The young Captain stopped to the door leading to Nathaniel’s chambers, his breast heaving beneath the steel armor that confined it. He was powerless against the anger and jealousy, two wicked monsters raging in his heart. He closed his eyes because the world suddenly spun around him, the hand holding the sword dropped down and the blade touched the stone floor.
The metallic sound seemed to wake the young man; it seemed to tear him away from the depths of drunken blackness where he was being pulled in. He stumbled back and leaned against the wall behind him.
Still unable to take his eyes off the door directly before him, wanting so much to reach out, to open the door, to enter the room, to run up to Nathaniel’s bed and to sink his blade deep into the Duke’s body, to slice his throat, to see his blood spilled on the covers, staining the walls and the floor of his room, to see his own hands covered in blood, to taste it even, to drink it, to savor its sweet, sweet flavor....
But Iskald’s madness was slowly beginning to lose the hold it had over him. His crazed eyes began to lose their intensity, they begin to relax, and with each passing moment the hatred, the fury and the rage, they were beginning to lessen the grip they had on his mind. Slowly he was finding himself again in the midst of all the madness, and ever so slowly, reason was overpowering his stirring passions, his senses were coming back to him.
Iskald closed his eyes and slid his back down the wall, until he sat on the hard, cold floor. If the two years in shackles when he had to fight each day for survival and when he had to stay alive in spite of torture and pain, if those two years had fine-tuned his primary instincts and turned him into an animal, then the year he had spent in Nekrya allowed him to somewhat reclaim his humanity and so he now had the tools needed to fight the madness off.
He sat there for a long time, regaining composure, fighting off the demons. It was a long time before Iskald rose to his feet and sheathed his sword. He could not kill Nathaniel because he loved Laela. It mattered not whether the Duke and the Princess were together, whether they were to be together or not, that did not matter. If they were to be married indeed, like Iskald heard, killing Nathaniel would only harm Laela.
There was no way for him to rationalize killing Nathaniel, despite how much it hurt him to think of the Princess in another man’s arms. By murdering Nathaniel, Iskald would only inflict a great deal of pain and grief on Laela.
He realized now that if he stayed in Nekrya, it would hurt him too much to watch the Royal Couple, if they were indeed to be together, and he would sooner or later do something he would regret. The demons still had a hold of him, they still ravaged his soul; he was still angry, still mad and crazed.
In fact, it did not matter whether or not Laela and Nathaniel would be together. Sooner or later he would somehow harm Laela anyway because he was not all right yet himself and he still was not quite sure of how to come to terms with his own life. Until he did, until he learned to live his life, until he had accepted his heritage and himself, Iskald could not be with the Princess.
In fact, he had to leave Nekrya. He loved Laela too much to harm her. He loved his life too much to damn himself forever; and he knew too little about himself to be able to stay in Nekrya and to pretend that everything was all right. He had to find a way to overcome the demons; he had to find a way to soothe the rage filling his heart.
If he stayed in Nekrya any longer, he would only be fooling himself into believing that everything was all right and that he had found his earthly paradise. His paradise was a castle built from sand and each stronger wave threatened it, as did the winds and the hands of time.
Staying near Laela was what he longed for, but he could not pretend anymore, he could not ignore the demons gnawing away at his soul. He had to face his destiny, he had to face his own life, and he had to leave Nekrya in order to do that.
He had to leave today. In fact, he had to leave right away.
The paradise crumbled.
* * *
Iskald said his good-byes quietly as he halted his horse far outside of the city walls, atop a small rise, and as he watched Arrosah come to life. The day was approaching rapidly; the sun was already raising its sleepy head, as were the shopkeepers, the merchants, the soldiers, the beggars, and other citizens of the Capital.
Iskald was sad, but peaceful as well; though his heart was weary and he felt extremely alone in the world, he knew he was doing the right thing. He would never find peace in Arrosah, not now anyway, no matter how much time he would spend trying to make himself believe he had done it. He had to say farewell for now, forever maybe, he did not know. His peace lay elsewhere.
Iskald smiled, thinking about how strange life could be sometimes; just yesterday, if someone would have told him he would be leaving the next day, leaving for good maybe, saying his quiet good-byes to Diovinius, to the Nekryans, to his soldiers, and especially to Laela, he would not have believed them at all.
Yet, here he was, that very next day, saying his quiet good-byes to Diovinius, to the Nekryans, to his soldiers, to all that time he had spent in Arrosah, to his life in Nekrya, and moreover, he was saying good-bye to Laela. She just did not hear it yet; she still slept in her chambers. Maybe she stirred in her sleep when he blew her that farewell kiss, maybe she dreamt of him leaving the palace, the city, the Kingdom. Maybe she even woke, feeling that something was not right, that something had happened as she slept, as people sometimes do.
Iskald could not know. All he could do was close his eyes, taking that one last sight of Arrosah with him, turn his horse around and face the hot Southern winds that blew sand into his face. Wrapping a piece of cloth tightly around his face and leaving only a narrow opening for his eyes, Iskald looked keenly onward, unmoved. He did not know where to go or what to do.
For now he had decided to head further down South towards Surath, a wild and violent Kingdom, where iron men ruled with iron fists, a tough Kingdom where slavery still flourished, and where only the toughest and the most fearless survived. Iskald thought that his skill in using the sword would come in handy there, he thought that he would be able to make a living there, that he would be able to find something to do with himself in Surath.
Besides, it did not matter at all where he turned; he simply had to go someplace other than where he was right now. He could no longer put his life on hold, he had to leave, though he knew that wherever he would go, the haunting image of the beautiful Nekryan Princess would linger on in his heart, no matter how far he would go and no matter how long he would stay away.
* * *
To be continued...
Copyright © 2008 by Slawomir Rapala
