Chapter 2

Four majestic horses trotted through the forest, toward the castle of Releigh, pulling behind them a white carriage. The coach shivered against the wind, and gathered his cloak tightly around him. He turned and checked on the family within his carriage, seeing the father amble up to take a seat beside him and drape a blanket around his shoulders.

"Thank you kindly, Preacher Brookes. My body was about to freeze to death out here. Not a very peaceful night. Is the family quite warm?" The Preacher beside him took the reins from his icy fingers and smiled.

"Please, call me Frank. And yes thank you, they are fast asleep back there." The coachman smiled in content, with an odd sense of comfort coming from the man.

"So where are you from?" he asked, turning his head to Frank.

"England," Frank replied. "I came to visit an old friend in Raleigh. I'm also looking into taking over the job of preacher at Hagia Sophia for awhile."

"Hagia Sophia eh? Beautiful church, that one is. And you brought your lovely wife and daughter with you? They will absolutely love it in Reliegh, such a beautiful city. How was the boat ride over?" the coachman asked, rubbing his hands together as they crossed a wooden bridge over a deep mud covered ditch.

"Very satisfactory indeed, thank you." The preacher said, looking ahead distractedly. The coachman squinted in the direction Frank was looking, and saw a dark, undistinguished figure in the bushes.

"Do you see what I see sire?" The coachman stared in shock as they came closer. The horses became rowdy and nervous, twitching slightly, as the preacher brought them to a halt and jumped from the carriage. Awakened by the whinnying Franks wife Maya poked her head out the window,

"What is it Frank?" she asked nervously, holding her curious, seven year old daughter back from escaping the carriage.

"Stay there, dear." He warned her and crept down to crouch near the figure, picking it up gingerly. Behind him the coachman peered over his shoulder, trying to see the object the preacher clutched in the warmth of his arms.

"What is it sire? What is wrong?"

From Frank's eyes sprouted tears and his shoulders shook in grief. In his arms he held a child, younger than his daughter, bones crushed, and skin soaked in blood. He prayed silently to himself and turned his kneeling body to the coachman, holding up the child for him to see.

"Who could have had the twisted mind to do such a thing to a poor innocent child?" the coachman shuddered at the sight and crossed himself, kneeling next to the preacher and placing a not so reassuring hand upon his shoulder.

"It's a terrible thing, but many men could have such a mind to do something like this. It isn't fair, but it's life." He whispered morosely, turning away from the gruesome sight. He took his cloak from his shoulders and placed it over the body, adjusting Franks' arms so he was able to wrap it snugly around her. Frank wiped his eyes and carried the girl's body over to the carriage, placing her on the front seat.

"She deserves a proper burial, poor girl. She shall lie forever in the peaceful temple of Hagia Sophia. I wonder where she was from and if she was with anyone at the time of the incident. Right, we must spread out and see if there are others, we cannot leave if there is a survivor. Then we shall leave for Releigh. Maya! Bring the lantern quickly dear and help us look around." he called. Maya slid out of the carriage, warning her child to stay put, and picked up her skirts, ushering off in the direction of the two men.

The young girl in the carriage stared curiously at the wrapped figure in the driver's seat, feeling a chill run through her spine. Fear clawing at her heart at the thought of what might've happened to it; she turned away from the body and opened the door to the carriage, jumping to the ground in a heap. Dusting herself off, she wandered a few steps away from the carriage and picked up a purple pebble lying amongst broken twigs and crushed leaves. She brushed the mud from it, feeling the cold, smooth surface beneath her finger tips. Walking onto the bridge, she balanced the rock in her hand, staring down into the darkness of the ditch. She closed her eyes and imagined she was a beautiful princess, like the ones in her mother's stories, whose brave knight had died perilously in a battle for her, and this ditch was his grave, the remains of the battlefield he had fought on. The rock between her palms represented her token of love and appreciation, which she would send down to him, wishing he would somehow arise from the dead, and carry her off into the depths of the night.

She opened her hands and watched the rock slide into the make believe grave. Sighing she was about to turn away to sit back into the warmth of the carriage when a small groan of pain reached her ears. She gripped the railing of the bridge in surprise and squinted down into the mud.

The trio further away searched for what seemed like hours, checking behind each tree, bush, and rock. Frank held the lantern high and scanned the forest ahead of him. Seeing nothing, he sighed in exhaustion.

"I think it's time to go back, I don't think we are going to find anything else here tonight." he muttered to his companions. They gave one last look in the clearing when they suddenly heard a shout in the forest.

"Mother, Father! Come quick, I think someone is down here!" Frank jumped into a sprint at the sound of his daughters voice, not waiting for his friends to catch up. He got there just in time to see his daughter gingerly attempting to climb down into the ditch. Grabbing her, he hoisted her up in his arms and took her a step away from the edge. Crouching down so he could reach her height he looked into her eyes and shook her gently.

"You say you saw something honey?" he tried to look at her, yet she was staring worriedly into the ditch muttering,

"I threw a rock down there and somebody moaned, I can't see him but I swear I heard him."

Throwing his coat to the side, Frank ushered his daughter over to where Maya was standing. Then, peering into the ditch he held out his hand to the coachman.

"Grab some rope and a lantern, please sir, and hoist me down." He never tore his eyes away from the sight, as he waited for the man to grab the supplies from the carriage and run to where he was standing. Looping the rope securely around his waist, he held both the rope and the lantern at the ready. Waiting until the coachman had a good grip on the rope he slowly made his way down the hill, tripping and sliding continuously in the mud. Finally, he made it to the bottom, waving his companions, who were peering over the edge with expressions of worry on their faces. Turning around he nearly dropped the lantern in shock, at what lied now in the filth. He crouched down next to the figure soaked in blood and muck and held the light up to its face. He was rewarded at the sight of fog that escaped from the mouth of the broken mass, and the slow rise and fall of its chest.

Up above, the coachman waited nervously at what was taking the preacher so long to come back up. Looking back he saw Maya retreating to put her arguing daughter back into the carriage, trying not to look at the body lying on his seat. He then stared at the stars for quite some time, almost not feeling the tug of the rope signaling him to pull the preacher up. Waking from his reverie, he pulled with all of his might, surprised to feel extra weight had been added. After some time he saw the face of the preacher reappear over the edge and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank goodness you are alright. Find anything sir?"

Frank adjusted himself so he could pass the cold, muddy figure over to the coachman, and heaved himself over the edge. The coachman stared in surprise at the unconscious form of a young boy in his arms. Frank took the blanket that had fallen from the coachman's shoulder while he grabbed he unconscious form.

"He isn't shivering anymore which is quite dangerous. We must get to Reliegh immediately. Drive us there as quickly as you can, please." They ran hastily to the carriage, the coachman hopping up to take the reins while Frank secured his patient into the warmth of the blanket, rubbing his hands across the body furiously in an attempt to get the blood flowing again. His wife and daughter helped to tend to the patient in any way they could. Lying him down on the bench, Frank returned to the coachman's side, while Maya scanned the boy for any injuries. Her daughter sat next to the boy's head, lightly stroking his dark, mud stained hair. She reached to grab his hand which was clenched in a desperate attempt to hold on to life, it seemed. Then her hand came in contact with something within the boys grasp. Opening his fingers slowly, she saw her small purple stone lying in the center of his palm.

Chandarli tiptoed cautiously through the long narrow corridors of Erian's darkest castle, with a knife clutched in his hand. He shivered in anticipation as he eyed Serkan's bedroom chamber. He inched toward it, sweating profusely and cursing under his breath as his feet betrayed him causing the floor to creak loudly under his weight. He stopped for a moment to see if anyone had discovered his position. Blowing out a sigh of relief, he placed an insecure hand upon the door knob and turned it slowly. He heard a click on the other side and gently pushed the door open just enough to peek his head through. Seeing the new Lord Serkan asleep in his bed caused him to smile ruefully and inch the door open wider. The light from the hall disrupted Serkans sleep and he snorted loudly, causing Chandarli to jump in fright. He froze until Serkan dozed lazily back into a peaceful sleep. Shutting the door quietly he moved toward his unsuspecting victim, gripping the hilt of his knife in both hands, ready to bring it down with punishing force. The fat vizier was not swift enough though, he realized when a moment later, Serkan had pounced upon him, gripping his wrist and turning it so the point rested painfully upon his racing heart. He stared wide eyed into the face of the devil, tears dripping from the corners of his eye sockets.

"A kitchen knife, vizier? Come along now, you could have done a much better job than that," Serkan snickered. "By the way, terrible job entering the room. You never could be pegged to be an assassin." Chandarli shut his eyes tight, and squeaked between each breath.

"Please, don't hurt me…" he whimpered, pleadingly. Serkan landed a sharp smack across his face and shook him by his collar viciously.

"The nerve of you," he growled, "You tried to assassinate me, you fool. I'd have to be a bigger blockhead than you, to not hurt you after a crime like that. In fact, I am going to do worse than hurt you my vizier, much worse." With that he gripped the man in a headlock, and dragged him away from the room, causing him to spit and drool as they stomped through the corridor.

Chandarli attempted a scream as he figured out he was being taken to Serkan's torture chamber, and wiggled in panic, but his attempts were useless against the indestructible grip of his captor. He gaped at the dusty, caged door being opened by a heavily armed man, as they approached. Grabbing a torch on the wall, the burly guard led them down cold concrete steps backed up against the wall. As they moved down the spiral steps, the sound of tortured screams reached their ears, causing Chandarli to start struggling in panic again, only to be stopped by a sharp squeeze around his throat from Serkan. The wailing and moaning after the sound of clashing weapons gave him a sick, morose feeling in the pit of his stomach. The only thing that kept him from puking was the tight clasp of Serkans arm pinching his esophagus.

Coming to the bottom of the stairway, they watched as people were whipped, chained, and beaten mercilessly. The sound of hard weapons colliding with bruised flesh, echoed through their ears, followed by the screech of the victim. Some people were hooked up to machines constructed to cause slow, painful death. Bones were broken, and stretched under the powerful strength of the machines, and screams that seemed to bounce off the very atmosphere of the universe would never be heard from the outside. It was a place of inescapable death. Men were hung with their arms behind their backs and weights were tied to their legs, in a strappado, and were hoisted violently up into the air. On the floor he noticed there were trap doors holding people prisoner. Some were filled with rising water, and muffled screams and gurgles sounded from beneath his feet. Others were wrestled onto racks, and tied limbs were ripped off their body. Rape and other forms of sexual abuse were used in the room of utter despair, causing them to hide their eyes from the traumatic scene.

Chandarli nearly fainted at the sight of people reaching their hands out to him, screaming for him to help them. They begged their captors for mercy, wishing to die, but they were always ignored, as if they weren't even human. The cruelty from the executioners was almost normal to them, which was terrifying to the vizier. He dearly wished he wasn't down here and immediately regretted his decision to try and take Serkan's life. He wished he could breathe, and plead to his unforgiving master. The vizier's thoughts were interrupted as he was thrown roughly down onto a large wooden table and bound by chains. Serkan kneeled heavily upon the board, scowling down at the captive, and spit in his face in disgust.

"Now you may plead, worthless dolt." Chandarli gasped in surprise as the machine started to pull at his arms slowly. The chains on his wrists cut off his circulation and tugged them out beside him. He was stretched to his full length after a moment, but the machine kept pulling, slowly but surely. He felt something crack in his arm, and wept violently in pain.

"Please!" he wailed. "I am sorry sire, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me! You destroyed Rusyn bravely, and I shall help you conquer all of Erian if you give me just one last chance. Please, you won't be sorry! I promise!" Serkan chuckled as another pop sounded from the viziers arm. He nodded at the guard to stop the machine where it was and bent down to face his captive.

"How do I know that I have your word?" he whispered. Chandarli heaved a sigh of relief.

"I swear on my mother's grave sire. I will repent every day, for the rest of my life, if you wish it." Serkan scratched his head for a moment and considered this. After awhile he smiled wickedly down at his victim.

"Alright," he nodded at the guard to reboot the machine. "You shall remain loyal to me for the rest of your days, vizier. If anything like this ever happens again, I won't be so merciful. But before I let you go, let's have some fun, shall we?" The machine pulled harder at his limbs and the vizier screamed, knowing he was in for a long night.

Frank paced up and down the blue walls of the infirmary, eyes never leaving the child's face as the doctors of Reliegh worked feverishly on their patient. The child lay still amid the pain in his arm as the deep slash from the knights sword was stitched tight. The heavy blood flow had subsided, and the dried blood and mud was dabbed away lightly with a wet cloth. The child winced in pain in his unconscious state, and started to shiver violently. A nurse hastily brought warm blankets, tucking them snugly around the body.

"Tis a shame what can happen to a child these days, the world can be a cruel place." A large warm hand was gently placed upon the preachers shoulder. He turned to find his friend, the king of Reliegh, Cornelius smiling down at him.

"Aye my Lord, it's a shame we had to meet again under such conditions." The preacher sighed morosely, looking back at the boy he had rescued. "I am sad we could not save his companion as well," he turned to look at the shape of Jenny, covered by a white sheet, draped securely around her small body. Cornelius turned to where the preacher was looking and shook his head.

"You did an honorable thing, sir. You must not feel guilt for the loss of a life. You know as well as I do that it was the will of the Gods to take her when they thought it was time."

Frank nodded silently at his friends words, looking back at the young boy shaking his head from side to side in a restless sleep. He dreaded having to see the boy wake up and recall the events of the night before, and slipped away into the lazy dawn, to clear his head. He strolled through the castle ending up outside where he took an enormous gulp of fresh air. Walking through the orchards, he saw a summer sky matching the colors of the ripening fruits in the trees. Daydreaming caused him to lose all conscious thought, and before he snapped out of his reverie, his body was taking him to the church, Hagia Sophia. He walked slowly down the isle of smooth rock, running his hands across the benches on either side of him, stopping in front of a great tapestry of the sky, with a large cross hanging in the center of it. Crossing himself, he kneeled down before it and silently prayed for what seemed like hours. He prayed for the boy cooped up in the castles infirmary, hoping that his life would be spared, wishing his death be a peaceful fate. He prayed for the soul of the poor girl that didn't live to see such a beautiful morning of which he had graciously seen. Prayers floated through his head, all bringing him a sense of peace, content and forgiveness. He jumped lightly in surprise when he felt the presence of someone beside him. He turned to see his daughter kneeling beside him silently, golden hair brushed back behind her in a long, silken braid and blue eyes closed gently in prayer. In her clasped hands she held her violet stone, rubbing it between her palms. After a moment she opened her eyes and smiled at her father, standing up, so that she was eye level with him.

"He'll be alright," she whispered and reached over to hug him. With that she skipped off in the direction of the castle, leaving him with a feeling of joy and pride he felt whenever he looked upon his daughter.