Harker's Story

     After much umming and ahhing about it, the red Draik had eventually caved to his friend’s pleading and aided the shadow Lupe in brewing the potion – one that, once applied to a blank piece of paper, would allow the user to influence what the reader saw.

     In truth it hadn’t been as simple as he had assured them it would be to make, but at the sound of his coin purse clinking promisingly, they had given it their best efforts, and the Krawk was somewhat surprised at the quality of the finished product. They were clearly very talented magicians – even if they were only in training. He thanked them profusely and spilled over the contents of his purse into happy paws.

     Kids. Harker smiled to himself as he used a glass eyedropper to carefully apply the liquid to the blank piece of parchment he had pilfered from the boy’s workbench, and blew on it gently to dry the spots.

     It soon crisped up in the warmth of the afternoon, and he folded it once down the middle and tucked it into the inside pocket of his tunic. He once again headed down the wide stone steps leading towards the Castle’s dungeons and met with a guard standing outside the locked gate.

     Harker had waited patiently in the Castle until the first guard’s shift had ended and the new one had taken over. This one looked equally surly as his previous colleague had been, but this mattered not to Harker. Once the Skeith had taken up his post, the Krawk made his way down the first flight of steps, and approached him with an easy smile.

     “Good afternoon, sir. I have here a royal decree from King Skarl, regarding the post.”

     “The post?” The Skeith screwed up his nose. “It’s already been delivered today.”

     “Indeed. But as you will read here –” Harker pointed to the blank piece of parchment and the Skeith leaned in closer to squint at it. “A package was delivered in error to a prisoner this morning. He is considered volatile and dangerous, and the package was supposed to have been intercepted at … the mail place. King Skarl has issued this order that the package be retrieved at once, and returned by me. To the mail place.” Harker wished he had thought to ask the courier where mail actually came from.

     The guard read over the letter several times before giving a brusque nod and reaching for the set of keys that dangled from his belt. He glanced at Harker over his shoulder as he unlocked the heavy metal door, and gave him a dubious frown.

     “Perhaps you’d better stay here. I know this prisoner – he’s a right pest. He might try and take a swing at you.”

     Oh, Harker did not doubt that Jorge would love nothing more than to take a swing at him. In fact, if he recalled correctly – he owed the Lutari one from their previous scuffle.

     “It’s no bother. I’m to ensure that this package is retrieved safely, so I ought to be there. I’m sure a strapping lad like yourself can keep me safe.”

     The Skeith gave him another doubtful frown but decided not to argue the point any further. Together they descended the wide stone steps into the belly of Meridell’s Castle, where the only light came from the dull lantern the guard had plucked from the wall at the entrance.

     He followed the guard through the winding, ever-descending path, until they came to a row of cells, barred with rusted doors and dimly lit with small torches along the walls.

     As tempted as he was to peer into the cells, Harker kept a safe distance from the doors as he walked down the block to the end, where the guard was rapping loudly on the metal bars to the last cell.

     “Inmates. Wake up.”

     It was the middle of the day, but in the darkness and gloom of the dungeons Harker supposed there wasn’t much distinction between night and day. He had a feeling Jorge wouldn’t be sleeping, though.

     There was no answer from within the cell, and the guard rapped on the door again, more loudly.

     “Inmates. You received a parcel this morning. This was delivered in error. Hand it back through the slot, and there’ll be no need for me to enter.”

     On the other side of the door Jorge said a particularly rude word, and the guard narrowed his eyes beadily.

     “Last chance, inmate.”

     Jorge told the guard what he could do with his last chance, and the Skeith heaved a loud sigh as he removed the heavy set of keys from his waist belt once more.

     “You aren’t going in there?” Harker flung a hand out to grab the Skeith. “He’s dangerous.”

     “Very.” He agreed and gently pried the Krawk’s fingers from around his arm. “There’s not too much he can do in chains, though.”

     “Chains?”

     The guard looked at him with a frown.

     “First day, is it? All the prisoners in this block have chains around their legs – long enough that they can move around the cells, but too short to do much damage if they aim a kick or try to run. Ever since – well, the incident.”

     Again, the mysterious ‘incident’. Harker was very curious, but knew this was again not the time and place for questions.

     “Well, I ought to help you. It says in this letter that I’m to ensure the package’s safe return personally.”

     “You can’t go in there.” The guard’s tone brokered no argument. “One of these inmates has strict visitation limits. Superseding any and all further decrees.”

     Who was Jorge’s cellmate? Harker had wondered this several times since the beginning of this whole mess. It seemed that a lot of the circumstances kept revolving around him, this mysterious stranger that apparently knew Harker.

     The guard instructed him to stand facing the back wall as he prepared to enter the cell. Harker felt ridiculous but obliged – if only to speed things along. He waited until he heard the guard unlock the door to the cell and pull it open. He heard the sounds of a scuffle as Jorge attempted to defend his prize – and the annoyed voice of the guard as he reprimanded him for his folly. Of the mysterious cellmate, Harker heard nothing – and saw nothing, until his curiosity overtook him and he turned around and peered around the corner of the door.

     It was dark inside the cell, as expected. The only source of light came from a lantern hanging from the ceiling, swinging precariously as the Lutari and the Skeith wrestled for the book. As the lantern swung, it cast pools of light haphazardly around the cell, and the dull glow fell on a dark figure huddled in the corner.

     Harker strained his eyes in the darkness. The huddled figure was vaguely familiar, although it was impossible to recognise who it was by the insubstantial light and the way his head was buried underneath his dark purple wings.

     The guard was too preoccupied trying to manhandle Jorge that he didn’t notice the Krawk’s nose poking around the side of the cell door. He crept inside further, his eyes never leaving the figure in the corner. The winged figure didn’t move and gave no indication that he cared about – or even noticed – the commotion in the cell.

     The guard was screeching something about dessert privileges being revoked, and Jorge was attempting to land a smack on the upside of the Skeith’s head with the precious book he had gone to such lengths to obtain. Harker was tempted to give the Lutari a piece of his mind, but the figure in the corner raised his head slightly, and their eyes briefly locked in the light of the lantern swinging above them.

     Deep red eyes met dark golden ones, and Harker felt a chill travel down his spine. The meanly curved beak, the unnatural gleam in those red eyes – the Eyrie in the corner of the cell was only too familiar, despite the moth-bitten rags he wore and the dirt that stained his feathers and face. The years had passed – and not kindly, for the Eyrie in the cell – but the cruel face remained unchanged.

     "But you’re dead. You died at the end of the War. The Three killed you – I was there."

     Harker stumbled backwards out of the cell and reached out a hand to grab for the wall as his legs felt weak underneath him. He took a few slow breaths to steady himself before turning once more to face the back wall of the cellblock, to await the guard’s return with his book.

     He counted the seconds slowly, to calm his nerves and relax his pounding heart.

     The realisation of who the mysterious cellmate was startling, although this wasn’t what was playing on Harker’s mind as the guard finally managed to extract the book from Jorge and stumble inelegantly out of the cell, slamming the heavy metal door shut against the Lutari’s screams of rage.

     The fact that Lord Kass had survived the war was bad enough. It was the fact that he had survived the war – and had knowledge of the only working blueprint of a time travel machine – that was really terrifying.

     To be continued…