PROLOGUE
“Ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhhh...”
“Silence! Cease behaving like a whimpering child and face the consequences of your actions!” the guard shouted at the poor prisoner chained to the wall as he carried out his punishment.
“Please... please...” the desperate prisoner whimpered, but another cry of pain echoed through the prison when the guard, deaf to his pleas, pressed the red-hot iron once more against his already reddened and bleeding skin.
The smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils like the finest perfume. He loved torture; there was a reason everyone knew him as Wilmer the Bloody or The Ripper—both nicknames suited him perfectly.
The only unfortunate part was that the damage never lasted. Because of the prisoner’s nature, his wounds would heal within a few hours.
But that did not mean Wilmer could not have a little fun with him.
Healing quickly did not mean he could not feel pain, and Wilmer was an expert at making his victims wish for death rather than spend another minute in his hands.
“Do not beg for mercy! A traitor such as you does not deserve it!” Wilmer shouted, spitting into the unfortunate man’s sweat-covered face.
“Please... please... I have done nothing... I am innocent... I swear it before God... please...”
“God, you say?” the jailer mocked. “Do not make me laugh. You swear by God while standing in hell!”
“Please... you must believe me... I did not do it...” The prisoner shook his head frantically.
Ignoring the man’s cries, Wilmer turned toward his table and picked up a small pair of slightly rusted pliers. He was about to use them when he heard the distinctive screech of the metal door.
Footsteps advanced confidently over the bloodstained floor and scattered gnawed bones, echoing through the enclosed, lifeless prison.
Despite the near-total darkness, the torturer had no doubt who it was.
“How fares the interrogation?” the newcomer asked in a hard yet calm voice.
Wilmer turned with a half-smile and made an exaggerated bow.
“Not as well as I had hoped, Your Majesty.” The jailer clicked his tongue in annoyance before casting the prisoner a threatening glance. “He has yet to confess.”
“Could it be that your methods have grown obsolete?”
The king’s contemptuous gaze moved from the traitor, still chained hand and foot, to his filthy servant, whose body gave off an unbearable stench. He rubbed his hands together, clearly unwilling to touch anything around him.
A cold sweat ran down Wilmer’s forehead.
Despite all the time he had spent torturing the prisoner, he had learned nothing. Worse still, the monarch was beginning to lose patience.
Wilmer had already used nearly every one of his favorite methods and had reduced the prisoner to little more than a shadow of a man.
And still he refused to speak.
Could he truly be innocent?
Wilmer did not doubt the possibility.
But what did it matter?
His task was to obtain a confession by any means necessary.
“Your Majesty, I ask only that you grant me a little more time. I assure you, he will speak,” the torturer said in barely more than a whisper.
For his own sake, he knew he had better produce results soon.
“Where is he?” the king asked, addressing the prisoner directly.
“Your Majesty... I swear it, I know nothing of his whereabouts.”
“Do you truly expect me to believe that he passed through one of the most heavily guarded gates in my kingdom without you noticing? Then tell me, what purpose do my guards serve?”
The king raised an eyebrow in deliberate disbelief.
“That is the truth, Your Majesty... I do not know how... but somehow he managed it... Please... I beg you to believe me.”
“Do you know the punishment for what you have done?” the sovereign continued in a measured voice, with a hint of feigned sorrow.
“Please... NOOO! I beg you! I will do anything!”
“Anything, you say?” The monarch stared at him. “I have asked only one thing of you: tell me where my son is and why you aided his escape.”
The young man lowered his head, unable to withstand the king’s severe gaze.
Like a man driven mad, he could only repeat the same words over and over.
“I am innocent... I am innocent...”
The king shook his head, clearly irritated.
Perhaps he had finally realized how futile the interrogation was.
The prisoner was not going to tell them anything.
At that moment, his fate was sealed.
“You have brought this upon yourself...”
The monarch was about to pronounce his sentence when the heavy door screeched open again.
A breathless figure struggled through it.
“Your Majesty,” the man said, fighting to catch his breath. “I have found him... I know where the prince is.”
“Magnificent!” the sovereign exclaimed before casting a critical glance at the prisoner. “You see? There are still subjects in this kingdom who remain loyal to me.”
Then, turning his attention toward the newcomer, he added:
“I believe we have found the next Guardian of Sym.”
“You honor me, Your Majesty,” the young man said, his eyes widening in surprise. “I do not know whether I am worthy of such a distinction.”
“Nonsense.” The monarch dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. “You are more than capable. And now, if you will excuse me...”
With a satisfied expression, the king turned toward the exit. He wrinkled his nose one last time, unable to tolerate the nauseating smell any longer.
He had barely taken a step when Wilmer’s voice stopped him.
“Your Majesty, what are we to do with this scum?”
“Give him the only punishment worthy of a traitor,” the sovereign replied without even turning around. “Hand him over at dawn.”
“Nooooooo...”
The man’s thunderous screams were muffled as the enormous metal door slammed shut.
No one saw the sardonic smile that curved Wilmer’s lips.
