Esteria

Lilitha woke up the next day, gasping for air, her back slick with sweat. Silus, chained and stumbling, was just ahead of her. She marveled at his strength, unable to comprehend how he kept going.

By noon, a refreshing rain began to fall. Lilitha stuck out her tongue, relishing the cool droplets that eased her burning skin. The men around her held out their water bladders, while a few pulled on their cloaks to shield themselves from the rain.

They reached the forest’s edge in the afternoon. The sounds of horses, wagons, and people traveling on the main road filtered through the trees.

“Cover the monster and hide the wounded,” the captain ordered. “We don’t want to cause a panic.”

A group of mounted Champions rode ahead, attempting to clear the path.

“Make way for the Champions of God!” they shouted.

Farmers, merchants, Gypsies, and other travelers glanced back and moved aside. The company of Champions and Southerners was massive. Amid the bustling crowd, Lilitha struggled to keep her eyes on Silus.

Hours later, the outer wall of Esteria came into view. Lilitha felt a mix of relief and fear. She was exhausted, her body aching all over.

Her breasts felt heavy, and an unexplainable throbbing pain radiated from her pelvis.

As night fell, they entered the town. The streets were busier than those in Mainstry, the town twice as big. Wagons, livestock, and pedestrians overflowed onto the paths.

Houses were crammed together, some precariously stacked on top of each other. The town’s outer wall loomed ominously. It must have been quite intimidating in its prime.

The townsfolk stopped to watch their group, their attention drawn to the hooded and chained figure at the center. Lilitha’s heart tightened at the sight of the city’s main cathedral, its white steeples piercing the starlit sky.

It towered over the square, its arched windows seeming to watch their journey as they circled behind it. The wagon carrying the injured men was left in the square.

The cathedral had a high-walled courtyard at the back, just like the one in Norfolk. But instead of a training yard, it housed a garden filled with colorful flowers, vegetable plots, and fruit-laden trees.

Several Champions opened a large iron door in the cathedral’s back wall, presumably leading to the town dungeon.

The captain led the way. “Half of you with me. Half of you with Sir Peaton.”

“All right, men,” a man in black, presumably Sir Peaton, called out. “Those at the back, stay with me.”

A group of Champions and Southerners split off. Lilitha was nudged through the door. She had managed to hold back her tears until now, but they were flowing freely.

She knew the end was near. There would be no rescue. Her father would die. She would die. Her unborn child would never see the world. She would never see her friends again.

The narrow, winding stairwell was difficult to navigate, especially with her blurred vision. The air was damp, and the men in front and behind her were pressing against her.

It was suffocating, a stark contrast to the open wilderness of the forest. This was not normal. This was not natural. Not even for humans.

Torches flickered in their brackets at every few turns, casting an eerie light. The stone walls amplified every sound: the scrape of boots, the gasps and grunts of the Champions, the curses and shouts of the men below struggling with Silus’s chains.

She could hear the clinking and scraping of the iron chains, but not Silus himself.

The journey was slow, the dungeon seemingly extending deep into the earth. They passed three other tunnels, possibly leading to different levels. How many prisoners did they have?

Lilitha was at her limit. Her body was racked with pain. Her knees threatened to give out. A sharp, clawing pain assaulted her lower back.

Just when she thought she would collapse, they turned into another tunnel. The stairwell continued into the darkness below.

There were bars. More flickering torches. The stench of sweat and excrement. She was pushed into a cell.

Lilitha clung to the bars, gasping for breath. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed around the room.

Lilitha looked over at a group of men guarding something in another cell. It had to be Silus, though she couldn’t see him. She stood on her tiptoes.

As a couple of the men moved, she caught a glimpse of him. He was lying on the floor, his cloak removed, his horns exposed. Lilitha clung to the iron bars.

“Silus!” she screamed, her voice echoing around the chamber.

A few men glanced her way.

Lilitha strained to see his face, but the two empty cells between them and the flickering torchlight distorted her vision. She wiped away her tears.

Someone nudged him with their boot.

“Leave him alone!” she shouted, but no one listened. “Leave him alone! Leave him alone! Leave him alone!”

“Shut up, bitch!” a voice snapped.

She turned to see the captain, his old scar twisting his sneer into a snarl. But it wasn’t the captain who made her stomach drop, who made her mouth go dry and her heart race.

Beside him stood a man with familiar blue eyes.

Lilitha stared. Mandalay put a finger to his lips as the captain watched the crowd, oblivious.

The captain left Mandalay’s side to approach Silus. Mandalay continued to watch her, his gaze dropping to her belly, then back to her face.

Lilitha clung to the bars, pleading with her eyes. “Help me.”

He stared at her.

“Help me.”

He frowned, then turned to watch the captain.

“Move out of the way,” the captain growled. “Let me look at him.”

The men retreated, giving the captain room to kneel next to Silus. Lilitha could see her father now, his body still, but his chest rising and falling with a raspy rhythm.

His face was a picture of age and weariness, eyes shut tight and mouth hanging open.

Tears welled up in Lilitha’s eyes and spilled over. “Look what you’ve done!” she cried out.

The captain’s gaze met hers. His eyes were cold, unfeeling. They were more than just cold; they were filled with a deep, dark hatred.

The dim light in the room made his scar look even more menacing. In that moment, Lilitha felt a sinking feeling of despair.

She knew Silus was on the brink of death.

Desperate, Lilitha clung to the bars of her cell, pulling and shaking them with all her might.

“Stop! Leave him alone!” Her voice echoed shrilly in the small chamber. But she knew her pleas were in vain.

She couldn’t change his mind. So she turned to Mandalay.

“Help him,” she pleaded, her voice barely a whisper. “Help him. You have to help him!”

Mandalay shook his head slowly, then walked over to join the captain.

Lilitha watched as he looked down at her father, his face contorted with anger.

“We should get this over with, don’t you think?” He nudged Silus with his boot. “We don’t have much time.”

Lilitha felt as if her heart had dropped into her stomach. She gripped the bars of her cell so tightly that her hands started to cramp.

Mandalay glanced at her again.

Lilitha met his gaze with a defiant glare.

“I’m going to eat you alive,” she threatened, her Diablon voice reverberating around the chamber in a low growl.

The men all looked up, startled.

“I’m going to rip out your throat and suck your eyes out of your head!” she lowered her head, growling deeply between her bared teeth, her eyes never leaving Mandalay and the Southerner captain.

The captain met her gaze, his eyes unblinking.

Slowly, he rose to his feet.

“You see? No matter how innocent they may seem, they’re all fucking evil.”

He turned to Mandalay.

“I would have preferred to wait…but let’s do it.”