Nezzar

Part Two: A Washing of The Mind

Arioch's face was hot beneath the gold-overlaid mask but he did not mind. In fact, he loved the feeling. Only once had he bothered to see what he looked like with the face covering. That day, he had stared at the cold expressionless face reflected on the still surface of the water and grinned behind the mask.

I am the king's executioner. The youngest of my brothers. The one looked upon as weak. The one they claimed will inherit nothing. I am the commander of the king's guards. Look how high I have climbed, Mother.

The mask was specially crafted for him at the king's command. It fit snugly around his head, cushioned with soft leather around its edges and held in place by a buckle strap.

As Arioch loomed over the snivelling man in the cell, he made sure to lean forward until the nose of the mask grazed that of the prisoner. This one was slim, and possessed a perpetually frowning brow and small dark eyes Arioch had instantly found hateful the first time he encountered the man.

"Speak, wise man. My patience is fading," Arioch said in a low, tight voice.

"I... I..." Albisin, the soon-to-be dispatched head of the Magi, leaned back and pressed into the wooden chair he was fastened to. Arioch followed his movement, crowding his space.

"Surely that great wisdom of yours will come to play now, magus," Arioch whispered with a derisive lilt, "And I believe I already showed you the king's decree that supports my claim. Do you seek a swift death? Is that it? Is that why you have no secrets to tell?"

"I implore you by the gods. I know nothing of—"

"Liar!" Arioch shouted, his breath fogging his skin beneath the mask. "I can see you are eager for death. Your head looks like it was made to be displayed upon a spike."

Straightening, Arioch motioned for one of the guards. His short sword was placed in his hand, freshly cleaned and sheathed after his last interrogation. Tonight would be a very long night, not that Arioch was complaining. He loved his job to the point of arrogance. "Do you wish to know the hardest part of our king's request?"

Albisin only stared, eyes wide and chest rising and falling with the force of his laboured breaths. Disbelief still lingered in his eyes, as though he couldn't quite accept the fact that he was about to meet death. A man like him must have felt untouchable—a high-ranking member of the king's court sheltered by wealth and influence.

But his safety was false.

Death had the power to touch any it deemed fit and at any time it pleased. This was the knowledge that kept Arioch passionate about whatever he did. A beating heart was a gift, and if he must live, he must do so with all that he was.

Unsheathing his blade, Arioch observed the weapon in the light, shifting it this way and that. "The toughest part of the king's request was finding the richest among you and arranging you in the order of the wealth you have amassed. Ending your lives is by far the easiest part of my task." Arioch swept his thumb over the smooth surface of the blade. "As I said, there is a chance to escape death by my hand. Simply tell me what I need to hear."

"I do not know of treachery within the king's court. I am pleading..." Albisin's feverish mumble faded as Arioch walked around him.

"You puzzle me, magus," Arioch said as he stopped behind Albisin. "I do not understand what you are pleading for." The man wiggled and twisted his neck to see what Arioch was doing behind him.

"Your pleas cannot change the king's decree." Placing a hand upon Albisin's head, Arioch gripped a fistful of his sweaty limp hair and pulled back. "You can choose the option I offered you or... simply die."