Chapter 3P: Over the Head Comes the Crown
James laughed. It was booming and sharp, cutting through the ears of the others in the cave and competing with the howling of the wind outside. After a few seconds, his face instantly froze into a scowl.
"To do that," he said, emphasizing each word, "You would have to have a plan."
Valon, still in his undergarments, spread his arms out wide. "And you think I don't? Try me." He smiled enigmatically. It was enough to repulse Ziafar, who stepped away from the fire and towards the cold wall of the cave.
Grimacing, James raised a finger. "First, you would need to find an arcanist who can teleport."
Ziafar waved his fingers, showing the lapis nails. "That would be me," he said bitterly. He could almost see the plan forming in Valon's mind. It was - as were all of Valon's plans - beautifully reckless and dangerous. Which meant it had a chance of working.
"And then you would have to find a safe place to teleport to," James continued, frown deepening.
"You've spent a year running away from them," Valon said, "So I'm fairly sure you know where they like to gather."
"And then - gods forbid! - you would have to find Malwanis and kill her without dying yourselves."
Zoey eagerly plunged her knives into the deer's flesh and began to skin it. "We're very good at killing things," she said happily.
"And then, only then, can you hope to make me King, which is not a position I wanted in the first place."
Rolling his eyes, Ziafar stepped forward. "You happen to be big and absurdly strong, if those claymores are any indicator. But I suppose we can find another suited to the task of making the Malwans cower." He shot a quick glance to Valon to make sure that they had thought the same thing - Valon nodded in satisfaction, so Ziafar kept his eyes focused into James's fierce gaze.
James's hands inched ever so slightly to his claymores. "You cannot possibly think that this plan-"
"It can, and it will," Ziafar retorted. "Do you have anything better to do on this hideous rock?"
Now James sounded more hesitant; he pulled his hands away from his weapons. "...No," he said at last, after a deep breath. He sighed. "I hate this place, and I hate why I landed on it. You are right - I know the Malwans well. I will help you dethrone their queen."
"Good," Ziafar began to say, but was interrupted by an enormous hand.
"So long as you don't kill any innocents," James said slowly, his stare somehow growing more piercing than it already had been. The effect was enough to make Ziafar's skin crawl, as though the bloody little secrets in Ziafar's mind were being drawn out. "I don't pretend to know what you ended up here for, but I can make a reasonable guess that it happens to be worse than manslaughter."
The attack in the house flashed through Ziafar's thoughts, centered around the rage that had lifted him off the floor in sheer power. He said nothing, did nothing, only donning an offended expression and stepping away. His eyes focused on the wall beside James.
Valon clapped his hands and rose. "Let's do this!" he said in a confident voice that managed to be a tad icy, extending a hand to James (who did not take it, but scowled and turned away). "We'll carve up, roast, and eat that deer of mine, and then we'll play kingmaker. Doesn't that sound like fun?"
In the midst of the blizzard, they could not easily tell if it was night or day. Ziafar wondered, as they stood atop a ridge opposite the damaged mansion/fortress, if this island was always like that.
It had taken them some hours to get to this point. The deer meat had proved gamey, but otherwise delicious. Ziafar wished that Valon hadn't used some of his fire magic in cooking it, though Ziafar knew that it would've taken even longer otherwise. After that, it had been a matter of waiting for Valon's clothes to dry (to Zoey's immense interest), Valon to get redressed, and James to lead them into the blinding snow. The others had followed his massive shadow into the ice, rock, and snow; the man himself had likely relied on his own awareness of the brutal landscape, as well as the feet that had let him plow through the snow and pave the way. It appeared that James knew this place like the back of his hand. Spending a year in hell did that to a man, Ziafar reasoned.
Ziafar's face had long ago frozen in the withering assault of the weather. He felt numb now, which was an improvement over the previous constant sensation of pain. The dead trees behind him (James had said, above the wind, that the Malwans had torn up much of the landscape to refurbish their home, and controlled all of the fertile soil), pulled down by the piles of snow, creaked weakly in the wind. The limbs, already damned, sometimes snapped. It never caught anyone off guard, as they were too focused on what they could see from their perch.
"There," James finally shouted, pointing a huge finger towards the fortress. Ziafar looked past the lights of dozens of sentries, over the stone and wood forts that surrounded the mansion, beyond the winding path stretching through the thick iron gates, and focused on a light emanating on the side of the mansion's hill. It appeared to be shining through a small grate. "That must be a cellar of some kind. They would never expect an attack from below - the earth here is too hard to mine easily. It will likely not be guarded well."
"In that case," Ziafar shouted, "Hold on!" He held out his hands. After a few seconds, he could feel a massive, calloused hand clamp onto one arm. The soft hand of Valon found Ziafar's other arm. Peering to his right, Ziafar could see Zoey hold onto Valon, and Astrid onto Zoey.
Frowning, Ziafar concentrated. He tried to block the sound of the wind, the ice growing on his eyelashes, the anxiety that burrowed deep within his stomach (the fear that he would, for instance, teleport everyone into the wall). Each slowly withered away as his hard gaze shot through the miniature grate, envisioning the wooden cellar beyond. Piece by piece, he could see the wooden beams, the creates, the wine barrels, and a scattered group of armed guards. No shields, only rusted swords. Ziafar smiled and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he could feel a wave of warmth flooding over him. The place, regardless of the torches scattered and fenced in on the walls, nor the lanterns the guards carried in their spare hands, was cold, but it was a sauna compared to the outside. Feeling trickled its way into Ziafar's face again, reminding him of his past condition via pinpricks of pain.
At once, the others let go. Two of the guards attempted to dash up the wooden stairs, but Zoey picked them off with the flick of her knives. She immediately ran to their bodies, pulling out an oversized keychain from one's belt. James cleaved through the soldier who raised his spear and tried to attack, while Valon handily shot flames into the face of his opponent before stabbing them through the chest with a sword.
The last one threw his spear to the ground and knelt before Ziafar. This soldier looked to only be a teenager - short, fair complexion, black hair, pleading eyes. He did not speak a word - was he mute? - but chose to look up desperately to a pleased Ziafar.
James whirled around and hauled the teenager up. While Ziafar nodded to Valon and Zoey, who quietly walked up the stairs, James held out the teenager's hands, one at a time. No skull on either. "He must be a recruit," James concluded, shoving the teen back down to the ground. "Not yet branded."
"Interesting," said Ziafar in bemusement. There was the sound of a lock being tested a few times, and then a door being gently pushed open from the direction of the stairs. Astrid stood by each of the bodies, bending over and inspecting them. She looked a little pained. "That might make him useful."
"No," boomed James, still holding a claymore. He moved it closer to Ziafar. "We will not make this child some kind of a king."
Ziafar put a finger to lips and pointed up. The sounds of foosteps echoed dimly through the wood above. "He has to have been put here for some reason," Ziafar hissed.
James shook his head. "Some of the prisoners have had children. They don't live long, but-"
The creak of wood. Ziafar turned his head to see Valon and Zoey carefully stepping down the stairs, keychain still in Zoey's hand. They looked pale, though Valon's face was scrunched in concentration. Another plan, no doubt. Sighing, Ziafar pulled his head back and pointed to James. "If we are going to replace Malwanis and build what little trust exists among these criminals, the last person we need is anyone with a skull on their arm. We can find him a bodyguard, perhaps." James scowled, showing teeth. "Do you honestly see another solution here?"
The teenager looked between the both of them, panic etched into his face. James saw the expression. For the briefest second, Ziafar could see James's visage change into something resembling familiarity, before it snapped back into fury. James glared at Ziafar's finger, as though hoping it would fall off.
Valon came up to the three of them. "We may need to move soon," he whispered into Ziafar's ear. "I think they work in shifts, including here. I can hardly hear anyone now."
It was either loud enough for James to hear, or Valon was a bad whisperer. "They switch the guards every hour," James said quietly, sternly. "I hear them from my cave on quiet nights. The inside guards go out, and vice versa. Keeps them limber, I suppose."
Pinching his nose and closing his eyes, Ziafar tapped his foot on the floor. "Then we must go. We cannot risk this boy" - he sneered at the teenager's piteous expression, it was so repulsive to him - "Being caught and exposing us, so we must take him with us. We will decide what role he will hold here afterwards. If he cannot keep pace, carry him." Ziafar gestured to James at the end.
"Fine," said James, pulling the teenager up gently.
The rest of the group crowded the staircase, silently pulling themselves up by clinging onto the rail. Ziafar went last. As Zoey again opened the door and the others filed out, Ziafar looked down to see James and the teenager not far from their earlier position.
The teenager kept his distance from James, looking up at James nervously. James pulled something from his pocket; it was obscured in the darkness. Ziafar snapped his fingers. With a quiet sigh, James placed what he was holding back and began to head up the stairs, the teenager walking behind.
Satisfied, Ziafar stepped out into the mansion's hall.
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