With the hatch safely closed behind him, Sirius let out a sigh of relief. “Now I can fight without distraction.” Davin eyed the dagger in his opponent’s hand, noticing he no longer trembled. “[i Why], Davin?”
The older guard lurched his arm back to swing, but Sirius swiftly forced his free palm into Davin’s arm, swinging precisely at his belly with the dagger in hand. It would take more than brute force to overpower the more agile guardsman. Davin stumbled backwards, but quickly countered with the hilt of his sword, and Sirius dodged to his right, in kind. With distance between them, Sirius drew his sword, finally at an even match.
“That… That [i little swine,] King Royland,” Davin began, “Spoiled, narrow-minded son of a common whore, isn’t worthy of that throne.” Sirius steadied himself, sensing the sinister aura from his former comrade. Hatred in his eyes. Malice in his words. Without responding, Sirius lunged forward, metal against metal ringing in his ears.
“That swine, as you called him, [i is your King!]”
“And you are his lapdog, sworn to his side, keeping his bed warm, ain’t ya!?”
Footsteps drawing near briefly drew Davin’s attention, allowing Sirius to briefly overpower him, forcing him to nearly lose his fitting. Figuring it was his allies, he called out to the shadows beyond, “Well, finally, you Elvish bastards! I’ve got one of the guards that knows the secret of the path!” Eyes widening, Sirius eyed the tunnel tentatively, nervous. The end, it seemed, would not be swift.
But the voice that responded was all too familiar to him. “[i Sirius!? Brother!?]”
“Alain--!” The younger guard cried out happily. Davin’s face fell. Then, it contorted to anger. With Sirius distracted, he swung, slicing his belly just enough to force him to the ground, clutching his side in abject horror as his blood spilled to the floor. Alain began to call out to his brother, until he noticed who had injured him. Alain’s eyes darted frantically to his brother in arms, to his attacker, and then drew his sword.
“U…Usurper…” Sirius’ vision began to blur, “He’s aiding… u..usur..pers…” Davin put a foot in his target’s wound, grinding the toe of his boot to force out desperate cries of pain. How he wished the King was here, to see the fate of all servants who should follow him. Slowly, he raised his sword, blinded by fury, sneering at those who had opposed him.
“Send my regards to the late King… and greet his son at the gates when I catch him!!”
[center ---]
Though he was desperate to listen in on the now muffled conversation above him, he knew he had to move. It was imperative. “You had better live, Sirius…” Royland muttered somberly, “I command it.” He shut his eyes; hands curled into trembling fists.
Not a week had passed after his father died, when Davin approached him earnestly, just before his crowning. Royland remembered clearly his feelings of pride and gratitude for having been recognized and acknowledged by one of Vasilios’ most fearsome soldiers. Davin bent his knee. He swore fealty to him. How could he have been so [i blind]? And now he was to lose one of the few friends he had left to trust. To a man who aided usurpers. And probably had for years, now.
“No, Royland…” He shook his head, “I must have faith in him.”
Walking briskly, Royland took the path he’d always been taught to know as a child. “The path” forged for descendants of his line by his own grandfather, for reasons lost to history. With the state of the castle the way it is, now… there would be no telling what they would do to wipe his lineage. Running his fingertips across the damp stone walls, he sighed, frustrated. Father had always forbidden him from determining the reason for which this tunnel was made, and he had no spare time, free of watchful eyes with which to find out on his own. Even as king. And now the study and library likely sat in shambles – flames if he were truly unlucky.
Blinded by the darkness, he only needed to trace the wall to tell where he was meant to go. “The path...” One, two, three, four, [i stop]. An indentation, whose telltale white smudge had long since faded, guided his path to the left. He dared not let go of the wall, for fear of getting disoriented. Though his safety was guaranteed by one tunnel, another might lead to his untimely demise. “[b North] of where the sun rises…” One, two, three, four, five, [i stop]. Silence in his ears. At least he wasn’t being followed, for now.
He continued straight until his fingertips traced another letter. “[b Opposite] the river’s cries.” Another left, into a tunnel with an unsteady, uncomfortably steep decline. The path led out into another small room, this time dimly lit by a single candle in the center, one set earlier in the night. With his vision returned to him, Royland reached for the chamberstick in one swift motion, nearly extinguishing the flame. His step quickened, his free hand shielding the candle. The rendezvous point was near. “Find the image of the Sun’s dear friend…” Blue eyes darted all around the tunnel, searching frantically, until he came to yet another small room. Directly to the right of the tunnel he had just emerged from, was a rudimentary etching of the sun. Yet, to the three tunnels beyond him, there were still three etchings of the moon; one crescent, one half, and one full.
[center ---]
“My Lord, are you sure you wish to mar the path like this?” Alain turned away from his chisel, eyeing the King concernedly. “The siege may be certain, but they cannot possibly—”
“This is the only way…” Royland founded his arms across his chest, eyes cast towards the ground, deep in thought. Alain gulped quietly… It was difficult to see the once happy, young prince in such a state, worried of having his birthright stripped from him. His clothes were simple and unassuming. There was clear evidence that he had been plagued with wakefulness these past few nights as they prepared for their escape. What was usually neatly coifed auburn hair was in a messy, disheveled state.
“You look quite worn… You should rest.”
“I know.”
The men locked eyes, and Royland let a half-lifted smile on his face to ease Alain’s worry. A rare sight, these days. Alain smiled softly in return. “It’s finished.”
[center ---]
Royland headed to the etching of the full moon, directly ahead of him, but set the chamberstick at the path of the etching depicting the crescent. Using what little light was available, he looked above the tunnel before him and jumped to grab the barely visible ledge. With much effort, he managed to pull himself into his appointed hiding place, leaving no trace of himself below. “[b Climb] towards the sky… Clever, grandfather.”