75. The Cost of Freedom
Chapter 75
The Cost of Freedom
22 nd Day of the Blood Moon
Achyron’s Keep, western Valtara – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
The wind at the top of the hill was sharp as a spear, cutting into the bare skin of Dayne’s chest. Cold sweat dripped from his nose, the dirt-tacked cuts on his elbows and legs stinging. Loren had allowed him to ride the mare the entirety of the first day and again the next until they were a few hours’ march from Achyron’s Keep.
Once they’d drawn close, Dayne had been unceremoniously dismounted, the ground catching him in its embrace. Loren had proceeded to cut every shred of clothing from him, followed by his sandals.
The following ten miles they had all but dragged him behind the horses at a pace just faster than a walk, never allowing him to slow or catch his breath and pulling him across the dirt whenever he stumbled.
“Thirsty, Dayne?” Loren sat in the saddle to Dayne’s right, a waterskin in his hand. The man didn’t await Dayne’s answer. He tipped the dregs into the dirt, then let the skin hang by his side. He gestured to the murky puddle. “Please, drink up. I wouldn’t want you to pass out before the procession.”
Dayne stared back at the man but didn’t speak. Nor did he move to drink.
“Please, Dayne,” Loren persisted. “The wind may be bitter, but the sun is high. I wouldn’t have you go thirsty.”
“You heard the High Lord.” The Koraklon guard who held the rope tied to Dayne’s shackles gave it a yank and hauled Dayne forwards, cutting at his wrists. “Drink up.”
Dayne kept his gaze on Loren, stepped back, and pulled his shackles towards himself as hard as he could, ripping the guard from his saddle.
Before the others could respond, Dayne lunged forwards and planted his knee into the man’s mouth as he tried to rise. Teeth chipped and shattered and sliced into the skin of Dayne’s knee.
As the guard pulled his hands to his bleeding face, Dayne swung himself around and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck in an iron grip, dropping to the ground. He twisted so the chains drew tight across the guard’s throat and pulled with every fibre of his being while the guard flailed and thrashed.
Most men lasted ten heartbeats before passing out. This one lasted seven.
When the guard’s legs finally stopped kicking and his hands stopped slapping at Dayne’s arms, Dayne stared up at Loren, who sat unmoving in his saddle, his right hand raised to stop the other guards and the mages from intervening.
Dayne’s muscles burned as the life drained from the guard’s body, and still Loren made no motion to stop him.
Loren shrugged. “Any personal guard overpowered so easily is not one worth having.”
Dayne squeezed tighter, clenching his jaw. After a few more moments, he let out a roar and tossed the man’s limp body into the dirt beside him, face pressed into the sodden earth where Loren had spilled the water. The guard’s back rose and fell slowly.
Dayne pressed his manacled hands into the dirt and pushed himself to his feet.
“Do you think me weak, Dayne?” Loren asked as he dropped from his saddle. He closed the distance between himself and Dayne in a breath, throwing a fist into Dayne’s gut and then a second into the side of his head.
Dayne dropped to one knee, his vision blurring. He spat blood into the dirt, then rose.
Loren grabbed Dayne’s face, fingernails clawing into his skin.
“Look at me, Dayne of House Ateres, dagger in my side.” Loren pulled Dayne’s head so they were looking eye to eye. “I am going to drag you behind my horse like the animal that you are, and every soul beneath my banners and those of the emperor will know that you are a man. You are not a ghost, or a demon, or some god-sent harbinger of death. You are a man.”
“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
“Men bleed.” Loren’s right hand left Dayne’s jaw, and moments later a knife blade was pressed to Dayne’s throat, stinging as blood trickled. “And they will all see you bleed.” He held the blade there. “I know you, Dayne. I know you because I knew your father and I knew your mother. I know the pain I inflict upon you will never be enough. And so if you try any more theatrics like you did here, I will chop your brother’s hands into small pieces and feed them to you when you starve. Do you understand?” Loren lifted Dayne’s chin. “Now be a good dog.”
Loren turned, grabbed the rope connected to Dayne’s shackles, and once more mounted his horse. He gestured to carry on, leaving the guard Dayne had choked unconscious in the dirt.
Before long, the fortress city of Achyron’s Keep came into view, its walls massive, sharp, and grey. Thick cylindrical towers rose at every bend, banners of pale blue emblazoned with the Oranak squid beneath those of a deep crimson bearing the black lion of Loria. The Lorian Empire had forbidden the flying of House banners after the first Valtaran Rebellion, but it appeared they had made an exception for Loren.
Dayne had seen the city with its two enormous trenches and double walls many times in his youth. But at that moment, as he trudged behind Loren’s horse, his hands bound, his attention was not on the city or the walls but on the thousands upon thousands gathered at the gates.
Each and every one was fully armoured as though marching to battle, the sun and moon glinting off polished helmets and shields. The coloured skirts of every Major House were present – even a few in the burnt orange of House Ateres. But the pale blue of House Koraklon and the yellow of House Thebal dominated the open plain next to the red and black of the Lorians. It was almost humorous to see that the two Houses had chosen this as their common ground upon which to stand. Centuries of infighting and war ceased only in opposition to a free Valtara.
“Make sure to smile,” Loren called back, his horse picking up its pace and dragging Dayne along with it.
Dayne grunted, trying to keep his balance. His feet stung with every step, cuts opening along his soles, rocks and dirt finding every crevice.
As they drew closer, the sound of chatter and shifting feet that filled the air slowly died to a whisper. The clip of horse hooves accompanied the wind and low murmurs as Loren and his riders started down the long path towards the gates that split the massive crowd.
“All behold! Dayne of House Ateres, son of the traitors Arkin and Ilya Ateres. Here is your Ghost of Ankar, your Demon of the Pass! His blood runs red as yours! He bleeds like any man, and bleed he will!”
As Loren roared, his voice boomed, echoing all around in the most unnatural of ways. Dayne knew the Lorian mages carried the High Lord’s words on threads of Air, but with the ward around him he could feel nothing.
Loren gave the rope a vicious yank, and Dayne stumbled forwards, his elbows crashing into the dirt as he brought his hands in front of him to protect his face.
The High Lord urged his mount on. Dayne tried to pull himself to his feet, but the rope grew taut and dragged him forwards through the dirt. He clenched his jaw even harder, the ground tearing at the exposed skin.
“This man has killed your brothers and sisters, your mothers and fathers, your children. His is the last face they saw. He has turned Valtara into a land of the dead and the dying. And if we allow him and his bitch sister to have their way, our home will be nothing but ash and bones.”
Dayne pressed his elbows into the dirt, grunting as the ground peeled away the skin. He leveraged himself, pulling his legs up and planting his feet on the ground. He staggered forwards, trying to prevent the rope from dragging him back down. Just as he had gained his footing, something smashed into the side of his head and he hit the dirt once more, the horse dragging him forwards. Blood dripped into his eyes, and his head spun. Something else struck him in the side, then in the leg and the back: stones hurled by the watching crowd.
He lifted his gaze to see that, while some roared and howled, many of those in Valtaran garb stood straight, their chins high, their fists gripping valynas, their stares focused on him. Some took part, but mostly it was the Lorians who threw the stones.
A man in a red and black surcoat made to lunge forwards and was held back by another in the pale blue skirts of House Koraklon.
“An army of traitors marches on Achyron’s Keep,” Loren bellowed. “They will be here by the morning light. They believe they can scale the walls and put us to the sword. What say you?”
Spears clattered against shields amidst a thunderous cacophony of roars and shouts.
“This is their champion dragging in the dirt at my horse’s back. This is the best of them. And he is ours!”
More shouts and clattering steel answered.
“When the pretender queen arrives at our walls, she will yield, or House Ateres will be put to the sword! Never again will they bring fire and ruin to our lands. By blade and by blood!”
“By blade and by blood!” came the chorus of replies. “By blade and by blood!”
Dayne dug his feet into the ground and pulled hard on the rope in Loren’s hands. The force almost pulled the man from the saddle, but Loren managed to keep his balance.
A silence swept over the gathering. Loren stared down at Dayne, fury in his eyes. Dayne knew he would pay for what he was about to do.
“Valtara will be free!” he roared at the top of his lungs. “This is our home! Will you not fight for it? Do you call yourselves Valtarans?”
Loren yanked at the rope and hauled Dayne onto his knees. “I will not kill you yet. But I will happily watch you bleed. Yah!” Loren pulled at the reins and broke the horse into a fast walk, once more dragging Dayne onto his belly.
Dayne closed his eyes and tucked his head close to his manacled hands, gritting his teeth against every stone that found his sides, back, and legs.
Once through the giant gates of Achyron’s Keep, two men in the pale blue of House Koraklon hauled Dayne upright. If they hadn’t held him, he would have collapsed in a bloody heap. The tops of his feet, his shins, knees, chest, and elbows were scraped clean of skin, bruises already forming around gashes where thrown rocks had split him.
He slumped in their arms, eyelids drooping as they dragged him through the streets, past towers and temples, and up stairs, his bare feet trailing on the ground. As they moved, he caught glimpses of light and faces, his vision blurred. Sounds echoed in his ears: footfalls, hammers working steel, shouts, voices.
Eventually they reached the central keep, and the guards hauled him along countless corridors and up stairwells until they finally stopped in a large open chamber of grey stone. Candles in sconces added warm life to the cold grey.
The two guards held Dayne up against something hard, then unlocked his manacles and spread his arms, fastening each individually. Straps tightened around his ankles, and the two guards moved away.
Dayne’s head lolled, his neck weak and aching, the strength sapped from his bones. His sweat-soaked hair fell over his eyes, and he allowed his lids to close, finding relief in the arms of sleep.
His eyes could only have been closed for a heartbeat when he was jolted awake by a bucket of frigid water that punched the breath from his lungs. He gasped for air, pulling against his restraints.
“Now, now, now. Is it really time to sleep?” A hand clutched Dayne’s wet hair and lifted his head so he stared into the bright eyes of Loren Koraklon. “I thought you were eager for this family reunion?”
Dayne scanned the room, his heart stopping when he saw a bloody corpse strapped to an x-shaped wooden stand, wrists and ankles bound by thick leather straps and iron buckles.
“What did you do to him?” Dayne thrashed, his bonds tearing at his already frayed arms and legs. “Baren! Baren!”
“Just a few toes, a finger or two. Don’t worry, he’s only sleeping.” Loren placed the bucket onto a low wooden table. “He’s quite loyal. Did you know that? Surprised me as well. He never used to be. I always found him so agreeable. But this time around, no matter how much skin I took, or fingernails, or fingers, he refused to tell us anything.”
Loren walked over to where Baren hung from the wooden stand. He grabbed Baren’s hair and pulled back his head so Dayne could see the beaten, bruised, and bloody thing that was his brother’s face. A raw patch of scabbed flesh marked Baren’s chest where the emblem of House Ateres had once resided. Loren slapped Baren’s cheek, eliciting a weak grunt.
“See? Alive. Just as I promised.”
Loren let Baren’s head loll once more, then gestured to someone Dayne couldn’t see and pulled a stool before Dayne. As he took a seat, a porter shuffled in and unfolded a small table beside him. The young boy placed a bottle of wine and two cups on the table, then waited with his hands clasped before him. He tried his best not to look at Dayne, but his gaze kept sliding to the blood and the raw skin.
“Much obliged, Olim. Would you pour please? Thank you.”
The porter poured the wine until it came just short of the rim of both cups, bowed, glanced once more towards Dayne, then left.
Dayne stared after the boy.
“He’s not your nephew.” Loren shook his head and folded one leg over the other. He leaned back in the chair and sipped at his wine. “No, that’s my youngest. He’s seen fifteen summers. Arkin has only seen six. Strange thing, to not even know what your nephew looks like. That happens when you abandon your family.”
Arkin. Alina had named her boy after their father…
Loren shrugged, letting out a long sigh. “So, tell me Dayne, while we’re chatting. How did you survive that night? I’d thought you surely dead when that Justicar sent you overboard. I suppose it doesn’t truly matter. But I’m always intrigued.” He pulled himself up from his slouched position. “Look at me, dithering. First thing’s first. You can’t see them, but there are Lorian mages standing guard at the doors – members of the Hand in fact. Your magic will be blocked every second of every day until your sister lays down her sword, so please don’t exhaust yourself trying. Second.” Loren rose, swirling the wine in his cup. “This is more a vanity thing than anything else, but I want you to know something. I want you to know that what I did all those years ago truly was for Valtara. And what I do now is still for Valtara.”
Dayne hocked a mouthful of blood and saliva and spat at Loren’s feet. “You are no Valtaran.”
“You see, that’s simply not true. And this is what irks me. I could torture you, break you down, and use you as a tool to force your sister’s surrender. And don’t get me wrong, I will do that. But I want more. Your father never understood. He never listened when I spoke to him. But I want you to understand, to listen. Can you do that for me?”
Dayne looked past Loren to where Baren hung limp. Half-healed scars and scabs covered his body. Two fingers were missing from his left hand, down to the first knuckle. A toe from each foot. Dayne gritted his teeth, then turned his gaze to Loren, who was staring at him while swirling the wine. “Tell me whatever you want. I’ll listen. But I want you to understand that I will kill you. I will do things to you that will make your soul scream after I’ve torn it from your body. I will break you for what you have done to my family.”
“Those are strong words for a man strapped to a post. I could kill you right now. In fact, a few more cups of wine and I just might. Though you’re more use to me alive – lucky for you.” Loren returned to his chair, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees. “Your father was willing to start a civil war. He was willing to watch our people slaughter each other while the Lorian dragons burned the survivors to ash.”
“He was willing to sacrifice anything for a free Valtara,” Dayne snarled.
“Anything? What about his honour?” Loren pursed his lips and shook his head. “No,” he said mockingly. “Arkin Ateres would never sacrifice his precious honour. Not even if it meant saving the lives of tens of thousands – hundreds of thousands. All he had to do was bend his knee, shut his fucking mouth, and eat from the silver spoon he had been gifted. Your family had everything . You didn’t suffer like the others. You just used their plight to rally them.”
“You let them burn Stormwatch.” Every drop of hatred in Dayne’s heart bled into those words.
“And you made it necessary!” Loren’s rage came on in an instant, his face red, veins bulging. “Do you think I wanted that?” he asked, calming. “What kind of monster wants to watch thousands burned alive? I would have done anything, given everything to stop that. That was why I never wanted a rebellion. There comes a point where the cost in blood is not worth the freedom. We are free,” he said, throwing out his arms. “Can you not wed who you want? Can you not live like a king in the comfort of Redstone?”
“They take two-fifths of everything. They take our firstborn. People starve all across Valtara. This is not freedom, Loren.”
“They do that because of rebellion, Dayne. And what freedom does your sister offer? The freedom to die young beside the ones you love? More Valtarans have died in her rebellion than in all the years since the first rebellion. You see, Dayne, there is a distinct difference between your family and mine. You say that your father was willing to sacrifice anything for a free Valtara. And you are right. He was. That was the problem. He was willing to sacrifice any number of lives – lives he had no right to sacrifice – in order to claim Valtara’s freedom. I was not. I will sacrifice anything that is my own. I will sacrifice my honour in the eyes of others, my name, my life – anything I have a right to give, I will give. That is why I do what I do. I don’t care if you hate me. I just want my people to stop dying in your family’s wars. You’re already spilling enough blood to fill rivers, I may as well add a few drops to turn the tide.”
Loren sat forwards and finished his cup, then stood, gaze narrowing as he studied Dayne. “You’re just like him, you know. Not only in your face, but in that unshaking arrogance. In that unerring belief that you are always doing what’s right.”
Dayne leaned forwards, straining against the straps that held him. “Where is my nephew?”
“Ah, yes.” Loren gestured to somebody Dayne couldn’t see. A door creaked open, then clicked shut. “Your brother did well to track him down. I have to say, I was quite impressed. When the babe was taken from your sister, I pulled a few strings, greased a few palms. I had him switched with another. A young orphan of House Koruk. The Lorians never look too deeply. As long as they get their pound of flesh, they don’t really care which animal it’s carved from. And something gave me the feeling this particular young babe would be of much use one day. And look, I was right.”
The door creaked open again and footsteps sounded. Dayne twisted his neck, trying to see. After a moment, a tall, broad man in the pale blue of House Koraklon walked into view holding the hand of a small child with a shock of dark brown hair.
“Come here, Arkin. Take my hand.” Loren reached out and took the young child’s hand in his.
“Arkin…” Dayne whispered his father’s name as he studied the boy’s face and eyes, hoping to find something that would show him this boy truly was Alina’s son. But for the life of him, he had no idea.
“Ah, yes. Did you know she named him after your father? Fitting, I think.” Loren knelt beside the boy. “Did you eat all your supper?”
Arkin nodded wordlessly, glancing up at Dayne.
“Good boy. You need your food so you can grow big and strong.” Loren gripped the boy’s bicep and squeezed. “Gods, maybe we should stop feeding you, or you’ll grow big as a giant.”
“No,” the boy said, laughing and pulling his arm away. Dayne’s heart melted a little as Arkin laughed.
“Run along now. I just wanted to check on you before you sleep. Your mother is waiting. And I have a bad man to deal with.” Loren looked up at Dayne, who could only stare back in disbelief. “He’s killed a lot of men. As many as there are stars in the sky. And that’s a lot, isn’t it?”
The boy nodded hesitantly, eyeing Dayne as though his life were now at risk. The fear in the young child’s eyes cut deep into Dayne’s heart.
As they started to leave, the Koraklon guard turned around. “Father, can…”
The man cut his sentence short at a glare from Loren, then escorted the young boy from the chamber. Loren stood back to his full height, letting out a sigh.
“Father?” Dayne asked, ignoring the pain as he pulled his lips into a smile. “What’s his name? That’s two sons of yours I’ve seen now. You touch a hair on that child’s head and I will bleed your family’s name from this world. The last face any Koraklon will see will be mine.”
Loren’s fist crunched into Dayne’s face, blood coating Dayne’s tongue as his teeth carved a gash into the inside of his cheek. “Speak of my sons again. I dare you.”
“Olim and…” Dayne pondered a moment. “I’m guessing that was Gaimal? Your eldest?”
Loren punched Dayne again. More blood, more sounds of crunching bone.
Dayne laughed and spit his blood onto the floor. “I will mount their heads on spikes and set them atop the walls of this keep.”
Loren punched him again, but Dayne just kept laughing.
“Little Arkin,” Loren said, wrapping his fingers around Dayne’s throat. “Speak of my sons again, and I will cut off his hands. Alina will still want him without hands, won’t she? They’re so pure at that age, so uncorrupted by those around them.”
“You’re a fucking monster.”
“For ensuring a growing young boy eats enough before bed? Surely even you can see how that one is a little farfetched.” Loren shook his head, then grabbed the bottle of wine and his cup. “I’ll have someone come and clean you up and stitch the wounds closed.” He leaned down and narrowed his eyes at Dayne’s wounds. He gave an impressed downturn of his bottom lip. “You’re a difficult man to kill, Dayne Ateres. It looks like the dirt has crusted around your wounds. Perfect for stopping the bleeding, but not ideal for infection. I hope you like the smell of brimlock sap. You’re no use to me dead or festering.”
As Loren made to leave, he turned back to Dayne one last time. “You know, Dayne. There is a piece of advice my father once passed on to me that I think would have benefitted you. When lords and kings and queens go to war, it is the common people who pay in blood. A king loses his temper, and thousands die in a field two hundred miles away. A queen makes a poor decision, and hundreds starve. When you think of what you’ve lost, I implore you to think on what you’ve taken from others. How many children have you left orphaned, waiting for a mother and a father who lie cold in the dirt? How many families have you broken? Ponder that while you dream of ways to kill me. And while you do, I’ll dream of ways to stop the Lorian dragons from burning our home to the ground.”