Kings and Pawns of Flesh and Bone

Chapter 1 - Panic and Fear

30 Years Earlier

The inside of the cell was damp and wreaked of mold, a garment of century old decay and neglect neatly wrapped from floor to ceiling. The cell, built into the walls of an underground dungeon, smelt of dust and hopelessness. It was meant to hold prisoners temporarily before having them lashed, executed, or set free. The door was a collection of rusted metal rods, filthy to the touch. Directly across from the door of the cell was a tall staircase leading to the mouth of the dungeon. The cell was large and, for the most part, held a cast of common characters. One man, wreaking of sweat and shame, moaned as he rolled on the floor, grasping his aching head. The tell-tale signs of drunkard. He laid there, sprawled out, at the feet of another prisoner, more boulder than man. It took six guards to throw him in the night before. An earlier conversation between the guards revealed that he had flipped the fruit stand of a street merchant. He sat to the left of an old, cloaked man with reptilian skin. His sun-baked pockmarked face had the texture and colour of stale bread. His tattooed wrists wore the hallmarks of a magician. They sat, mostly in silence, ignoring the young boy among them.

The boy stood, leaning against the cell door. His olive-skinned face held bright eyes, almond in shape and colour, and his immaculate red tunic and white trousers hid beneath a shield of mischievous dust. He steadily ran his fingers across the rusty iron bars of his cell, left to right and then right to left, each direction releasing a different melody. His eyes wondered, traveling between the ceiling and the day's lone remaining guard.

The guard was a young man currently drowning in his own perspiration. He was light skinned, much lighter than the local complexion. He was tall and thin, very thin. He used his height, as effectively as could be expected, to make up for his weak frame. If I can't be a hammer, I will be a spear... he often thought to himself. He stood, stoic and statuesque, facing the prisoners. He wore a blue tunic, which dampened quickly as the day progressed. His hands were folded in a clasp behind his back, his feet shoulder width apart. To the prisoners, he appeared more to be playing the role of a guard, rather than actually guarding them. His discomfort increased with each passing moment, as the noon heat began to take its toll on them all.

Noon turned into midday without incident. Aside from the occasional groan of the drunkard, and the murmurs of the magician, the cell remained quiet. The four prisoners and the guard watched the day pass by, listening to the steady jingle of a young man's fingers promenading across rusted bars. Abruptly, the boy stopped running his fingers along the bars, taking a moment to stretch before whimsically turning to the guard.

"I have grown bored of my stay. Aren't you bored of having me here?" asked the boy.

The guard let out a chuckle, allowing a smile to spread across his face. He was advised on numerous occasions to not engage in conversation with the prisoners. Today, however, the guard chose to indulge in a moment of self satisfaction. He knelt, attempting to meet the boy at eye level. His grin growing ever so slightly. "Young lad, when my commanding officer comes in today, and I tell him about my prize catch, I will likely be promoted. As for you, my little Turk... You won't be going anywhere at all. Boy, you'll be lucky if they don't hang you up by your backside and skin you alive." The guard slowly composed himself and returned to his pose, stalwart and unwavering but unable to wipe the grin off his face.

"Vivid" remarked the boy. "Quite the description. The son of a butcher I take it"? The guard's eyelids, out of their own volition, twitched ever so slightly. He was, in fact, the son of a butcher, and he felt embarrassed that his few words exposed so much of who he was. He quickly regained his concentration and worked to re-establish his sense of order. He needed to raise the shield of authority. The boy continued. "You look uncomfortable. Hot? The capital is hot this time of year. Isn't it? You don't look like you're from here. Hailing from somewhere deep in the armpits of his majesty's empire I take it?"