Artemis and Caspian: The Spy

Chapter Twenty Three

 Lord Cerberus, for the first time in his life, ran as fast and as far away as he could from his attacker. When he was certain Lady Kendra hadn't followed him, he ducked behind a tent in the Guilamount base. He was lucky the droves of enemy soldiers were so wound up in their own ruthless battles they didn't take notice of the Lord of Guilamount fleeing for his life. Good, that was probably for the best. It saved him some pride. Then in a second life-changing moment, the Lord placed two fingers on the side of his neck to feel his heart race. The great Lord of Guilamount, war hero, ruthless killer and conqueror was scared and scared of a woman.

Lord Cerberus quietly cursed and plunged his sword into some unsuspecting grass, instinctually grabbing fistfuls of blonde hair and tearing at their roots. The thousands of tiny needling pricks of pain that coursed through his scalp calmed the Lord like a bizarre type of lullaby, a habit reserved only for the twisted members of the Guilamount royal family. The Lord sucked in some air quickly, collected himself, then yanked his sword out of the ground skulking towards his tent. It had been far too long since Duke Arioch's last letter. Something was interrupting their communications. If that was the case, Cerberus was ready to risk an in-person meeting. He needed a progress report and with his current mood, it had better be a good one.

Outside, a few guards startled to see him stood awkwardly at attention, straightening themselves after what Cerberus assumed were hours of nodding off at their posts. He made a mental note to punish them later. He was midway through the tent when he abruptly stopped. He could hear the guard to his left gulp nervously. Lord Cerbeus laughed to himself, some people made it too easy. Snapping his head around, he grabbed the guard by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, enjoying the look of sheer panic that glazed over his eyes. How pitiful, it was the same look a deer had before the Lord ran a spear through it. That thought made him giddy as he tightened his grip on the collar of the man's shirt.

"Where's the general?" he growled gruffly, feeling the man squirm underneath his grasp.

"Which one my Lord?" the guard squeaked.

"I don't care," Cerberus snorted. He could feel his temper rising in him like kindling ready to spark an explosive fire. "General Lucian."

"Dead sire, a soldier saw a Calatan general kill him."

Lord Cerberus cursed internally. Damn the gods. "Fine then, General Dagaric."

"In the infirmary sire, fixing a broken arm."

Lord Cerberus scowled and threw the man down who struggled to catch his breath. He turned on his heel quickly and marched to the infirmary a few meters away. Outside the sick observed him with a wary eye, each too weak to endure another beating. Some used what little strength they had left to move out of the irritated Lord's way like dogs escaping a stern glare from their master. Lord Cerberus tried to ignore the haunted look in their eyes and the way they smelled like death. They were living corpses devoid of feeling but in his rage, Lord Cerberus didn't care. Guilamontian soldiers were born and made to die. Stepping over or on them, the Lord made his way to the tent's entrance, throwing open the flap.

Inside more of the sick regarded him with an exhausted, sideways glance as they shuffled past each other looking for a place to collapse. Lord Cerberus deliberately avoided eye contact with them, his skin beginning to crawl. Despite what many thought of him he was still just a man, and deep, deep down he had some resemblance of a soul, and it was a soul riddled with guilt. He sternly reminded himself that this was what his father wanted, what Guilamount was born and destined to do. In the center of the tent, a medic was wrapping General Dagaric's arm who winced when he pulled too tight. Not one for sentiment or subtly, Lord Cerberus let his massive, hulking figure loom over the general, casting an impressive and stern shadow over him.