Reed had killed him. The Blessed One.

  This murder was a spontaneous decision, impulsive and anguished. Getting in had been easier than getting out. The old man didn't want to die, and there was a lot of noise and little time. And yet, obeying a strange internal desire, Reed lingered to leave a message. To cut off the Blessed One's hands, just as the mages' hands had been cut off. There was nothing in this act that spoke of his favor toward mages. It was merely a message of hatred and malice. Reed had been dragged into a business that was repugnant to his nature, which is why he gave in to the impulse.

  He hoped to escape the pursuit, but the Council's dogs had other plans on that. They chased him across the entire city until he managed to break away for a moment to retrieve Meredith. Initially, he hadn't planned to return for her at all under such circumstances. He killed the Blessed One not so much for her sake as for his own. He didn't know if they would manage to hide, but he hoped for it. Clearly, a child would hinder the escape. Alone, he moved faster and could take desperate measures. However, his conscience (if he still had one) didn't allow him to leave her. Abandoning her meant leaving her to the fate’s mercy, a betrayal. And Reed was tired of betraying those who trusted him.

  Alas, by the laws of cruel irony, fate always has its own plans. If something goes as intended, it only means that fate and chance are currently ruining someone else's life. Reed didn't have time to take Meredith and escape. Eventually, luck had to turn away. He had been its favorite for too long anyway. The clang of armor and the trample of hooves were already close, much closer than he assumed. Soon, the small window began to let in the flickering of lights, and the noise from outside burst into the room. Someone was shouting, swearing, and giving orders. Sounds of fighting could be heard. Reed had no doubt that the owner of this coop would sell him out, even for free.

  "Listen carefully," Reed said, breathing heavily as he grabbed Meredith by the shoulders. "I'll go, and you stay here. Hide."

  "Hector..." Meredith was crying, though it seemed to him she had nothing left to cry with. And he certainly wasn't worth her tears. She grabbed his hands, squeezing tightly, and looked straight into his eyes, begging. "Please."

  "Dita, do this for me, in gratitude for what I did for you," his voice sounded hollow, felt completely alien.

  "Will they kill you?"

  "Most likely." At least he didn't lie. Reed didn't want to die, but he didn't fear death. Sooner or later, it had to overtake him, so it was worth accepting it boldly.

  "Don't," she moaned, sniffling, and suddenly hugged him. It was a brief, impulsive hug full of despair. "You won't die, will you, Hector?"

  His leather armor muffled her words, but Reed heard them.

  "I'll try."

  Reed pushed Meredith away with some roughness, but she didn't try to hold him back. She only followed him with her gaze as he walked out, drawing his daggers on the go. He didn't want the guards to know about Meredith, so he went out to meet them. They had found him anyway, and leaving wasn't an option. Surely, they had already encircled the area. Fighting wasn't a choice either. Escaping from a dungeon, however, would be easier.

  Guards poured into the corridor, and Reed bared his teeth, weighing a dagger in his hand. The next moment, it flew into the closest guard. A second dagger found the guard standing to the left. Blood splattered on the wooden floor, and Reed smiled as he raised his hands. His gaze was riveted to the two guards he had killed, and that was enough.

  ***

  "And is he the last one?"

  An unfamiliar voice tore Reed out of the darkness. His head was ringing and he felt slightly dizzy. His hands were numb. Wiggling a finger, Reed realized he was tied up. His eyelids refused to obey, so he simply waited, giving no sign that he had regained consciousness.

  "Uh-huh, the last one," answered another voice, more familiar.

  "Is Hornet dead?"

  "Yes. Maybe someone managed to escape, like this one, but without a leader, they are nothing. They'll scatter and die somewhere anyway. I've sent messengers. The Wasps will be known of everywhere."

  "Good. And what should we do with this one?"

  "Send him to Belden."

  Listening closely, Reed finally realized whose voice that was. Opening his eyes slightly, he’s got his confirmation. The second man was Ermod.

  "What?" the first one was indignant. "He killed Him, and you want to send this long-eared scum just to penal servitude, like a common thief?"

  "You're not an idiot. Oh, look, he's awake."

  Someone grabbed Reed by the hair, forcing him to lift his head. He was sitting in a chair in a basement room that didn't quite look like a dungeon, although it had rooms with bars.

  "Good morning, beauty," Ermod smiled crookedly.

  "Which is more than I can say for you, you fat toad," Reed chuckled in response, spitting blood onto Ermod's clean, sleek clothes. Ermod's face twisted in disgust, but he quickly pulled himself together.

  "Why did you kill him?" the other man asked.

  "Does there always have to be a reason?" Reed was mocking them now.

  "You don't look like an idiot." The man speaking to him was younger than Ermod and thinner. Apparently, his rank wasn’t that high, since he hadn't yet fed on enough of the Council’s scraps to develop a belly that commanded as much respect as Ermod’s. "You couldn't have killed him just because, knowing what would happen to you."

  "And what makes you think I knew?"

  The man rolled his eyes. It was obvious how much Reed's acting annoyed him. Yet for Reed, it was sheer pleasure.

  "Let's talk like sane human beings."

  "Let's," Reed giggled. "But there is one point."

  "Which is?"

  "I am not a kreyghar." Reed laughed, paying no attention to the blood oozing from his split lips. He laughed almost hysterically, although there was nothing funny in his words.

  The man spat, nodded to the guard, and soon Reed received a slap that caused him to lose his spatial orientation for a time.

  "If you caress your wife the same way you fight, you'll be single soon," Reed grumbled, giving the guard a sidelong look.

  "Do you really want to go to the gallows?" the man asked, stopping the enraged guard with a gesture.

  "As if you care what I want."

  "I asked."

  "And it won't change anything."

  "Just say it. Why?"

  "Just because. Out of malice, just like that. An old, greedy bastard who should have turned to dust long ago. I thought his time was up."

  "It's not for you to decide," Ermod interjected.

  "If deciding for free, right?" Reed squeezed out, hinting at the hit job Ermod gave him. Apparently, the Council didn't know anything about their little agreement. "I did you a favor."

  "A favor?" the man asked.

  "Yeah. Did you see how much power he had? Too much. He had more of it than your entire snake pit put together. One word from him, and the Council is gone. One word from him, and you are both just dust, nobodies. Just like me. And your Three will protect him from the wrath of the crowd and nature because he speaks for them, even if it isn't so. And if the Three say you are unworthy, then you are unworthy. Rejoice that you have me".

  The man fell thoughtful for a moment, Ermod remained silent as well.

  "So, not such a tragedy after all?" Reed chuckled, glancing from one to the other.

  "I am sure you didn't do this for the Council."

  "Naturally."

  "Then why?"

  "Are you deaf? I told you: just because, because I felt like it. And he was rich."

  "You didn't have money on you."

  "And what makes you think I took money?"

  "You took his hands."

  Reed gave them both a brazen look and then nodded.

  "You are going to Belden anyway."

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Home, sweet home."

  "Leave him," Ermod grumbled. "He's lost his mind."

  The nameless man turned away and nodded. They spoke quietly about something, and then he left. Ermod sent the guard away, took a chair, and sat face-to-face with Reed.

  "I never thought you were this stupid. You could have had money and freedom had you not killed the Blessed One."

  "Apparently not that stupid, since I guessed there was nothing to lose."

  Ermod squinted in anticipation, waiting for Reed to go on.

  "I knew you wouldn't pay me. Exactly from the moment you ordered the guards to kill me. Back then, on the road, when we were going after the mages. You hoped I would die so you could keep your gold, get rid of witnesses, and freely claim credit for the Wasps’ elimination. You didn't want to fear my tongue going loose in case I’d be hard to intimidate or fool. I lost nothing because I had nothing. And you received recognition and strengthened the authority of your Guard. What a good boy."

  "Apparently, you really aren't that stupid," Ermod chuckled. Reed had laid out his guesses with an air of confidence, expecting Ermod to deny it. But when he freely confirmed everything, it felt unsettling. "Nothing personal. No one will avenge the likes of you. No one will look for you. If you had died in the process, who cares? That would have been even better. I wouldn't have had get my hands dirty. You are expendable material, and your term of service is over."

  "And what next?" Reed's voice took on a cold, almost threatening tone. "Or is that a secret?"

  "You will go to Belden, forever. And we will receive money for your labor as restitution for your crimes. Half-breeds like you live less than the long-ears in Avarel, but still much longer than humans. It will be profitable."

  "Yeah, and no one will notice the death of your Blessed One, right?" Reed grunted.

  "Well, they will," Ermod drawled, brushing invisible dust from his robes. "They will notice, but in a way that is convenient for us. You cut off his hands, after all. Your life in Belden will be much more useful than your death here. And they won't let you chat much. No one talks to slaves. And if you’d feel chatty, I’ll order to cut out your tongue. Then, everyone will be happy. You in your true, natural place, and we with your service."

  Reed gritted his teeth at the word "slave." He barely held back his anger, and exhaled. The thought of Belden scared him more than death. There was probably nothing in the world that frightened him more. He was shaking, but not from the cold. Panic, fear, anger, and hopelessness seized his mind, making it impossible to think. Reed could no longer play the fool and pretend it was amusing.

  "I see your future appeals to you," Ermod neighed hideously. "Excellent, I'm glad".

  Ermod stood up, placed the chair in the corner, and was about to leave when he suddenly turned around.

  "I almost forgot," he said, stepping closer. Ermod leaned down to look Reed straight in the eyes. "We'll find that little bitch too. Her hands will be cut off, and she'll be hanged. It's a pity you won't see it."

  Reed's face didn't twitch. He suppressed the urge to lunge at Ermod despite being tied up. Letting an enemy know they have managed to hurt you is the worst failure. Too much honor for unworthy. Otherwise, they would know they found a leverage. And Reed had already let Ermod know what he thought about his upcoming life in Belden. That was enough for now.

  "Little who?" Reed scowled, staring at Ermod as if seeing him for the first time. The man chuckled once more and walked out, leaving Reed alone with his thoughts.

  When Ermod left, Reed replayed his words over and over, trying to understand why wasn't he given to the crowd to be torn apart? Why leave him alive, and what profit could there be from him killing the Blessed One? Thoughts swarmed and jostled but eventually fell into place.

  Ermod couldn't allow the crowd to lose control. There is nothing more dangerous than a crowd in a rage, and the Council knew it. To say that the Blessed One, the object of reverence for every layer of society, was killed by a bandit would mean sowing panic, outrage, and sparking mass riots. The kreyghars would kill Reed, but his blood wouldn't quench their thirst. They would go further, after the Guards, who were doing who knows what while Reed was killing their leader of spirit and faith. The Council would be forced to summon the army to quell the riot. That could end the rule of the current Council members, who really didn't want to part with power.

  Once, Reed came to the conclusion that power endows the living with invisible deformities. It was the only deformity that opened all locks and presented all the riches and blessings of the world one could wish for. Such deformities are cured only by death, and only this kind of kreyghars stubbornly refuses to cure. It was clear the Council would do anything to keep power, even leave Reed alive and cover the shrine with lies.

  If the reasons were clear, what about the methods? Reed genuinely wondered how the Council could not just hide the details but extract profit from them. For a while, he sat staring in one direction. Ermod's phrase rang in his head. "You cut off his hands." Everything went cold inside from such a simple yet incredible guess. Reed had cut off the Blessed One's hands. Finally, everything was clear. Yet it didn't make him feel any better.

  When he realized that his dirty trick had overnight signed a death sentence for dozens, perhaps hundreds of innocents, rage seized him. This rage was the fruit of hopelessness. He couldn't fix anything now, but he couldn't help feeling and understanding it either. When he killed the Blessed One, Reed never thought he would become a harbinger of death for those he didn't want to kill. Even if he didn't consider himself an executioner, that night, he had become one.

  ***

  They took everything from him: his weapons, personal belongings, leather armor, freedom, and identity. No one called him by name anymore, but he didn't care. Only Meredith had called him by his real name, and even then, for a very limited time. Reed and the other future convicts were called anything and everything, but never by their names.

  Among the convicts were various kreyghars. Some deserved their chains and some didn't, but the crowd didn't care. There was an illusion of justice, which meant everything was fine.

  They were all shackled in the Council's dungeon and led out into the city under guard, right through the Square. The kreyghars gawked at them: beaten, exhausted, doomed, and covered in shame. Some of the convicts lowered their heads, hiding their faces; some spat at the crowd; others laughed; and some walked as if they were heading not to hard labor, but to a private audience with the First Duke of the Empire.

  Reed walked in silence, not responding to the shouts of kreyghar women or the spit of men. He paid no attention to the children who ran up to pinch or just touch him and then hid in the crowd with squeals and laughter. They would later retell tall tales until the First Moons about how they touched a convict. A murderer, perhaps. Reed was used to this. He had felt like an outcast for a long time. He wasn't insulted by the kreyghars’ attitude, for he didn't need to become a slave again to become a victim of disgrace. His blood gifted him disgrace, and he had long understood that the kreyghars were waiting for his anger, resentment, or maybe even tears, but he didn't consider himself that generous.

  He looked into their faces, trying not to think about how vilely the chains clinked on his hands and feet, or how badly they chafed where bloody wounds had once been. The ringing of the chains reminded him of Belden and what awaited him there. He remembered his childhood, his mother, and how he had escaped. Memories flooded his mind, driving him mad. Reed had hidden from his own past for too long and refused to accept that pain. Now, when years later he had returned to where he started, he wanted to howl even if his face remained stony.

  He scanned the crowd as if hoping to see familiar faces. Every one of those faces was alien, and despite their variety, they were all as one. Reed didn't distinguish them, nor did he wish to. All kreyghars are the same. Casting a last glance at the crowd, Reed stopped short. For a moment, it seemed to him that not all faces were the same after all. He had no time to examine it, and delaying the convoy cost a lash of the whip. Reed was sure the crowd of these gorged ignoramuses would find it amusing to watch convicts get beaten.

  They had already been led to the city gates. The crowd had thinned, and Reed turned around anyway cherishing a foolish hope. For the first and only time, there was a familiar face in the crowd. Meredith sat on a horse. With tears in her eyes, she watched him go where he shouldn't return from. Reed caught her gaze and winked. The girl didn't respond to his gesture and didn't show that she was watching him personally, rather than the entire convoy of convicts. She just watched, and Reed was proud of how Meredith behaved. She must not show one's weaknesses. Or perhaps, Reed wasn't a weakness for her.

  He stared too long, for which he received a lash. The shirt on his back cracked, blood spurted, but Reed made no sound. Casting a final glance at her, he noticed Meredith squeeze the reins tightly, and then suddenly turned around and rode away.

  ***

  The first day was hard. On the second, he wanted to howl. On the third, he wanted to die. The fourth brought malice. And then Reed lost count of the days they spent on the road. All these days mixed into one, and Reed could barely distinguish them. Nights flew by too fast. It seemed he had just laid down, and a second after he already had to get up and walk again without breaks. They were fed once a day, literally on the go. And that made the road even worse. Reed felt he was getting thinner with every day. His muscles were losing strength and endurance. It would be a long time before he could fight as briskly as before. Every such thought was brought on by hunger, thirst, and universal fatigue, forcing him to ignore a simple fact: elves are hardier than humans. While some kreyghars were already barely plodding along, cradling feet rubbed raw and bloody before sleep, Reed still held on. He didn't beg for food from the overseers and didn't ask to stop along with the others. He was silent.

  During the many days they spent on the way to Belden, it seemed to Reed that he had forgotten how to speak entirely. All other thoughts left his head. He thought of nothing specific and only dreamed of darkness, for darkness meant rest. Had he the strength for anything else, he would have remembered that he behaved the exact same way when he was a slave. Slaves had no luxury to scream, cry, beg, or even talk. They can’t waste strength in vain. And there, if you're lucky, maybe you'll live longer than the others.

  He wasn't surprised at how quickly he remembered how to be a slave, though a thirst for rebellion still fluttered in his soul. But Reed was weak and understood he would perish if he even tried. On the other hand, what use was such a life to him? Sometimes he wanted to throw himself at an overseer to be killed, but he never had the spirit for it. Or perhaps, that was exactly where his strength lay.

  By the time the overseers allowed themselves a break, most of the convicts could neither resist nor fight. Only hatred splashed in their extinguished eyes. Reed could swear that if given free rein, the prisoners would gnaw their overseers apart with their teeth. Only there was no one to free them. In all the villages and towns they passed, people looked at the convicts the same way. One would have to be utterly desperate to even think about freeing them. And even a madman wouldn't hope for help from other kreyghars. Therefore, everyone accepted their fate not so much humbly, but hopelessly, which didn't stop them from boring holes into the overseers with their stares. Nevertheless, out of habit, they continued discussing mad escape plans, each new less realistic than the last. It became something of a game that kept them from going insane.

  When twilight fell, the overseers relaxed. The convoy was far from the capital, far from prying eyes and ears. The convicts had long been tired, and most simply fell into a dead sleep with the onset of darkness. While they slept, the overseers drank and played dice, laughing. They would leave for a short time to a nearby village and then return, bringing with them another portion of something strong. Reed didn't sleep. He only watched them. Indignation barely fluttered in his soul when he saw one of the overseers boasting about his daggers. That kreyghar was lying brazenly as he told tales of how he took them from one of the Wasps after killing him.

  Those who weren't sleeping started up the old song about escaping again, though, naturally, no one could run. Their ideas were crazy, and he would have wept with laughter if he were capable of laughing. Talk of freedom comforted and soothed him. Reed didn't notice himself drifting off, leaning against a tree. The overseers had stopped in a small strip of forest surrounding a village, but no one worried about the prisoners. Everyone was shackled by a single chain, which meant they couldn't run together since some were already close to dying. The weak are not needed in the Belden mines, so as soon as they die, their bodies will be dumped somewhere along the way, and everyone will be shackled as one again.

  That was why no one feared an escape. Convicts simply couldn't run together, and even if they could, they would be too conspicuous. The Guard would detain them in any city, or the people in a village. And so, the convicts could only dream of freedom, and Reed dreamed. Never in his life would he have thought that freedom would become his dream again. With that thought, he fell into a deep, heavy sleep.