Michael J. Sullivan

“It was a trap after all,” Alric said. He turned to Royce. “My apologies for doubting your sound paranoia.”

“The greatest minds and the most advanced engineering went into its creation. They carved the prison out of solid rock from the face of the mountains just north of the lake. They sealed it not only with metal, stone, and wood but also with ancient and powerful enchantments. In the end, when it was finished, it was believed to be the most secure prison in the world.”“They must have had some really nasty criminals back then to go to so much trouble,” Hadrian said.“No,” Myron replied matter-of-factly, “just one.”“One?” Alric asked. “An entire prison designed to hold just one man?”“His name was Esrahaddon.”

“Royce cast a harsh and anxious look at the prince.“What?” Alric asked.“I thought we discussed the importance of keeping a low profile.”“Oh, please.” The prince waved a hand at the thief. “I don’t think it willget me killed if this monk knows I’m the king. Look at him. I’ve seendrowned rats more formidable.”

“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Royce said as Hadrian prepared the bow. “It’s just that we’ve learned over the years that honor among nobles is usually inversely proportionate to their rank. As a result, we prefer to rely on more concrete methods for motivations—such as self-preservation. You already know we don’t want you dead, but if you have ever been riding full tilt and had a horse buckle under you, you understand that death is always a possibility, and broken bones are almost a certainty.”“There’s also the danger of missing the horse completely,” Hadrian added. “I’m a good shot, but even the best archers have bad days. So to answer your question—yes, you can control your own horse.”

“You think he’s still alive?” Royce asked, nodding his head toward Alric.“Sure,” Hadrian replied without bothering to look. “He’s probably sleeping. Why do you ask?”“I was just pondering something. Do you think a person could smother in a wet potato bag?”Hadrian lifted his head and looked over at the motionless prince. “I really hadn’t thought about it until now.”

“Aren’t you going to say, I told you so?” Hadrian whispered.“What would be the point in that?”“Oh, so you’re saying that you’re going to hang on to this and throw it at me at some future, more personally beneficial moment?”“I don’t see the point in wasting it now, do you?”

“So,” Royce said, “you want us to escape from this prison, kidnap the king, cross the countryside with him in tow while dodging soldiers who I assume might not accept our side of the story, and go to another secret prison so that he can visit an inmate?”Arista did not appear amused. “Either that, or you can be tortured to death in four hours.”“Sounds like a really good plan to me,” Hadrian declared.“Royce?”“I like any plan where I don’t die a horrible death.”

“You’re too visible, Albert,” Hadrian explained. “Can’t afford to have our favorite noble hauled to some dungeon where they cut off your eyelids or pull off your fingernails until you tell them what we’re up to.”“But if they torture me, and I don’t know the plan, how will I save myself?”“I’m sure they’ll believe you after the fourth nail or so,” Royce said with a wicked grin.”

“Royce turned to Hadrian. “It’s supposed to make them look tough, but all it really does is make it easy to identify them as thieves for the rest of their lives. Painting a red hand on everyone is pretty stupid when you think about it.”“That tattoo is supposed to be a hand?” Hadrian asked. “I thought it was a little red chicken. But now that you mention it, a hand does make more sense.”Royce looked back at Will and tilted his head to one side. “Does kinda look like a chicken.”

“Royce nodded. “Invest in crossbows. Next time stay hidden and just put a couple bolts into each of your target’s chests. All this talking is just stupid.”“Royce!” Hadrian admonished.“What? You’re always saying I should be nicer to people. I’m trying to be helpful.”

“Hadrian drew two swords from his sides in a single elegant motion. He flipped one aroundletting it spin against his palm once. “Need to get a new grip on this one. It’s starting to fray again.” He looked at Will. “Shall we get on with this? I believe you were about to rob us.”

“If this hast been done to language, I fear to know the fate of all else.”

“When you are so ashamed of your actions, thoughts, or intentions, you lie rather than accepting yourself for who you really are—or, in this case, pretend something happened when it didn’t. The idea of how others see you becomes more important than the reality of you.”

“Hadrian shook his head and sighed. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult? They’re probably not bad people—just poor. You know, taking what they need to buy a loaf of bread to feed their family. Can you begrudge them that? Winter is coming and times are hard.” He nodded his head in the direction of the thieves. “Right?” “I ain’t got no family,” flat-nose replied. “I spend most of my coin on drink.” “You’re not helping,” Hadrian said.”

“Will nodded toward Hadrian. “Look at the swords he’s carrying. A man wearing one—maybe he knows how to use it, maybe not. A man carries two—he probably don’t know nothing about swords, but he wants you to think he does. But a man carrying three swords—that’s a lot of weight. No one’s gonna haul that much steel around unless he makes a living using them.”

“One truth doesn't refute another. Truth doesn't lie in the object, but in how we see it.”

“The abbot told me once that lying was a betrayal to one's self. It's evidence of self-loathing. You see, when you are so ashamed of your actions, thoughts, or intentions, you lie to hide it rather than accept yourself for who you really are. The idea of how others see you becomes more important than the reality of you. It's like when a man would rather die than be thought of as a coward. His life is not as important to him as his reputation. In the end, who is the braver? The man who dies rather than be thought of as a coward or the man who lives willing to face who he really is?”