DILLON

Five days after my life turned to shit, I collapsed headfirst into a pool of piss and mud by the side of a tavern. The wind was howling then, causing the trees to sway and topple. The cold rain felt like wet stones against my skin. I had walked for five days through a neverending storm without a clue of where it was I was headed. South was all I knew.

Carefully hidden from the main roads, the small tavern sat in the corner of a forest, shielded. Were it not for the chipped wooden sign that laid crooked on the passing dirt road, I may never have known it was there. Ten kilometres from the magnificent gates of Angel's Path, outside that small inn, was where I met Rifco.

I was headed south to Illya, to promised warmth, good food and the chance to start over, with nothing but a burlap sack over my shoulders and torn, muddied boots on my feet. What a sorry sight I must've been; barely eighteen years old, skinny as a blade, with the temper of a provoked beast.

From the surface, Rifco seemed like a different man then; lean, muscular and with hair on his head, completely scarless. His ambition, however, remained the same. Had I known then that the man who saved my life on that wretched day would also be the same person who will eventually drag me into the dirt, I would not have taken his hand.

Now, I pay the price for my naivety.

"I think you know who my source is, Sir Azshker." Vasilis' voice is suggestive as he drags a finger over the gem's shape. The beast, Ghan, watches me for a dreadful moment before he takes the pouch and saunters back to his quiet, dark corner.

"What did you promise him?" I ask, feeling him out, to see if he will give me any information. After all, why wouldn't he? I am a dead man, and secrets are often best told to those who are doomed to taste dirt.

"I would tell you, but only if you provide details of your battle with the Khronish pirate," Vasilis stops and looks down at the steel tools. "I believe your glorious victory needs to be heard."

"Why don't you just tell me what you want and get on with it?"

The prince clicks his tongue and shakes his head, "Why rush when we have all day? I believe great tales are told with patience and some dramatic flair. Why don't we have some fun?" He picks up a tool from the table and examines it, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Since you are so reluctant to tell me your tale, how about we compromise? Every question you answer will eliminate one tool from this table. Ghan won't be so happy about that, but I am benevolent." I glance sideways at the dark corner, but Ghan is somewhere out of my field of vision. My anxiety grows. I much preferred the beast when I could see him.

"If you answer all my questions, I'll grant you a wish. A fun little game, no?" Vasilis' face splits into a grin.

"What wish is that, prince?"

"A quick, painless death."

I want to believe him, but I am no fool. I am completely at their mercy. I doubt my death will be quick or painless. Vasilis strides back to the chair and sits down lazily. He places the gem at the centre of the table.

"I heard the Khronish believe the Angels have forsaken them. I have learned that half of your country no longer believes in the divine? Tell me, is that true?"

"I've lived in Illya half my life, I wouldn't presume to know what the Khronish believe." I shrug stiffly.

"Ah, but you were a man of faith, were you not?" I don't reply. Not only does he know of my family and village, he knows of my faith, too. Vasilis shakes his head lightly, disappointed.

"Ghan here is of the conviction that we should hurt you to loosen your tongue. In fact, he'd like that very much. It always comes down to savagery these days. Efficient, yes, but I simply cannot get dirty tonight. I have an important meeting, you see." He leans back into his chair and picks at the non-existent dust from his silk shirt.

"No, I am no longer a man of faith. Haven't been for a long time." I mutter.

"Change of heart?"

I shrug, "Just saw enough body parts separated from their owners to make me question some things." I don't feel like going into detail about how I lost my faith. Sometimes, I wonder if I ever believed at all.

"In Illya, it is the Angel Zarxos that is revered. With his blood, our lands were forged. Many have forgotten this fact, but there is proof. And you have seen it, Azshker." With slim fingers, he slides the gem to me and smiles.

"You have seen a faithless beast use what is precious to the people of Illya, tell me, how did he do it?"

So this is why he hasn't killed me yet. I laugh at the ridiculousness of this conversation. He does not know how to wield the power of the stone. Just because I was a victim of an Arcana does not mean that I, too, understand. Vasilis simply stares at me and does not react. He nods once to Ghan and my body stills.

I hear his monstrous footsteps inching closer until his frame blocks the light of the sconce behind me, casting his ominous shape onto the table. All I feel is dread. From the corner of my vision, I see his freakish arms move at astonishing speed. His fist connects to my stomach and I jerk forward, winded. The pain comes a second later and it takes all of my concentration to stop myself from spewing all over the table. My vision blurs and I drool all over my suit trousers.

"How did he use it?" Vasilis asks again, his voice but a mere whisper as the sounds of my breathing overtakes. I groan. Ghan grabs my hair and pulls my head back. I feel dizzy from the motion and squeeze my eyes shut.

"I don't f-fucking know," I spit out hoarsely. Ghan doesn't let me catch my breath because next, he slams my head into the wooden table. When my head connects, I scream from the pain. I feel a sharp sting and warm liquid pour down the side of my face.

"Enough, Ghan. He can't answer us if he passes out again." All I can think of is the pain. Nothing else exists at this moment. It is blinding, all-consuming and awful.

"Tell me what you saw, what did he do? Did he cast a spell? Did he chant? What did he do?" Vasilis slams the table with his hand, the vibration causes a dull ache to rise. Then, I hear footsteps. A clacking of heels, light as a feather. Vasilis takes my face from the table and looks at me with such fury that it is almost palpable.

"I don't fucking know." Blood flies from my mouth when I speak and lands on his silk shirt and chin. He throws my head to the side and groans.

"Did you enjoy your little chat with my dear sister, mercenary?" His voice is low. My stomach knots at the mention of her. I remember the anger in her gaze, the sadness in her voice. "Did you think she would ever love a peasant like you?" Vasilis grabs the gem from the table and puts it in his pocket.

"My sister is a terrific actor. Did you think I did not notice how you stare at her? With such pathetic longing," He sneers. "Know your place, commoner." When Vasilis taps the metal door, his guards let him out. He does not look back and the door screeches shut. I am now alone with Ghan. Sense abandons me. My throat is dry, my body shaking.

Ghan takes Vasilis' place in front of me. I stare in horror as he picks up a thin blade, almost as slim as a needle, with serrated edges. Panic grips me now. The memory of flesh peeled from muscle, the sound of fingers chopped at the knuckle, the image of how fat separates from bone, the screams and prayers of my comrades. I watched it all once, in a place similar to this. All I felt at the time was gratitude; grateful that it wasn't me.

When Ghan pulls the table aside and drops heavily to his knees, I grit my teeth and close my eyes. I feel a desperate pitiful sob build, but I do not let it out. When he grabs my barefoot with his giant hand, the blade in the other, I shake my head violently.

"Don't," It's all I can say before he shoves the small blade under my toenail. I grit my teeth from the sudden pain. Then, slowly and nonchalantly, he begins to saw off my nail along with the flesh beneath, all the way to the joint as if he is peeling an apple. The pain is blinding.

When I scream, Ghan's face twists into an ugly smile.