Shadow Kingdoms | Book 1 ✔ (REWRITTEN AS 'THE EXILED KING')

Chapter 16 - Captive of Flame

"Ah, so you have." Darron Ravenstorm smirked, "One could question your motives, but clearly you are eager to please."

The guards tied thick cords tightly around their hands. They tied Rillan up too, just in case.

"I was rather annoyed when I had heard that my prisoners from Doxford had escaped, but it appears that I have half of the group. Knowing your kind, the rest will be tripping over each other to bow at my feet because I hold the lives of their friends," Darron continued.

"All will soon be well again, my gracious lord." Rillan whispered.

"Escort him to my chambers when you have safely put the prisoners in the dungeons."

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The guards saluted Darron and marched the prisoners away. Darron turned his back on them and walked to his study, slamming the door shut. There, he leaned on the door and breathed a sigh of relief. His power had not taken control of him yet. He held out his right and surveyed it. Then fire burst forth from him. His hand ignited, but just like last time, he felt no pain. Darron thought of Rillan and his failure of a son, Jaons. Then his temper flared and Darron Ravenstorm lost control. His fire, previously dancing placidly in his hand, flew from his hand and set the whole room burning in seconds. His heart racing, Darron threw open the door to the study and stumbled out into the hall. Smoke wafted out of the room and startled servants looked bewildered at the lord.

"My lord! My lord, are you hurt?"

Darron looked up and saw baron Oren, an old friend of about fifty years huffing as he ran to his lord. Oren was not what most people would call fit. The result of too many hours of debating rather than fencing in a castle with servants to wait on his every need. Darron wearily ran a hand through his hair. How was he going to explain this one?

"Yes... yes. I am well, baron. I simply cannot believe my misfortune."

Oren peered into the room, and visibly paled.

"The whole room is ablaze, my lord." He whispered, "In mere minutes. No candle could have caused this."

Oren glanced at the soot stained face of his lord, "Do you perhaps know any firewielders who would hold a grudge against you?"

"Firewielders? Nay, I have not seen one in years." Darron frowned, "Except... my son, Rillan. I see traces of the ability in him. I fear for his life as well as mine and those of the residents of Ravenstorm Castle."

"You cannot lock away your son! What if something happens to Jaons? Better to have a firewielder as your heir than a worthless rebel!" Oren growled.

Darron's temper flared and his eyes flashed red. He had no patience and a fiery temper that only fueled his firewielding powers.

"I cannot have a bastard as an heir!" snarled Darron.

Then he lost control. His fire flared and he burst into flame. Oren cowered back, "You're the firewielder..." he whispered.

Darron's clothes started to burn but he felt no pain, only unending anger. Darron struck Oren across the face, throwing him the the floor with a burnt face. The fire from the study licked at the door. Darron could do nothing as his hand rose and with a flash his clothes changed. Fiery red, he wore the loose baggy pants of the people of the hot lands with a vest open at the front. His hair was red and like a living flame, it twisted and burned. He had a red cape with gold embroidery on that hung from his elbows and fluttered in the heat. To anyone who saw him, he was the embodiment of a human flame, or a Hellbeing. All of the servants had long ago fled, abandoning their hampers of laundry or chamber pots or platters of extravagant meals.

Darron walked out of Ravenstorm castle leaving a trail of flame in his wake. He had no control. He was captured by his own power, a captive of flame.

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Darron Ravenstorm left behind a flaming inferno in one castle wing. He was so fiery, so burning angry for no reason that he could logically realize. He was just so caught in his power. He stood in an empty castle wing, one that had marble for floors and walls. It was the newest and here he could think, whatever was going on in his flame-muddled mind. A little servant boy came in with a pail of water for the castle livestock. Through this new wing was the best way there. He gave a startled cry as he saw his master standing there, wreathed in flames. Before he thought, he ran to his master, lugging the pail of water in one hand and threw the contents over Darron's head. Only then did the boy realize that Darron had not been crying out in pain or rolling around on the floor and he stood so still as he realized that he had been soaked to the undergarments. The fire had smoked and gone out, leaving Darron drenched and free of anger.

"I... I'm so sorry, m... master!" The boy whimpered.

"Thank you."

"I dunno what came over me, I swear. I jus' saw you on fire an'-" He babbled on, then stopped, confused.

"What?" He asked, looking at Darron.

"Thank you. I was caught. A captive of the fire. Thank you for freeing me." Darron said easily.

"If you don' mind me askin', master, how did you not burn?"

Curiosity. That was a good trait in a young boy like him, Darron thought. The boy could not have been more than eight or nine.

"I..." Darron hesitated then spoke, "I'm a Firewielder. I just have had no training, so I act dangerous and angry and tyrannous to stop people from noticing when I really am those things. Really, I meant no harm to Rillan and his friends. I had to keep up the facade. Please keep this a secret."

"Sure, master!"

Darron winced.

"Call me Darron when we are alone."

"Also, how old are you?" Darron asked.

"Turnin' nine next month!" The boy said proudly.

"Master... er, Darron, you look younger."

He didn't think much of that remark.

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Darron waited until his clothes had dried, which wasn't long, given how little he actually was wearing. Blasted desert dwellers and their silk garb, Darron grumbled as he made his way to his room. He was freezing as it was considerably colder here than the climate that the clothes were made for. The maids were casting him sideways glances when they thought he wasn't looking. That was odd. Probably the odd clothes that he was wearing. He reached his chamber where there were thankfully no more eyes. He sighed and sat down on the bed, then decided to take a look at his clothes. With a groan he rose from his bed and walked to the full sized mirror in one corner of his room. That was when he saw it.

"Good gods!" He yelped.

A face that he had not known in years stared back at him. A Face that had a scar right under the left eye and a face that Darron had not seen in many years. He tentatively put a hand on his cheek, ran his hand along the fiery scar. The person in the mirror did the same. 

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