Fortress Walls

prologue

Tariq lay awake among his rumpled bedsheets.

            The window was open, and he was cold, but he was too exhausted to get up and latch it. A bitter wind howled and railed and banged the shutter. He shivered convulsively now and then. Frozen, every bone and muscle aching, head foggy and eyes bloodshot, staring at the cracked plaster ceiling.

Nightmares, nightmares.

Across the city, the night was just as hostile.

The man hunched over an unfinished letter, squinting at his spidery handwriting by the wavering light of a candle. The gale whistled around the eaves, and he pulled the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders.

Finally, he was alone in peace, and yet he still didn’t have the energy to work. At least his son was off at university where he couldn’t be a nuisance.

There was a rap at the door, and he dropped his pen. News?

“Is that you, Hektor?”

“Yes, my lord,” floated in the answer.

“Come in.”

A young man slipped in and bowed, his palms together.

“Sit down. Did you find out about that boy?”

“I did, sir.” Hektor pulled up a chair and sat down across from his lord’s desk, respectful but not intimidated.

“Tell me everything.”

“I couldn’t find out much—there was hardly any information on his army registration, and his guardian didn’t say much either. His name is Tariq Wahidan, but I don’t believe that’s his family name. Eighteen years old, this is his fourth year of military service. His registered guardian is a carpenter from Baytown he was apprenticed to, not a relative. I went and talked to him. Seems the boy was a foundling, raised as a servant. He didn’t tell me anything else. Either he didn’t trust me and was trying to protect Tariq, or he didn’t know any more than that.”

The storm broke suddenly with a fury. Lightning outlined the sharp angles of the room, the rain lashed down, thunder rattled the windowpanes. The lone candle flickered. The man shed his blanket and got up to draw the curtains, stoke the fire, and light some more candles. The light in the room grew full and soft, shutting out the howling storm outside. The man sat down again.

“The limp, Hektor? What about the limp? Are you sure that’s all?”

Hektor smiled. “I was just getting to that. It was the only other thing listed in his registration. He’s a cripple—born without his left leg. He walks using a prosthetic.”

The man sat back.

“Zarael’s interested in him too,” Hektor said. “Very interested. Has been for a long time now.”

“Aaahhhh…” the man sighed.

Hektor lowered his head and waited. The candles threw their dancing shadows on the wall. The storm outside wailed and groaned like a damned soul.

The old noble looked up at Hektor, his smile unreadable.

“Thank you, my lad. Get some rest.”

Hektor got up and bowed again, palms together. “My lord.”

He was gone like a shadow.

The noble gazed at the letter in front of him. Thank God his troublemaking son was gone at university. This business must be finished before the boy returned.

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Me here! Hi! This is my first installment, I’d love any feedback!

~MC