Chapter 3: Treachery

Satarine had sat in a cell, still counting the days. Though it was more of an instinct at this point rather than intent. When stuck in a confinement cell, time had very little meaning. Though, the regularity of two meals a day made for a schedule that couldn't easily be forgotten. Especially since when you were imprisoned, there was little to do besides eat and sleep.

Waiting, of course, was one of the main things to do.

The guards that had brought her the slices of bread may have well been mono-tasked to the point of a lobotomy. The guard was useless for questions and let alone a conversation. A few times, she pushed it in regards to her execution but the only thing that had been a resemblance to a conversation was a slight shrug from the man.

She didn't think the man was going to last much longer, the bags under his eyes were quite severe and his face looked as if he longed for death.

Her prison cell had been surprisingly comfortable at first, something that had shocked her due to the nature of her crime. The sleeping slab was padded and the walls were a smooth, dry cobblestone. This was even better than the dungeons at her family home, Castle Highrock. The dungeons there were damp and moss covered stone walls infected the whole place.

The woman even had a chest for her possessions, there was very few of those since she was a prisoner. She used the chest to store some bread inside of cheap pots of tin since they had been feeding her the bread since she arrived.

She could have broken or bent the pots, making them into a makeshift weapon of sorts. But those weapons would be flimsy and next to useless. She could slash up the guard that brought her meals, but wounding that damn guy would not do anything to improve her situation.

Her other option was to slice her own wrists open, which was no option at all. It wasn't as if she found the option to be distasteful, it was just that suicide was frowned upon by the laws of chivalry if that were to even exist in New World. Honor had demanded that she live to see her execution through.

The fact that her captors had left her access to ways of committing suicide showed their true disregard. It would likely be a convenience for the soldiers stationed at this castle if such a thing were to come to fruition.

She exercised to maintain her health, pushing herself up from the stone floor until sweat dripped from her thinning form which was gluing her worn and filthy uniform to her flesh. She ate the stale bread and water she was given, she slept in her clothes even refusing to shed her uniform even in captivity.

For the first few weeks, she had been appalled by the smell of her own body, but after the second month it had merely vanished. She thought it was still there, she had just gotten used to the smell.

Finger combing her hair had only worked for the first week, soon enough she had been reduced to binding it back into a ponytail with an old piece of string found in her cell.

When she went to the cell doors, all she could see was the smooth walls of the corridor stretching in either direction, lit by dull and flickering torches. It wasn't until the third day that she realized she was not alone in captivity. A shout, which was more of a frustrated scream had echoed down the hallway.

She called back, her lungs were full of the dungeons rancid air asking who was there

"Baroness?" The reply had come back to her, miserable but hopeful.

She had nearly burst into laughter, one of her courtiers was nearby

"Leo?"

"Baroness, I don't suppose you have a comb do you?"

One courtier turned out to be several. They continued with shouted conversations in the days that followed, this behavior simply ignored by their captors.

Over time, the captives had grown quiet. How many times could they force good natured laughs about their fate as they were all losing weight and feeling their teeth loosening in their gums.

The baroness understood, she fell silent in the same way for the same reasons. She withdrew within herself, not to hide but rather to survive.

She refused to be hung or beheaded as a ruined echo of what she once was, so she exercised. She stored her food just in case. She composed old battle verses in her mind or recited old poems that she used to read when growing up.

At first, she would try to sing once a day and her courtiers joined in. As their strength had failed, the real silence had took hold.

She would sometimes hear one or two of them groan or murmur inside of their cells, far down the hallway. Starvation had walked among them, caressing with gnawing fingers.

On the one hundred and fiftieth day, the guard had come with no food. He stood before the door, he did not even offer an explanation, he shook his head and walked away only leaving a waterskin.

She watched the guard from where she had been exercising, performing slow sit-ups with her feet on the wall.

Then she watched the guard leave.

Was this a punishment for them? A mistake in allotting food rations? The possibilities of what could have happened had raced through her mind, icy and unwelcome. Perhaps she would not meet a headsman or be hung, she would just be starved to death. At best, she would be buried near Re-Estize, a malnourished husk of herself.

She took the flask of water, not yet willing to give into the panic that was stirring throughout her mind. She still had a few weeks worth of supplies left of bread that was left in various conditions. That she could fall back on if she needed to.

The shouting started up the next day, the other prisoners had been going through the same farce.

All the baroness could do was wait. If the guard had returned later in the night and only dropped a flask of water, then she would know something was amiss. Until then, she would not give into the rush of fear that was quickly overtaking the other prisoners. Fear had been useful at times, like when it told you that you should be alert and aware. But, it was a poison if it had taken root. The more it nestled within a heart, the more your reasoning would be clouded.

She passed the hours exercising, in meditation, and letting stale water fill her stomach in the place of fresh bread. When the guard arrived, eighty hours later he had nothing.

No food and no water.

She listened to the guard's retreated tread. She was prepared to be beheaded or hung, but this life she had chosen down left her ill prepared to feel this helpless. Her hands had turned into fists, slowly firmly, her knuckles had begun to show white.

"If I breathe. I am unbeaten." She said to herself. She raced to the door, pounding on it with the heels of her firsts. Shouting those words over and over again letting them fill the long hallway of this dungeon.

Her words echoed back to her, by the dozen other throats taking up the old, familiar battlecry.

One day became two, that was all the evidence she needed and she decided that she needed to act before the third day became a reality.

Soon enough, she looked at her cell in gummy dehydrated eyes and clutching a shard often that she made into a flimsy knife after all. She was under no illusions that killing her jailor would improver her life, but killing him may trigger some alarm. Letting the other captors know that they are dying of thirst and starvation. If no one would come to deal with the slain jailor, then she would know it was an execution.

Though not everything worked out as she hoped. The third day had arrived and no one showed up, not a peep could be heard nor the distant footsteps.

Eventually, she heard the footsteps of multiple people approaching two of them in heavy plate armor. She clutched her knife in her hands until she saw the flash of silver through the food slit. She thought she had been hallucinating but it certainly did not seem that way.

"Well let's see if anyone is in here." A voice said

"Doubtful. I will open it anyway." Another called out

Her wonder at what was going on when the partisan had crashed through the door. It slid out of the wound it made, only to be replaced by silver fingers. She saw them curl and grip, then wrench the puncture open with a horrendous whine of abused door soon came free of the wall, she flinched as the remains of the door had been dropped by the ground.

It only took a moment, but the figure who had tore the open had recognized who this woman was.

"Baroness Satarine D'Artorius, Warden of Bleakfall?" He asked knowing full well who she was.

"An adventurer. I am honored." Her voice was a parched ruin. It shamed her to even show any weakness at all before a foe, but she would be damned if she stood there in silence "Have you finally come to execute me?"

The man sighed "I'll accept that as affirmation. I am Christoff Coros, former soldier of the Royal Army. Come with me please, Baroness."

"I request the right to die in a clean uniform."

"Wow, so civilized. And I am sure that one day you will die in the exact manner. However, I am not here to kill you. In a sense you have been pardoned."

"The King nor the court would never overturn my sentence."

"Actually you had never been sentenced at all, the kingdom had a thousand other things going on. I suspect they forget you even existed until, well we chanced upon this castle here. You are pardoned in King Ramposa's name. Now come with me, unless you would like for your baronial court to continue rotting in their cells.

"Chanced?" She asked following behind Christoff cautiously. "What do you mean by "chanced"?"

Christoff did not reply.

Outside her cell stood another tall warrior, clad with the same plate male that Christoff was wearing. Along with a female who was wearing a dark cloak that covered her face, more specifically her ears.

The man in armor was not quite as tall as the one who entered the room, but he was still a head and a half above her.

The woman was roughly the same height as the baroness, though from what she could see she gathered that she had been quite beautiful.

Nate had his helmet off, carrying it under his arm. His features had held nothing of sensuality, yet the truth was there: He was quite literally the most beautiful man that Sataraine D'Artoria had ever seen. The artistry of living beauty rendered in marble. An angel of a myth, stricken by the hauntingly elegant pallor of consumption.

"I am Nate, Nate Stutnoch." He said with a polite bow, his voice was low yet was brutally soft at the same time.

Satarine had looked between the three "Please, free my court for all that is still holy. Please, tell me what is going on.:

Dozens had stood blinking and sore in the weak sunlight. They were clad in faded and filthy uniforms which they had been imprisoned in, they nevertheless had stood in orderly ranks as they would upon the para grounds of Bleakfall.

Satarine's spirits had soared to see them muster like this one again. Her hope had gathered very soon after.

With the couriters had been their attendants, several sacristans for every scion. They looked as if they had suffered far worse than their masters. It broke the Baronesses heart seeing that her house had been treated so poorly.

The court of Bleakfall, ragged and worse for wear but at least they had been free. They had stood on the battlements of the Castle that once held them. All around them had been trees and mountains in the distance, the nearest village a 15 kilometer walk. Satarine had resisted the urge to spit at the sight.

Three figures faced them as they waited in ranks. Satarine regarded each of them in turn, cautious of each and mistrusting them all equally. Nate had watched the gathering counters and their attendants, standing without his helmet on in the breeze that was present. The gentle winds had plucked at his golden hair. His arms had been crossed across his breastplate. He was all at the same time entirely focused and utterly serene.

In an absolute contrast, Christoff had paced before burnished armor set in neutral regard. His spear that he had used for countless years now had been held at his side by his gauntleted hand. His blue eyes stared at everyone through the slit of his helmet, catching the gaze of every man and woman who had wished to meet it.

"I haven't seen her blink. Then again I can't really see her face." Leo murmured besides Satarine. The Baroness hushed him with a glance,she still suspected this to be some bizarre form of execution.

Christoff looked back over his shoulder towards the half-elf. Partly due to what the man said and also because he was going to begin. She gave him a slight nod and so did Nate.

"Baroness, please step forward."

And so she did. She walked towards him as proud and straight backed as she could right now. She had been leading her barony for about twenty years, carrying Bleakfall's name with her. She stood at the base of the warriors neck, she held back a little to maintain her posture and she did not want to be foolish enough to crane her neck to look up at him.

"You are Satarine D'Artoria, Warden of Bleakfall, Baroness of House Fridia. Is that so?"

"Actually, I have more titles than that." She was finding her voice again even though she was fed a feast of more stale water and bread by the three that found them. "But, I will not bore you with my honors and titles."

"We would be here for some time if she did." Said Leo with immaculate politeness, from the first rank of the courtiers.

Behind Christoff, Glenys smiled faintly and so did Nate. Christoff did not.

"I am Christoff, Former soldier of the Royal Army." He ensured to emphasize the former told her again, this time introducing everyone to all of her court that was present. "With me are Nate Stuttoch and Glenys Von.." He went silent for a second as he tried to think "Her name does not matter."

With how he spoke, the latter meant nothing to the courtiers. Christoff's sonorous voice carried it with little effort, even against the wind that pulled gently at his red scarf.

"It is said that House Fridia had abandoned the King and turned its cloak to fight with the Baharuth and Sorcerer Kingdom."

Silence greeted this amusement, in which Christoff had casted his lure as if he was fishing. "So tell me, members of Bleakfall. Are you guilty or innocent?"

The courtiers stood in silence, not a peep had escaped from any of them. They were bound by oaths that even Christoff would've considered arcane. The baroness would speak for them and speak she did.

"Guilty."

Christoff seemed to hesitate, he glanced towards Nate who gave him a nod. From the man's sudden pause, she wondered if her admission of guilt had took him by surprise.

"Guilty." Christoff repeated.

"And yet you arrive back in the lands of the Kingdom in a carriage and you surrendered into imprisonment. That speaks of repentance, or atleast a willingness to be punished for what you had done."

"You did not ask about repentance or a punishment. Satarine replied, standing up straight. Her hands resting behnind her back loathing the unwashed smell that was oozing out of her.

"You asked if we had marched with the Baharuth Empire and Sorcerer Kingdom, and we have done exactly that. We have clashed blades in anger upon souls that were still loyal to King Rampart."

"I see." Christoff said, resting his spear upon one of his shoulder guards. The sun setting had made his armor color look as if it was a fiery bronze.

"Your Scions marched with the Third Legion if I remember correctly during the events of Katze Plains. You are responsible for the destruction and loss of life that happened that day, as responsible as anyone in the Empire that is. If I remember, you also slew another Baron.

"In single combat." Leo had pointed out.

Christoff's attention had snapped to the courtier.

"Are you her herald?"

"No, warrior."

"Does she need you singing her personal achievements to the sky as if this were some tawdry baronial procession?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Indeed. She doesn't, so be silent."

Christoff paused once again before adding on "And slew a baron…in single combat."

Satarine nodded "As you say."

"That is quite the impressive list of treachery for someone who had little involvement in the war. Tell me why you wished to take up arms against those loyal to our King, Baroness?"

"Fridia's oldest of oaths had lied with the Baharuth Empire. When we were at our worst, it was them who had came to our aid. Granted this was before the time of the Bloody Emperor. We vowed allegiance to the Third Legion in particular. When they called for our aid, we had answered."

"A matter of loyalty then."

"Yes." She said "This war at the time was no clean cut matter away from the court of the king. The matter of who is a betrayer and who is betrayed stirred all sorts of rumors. Battles are named with absolutely no knowledge why they are held. The Re-Estize sought to destroy the Baharuth presence on the plains, we held to our oaths."

It was no different than any other year, except for this one. They had been called during the most recent annual wars due to the fact of the Sorcerer Kingdom being involved. The Third Legion also honored this old oath and so they did it.

"And attacked quite a few bastions."

"A fact I do not deny, Christoff, is this a trial?"

"Yes, of sorts. So let us speak of regret and punishment, Baroness.. Tell me, what would bring a very well armed, well supplied two-thirds of House Fridia from fighting at the side of the Baharuth Empire?

"We had been ordered into the field, in the back lines of the Third Legion. After the Sorcerer King had sent his minions through, we went in and killed off any of the survivors. Rather than curse us for treason, as everyone else had done. The Third had implored us to see reason, battles that had been taking place and future operation. Words of the Bloody Emperor and Sorcerer King."

Christoff had snorted, a bark came through his helmet "And you simply believed them? Were you not concerned that this had been enemy propaganda?"

Satarine had felt the threat of anger coming off of Christoff "We had no way of knowing for certain. One name emerged again and again. Wretched in it's terrible possibility.

"I can guess that name." It was Nate who spoke, his voice soft "E-Rantel."

Satarine nodded "E-Rantel. We could not break the truth apart from the lies, The day we refused to swear fealty to the Sorcerer Kingdom, we had been attacked by the Third Legion as we withdrew. We sent our supply caravan back to Bleakfall, which had contained our armor. My courtiers and I made the journey to Re-Estize."

Christoff's gaze raked across the orderly ranks once more "And when you arrived?"

"When we arrived seeking answers, we were imprisoned at once. There we remained until you freed us."

Christoff shook his head "You must have known that execution would of been awaiting you."

"Perhaps, we are oath breakers after all. We knew we deserved execution, is that why we were being starved?"

"No." Nate had said "That was because the Kingdom has fallen, the Sorcerer Kingdom made sure of it."

Satarine clenched her teeth. Well that answered her question, alright. She had almost been executed by the same forces she faught with essentially.

Christoff had turned his back to the woman, his armor rattling as he did so. "I can offer you a fate that you would not be ashamed about. Baroness D'Artoria. But I will need your life. I will need you to march, fight and likely die for our King."

There was almost not hesitation at all "Send to Bleakfall for our armors." She replied "And our blood and steel will be the King's until our last breath.

"That, I can not do."

For the first time in all this madness, Satarine had felt the creeping chill of unease approaching her. Unease that had the opportunity to turn into fear.

"Please explain yourself." She said, her breathing was full of restrained panic.

"You made the right choice." Christoff replied "To send your gear back to Bleakfall. To send them here, they would of definitely been melted down or given to some conscript. But we can not send word to Bleakfall, baroness. Bleakfall as you knew it no longer fell to the Sorcerer King's forces mere weeks ago. A ruined castle now hangs on the hill where it once did, taking it's place.

The stunned silence did not last long. The unbelievable order and dignity that was held by the massed ranks slowly dissolved and the gathered courtiers and their attendants became the starving remnants of the Sebtrul Castle once again. Satarine above all others, looked ravaged. She fell to her knees.

"The whole Barony. The whole Barony."

"The whole Barony." Christoff had confirmed. "The Sorcerer Kingdom, allies to the Baharuth, had brought fire and ruin to Bleakfall. Now, their banners wave in the wind above the ashes of what was once yours"

Satarine was beyond words. Everything she had cared for, all of her friends, family, her people. All gone.

They were failed by House Firden, who had not been there to defend them. Who's refusal to fight against the creeping threat of the Sorcerer Kingdom had brought their annihilation.

Starine forced herself to her feet, too hollow to weep. She felt pain in a way starvation had not harmed her, deep, cold and cancerous.

Above them, the sun had almost set. The winds began to pick up as they seemingly did so in the days since the kingdom's fall.

"We….We need confirmation."

"It will be provided to you." Christoff had promised. "We will take you to those lands soon enough.

Satarine nodded, unblinking, truly feeling broken to her core.

"How…how are we to fight?" She asked, closing her eyes. "How can we serve the King without our armor or weapons?"

"I anticipated this very question, baroness. The arms room of this castle is still full. There you find your answer."

The king had been dead, though Christoff had not known. He would only find out once he ventures out once again.