Thus the Reaper Swung - II

The next day was when it happened.

Breakfast in this distant inn was a simple affair. Long shavings of dried fish. Tea. And a bowl of porridge if you were willing to pay extra.

As I sat in the inn’s living room, a turtle-shell teacup in hand, I found my eyes scanning for Prince Jasi. As a royal, the innkeeper had cleared out a storage space just for him, so we didn’t share the same living space.

But he should have been awake by now. And had yet to make an appearance.

The sound of chatter bled through the air, pressing in on the sides of my brain. A few inn-guests by the table looked to one another, then to me, then back to themselves. I sat in silence for a few seconds longer.

Then I stood. Exiting the small inn, I took a few brisk paces, looking ahead. A small warehouse sat not far. Just a minute away. Just a minute. A small square of stacked stone, with no windows to speak of.

I stood at its front door, my fist a hair's breadth from knocking. Something seized me. It took a moment, but I understood it to be hesitation. Why? I didn’t know. Conversely, I understood that hesitation to stem from instinct—and that instinct could stem from fear.

I knocked on the door. “Prince Jasi?” I knocked again. “I hope I’m not interrupting your beauty sleep. Us elders have a habit of waking early…”

Waiting for a scant few seconds to pass, I slid open the wooden door—

“No…”

—and bore witness to a sight most appalling.

In the dark, square space, against shelves of stocked goods, was Prince Jasi. Lying against the wall. Body slumped. Blood dribbling down his lower lip.

“Prince Jasi!”

I approached him at once, kneeling to examine him. I pressed my fingers to his temple, attempting to feel, to discover a sign of life. But it was absent. Gone. Quickly, surely, I scanned the room, noticing fallen items and holes in the walls.

There had been a struggle here. Which meant the Prince had been killed. But who? Who amongst those present could have taken his life? Let alone with such ease?

As my gaze wandered, it sought purchase in a mark on the Prince’s silk tunic. A shape like a fist, right where his heart should have been. When I ripped his buttons open, it was to the sight of a patch of red and purple.

Prince Jasi had been killed. By a single strike to the heart, nonetheless. Such a technique must have been performed by a master.

But who?

Who amongst the inn could have demonstrated such mastery of martial arts?

Who amongst the inn, but me?

“Just as serpents shed their skin and turn, so do men when they perish and ascend. Prince Jasi, who left this world in haste, I pray you’re received well in the other.”

I offered a prayer for the prince, clasping my hands and shutting my eyes. Letting the moment settle over a few minutes, I then rose, allowing a wave of sorrow to wash over me.

I swore to find his killer and bring his loved ones some measure of peace.

With a brisk pace, I made my way outdoors. The early morning cast an almost sickly light. A few inn-guests stood about. Their eyes fixed on the distance.

“White and purple?” one of the inn-guests said. “Those the colours of the King, aren’t they?”

“Kingsfolk, all the way out here?” a woman asked.

About a hundred meters away, tall, humanoid shapes approached, marching through the blizzard.

I recognised their colours. Their clothes. Long, fur cloaks clasped by purple trim. White trousers. A pauldron stylised like a pair of wings. And the Turtle-Shaped symbol on their insignia—signifying the Steam-Turtle upon which Ineo was built.

In other words.

The Royal Guard of Ineo. Who served as their personal guard and private militia.

“Mr Gamoun,” one of the inn-guests sounded. A voice undercut by concern. “I don’t suppose the sight of ‘em is something good, is it?”

“It is a painful consideration,” I observed.

“Can we help in any way?” another one asked. The woman. “You’ve been plenty kind. Don’t suppose we could hide you in a shack, and say you weren’t there?”

“I appreciate the offer. But… thank you.”

Prince Jasi had told me he had come here alone. Without informing any personnel. So the Royal Guard’s immediate arrival suggested to me a few things: that he had lied… or something far more cruel.

“Mister Erden. I did not expect to find you here.”

The one in front spoke up. A beastkin with a mare’s head and a mop of long, blue hair.

“Would you happen to know where Prince Jasi is?”

If she had any inkling he was dead, the woman made no indication. Choosing instead to fix me with unmoving, black eyes.

“Prince Jasi is dead. I found him this morning. He died from a strike to the heart, which ruptured his internal organs immediately.”

The three Royal Guards each wore an expression of disbelief. Their faces making no attempt to conceal their raw emotion. A terrible feeling of guilt seized my chest. She made a quick gesture with her hands, and the woman’s two companions entered the shack behind me.

When a minute passed, they returned, and it was with an expression none too pleased.

“Prince Jasi is dead,” mentioned one of the guards. An man with pointed ears and long blonde hair. “It’s as the Lagnitian says.”

“Mister Gamoun.” Her face looked dreadfully pale. “In accordance with Clause Eight of the Charter of Royal Protection, I place you under arrest for the assassination of Prince Jasi.”

The man to her left spoke up. “Resist, and face summary execution,” he said, voice laced with a certain venom.

I simply stood there, unflinching, unmoving, unwilling to present myself as an enemy. Running away would have done me no good. If the Royal Guard were unable to capture me, then they would simply have resorted to whatever friends or family I had left. Something I could not afford.

Thus, the only option was to submit and present myself before a court of law.

The inn’s woman pointed a finger. An accusation at the Royal Guards. “Are ya daft?!” she shouted. “Why would ‘e admit to a killin’ he didn’t do?”

The beastkin guard regarded me. More out of pity than anything else. “Two hours ago, we received word from an Imperial Envoy. Warning us that the Prince was in danger of assassination from Lagnitian Nationalists.”

“Lagnitian Nationalists.” The man spat. “Like you.”

As I bore the weight of those words, a sense of utter helplessness took me, and my body relaxed. Had I been set up? Were they framing me for the death of the Prince, so as to instigate conflict between the two countries?

Had those responsible no sense of right or wrong?

I fell to both knees. Keeping my gaze fixed on the cold, white ground.

Despite my frustration at being framed, the greatest pain I felt was not at myself. But for others.

At the Prince’s death. At the evil that continued to exist and hurt. At those close to me, who might be hunted, and persecuted just for being related to me.

Munaku. Trela. Birden. Riveo. Sadang.

Those and many more, I uttered a prayer for, wishing that they could get away from this all.

“Arrest me, if you must.” My lips trembled. “But please… find those who are responsible, and end this madness once and for all.”

I was thrown into prison after that. A tall, mountain prison, where I spent ten days and ten nights. It was a miserable experience.

Half of it was wet, grey stone. The other half was an open chasm, revealing a fall over a hundred metres high.

There was no news during that time, nor any visitors who came. What information I received was only by word of mouth. Spoken by the guards, either in mockery or passing.

I knew only that I was to die. That my lands were taken. And those who were found guilty of aiding me would be caught, hanged, and subject to a torture unfathomable. As I sat there, in that quiet cell, I came to realise one thing.

That my time as a free man was at its end. And that I had to do everything I could to protect those dear to me.

And then, someone came. A guard, I believe. Sent to open my cell and set me free. Telling me to meet someone in the city and explain everything.

Something, I believe, I just did.