answered moments later as he peeked out between the bars of the small window in the door to the dungeon. Three guards lay on the floor. The absence of blood made Oba suspect they were still alive, merely unconscious.

He pulled the door open and looked around. No one was waiting in the wings to attack him. He stepped around the limp bodies and crept down the corridor. The dungeons were in the sub-levels of the fortress, which meant he needed to get above ground before he could hope to escape. I could crawl through the sewers, he thought. But no, I don’t have the equipment to climb the rock face. He would end up falling to his death if he attempted such a feat.

Oba ascended the stairs at the end of the corridor and emerged on the main floor. This was his home – he knew the layout like the back of his hand. He turned to the right and took a servant tunnel until he reached the kitchens. It was night and the fires in the stove were extinguished, leaving only moonlight streaming in from a high window to illuminate the room. He pushed open the door from the kitchen that led outside, braced himself against the cold air, and headed toward the stables.

The stable boy lay asleep in the corner, curled up in a blanket to keep warm in the winter air.

Oba leaned his blade staff against a wall and sought out his stallion, Thunder, who lay in a stall at the far end of the stable.

Thunder snuffed as he smelled Oba approach and stood.

Oba extended a hand. “One last ride, old friend. Are you up for it?”

Thunder snorted in reply. He was ready.

Oba fetched a saddle and equipment and returned to Thunder’s stall. He opened the door, entered, and a minute later had Thunder ready to ride. He led Thunder to the edge of the stable.

The stable boy started awake. “Hey, who’s there?” he asked, frightened.

Oba did not answer. He mounted Thunder, grabbed his blade-staff and a blanket, wrapping it around himself, made a clicking noise, and gently kicked Thunder into motion. Snow flew upward from Thunder’s hooves as Oba steered him toward the gates of the fortress. No alarm had been raised…yet. Perhaps he would make it out undetected.

An alarm horn cut through the silence of the snowy night. Prisoner escaped. Shouts came from the walls and fires were lit. The gate of the fortress started to close.

“Hya!” Oba shouted, urging Thunder on.

His voice or rapid movement caught the attention of the archers on the wall. The first pair of arrows slammed into the snow nearby as Thunder raced toward the descending gate.

Oba hugged Thunder tight, eyes on the gate. Come on, old boy, he thought.

Thunder closed on the gate. The pointy steel spikes prepared to pierce the snowy ground. They would either make it or slam into the gate, probably breaking several bones in the process.

Oba resisted the urge to close his eyes. Instead, he guided Thunder to a gap between two sets of vertical metal bars that would burrow into the ground in moments. Thunder picked up speed…and passed through the gap. Oba let out a heavy sigh.

Outside of the high, thick walls of the fortress, the winds were fiercer and freezing cold bit through Oba’s armor. Even the blanket offered little protection.

Arrows continued to rain down, this time blown by the wind. But these were Engrall archers, accustomed to shooting with the wind. Oba knew he was not yet safe. That thought was reinforced a moment later by a sharp pain in his shoulder. He grunted and his breath caught. He’d been shot in the back.

Thunder continued across the plateau. The first bridge was too snow-covered to catch fire, but it could be covered with ice. He slowed and walked across the bridge. Oba wanted to urge Thunder back into a run, but he knew what dangers crossing bridges at night in winter awaited. They reached the next plateau moments later and Thunder broke into a trot.

Shouts carried on the wind caused Oba to turn and look behind him. The action caused a sharp spike of pain and he was only able to look long enough to see figures riding in pursuit. There were too many for him to fight in the open. He had to reach the forests. Once there he could hide and evade them or prepare an ambush. I’m coming, Tirrin. I shall not pass away until I have fulfilled my duty to your father.