Hero Killer

Kyr Solian hung like a beast in chains.

They bound his arms, legs and neck inside a cage that dangled mercilessly in the middle of a dark, circular room. The only light came from a window in the ceiling, casting a streak of pale moonlight against his chest. It left a shadow in the shape of a bird with its wings outstretched.

“You know what the room is for,” the warden said when they dragged Kyr out of his solitary confinement. At first, he wasn’t sure if he dreamed the gaolers coming for him, but the clasps of cold metal felt real enough against his skin. “Sanctuary! Can you believe it? Perhaps the magistrates finally changed their minds. The king has deigned to grant you a royal pardon!”

Funny.

How long had it been since anybody wanted to talk to him? A year and a half? Two?

Kyr eyed the bars of his cage and the empty room. 

Why this place specifically?

The so-called sanctuary was a place for prisoners to give confession, receive words of guidance, or outright absolution from the priests of the sacred order. In the six years Kyr had been locked up, not once had he been brought to this place. They promised him many times in the past, but only if he’d admit to something he didn’t do. Nobody actually wanted the truth.

The backs of five people in gleaming armor and robes appeared at the edges of Kyr’s mind. They were tall and gallant, with capes fluttering against a shattered sky. None turned to look back at him save for one.

“Aven…” Kyr whispered, his voice hollow.

Eventually, the door opened at the far end of the room. The embers from the hallway outside made him wince.

Footsteps echoed, followed by three shadows.

The first to enter was Kyr’s favorite friend, the warden. The old skeleton of a man had a spring to his step. His bulging eyes squinted while his too-narrow chin sharpened as he smiled. And for some reason, he bothered changing to his formal attire; a black doublet and white trousers, with a pair of boots too big for his frame. 

The second was someone Kyr had never seen before. A man in a blood-red coat with a long cape and peaked cap. His face was lean, with a sharp nose and grey eyes. His black hair was long, draped across one shoulder. Nobility? Perhaps. The bird insignia on his lapel marked him as a member of the sacred order.

No, not a monk or a priest…

Kyr squinted his eyes and noticed a glass dagger hanging from the man’s hip.

Ah, inquisitor.

Stepping next to the man was a woman a head shorter than he was. She wore a similar coat and peaked cap, but no cape and less… flamboyance about her, hence the ivory color of her outfit. She had a heart-shaped face, freckles, and chestnut-brown hair tied in twin braids atop her shoulders. Definitely nobility, but—

Their eyes met.

The woman’s amber eyes were wide with wonder. “He really has a horn,” she said. “A single one growing out of his forehead.”

The warden cleared his throat nervously. “Proof that marks him as a demon, ma’am. As if his crimes weren’t enough.”

“Hero killer,” the red inquisitor remarked. “I want to get a good look at him to confirm.” The man lifted his hand and casted a spell that produced a bubble of light that floated above him.

“A-Are you sure that’s wise, sir?” the warden asked with a hint of fear in his voice. “He's restrained, but they say he can… manipulate the magic of others… steal them…”

“Preposterous.”

Kyr winced a second time as the room was bathed in a bright, yellow light. He hadn’t seen the sun in ages, but he was sure it looked just like that.

When Kyr’s vision adjusted, he saw the inquisitor standing next to his cage. He looked up at him in scrutiny.

“White hair, eyes like rubies... and a horn,” the man said. “It really is you, isn’t it? The traitor.”

“After all this time…” Kyr muttered under his breath. “I could ask the same. I didn’t know the inquisitors got a fashion upgrade. The ones that put me in this prison didn’t look so pretty. You here to finish the job?”

“Is it finally time, sir?” The warden interjected, licking his lips. “Execution?”

The red inquisitor continued to examine Kyr’s face. Particularly his forehead.

Kyr had never seen his so-called horn, as there were no mirrors in his cell, but he knew something grew out of his head. Apparently, it looked like mangled bones, a duller shade of white than his hair. As for what it was? Who the hell knows.

“Believe it or not… we’re here to help this man,” the red inquisitor said as he turned to the warden.

Ah, so that’s how they’ll phrase it.

How many times were they going to play this song and dance? It had been a long time since anybody tried to trick a confession out of Kyr. Was that their game? To keep him away for so long he’d beg to say anything?

The warden frowned as if he wasn’t part of whatever this scheme was going to be.

“Help me?” Kyr said. “Well, why don’t we start with these chains?” He rattled them. “They hurt. And they itch really bad.”

“Don’t do it, sir,” the warden warned. “There is no helping this man. He’s a vow breaker and a killer! The worst kind!”

Kyr barked a bitter laugh.

Whatever this game was, he’d play it. He might not be capable of conjuring magic in his state, but if he could get them to remove his chains, he could at least throw a punch or two. Or perhaps… pocket the decorative dagger from the red inquisitor’s hip.

The one in white stepped forward, blocking Kyr’s view of the weapon.

“But is he really?” the woman said. She looked up at Kyr with eyes that held… what was it? Determination? Resolve?

Honesty.

But that was probably another lie.

“Your name is Kyr Solian, yes?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Inquisitor Leatrix Ryhart of the sacred order.” The woman gestured to her partner. “This is Inquisitor Jacent Talos. Apologies for the late introduction.”

“Thanks for bringing me out of my cell,” Kyr said with a humorless smile. “I missed having fresh air.”

“Speak with respect, cur,” the warden hissed.

“Do forgive,” Kyr replied in mock apology, straining his neck. “I’m merely surprised the inquisition is still interested in me! I’m a bit tied up at the moment… but what can I do for you lovely officers?”

The white inquisitor shared a look with her colleague, then nodded.

“Mister Solian, you’ve been accused of a number of crimes.”

“Have I?”

“Seven years ago, the royal seers proclaimed a lowborn apprentice as Hero of the Creed,” the woman stated as if reading in her head. “The king gathered five people, including you, to be the hero’s guardians. Together, the six of you were appointed as knights of Vastille. You journeyed across the kingdom tasked to perform the sacred rites designed to stop the apocalypse.”

“A likely story.”

“Yes, well, the accusation upon your name is the sabotage of your quest.” The inquisitor tilted her head as if to study him. “You laid waste to the Spire of Knowledge, burned the town of Lumis, attacked your fellow guardians… and a myriad of other acts of cruelty and wanton violence throughout your life.”

“I deny everything,” Kyr said quickly. “Except for Radon. That prick. I’ve said it time and again, that guy’s a despicable ass and he deserved every bit of thrashing I gave him.”

“And the other guardians?”

“Not a single hair. Aside for practice bouts between us. Oh, and I’m not falling for that trap again. I’m talking about training. Nothing more.”

“What abo—”

“I have no memory of the spire, I’ve never been to Lumis, and I would’ve been removed as a guardian a hundred times over if I did a fraction of the things I was accused of. Hell, I would’ve been kicked out of the academy long ago considering my delinquency was so well documented. They are nothing. But. Lies.”

Kyr took a deep breath… and sighed. After all this time, he could still recite his answers.

“And what of the hero?” the woman said quietly. “Did you kill Aven Naswalt, the proclaimed Hero of the Creed?”

Kyr looked down at the inquisitor.

She seemed new. Proper, even, with that clean uniform and perfectly woven braids. If this wasn’t a farce, then what? A fresh recruit with a strong sense of justice? Somebody with a separate grudge? A curious idiot?

“What does it matter to you?” Kyr asked. “It’s been more than six years. Hadn’t the seers proclaimed a new hero yet? The king must’ve dispatched a bunch of knights long ago and performed the rites. Why are we here doing this?”

“Answer the question, Mister Solian,” the inquisitor insisted. “Did you kill the hero, Aven Naswalt?”

Kyr felt heat in his face.

“Aven was my friend,” he said through gritted teeth. “I did not kill him. I have no reason to. The real killer is out there while I rot in this prison!”

In the periphery of his vision, the warden shook nervously in fright, while the red inquisitor’s hand tightened around his dagger.

Kyr blinked. He didn’t realize he had stretched his chains to their limit as he edged forward in his cage.

What was he doing getting angry now?

This was just a game. A farce.

The room of sanctuary went quiet for some time and Kyr settled back into his cage. His head felt heavy.

“I believe you,” the white inquisitor said. “I’ve studied your case closely and investigated everything surrounding the incident. Mister Solian, I believe you are innocent.”

Kyr snorted.

This was new. They’ve lied to him so many times in the past, but nobody ever dared to suggest he was innocent. They couldn’t even lie to him in that regard.

“You must be joking,” the warden said. “This man is guilty of killing the hero… of depriving us our salva—”

“To answer your earlier question, Mister Solian, yes, a new hero was prophesied two years ago,” the red inquisitor interjected, his hand still at his dagger. “But no… the countdown to the apocalypse haven’t abated. The numbers remain ticking.”

What?

Two years ago?

That would explain why they haven’t bothered Kyr in roughly the same time. He didn’t know why it took them so long to get a replacement for Aven, but…

“Why haven’t they performed the sacred rites?” Kyr asked. “The king—”

“Dispatched a group of knights, yes,” the red inquisitor confirmed. “But the spires have grown more challenging since your time. It took two years to have three towers cleared. One still remain. But more than that…”

The man’s expression turned grim. 

It was the inquisitor in white who continued. “The king is dead,” she said bluntly. “Two nights ago. In the same circumstance they found Aven the hero at the Spire of Knowledge. Obviously, you couldn’t have done it.” She turned towards the warden. “Unless the gaolers are lax in their security?”

The warden paled. “The king is dead?”

“Keep it a secret for now,” the red inquisitor said. “Answer the question.”

The warden shook his head in disbelief. “The security of this prison is perfect! The most the sorcerer could do is run his mouth. We watch him all the time… I know for certain he was here!”

The white inquisitor turned back to face Kyr. “I believe whoever killed the king may have also killed your friend,” she said. “But... mind no disrespect, Mister Solian. That is the least of our concern. I believe a great evil is deterring the rites. Had been for the last seven years. We are close to the end of the world.”

Kyr couldn’t believe it. This had to be another lie. The best one.

But…

“What do the numbers say?” Kyr asked.

He looked up at the window in the ceiling, but it was hard to see outside.

“We have roughly… four months left?” the red inquisitor answered.

“Kyr Solian,” the woman—Leatrix—called to him with eyes that held the same honesty and determination she showed earlier. “I’ll repeat myself. I believe you are innocent. Whoever is sabotaging the prophecy put you in this place for a reason. You might be the key to stopping them. But regardless of that, you are one of the best sorcerers in the kingdom. You were instrumental in solving the first spire in record time. With the current hero struggling, and the apocalypse so close at hand, you might be our best chance at saving the world.”