The Captain's Entertainer (Zolan Book 4)

6

🗡️ CAPTAIN ZAIRO 🗡️

Kill'an and I sit across each other on the massive table. The queen is at the head with a servant feeding spoonfuls to her. It's ridiculous.

I finished my meal long ago. Disregarding my manners as I tore into the juicy red meat on my plate.

"Is the new fencing for your camp complete?" I ask Kill'an.

"Yes," he replies. "Yours?"

"We don't have enough material yet. We have just begun the upgrades."

All camps have been ordered to replace the wooden fence with a stronger, more durable metal. But the queen delayed distribution of materials by building her palace wing.

"What a lovely dinner with my Captains. I've already ordered dessert and pleasure dust."

I slam my hands on the table and rise. It's time to get the blue out of here. I have no interest in dessert or drugs.

"I wish you fair winds as you ride back to your camp, Kill'an. It was good to see you," I say earnestly. I would not consider the Captain my friend. Our camps are many miles apart and I hardly ever see him, but I respect him. We're men cut from the same cloth.

I turn to the queen. "Queen..." I drift off, devoid of pleasantries.

At least I tried.

I pick up my sword from where it rests on the table. It's rude to place it there, but I take it everywhere ever since an assassin snuck into my camp and tried to slit my throat.

The queen rises. "Leaving already?"

"Thank you for dinner." Those are my last words before I head for the door.

Kill'an rises and follows me out. We split in the hall and go separate ways. "Good luck," are the last words the Captain says.

I walk briskly past the statues and whispering servants. I'm nearly past the gate when a small voice calls for me.

"Captain?"

I exhale and turn to the boy that looks at me with wide eyes that reflect the stars above us.

He extends a dull dagger with a shaky hand. I grip it and slice my hand with it, coating the blade in blood. Then I return it to the child and continue walking.

There's a belief that strong men can bless weapons with their blood. I find it outrageous. I'm no god, no matter how skilled I am. But I'm not callous enough to taint a child's dream. If he thinks the dagger will yield him strength, then so be it. I can only hope that he remains innocent for as long as possible. Protected of the realization of how truly bleak and ugly this world is. There is no magic in Zolan. Some say love is the closest we can get to magic. But what the fuck would I know about love?

I mount my beast, Eorik. He has been my loyal friend for five years. No matter how angrily he grunts and stomps, Eorik is always there for me.

He has been fed and massaged and is ready to ride through the night. I know he misses camp as much as I do.

⚔️

Hours later, the yellow glow of the sun peaks from behind the red-tipped mountains. Mountains that stretch forever, writing a message on the sky. A summon.

I've always felt a pull toward the mountains. I was born on them, and my blood heats whenever I see them glowing red in the morning, calling for me. When all of this is over, when I retire as Captain, I want to return to my birthplace. I will walk across those uncharted planes home to danger and thrill, disappearing into the fog and not caring if I don't ever emerge again.