Cursed

The summer noon sun shone more fiercely than any other day in the past few years. Like a furnace in the sky, the sun blazed and scorched above a small group. Armored men, mounted on warhorses, were leading a trio of captives from the forest’s edge toward the upper reaches of the river. The two male prisoners walked on either side of the young woman as if, despite their bound hands, they were still capable of protecting her.

The woman was about twenty-four years old. The velvet of her glossy black hair, reaching down to her waist, was left simply loose behind her. The spark of her bright eyes held a dazzling radiance within that dark frame. A long dress of black silk tightly embraced her slender figure. Unlike her companions, she walked with long, confident strides. Her physical resemblance to the youngest companion clearly revealed their blood relation. The only differences were Orkam’s green eyes and his athletic build, which well displayed his warrior nature. The third member of the group had a different countenance. If you looked at him from afar, you would see only a white-haired old man, yet his age barely reached thirty. Although he was taller than the other two, he did not possess the appearance of a warrior—or at least, his face did not suggest so. One of his arms had been clumsily bandaged, and from his limping, it was evident he also had a wound on his left leg.

The red-clad soldiers had captured these three while they were crossing the Tiles Mountains. They were fleeing from service to the future king, heading toward what was considered enemy territory; now, they had to return on foot a journey of several days to the capital and into the presence of the Regent. They had walked all morning. The riders had bound the two men’s hands behind their backs, throwing ropes around their necks and dragging them along like animals. The woman, however, remained free. They needed no ropes or cords to keep her in bondage; something far more precious than the two men accompanying her bound her to this prison. Though her appearance did not betray it, she walked firmly and with fortitude, and no one dared to deign her. All three were exhausted, but if their captors expected them to protest, they would have to wait much longer.

Eventually, after long hours, the riders stopped in a valley to rest for a while under the shadow of the cliffs. In a secluded corner beside some boulders, a fire was lit; however, the prisoners were driven into the open space of the valley under the sun, with two soldiers stationed nearby to guard them.

Orkam leaned against a boulder and stretched his weary body as much as his bound hands allowed. Simultaneously, his eyes searched the ground for something that could relieve his hands from the pressure of the ropes. His companion watched his movements vigilantly, trying to ensure his gaze did not attract the attention of others. He could see Orkam’s hands secretly scouting the pebbles behind him. The woman, however, had her gaze elsewhere. As she stared into the distance, she whispered softly, “Don’t pick up that stone, brother... you’ll only make things worse.”

At that exact moment, Orkam’s empty hands struck the sharp edge of a suitable stone on the ground; he ignored his sister’s warning. “If we stay still like this, they will eventually take us to Hotran. I am not willing to serve that bastard, and I won’t let them force you into it either.”

He slowly drew the stone between his fingers, attempting to cut the rope without drawing attention. The albino man cast a quick glance at the guards and whispered in the lowest possible voice, “You’d better listen to your sister.”

“You always say that, Abaris... The very night Lork Lohan died, I said we should leave the castle, and you two disagreed. Now, after two years, you’ve realized that man isn’t worth serving.”

Abaris grumbled, “Both your sister and I knew he wasn’t, and all four of us knew what we were doing and why we were doing it.”

“Oh yeah, we knew... that’s why we became three!” He continued his secret effort to cut the rope. He could feel the gradual snapping of the rope’s fibers. The stone was not as sharp as it should have been.

He ignored the sorrow that had rushed into Respina’s eyes and continued: “Look, it’s impossible for Hotran to let go of Respina. He wants Respina’s ability at any cost. Until today, he kept her by threatening your life and mine; next time, he’ll threaten her with more important things. You’ve seen that man, Abaris... you’ve seen the things he does... do you think he isn’t capable of this?”

All three knew the answer to this question. Only a few months after the strange death of King Lork Lohan, His Excellency Hotran had revealed his true face. That man was a murderous tyrant. Within the first weeks, he had removed everyone who was somehow against him. He drew whoever he could to his side and severely suppressed every dissenting voice. Nevertheless, things weren’t so bad—not as long as the Queen’s power remained. Lohan’s wife was the greatest obstacle to Hotran’s ambitions, and perhaps that was why she was killed.

Although the court physicians had declared her death natural, Abaris had taken Respina’s suggestion seriously and secretly examined the Lady of the Palace’s body... that death was undoubtedly not natural. With the Queen’s death, absolute power fell into Hotran’s hands, and that was when he removed his mask. The strange laws he enacted plunged the country into chaos within months. His elite troop of soldiers, named in support of the King and the country, quickly gained power by defying the law with the backing of the ruler’s authority. These individuals suppressed Hotran’s critics with all their might. Some of them made their way into the high ranks of government and, like leeches, began accumulating wealth by plundering the country’s resources and capital. As this group grew more powerful, the common people became poorer. Within months, poverty became pervasive. Everywhere you looked, hunger and unemployment were rampant among the common folk. While this group and their corrupt supporters gained power, the ordinary people grew weaker. The government, which should have been a servant to its nation and country, treacherously turned its back on them. Prisons were filling up, and there was no sign of a fair trial. Not a day passed without someone being imprisoned, tortured, or executed for protesting. The intensity of these tragedies enraged the people. Within months, riots broke out and civil wars erupted. The result of these wars was nothing but more casualties.

With the help of his associates, Hotran suppressed his enemies with force and subsequently ordered that no prisoners be taken. A massive slaughter of dissidents ensued... anyone who had taken a step against him was killed along with all their family members. More than two thousand men, women, and children were killed within four days, and after this, only Respina’s warning caused that man to alter his decrees. Nevertheless, countless rebels were slain, and their wives and children were taken into slavery. Anyone who could, took their life in their hands and fled the country, while the rest of the suppressed people watched these atrocities in misery, an invisible rage seething beneath their skin.

It was precisely at this time that Respina and her friends decided to leave Palen. Enough with the pretense. None of them could bear to witness these tragedies any longer. Once, Palen had been the seat of a wise king, a just man who dedicated all his power to the peace, welfare of the people, and the progress of his country. Its men and women served him with love; but Hotran walked the path of the devil and had stepped onto the road of tyrants. He had taken up sorcery and witchcraft, and contrary to the oath he had sworn, he used the power that belonged to the people for his own welfare; thus, he was unworthy of service.

They were only waiting for Respina to give birth to her child. One month after the birth of her daughter, Himan arranged the preparations for their escape. They were to take a side road to reach the mountains and from there, return secretly to their home—the place they had left years ago in the hope of serving their people. It would have been a successful escape if Hotran’s soldiers had not found them exactly four days later. Himan was killed in an attempt to help them escape, and now his wife and child were on their way back to Palen. A place where Hotran, whether intentionally or not, would employ their talents in the path he desired. Like before, he would trade each of their lives for another, and this was something Orkam did not need his sister’s prophetic ability to know.

Respina, whose gaze was fixed on a small bundle in the hands of one of the guards, whispered under her breath: “There is no danger for her. At least not from the man who is there.”

Then she stood up and walked directly toward the group’s commander. Neither of the two guards stopped her. Facing the officer who stood a few paces away, she commanded: “I want to feed my daughter... bring her.”

The officer’s sharp gaze swung toward the woman. Respina commanded even more firmly this time: “Did you not hear what I said? Bring my daughter...”

The man’s sword left its scabbard with a ringing resonance and was placed against Respina’s neck: “Are you giving me orders?”

“Exactly. And you had better do what I said immediately.”

age turned the soldier’s face crimson. Pointing toward a large wolfdog sitting beside his horse, he said, “Do not forget that you are a prisoner here. Now, go back to your place and sit down before I throw that brat to the dog...”

Not a single muscle moved in Respina’s face. “I know—and you know—that Hotran wants us alive. I expect you to treat me with the respect befitting my status, as he demanded; otherwise, in the end, it is you who will suffer.”

The small fire within the camp erupted with a roaring fury, causing the soldiers around it to leap up and recoil. Heedless of their reaction, Respina warned with a voice that could make stone tremble: “Now, if you point your finger at my daughter one more time, I will make such an example of you that others will never forget. Is that clear?”

The enraged officer took a large stride toward Respina, and that was enough for Orkam. With a swift surge of strength, he tore through the remaining ropes around his wrists. In an instant, he lunged, swept the nearest man off his feet, and before the others could grasp the situation, he wrenched the sword from the man’s hand. With one quick motion, he brought the man’s headless body to the ground. By the time the other guards regained their senses, Orkam had already dispatched the second guard and was moving toward the third.

A sudden stinging in his shoulder took his breath away. A throwing knife, by absolute chance, had embedded itself a hand-span above his chest. The pain cut his breath short. But Orkam was no novice soldier. He pushed the pain aside and, ignoring the blood seeping from the wound, went after the next man—the one who had thrown the knife. Before he could raise his sword, a guard finally reacted. In a split second, he snatched the infant from the man standing next to him and held her over the flames of the fire: “Make one more move and I’ll throw her into the fire...”

Respina screamed involuntarily: ”Linda!"

The man threatened again: “Drop it, Orkam.”