Captain Kell moved quickly through the torchlit halls of the inner keep, his boots echoing against stone, his two men trailing close behind.
"You really think the boy's worth it?" asked Grent, the older of the two, his tone low but laced with doubt. "The street rat who stole the crown in the first place. Does not sound like a trustworthy one to me."
"I don't need a hero," Kell said, not slowing. "I need someone they'll never see coming."
"I'd follow you into a dragon's maw, Captain," said Derran, a younger man with a fresh scar across his chin. "But even I'm wondering what makes this street rat special."
Kell stopped. He turned, facing both men in the narrow corridor, his voice hard and certain. "Because Torik is a Veilbinder."
They stared at him in silence.
"I haven't told Ysara," he continued. "I won't say it out loud again. But what I saw in the keep? What he did? He's untrained and still shaped the perception of an entire room of men like clay. He's the key to all of it."
Grent exhaled slowly and gave a small nod. Derran just smiled. "Then I guess we've already stepped into the dragon's mouth."
They reached the upper sanctum. Two knights stepped aside at Kell's approach. Inside, Highlady Ysara stood with her back to them, but as the door opened, she turned sharply, too sharply. Her expression was tight, her hands clenched. She had been waiting.
The priest stood beside her, robed in ceremonial white and violet, his fingers steepled and eyes sharp with suspicion.
Kell knelt. "Highlady. I come with news."
"Speak," Ysara said.
Kell rose. "The boy in the cells. Torik. He gave me information, names, the job, he really had no idea what he was stealing. He passed it off to a partner who betrayed him for the reward, they probably have the crown, my lady."
The priest scoffed, "You trust the word of a gutterborn rat?"
"I trust my eyes," Kell said flatly. "And I want to bring him into our circle. He can help us find the crown and retrieve it."
The priest stepped forward, expression dark. "You'd bring that filth into our fold? He should be flayed and hung outside the walls as a warning."
Kell didn't flinch. "He didn't attack us. He took a job. It's all he's ever done. This city offered him nothing better. Now I intend to."
The room was tense. Ysara's gaze flicked between the two men, her captain, and the Bound priest.
Finally, she spoke. "The Faith will not be pleased."
"They never are," Kell said.
The priest's voice dropped to a whisper, but it held the weight of steel. "If you go through with this, Highlady, I will not move aside quietly."
Ysara met his eyes. "Then don't. But I'll do what must be done."
Torik sat in the dim light of the interrogation room, licking the last traces of stew from his spoon. Real meat. Real spice. He didn't know if it was a dream or his final meal.
The guard who'd brought it stood outside the door, arms crossed.
"Good food for a prisoner," Torik said, stretching. "You really going to escort me back to that cell?"
"Orders," the guard replied. "Captain Kell's working on it. Just trust him."
Torik snorted. "I trust no one."
The guard scoffed. "Then you just haven't found the right person."
That stuck in Torik's head as he was led back to his cell. As he passed the next cell, Varlon leaned forward in the dark.
"Did you talk?" Varlon asked.
Torik didn't reply.
"So, you did. At what price, I wonder?"
"They're clearing me of all charges," Torik said. "And debts."
Varlon laughed. "Those debts are to me, boy."
Torik turned, his eyes narrowing. "Then maybe they won't matter if you don't make it out."
Varlon fell quiet. Then he leaned closer, his tone wheedling. "They didn't cuff you. Come on, boy. Unlock mine through the bars. Help me out, just once."
Torik gave him a long side glance. Then leaned back against the wall.
The dungeon was still.
Then heavy footsteps echoed from the stairwell.
Two figures descended, tall, hulking men with grey, mottled skin, their eyes sunken, their veins glowing faintly with something dark. Bound knights.
The guard stood. "Captain Kell ordered me to keep everyone away from the prisoner."
One of the knights stepped forward, voice a low rumble. "Move."
The knight towered over the soldier, his grey skin peaking out through his helmet.
The guard looked squeamish, Torik had assumed he'd step aside as told.
"No," the guard repeated, hand on his sword. "I've got orders from Captain Kell and I intend to uphold them."
Torik felt his breath catch. Fool, he thought. He'd die for nothing.
The knight didn't reply. He simply reached out and seized the soldier by the throat.
Torik flinched. He saw Varlon shrivel into the back of his cell.
The guard's sword clattered to the stone floor.
Fingers like iron wrapped around his neck, lifting him into the air with sickening ease. His legs kicked helplessly, boots scraping against the wall as he tried to push off it, to find leverage. His hands clawed at the knight's wrist. His mouth opened, a hoarse gasp escaping, but no words came.
His eyes, those wide, terrified eyes, locked on Torik.
Not on the knight. On him.
As if asking, Am I really going to die protecting you?
Torik stared back, frozen. He didn't know the man's name. Didn't owe him a damn thing. But something twisted deep in his chest, cold and sharp.
The guard's face darkened. Veins bulged beneath his skin. His struggles slowed, turned sluggish. His heels drummed once against the wall then went still.
For a moment, there was only silence. Torik's breath came ragged. The dead man's eyes remained open, glassy, staring up at the ceiling like they hadn't accepted it yet.
A hot, sour taste filled Torik's mouth.
He could've stepped aside.
But he hadn't. For that Kell man, was that trust or was it stupidity to die for it.
Then boots thundered on the stairs.
A voice, sharp as a blade, rang out. "Unhand him!"
Captain Kell stormed into the dungeon, flanked by two guards.
"Too late," Torik whispered. The guard's body fell to the ground lifeless.
"You've made a mistake, beast," Kell growled. The soldiers behind him drew blades, eyes wide with fear.
The knights unsheathed greatswords, long and heavy, forged to crush.
"This is suicide," Torik muttered.
The first knight spoke. "We take the boy. Go."
"That's not happening," Kell replied, stepping forward. "You spilled blood. I'll repay it."
And then steel met steel.
The hallway exploded into motion. Kell ducked under a blow, his own sword striking low, glancing off the knight's ribs. Grent moved to flank, slashing at the other's leg. The sword struck but barely bit. Derran blocked a sweeping strike that knocked him back three paces.
Torik could barely track it. The knights were stronger, heavier, faster.
Then Kell's blade flew from his hands. The knight raised his sword for the killing blow.
"No, Captain!" Derran cried, stepping in front of the blade with his shield raised.
Torik couldn't look away.
Captain Kell watched in horror.
The knight brought his sword down with both hands.
The shield shattered.
So did the man.
From head to hip, the blade cut straight through.
Torik's stomach lurched. Derran's body crumpled, severed.
Kell roared and charged. Grent too. But Torik was frozen until something inside him snapped.
They're dying for me. How can I stand here and watch?
He clenched his fists. Breathed deep. Focused.
Do something, anything.
He reached out not with his hands, but with something else.
His mind.
He slipped into the minds of the knights. Twisted their perceptions. Made them see Kell on the left instead of the right. Made them feel a sword swing that never came.
The knights faltered, slashing at empty air.
The Bound Knight looked back at Torik. He knew. He didn't say a word, but his pace increased as if he knew he would need to end the fight quickly.
With the illusions taking root, Kell brought his sword upon the knight. They pressed the advantage. Steel rang out. Veilbinding warped their vision. One knight overextended, and Grent drove his blade through the gap in his armor.
The knight growled as blood seeped through.
The other turned to strike but saw Kell too late.
Kell swung his sword from bottom to top, connecting with the neck and taking the knight's head clean off.
The body fell.
Armor clanked as he hit the ground.
Kell turned around and swiftly finished off the other already wounded knight.
It was over.
Torik collapsed backward against the stone wall. Blood dripped from his nose. His skull throbbed.
He had helped.
Yet people had died for him.
Grent ran to Derran's split body and held back tears, he was mumbling to himself.
Kell regretfully watched and turned to the first soldier who had been choked out.
"Thank you, for dedicating yourselves to something larger." He forced out.