Tug and Ward

CHAPTER 9

Rift

Lazmet opened his eyes. Darkness was all his vision can perceive. "Luna?" he called. He turned his head left and right but she was not there, only darkness. 'Has she left me?' he thought. The prince remembered the synagogue lady awakened him. Her porcelain skin beat the darkness devouring the dungeon. Her laughs made him smile. He remembered her mumbling things; they were conversing. But his mind cannot recall what they have talked about.

And so, he sighed. It was a dream. Or was it a hallucination? He cannot tell. He cannot tell anything anymore from the pitch blackness of the room he was in. Was it night or morning? He did not know. He could not even remember how many times he fell asleep. His guess was only once, but then again, asleep or awake did not really have a difference being alone in the dark. How could he be certain it was only once?

It was not his first time being locked in a room as his father always turned isolation his punishment for whatever wrongdoing the king deemed. But he was only always isolated within his chambers, his needs remained taken care of. This was his first time staying in a dungeon where time and reality seemed non-existing; hunger and thirst raced in sucking out his strength.

Throughout his journeys across the provinces of the sovereign to keep order, prisoners were also isolated but not like this. They were kept together in a wooden or iron cage depending on the danger they possess. If the sun was in the sky, they got light. During the night, there were torches around the cage. They received a scrap of foods whenever possible; received water at least once a day.

The dungeon was nothing like a cage. It contained no window; the door was of a boulder so that even the smallest beam of light cannot shine past the room. No noise will be heard apart from the clanging of the iron shackles bound to the feet and arms brought about by the slightest movement. No food nor water.

Lazmet felt weary. His muscles were sore; his ankles and lower arms had scratches caused by the iron. He lied his back into the cold stone floor once again and closed his eyes as if it would have changed anything. Not long after, he felt a vibration and heard a rumbling sound. The dungeon had been opened.

His eyes hurriedly awakened but were taken aback by the light from the fires. "Gadzooks!" he groaned and covered his face with his arm. Five soldiers had entered the dungeon, each had a torch in their hands.

A bearded bulky man approached near the prince and pulled him up benignantly.

Prince Lazmet removed his arm from his face and slowly opened his eyes again. His vision was blurry at first until it adjusted as he stood up straight. He saw a big wide pair of eyes from a chestnut hairy face. "Silas?" He darted his eyes to the remaining four and recognized them all. They were his men.

Confusion swarmed him. If the boulder would open, it ought to be the palace guards under the king's authority. He was, after all, in the most restricted dungeon below the palace.

Silas unshackled the chains in his feet and arms. He opened a leather flask and gave it to the prince. "Quench your thirst, My Liege."

Prince Lazmet gulped the water fast. "Why...why," he said, panting. "Why are thou here? Where are the palace guards?"

"Worry not. We ought to escort you back to your chambers," the soldier stepped one foot backward then bent a knee. "Please allow us, Your Royal Highness!" he bowed.

"Please allow us, Your Royal Highness!" the other four soldiers roared and genuflected as well.

"Royal Highness?"

Silas raised his head. "My Liege, you had been proclaimed as the Crown Prince!" he said with joy on his face.

The forehead of the prince further furrowed. His father would never. He loathed him too much to lower his ego and declare him as such. "Rise," he commanded and the soldiers adhered. "Tell me, Silas. How did the old man come to speak of it?"