Aber seht euch mal den Prolog an:
“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”
– Friedrich Nietzsche
Erumal
Part I: Deal with a Monster
Prolog
The stars are sparkling again.
They look so…peaceful.
So free of everything.
….
When there weren’t the cell bars.
They are hiding parts of the sight.
Also the castle wall right beside the window.
It would have been nicer when these guys had thrown me into a tower cell instead of this one.
…
But it is still better than the Dark Cells below me, where no windows exist.
I sigh.
Watching up to the stars is the only diversion, which I have here.
How long I am lying here on this hard board, which they call a bed and is no wider than my slim body frame?
One week? Or one month? Or even longer? Don’t know. Seems not so important.
When there wasn’t this smell.
First I thought it was the smell of my own excrements, which are lying in the corner and were not cleaned away even once since I am here. But then I realized that I have adapted to this smell already. So it must come from the outside. From my only connection to it: the window.
So outside of my puny cell it is stinking more than in my cell, which is full of ****? Funny.
Then I hear noise. Not from the window like always but from the cell door to my left. No window there, but only old rotten wood and iron to hold it together.That is why the cell is darker in this direction than below the window.
Steps.
Yes, these are steps.
I lift myself and begin sitting on the board, back on the wall and feet out in front of me.
The door opens and light shines inside.
First I have to hide my eyes cause of the intensity, but I adapt fast.
“Freak! Get out here!” the friendly guardsman Horik calls for me.
A big guy. Like a bear. Always wearing his uniform: Brown wool and iron doublet, iron gloves, brown wool pants and shoes, a peaky iron helmet, which hides his nose and an old rusty broadsword in its sheath at the black belt. One hand is always carrying a torch like this time again, because the corridor outside is as dark as my cell. Maybe darker, cause there are no windows.
Different form the usual is that Horik is followed by at least four more guys with torches.
Most of them are guards like Horik, although not so ugly and rotten. But one guy stands out.
He wears a brown leather doublet with sparkling iron buttons on it. Black wool pants and iron shoes and gloves. Also a black belt with a silver emblem in the middle and guessing from the hilt a high quality sword. Everything on him tells
that he isn’t a common soldier, but instead one of the Warriors, who advice kings. He has longer brown hair and beard. Both looks cared for, not like my long black hair and beard, which have grown since I am here.
With his blue eyes he has the face of a womanizer.
…I don’t like him.
He is the only one without a torch.
“I said get out here, Freak!” Horik yells again.
I stand up slowly and walk into the light. When the guys I don’t know, see me face, they all looked shocked. Except the warrior guy.
You see, there is a reason, why Horik calls me Freak. And this reason are my eyes: their sclera is not white like by normal people, but instead pitch black and my iris is snow white. I look a little like a demon cause of these eyes, but
that’s it.
The warrior steps closer to me. He inspects me. Looks at my dirty fawn clothes, – shirt and pants – which I got here, at my slim, but still fit body. And of course at my eyes.
“So you are….Black Eyes?” he mutters in his deep voice. It sounds like a question, but it isn’t. Black Eyes is the nickname I got long ago.
“I have a real name, you know?” I indicate.
“Don’t care.” he replies and turns around to the guards, “Chains.”
Two of the new guards steps forward, chains for arms and feet in their hands.
I allow them to chain me.
“Let’s go.” the warrior tells and the three guards force me out.
They escort me through the dark corridor, through the stairs up and the quarters of the prison barracks above the cells.
They are empty.
We leave the prison and are marching through the castle grounds. It is completely surrounded by the castle buildings and the walls.
I hear loud noise from the southern walls, where the city is. The ground is lightened only a little and still no further guards.
We enter the biggest building of the castle, its keep. The Main Hall is also empty, but we reach the stairs upwards fast. At the edge of my vision I see servant women, watching us marching.
Finally we reach the highest chamber: King’s Hall. King’s Throne Chamber and right beside his Private Chambers. To the left is rich ornate cooper throne, in front a chimney, to the right a big balcony, which’s sight, is hidden by purple curtains.
Beside the fire in the chimney there are also torches, so I can see the men in the room. Most often common soldiers, but also some warriors, although these guys don’t look like dolled up peacocks. One of them even has a fresh red scar through his face.
We stop at the middle of the chamber and they force me on my knees with an aimed kick in my knee hollows.
The warrior steps forward to a purple armchair in front of the chimney.
“Your Majesty, Black Eyes is here.” the warrior says and I hear like someone stands up from the armchair.
In front of me is someone, I have heard much already. King Olaf III calls himself the Conqueror, although he had conquered nothing till my imprisonment. But instead he had started a war against all of his neighbors, and hasn’t ended even one of them. The people call him the Crazy War Monger or War Hound without its Bone or the Grim Reaper of his own warriors.
At least he looks grim. He wears wool pants, iron gloves and shoes, bloody silver chain mail and of course a helmet shaped like a crown. He has a trimmed red-silver beard around his mouth and curls of his red-silver hair are seen at the edges of his helmet. He has many wrinkles in his face and looks in this way older than his End Thirties, but his dark blue eyes still look as sharp as an experience warrior.
But this is not the thing I care for, when I look in the eyes of others. His look has again this kind of disgust, like by everyone, when looking at me.
He steps closer to me; his iron shoes make much noise. His broadsword is seen to his right with the gold-plated hilt.
His disgust is joined by arrogance.
“…I have imagined you…tougher.” his first words are in a very deep voice, but also a little husky.
I start grinning
“Many say this…” I reply amused.
Then his look changes to the warrior to my right.
He punches me hard against my cheek.
“That is called ´Your majesty`, Freak.”, the King says and looks at me.
He turns around slowly.
“I have brought you out of your pitiful hole, because I want to give you a chance, Black Eyes.”, he continues, “I need your service.”
I move my head around to relax it after the hit.
“For what job…, your majesty?”
The King waves with two of his fingers and the soldiers close to the curtain grab it and open the balcony.
Outside is seen the City in the darkness of the night. But it is not as dark as it should be. One can see many fires in the city and much noise, which resemble fighting. At the horizon close to the Seagate are the most fires.
My grin gets broader.
And I think I chuckle a little.
Another punch reminds me of this.
I taste blood in my mouth.
“I have sent for you, because of your special job description.” the king, who has turned to me again, continues.
“And what that may be? I don’t think an additional sword will be helpful. Above all when this is aimed at your back.” I reply amused.
Another punch and my head touch the hard stone of the chamber grounds.
“I don’t need an additional sword.” the king replies and steps closer to the balcony, “I have 10.000 swords ready to strike at my command to sweep away this scum.”
I struggle back on my knees and pant a little.
“So what reason you have, that you don’t give this command?” I ask and am prepared to take another hit.
The warriors prepares for this, when the king stops him with a wave of his hand.
“It is enough. Stand up, Freak.”
I stand up and the king turns around to me again with a strict face.
“They have my son.” he whispers almost.
I sense the pain in his voice. Not because they have his son, but, because they could get him in the first place. His pride is wounded.
He turns to his armchair and starts walking to it.
“In your job description is written down that you do everything and get the job done always.”
“So this is the reason, why bringing out a freak from his prison.” I reply still amused.
He looks at me with a look, which should say: “Look out what you say.”
I chuckle cause of this.
“You should free my son and bring him back to me and by the way kill the leader of this scum.” the king explains further, “When you do this, you are free.”
Now I begin to laugh.
“I don’t think, this price is enough, your majesty.”
I sense the confusion in the room, but the king doesn’t show it.
“I can get you back to the prison, when you like this better?” he replies annoyed.
My laughter gets stronger.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” I question him.
No answer.
I look him directly into his eyes.
“I am not in the prison, because you get me, but because I allowed you to get Me.”, I respond in a much colder voice.
Like I wanted it the atmosphere around me changes to a much colder one. The warriors and soldiers go a step back and hold their hands at the hilts of their swords.The king went a step back also and finally I see a little fear in his face.
My nose twitches.
“….Fear….mixed with a little respect.” breathing it loudly in, “A much better smell. And it makes things much easier.”
I look at the king, who seems paralyzed.
“Come on. You can ask me what my price is.”, I tempt him.
I think he realizes what a weak impression he emitted right now, so he gets into a stronger standing position and looks at my eyes, although I can see still the fear there.
“What price you want?” he asks finally.
I look at the sea outside of the city.
“A ticket.” I reply while looking back to the King.
“A ticket?” he asks unsure.
“To the Empire.” I explain and he gets it.
“Agreed. You bring back my son and kill the leader and for this I will send a ship with you onboard to the closest Empire harbor.”
I stretch out my right hand despite the arm chains.
The relaxing warriors get tensed again immediately and some of them even have drawn their swords.
The king has his hand at the hilt also and looks startled.
“For signing a deal, men should shake hands.” I explain.
He gets closer cautious.
And then we shake hands.
Modifié par Not_Zero, 15 septembre 2012 - 08:29 .
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