Chapter 27
Ilian awoke to the sound of thunder. Lightning blazed across the sky, illuminating the small room he resided in. He glimpsed a broken chair in a corner of the room, an old wooden chest with a missing latch, a shattered mirror, and two small beds all crammed into a tiny space.
Where am I?
He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his back caught him off guard. Ilian gasped, and squeezed his eyes shut. He shuddered at the memory of hundreds of tiny spikes penetrating his flesh.
Oh gods, that hurts. It's a wonder I'm not dead.
The door to the room flew open and smashed against the wall. Amaren stepped in, soaked, and muttering under his breath. He wore a large, wide brimmed hat, and a thick coat that clung to his body.
“Blasted rain. Give me snow, ice, or heat, but you can keep the rain.” Amaren wrung out his hat and hung it from a hook on the wall. He tossed his jacket onto the floor and took a seat in the broken chair where he began unlacing his boots.
Ilian couldn't help but grin at the sight in front of him. “Of all things for you to hate, it's the rain? What kind of immortal hates the rain?”
Amaren looked up and scowled. “Snow is cold. Heat is sticky. I can deal with those. But, rain? Rain soaks you and your possessions, it makes roads slippery, and keeps ships in the harbor. I hate rain.”
He didn't know what to make of this man. In the mountains, Amaren had tried to kill him. However, now here they were sitting in a room together as if they were friends.
Ilian's gaze lingered on Amaren's missing hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but Amaren cut him off.
“Don't worry about it. You did what you had to do. I was the one that attacked you in the first place, so I can't blame anyone but myself.” Amaren rubbed the stump. “I was careless.”
It was the second time those blue flames had cut through flesh and bone effortlessly. Ilian still didn't know how the fire came about, but Karena had revealed that it resembled the power of the god, Bale. His encounter with Bale, and his son Thal, had proved Karena right. Somehow, he had tapped into Bale's power.
The power of a god.
I'm certain the answer's I seek lies with Karena's people. The Order that wanted me so bad. They'll have me, all right. Things won't go their way, though. I'll see to that.
Amaren poured the water out of his boots and tossed them next to his jacket.
Ilian looked out the window as the rain pelted against it. “Are we in Belport yet?”
“We arrived just this morning, your highness.” Amaren stood up and crossed his arms. “I had to lug you all the way here. The sun came and went twice while you were sleeping like the dead.”
Ilian remembered their conversation after he was rescued from Thal's torture chamber. “What happened to that healer you were talking about?”
Amaren shrugged. “She already patched you up. You're going to hurt for a while. There's going to be scarring, but you'll live.” His face darkened. “She blamed me for that happening to you, even though it's not my fault. Women.” Amaren shook his head.
He couldn't help but wonder what she looked like and how Amaren knew her. There was many things he needed to ask Amaren.
Ilian held out his hand. “Help me up.”
Amaren raised his eyebrow. “What for? How far do you think you're going to go on your own in that condition?”
Ilian stretched his arm towards Amaren. “Just help me up. I need to see how bad these scars are.”
Amaren frowned. “All right, but don't faint when you see 'em.” He grabbed Ilian and pulled him onto his feet.
Pain shot through his back. Ilian gritted his teeth, but a moan still escaped him. He found he could stand well enough, but he was still a bit unstable when he walked. The first couple of steps were the most painful. Amaren helped him peel his shirt off, and he turned his back to the mirror.
“Here goes.” Amaren picked up a piece of the broken mirror and held it in front of Ilian.
His back was red, and swollen with hundreds of puncture marks. They were crusted over with dried blood, and some were green with infection. The skin on his back was charred in places from when Amaren had burned him, and several patches of skin had cracked, or peeled off.
“Gods.” Ilian knocked the glass out of Amaren's hand. “I did nothing to deserve this.”
Thal, you bastard. I will make you pay for doing this to me.
Amaren placed his hand on Ilian's shoulder. “It'll heal with time. The important thing is that you still have your life.”
He pushed past Amaren and hobbled over to the bed. I miss Lochden. I miss Kane. Why do these things keep happening to me? Ilian lowered himself onto the bed, and rested his forehead against his hands.
“I want to go home. I don't want to make swords anymore.”
“Boy,” Amaren picked up a piece of the mirror, “we all have our demons. It's time you faced yours.” He held the mirror shard in front of Ilian.
For the first time in a while, Ilian truly saw himself. His hair had grown long, and wild. Where his face had once been boyish, it was now hard, and lined. And then there was the eyes. No longer did the boy that dreamed of forging a mighty sword dwell within them.
No, those are the eyes of one who has lost hope. My eyes are dead.
“There's a reason I saved you.” Amaren held up his stump. “It's because of the boy that took my hand. What I saw in his eyes that day... it terrified me. I needed to see what the future held for him.” He let his hand drop to his side. “But, it seems that boy is gone.”
Ilian shook his head. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
Amaren cleared his throat. “Anyway, I secured a boat for us. It leaves tomorrow morning. The rain should be gone by then.”
“How do you know that?” Ilian said without looking up.
“Well,” Amaren chuckled, “when you've lived as long as I have, you get pretty good at predicting the weather.”
Ilian laughed sarcastically. “Must be nice to be immortal. You don't have to worry about dying.”
There was a crash as the chair shattered against the wall. Amaren was over top of him in a flash. He grabbed Ilian by the chin and looked into his eyes. “You think I wanted this? I've spent the last three hundred years praying for death. Immortality isn't a blessing. It's a curse.” Amaren's eyes smoldered for a moment before he released Ilian's chin and turned away from him.
“I—I'm sorry.”
Amaren took a deep breath and sighed. “Nobody else knows what it's like to immortal. There are people that would do anything for what I have, but they don't realize how terrible it really is.” He kicked aside a piece of the broken chair and sat on the other bed. “I did something horrible to my people, and I've been paying for it ever since.” His eyes were distant, lost in time. Amaren's voice shook as he spoke. “I can't die until I've made things right.”
What did he do? How did they curse him with immortality? It was something that seemed impossible, and yet here was living proof of it.
Amaren shook his head. “I can see it in your eyes. Don't bother. I may be helping you, but I'm not your friend. One of these days we'll have to finish our fight.”
“Yes, but why do we even have to fight in the first place? Why were you trying to kill me?” Ilian held his hands out in front of him. “I deserve at least that much, Amaren.”
Amaren raised an eyebrow. “So, you've got some spine in you after all. I'll tell you a bit, but then I'm going to get some food. You need to get your strength up before we leave tomorrow. I'm tired of carrying you around.”
Now that he was reminded of it, Ilian noticed the rumbling in his stomach. “I'll agree with you there. I'm bloody starving.”
“There's a certain object I need to obtain,” Amaren began. He leaned back and crossed his legs. “I've been searching for it for over three hundred years. Well, someone found it before me. They lured me into a trap, and next thing I
knew I was stuck in a filthy castle prison.”
Ilian cocked his head. “That surprises me. I figured, with all your power, that you'd be able to break out with ease.”
Amaren shifted, and looked away. “Yeah, well, this wasn't just anyone I faced. What he lacked in strength he made up for in intelligence. He used some sort of smoke to knock me out, and then forced me to drink a potion to keep me weakened. I could hardly muster the strength to stand up, let alone break out of prison.”
“That still doesn't explain why you came after me.” He pointed towards his cheek. “That hurt a lot, you know.”
“I'd hope so. If it didn't, then I'd be insulted.” Amaren smirked. “Well, this guy Owen who worked for the lord that imprisoned me, gave me an offer I couldn't refuse. He had what I'd been looking for all these years.” His cheeks flushed. “That bastard. I'll kill him and that lord someday.”
Ilian snapped his fingers. “I get it. Just tell me what happened.”
Amaren glared at him. “The deal was, I kill you and I get the stone. It seemed like a reasonable offer at the time.” He clenched his fist. “Snap at me again and it may happen sooner then you expect.”
Ilian waved his hands in front of him. “Sorry, sorry. I just wanted you to get to the point, is all. Anyway, about that food...”
“Yeah, yeah. I'll go grab us some grub.” Amaren stood up and opened the door. “By the way, the healer left some ointment for your wounds. Make sure you use it.” He clicked the door shut behind him.
How strange. Amaren didn't have any reason to keep him alive, and yet, here he was. Ilian recalled what Amaren said that day in the mountains.
“Ilian, I've decided that, for now, I want to live. I want to live to see what becomes of you.
He rolled onto his stomach. “What did you mean, Amaren?” Ilian asked aloud, but the room held no answer for his question.
You said that boy has died. So, then, why am I still here? Why aren't you killing me and returning for your reward? If death is what you seek, then take my life. I'm of no use to anyone now.
A short while later Amaren returned with two bowls of chicken soup. The broth was flavorful, and the meat was thick and chunky with plenty of vegetables.
It was hard to acquire vegetables at this time of year in most places. Belport was the center of trade in the entire region, though, so it made sense that they'd have the best of everything here.
Considering the meager rations I lived on for so long with Karena, I'm thankful for every meal I get. Though, I wonder what happened to her. Knowing her, she's probably fine. It's just...
Ilian sighed. Now isn't the time.
After he filled his belly, Ilian slipped into a fevered sleep. He awoke several times to nightmares involving golden eyes and spiked chairs. By the time morning came, he was more than happy to climb out of bed. Just as Amaren had predicted, the clouds had passed and the sky was clear.
I wonder how he knows?
Amaren helped him up. “Can you walk on your own, or do I have to carry you again?”
The pain in his body was still there, but some food and a night's rest had done wonders. The ointment seemed to help numb the ache a bit, as well. “I'll be fine. Just don't slap me on the back and we're good.”
Ilian followed Amaren out of the inn. The innkeeper didn't even pause to wish them farewell as they exited the grimy building. Its inhabitants looked as ragged as their surroundings. Many wore tattered clothes, and shoes that were nearly worn through. Their eyes harbored only one emotion.
Greed.
Outside of the inn, the city of Belport spread before them. Many of the buildings were taller than he was used to seeing. Based on the crowd, and the popularity of the city, Ilian assumed it was to save space.
Merchant's littered every free space along the streets, each selling a variety of wares. Hawkers cried as they tried to temp potential customer's with promises of wealth, eternal youth and a myriad of other promises which they could never fulfill.
It took them a while to push through the crowds and reach the port. Ilian forgot his troubles as he gazed at the spectacle of human ingenuity that filled the harbor. Before them was a fleet of ships, all of varying shapes and sizes, bobbing in unison to the splash of the waves. Their masts stretched high above the docks, and sailors scurried about them like ants as they went about their tasks.
“Fresh fish! Get the freshest fish in Belport,” one of the hawkers cried. His gaze settled on Ilian, and he smiled. “Boy, how about some fish? You look like you need some raw power. Only the fish in—”
Amaren stopped and turned his gaze on the hawker.
The man swallowed, and walked in the other direction. “Fr—Fresh f—fish...” He vanished into the crowd.
“I hate hawkers,” Amaren grumbled. He continued on down the docks.
I pity anyone that gets on Amaren's bad side.
Amaren walked up to a particularly solid looking boat. It was larger than most, and bore the name, “Death Dealer” on the side of it. Several cannon ports lined the inside of the hull, and the bow was armored with thick metal plates.
“What kind of ship is this?” Ilian whispered up to Amaren.
“A good one,” Amaren said over his shoulder.
A man in a dark blue outfit barked orders next to the ship. His shirt was half unbuttoned, and thick curls of hair sprouted from his chest. A gold and silver sword hung from his hip. Scars lined his face, and arms. He had a short, scraggly beard.
The man turned at their approach, and tipped his hat towards Amaren. “Well, look who it is. It's good to see you again, old friend.”
Amaren grinned. “The same to you, Omus. We ready to ship out yet?”
Omus smiled back at Amaren. “Who do you take me for? Of course we are.” He turned to two of the men rolling a barrel onto the ship. “That's expensive wine you've got there. Break the barrel, and I'll break you.”
Amaren chuckled. “Same as always. We'll be going on board, then.”
Omus held up his finger. “Just one thing. There was another person going to the same destination as the both of you. I had extra space, so I gave them the quarters across from you.”
Ilian blanched. “Another person? Where are they?”
Omus scratched his head. “Well, I figured...” he looked past Ilian, “ah, here she is now.”
“She?” Ilian and Amaren said in unison. They both turned to the sound of footsteps.
Locks of red hair spilled from beneath her hood as she pulled it back. Her cloak parted to reveal a pair of daggers at her hips. Dark blue eyes narrowed as they settled on Ilian.
Ilian's hands shook, and his teeth chattered. He tried to look away, but his gaze was fixed to hers. “Karena. You're alive.” Ilian took an involuntary step back.
Her gaze slid over to Amaren, and then back to Ilian. “It seems today is my lucky day.” Karena gripped the hilts of her daggers.
“Omus, what'd I tell you about picking up redheads?” Amaren shouted over his shoulder.
“They're more than you can handle?” Omus called back.
Amaren shook his head. “You have no idea.”