“Highness! In the world we live in, blood is spilled each day and lives are taken for granted. One less or one more makes little difference. And this man was a murderer and assassin who would stop at nothing in order to kill your father! He deserved to die a thousand deaths!”

“And who are you to judge him?! Who are you to deliver his punishment?! You are supposed to be a warrior, and today you proved yourself to be nothing more than a primitive, unscrupulous butcher!”

Iskald said nothing, vainly trying to subdue the terrible rage building up inside his massive chest. Laela stood before him, her blazing eyes still fixed on him, breathing heavily, her breast heaving, gorgeous and dazzling in her justifiable fury.

“You are a warrior, not a butcher!” she repeated, her voice powerful. “But by killing that man today, you became something worse than a butcher even, for he is an honest tradesman earning a living. You, you just can’t live without the sight of blood spilled; you’re not satisfied until you’re standing knee-deep in it; you don’t stop until you can bathe in it! Its shade drives you mad, you long for it, you crave it!”

What gave her the right? The one person he loved, cherished and adored, his angel and goddess. This is what she thought of him? What gave her the right to judge him so harshly? The rage boiling beneath his skin surfaced suddenly, and Iskald stepped dangerously close to the Princess, lowered his voice and said in terrible, feverish whisper: “Be careful what you say, Highness, or else I might forget before whom I stand and break your pretty little neck!”

Her face flushed with anger and unable to control herself, Laela slapped him with the open palm of her hand. Iskald’s head spun to the side from the force of the blow, but then another hard strike forced his head back the other way. He clenched his fists and fixed a cool gaze on Laela’s flushed face; he bared his teeth in a menacing grin. Terrible danger hung over the girl’s head for Iskald was a true son of the North.

Blind, uncontrollable fury took hold of him. His hand unwillingly ventured toward the weapon hanging by his belt and he stepped even closer to the Princess. But Laela stood tall in her place and did not back down at all, though she realized the extent of the danger she was in.

For a long, long while the two stood in silence, measuring each other with their cold stares. There was madness and fury in Iskald’s eyes. He tightened the grip on the handle of his sword and bit his lip down.

The difficult situation was diffused by Laela’s page who entered the room. “Milady!” he said, failing to notice what was transpiring before him. “The Royal Chancellor Nylahss seeks an audience with you. He waits outside your apartments and asks for some of your time!”

The boy’s entrance brought Iskald back from the brink of insanity. Realizing what he had done, the young Captain backed away quickly and lowered his head. The Princess did not respond straight away, not wishing for the page to hear the rage and resentment in her voice.

She was still visibly shaken, though, when she finally said: “Let him in, Keilah!” here she turned to Iskald and added coolly, “Good-bye, Captain! I hope you have learned as much from our conversation as I have!”

Iskald walked outside in dumbfounded silence. On his way out he passed a tall, thin Nekryan aristocrat, who was just entering Laela’s chambers. The Northerner made way for him, but the arrogant man barely even noticed the young Captain.

Iskald shrugged and turned to his own apartments, still upset after what had taken place in Laela’s room. He walked in haze, as if dreaming, barely recognizing the familiar corridors and the strange faces of the people he passed. Once inside, he slammed the door behind him and stood in the middle of his room. Breathing heavily and pulling on his long hair, Iskald finally unleashed some of the fury that was readying to explode through his chest.

“What did you do?!” he shouted, directing the comments to the mirror staring back at him with an empty gaze. Not only did he deepen the gap between himself and the beautiful Princess who occupied his thoughts ever since he had arrived in Nekrya, but he had threatened the King’s daughter!

If she went to her father with a complaint, Iskald would lose everything he had, and would be lucky to carry his head out of the Capital on his own shoulders. He ripped the sheathed sword off his belt and threw it against the brick wall with hatred, then ran after it and slammed his body into the cold stone with futile frustration. Groaning painfully, he stumbled back and sat down on the bed, holding his head in his hands.

“Hurts, don’t it?” he scoffed. “Someone should knock some sense into you!”

For a long time he sat unable to decide what to do next, tending to his paining head. He was embarrassed and, on the one hand, he did not wish to face the Princess again; on the other hand, he felt he had to. He had to beg her forgiveness, admit to the error of his actions, and beg to return to her favors.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Iskald was barely able to stop himself from smashing his head against the hard wall. “Stupid!”

He groaned painfully again, but this time the pain was much more difficult to handle because it came from within. He would never hurt her, he thought; he would rather have someone tear him to pieces bit by bit before allowing himself to touch a hair from her precious head. What was happening to him?

First the mindless slaughter in the main square and now this! Laela was right, he thought. Killing G’nuraq was not a necessity, the man was already in his power and his murderous plan was already foiled. But he waited for the man to attack him, so that he would have an excuse to kill him in plain sight, in front of a hungry crowd of spectators. It was nothing more than a public execution, Iskald thought, and Laela was right, he was nothing more than a butcher.

Fixing his large double-edged sword back to his belt, Iskald quickly made up his mind: he would go to see the Princess again and beg her forgiveness. It did not matter what would happen to him, so long as she would forgive him. He did not care whether or not she would tell her father and whether he would be punished, deprived of his rank and stature, degraded and judged even. He did not care about anything except that she would forgive him and allow him back into her heart once more.

With that in mind, Iskald strolled back through the same maze of corridors and halls, and once again found himself standing before Laela’s chambers. They were locked and no one answered his knocking. Only after a while, a page appeared, slipping out of an adjacent room.

“The Princess is gone, Captain,” the boy said, keeping a safe distance from the gigantic Northerner. “Besides, she would not want to see you if she was here anyway, so you’re just wasting your time by coming here.”

“Save your lip!” Iskald warned him. “Where did she go?”

“Milady feared you would wish to follow her and forbid me to tell you in case you returned,” the boy responded, taking two steps back.

“Did she now?” Iskald said, stepping closer to the page. “But you’re going to tell me anyway, right?”

“Is that right?” the boy sneered.

“Watch your mouth,” Iskald warned him again. “You will tell me because there is something in it for you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You sure you want to find out?”

Iskald’s voice remained calm, but the implied threat was so plain that it was more than effective. Keilah shrugged helplessly.

“The Chancellor asked her to tour his most recently acquired sugar plantation,” he said. “They left a while ago.”

“Where’s this plantation?”

“Near the Zimm Mountains, the Chancellor’s family has had grounds there for generations.”

Iskald threw the boy two gold pieces he dug out of his shirt pocket, turned on his heel and walked away slowly, back towards his chambers. Shaking his head, he thought, that things were not working out as he had planned. Apparently Laela wanted to put some distance between them following the difficult encounter and perhaps she was right in doing so.

At any rate, following her to Nylahss’ plantation was out of the question, Laela would probably be less than delighted to see him there. It was best to wait for her return and seek an audience then. Iskald sighed heavily and shook his head again.

A King’s page waited for him outside his chambers.

“My Lord!”

“What?” Iskald barked.

“The King wishes to see you immediately!”

The young Northerner stopped and his heart raced. Could it be that Laela told her father about what had transpired in her apartments and that was why Diovinius was summoning him now, so suddenly? Could it be that Laela herself left with Nylahss only because she did not want to witness this?

“What for?” Iskald asked with a hint of worry in his voice.

“The King wishes to thank you personally for saving his life today!”

“Oh,” the young Captain sighed with relief. “Let’s get this over with then.”

Walking through another maze of corridors behind the page, Iskald’s thoughts turned back to the letter written by G’nuraq. Should he tell the King about it? Diovinius knew the people around him much better than Iskald did, so he could play a critical role in identifying the traitor on the Royal Court, if they were to believe the dead Serpent.

Who could it be, Iskald thought? Someone with noble birth, great power, plenty of influence and scores of resources, someone wealthy and worldly. Someone like the Royal Chancellor, for example, the King’s right hand and spokesman for the elites.

Iskald shrugged his shoulders impatiently in response to his own thoughts and snickered. He never liked Nylahss, who was part of that cluster of Nekryan aristocrats and nobles who resented his quick ascension to fame and power in the King’s Court.

Iskald also suspected that Nylahss aimed to marry the Princess. He even heard rumors, although Laela had never mentioned it, that the Chancellor proposed to her at one time. He was politely, but firmly rejected. Being twenty years her senior, Nylahss had little chance of winning her favors, but was nevertheless relentless in the pursuit and Iskald resented him for that. There was little he could do except watch jealously from a distance as Laela fought off Nylahss’ clumsy advances.

It was only his dislike of the Chancellor, then, that brought his name into his mind. Besides, even if Nylahss was the traitor, Iskald had little to fear now; the Chancellor was out of the palace and the King was safe in his chambers.

An unpleasant thought occurred to him then and the young Captain stopped abruptly in half-step. The thought was dictated by something else rather than petty jealousy. It passed through his head briefly and then disappeared, but Iskald needed no more; he turned on his heel and sprinted back through the labyrinth of halls and corridors, disregarding the page shouting after him.

A sixth sense now told him that the Princess could be in danger. It was odd, after all, that Nylahss would seek her company to visit his plantation, only moments after her father was almost murdered! Laela perhaps agreed to it while still furious over their harsh encounter and left the palace just to put some distance between herself and Iskald. And Nylahss was one of those few men who had occurred earlier to the young Captain as possible suspects.

Thoughts like an avalanche poured into his mind as Iskald raced through the palace, shouting at the top of his lungs to clear the path and knocking down those who did not move. The traitor, realizing that the plan to murder Diovinius was foiled, could now try to slay his daughter in an attempt to gain leverage in the Court, to hurt the King and to send Nekrya into a state of chaos, from which he and the Serpent Order could only benefit.

What if it was Nylahss indeed, what then? The horrific thought gave him wings and he soared through the palace and burst outside, blasting and cursing everyone who was in his way.

“Horse!” he bellowed. A guard who was just entering the walls of the palace quickly slid off the saddle and Iskald mounted the steed. He pulled hard on the reins and stormed through the gate and into the streets of the Capital. In mere moments, he made his way through the crowd still gathered outside, shouting and knocking people down with his legs.

“Out of the way! Out of the way!”

Proceed to part 4...

Copyright © 2008 by Slawomir Rapala