Rebelmind Rising

Kalinlast

Regulus watched the ripples of white dust trickle away from his feet, reminding him of ocean rivulets. The view from the mountain saddle had belied the roughness of the desert terrain. Here in the rain shadow of the Shale Mountains, desert flats, held together by sagebrush and thin grass, blistered under rainless skies.

As the troops rounded a clump of sagebrush, a sharp whinny cut the air. One of the soldiers' horses nickered in response. "There's the garrison!" Men and horses found new wind and thundered down the trail in a cloud of dust.

"Come on, you pesky prince," Adolar dragged roughly on the rope attached to Regulus' wrist. "Pick up your feet a little faster."

Regulus' feet burned, but he did his best to obey. As he hurried, he scanned the road ahead for a sign of the garrison. Finally, he spotted it, and not just as part of the mirage of water that had been tormenting his eyes for miles.

Rough tree trunks stood in soldierly rows to form walls, gray from the merciless sun. Sagebrush flanked the low walls, blending it into the landscape. A bronze bear head hung over the gate, sparkling like fire in the sun. If one knew what pinpoint of light to look for, that head could be visible for miles on a clear day, flashing like a beacon amidst the drab desert. The garrison was strategically set, Regulus observed. Rough walls held higher walls within and a guard tower, still higher, looked over the entire region. To the north, the desert stretched away, little green spots set like emeralds into the dust offered oasis and water amidst the alkali flats. His survey of the land cut short as Adolar dragged him under the bear's head gate. More rough soldiers clad in bronze armor stoically guarded the fort. They saluted the man atop the black stallion leading the ragged prince. Regulus assumed he must be the general of a sort. Perhaps like Lukas at Nevermore. The garrison, though fairly squat and unassuming on the outside was actually massive. Sunk deep into the ground, the main floor must have been about six feet below the outside ground level.

"The winter storms from the north lash us with gales something fierce," Adolar explained absently. "The lower we can get the more out of the wind we are."

Regulus nodded. Ingenious really.

The men dismounted, a few lead the string of horses toward the stables and water trough in the center of the courtyard. The others rushed toward what Regulus assumed to be the mess hall. Delicious smells emanated from the open doors and windows, making his mouth water. His last meal had been many weary miles ago and the lad felt faint with hunger. However, Adolar had other plans for him. "Xiomar, throw this traitor in the brig, give him bread and water, and tell my father we have a prisoner ready for questioning."

"Yes, sir," Xiomar saluted smartly, and turned toward Regulus. "You lucky traitor, you get a nice Kalinlast brig. It should be the rack for you." A quick blow of his sword butt nocked Regulus senseless to the ground and the soldier motioned several others nearby to the throw the lad into the cell. Iron clanged shut, a key turned, and Regulus lay prisoner at Kalinlast.

"Preparations for the feast are in order, my father," Adolar sat down, cross legged on the rug opposite the older man.

"Very good." He leaned forward, dipping his hand into the great pot of stew hanging over the fire. A clear spark still shown in his eyes even as his movements slowed with age and the harshness of the desert. The bowl of stew procured, he turned his attention to his son, marking the dark scars lining the rugged face.

"The lines of the past fade on your face, my son, yet you still hold revenge to your heart like the shards of a broken sword. Can you not let the past die with her?"

Agony spread itself finely across Adolar's face. "You know, my father, that I cannot rest until vengeance is paid back in full."

"Your arrogance blinds you, my son, to the man your mother would have seen you become."