“I’m going to win.” I whispered, smiling at him through the bars of my cage. “Whether or not you want to admit it, I am going to win.”
I must have looked like a monster, my hair disheveled and greasy from my time in captivity, my face dirty and covered in scabs and pockmarks and boils, my eyes glinting savagely in the torchlight. Rayard looked the same as usual: young, so young, his dark hair on ends, his lanky body tense, nervous fingers toying with a fraying string on his tunic, eyes glistening with terror and naivety. Had I ever had that look in my eyes? Of course not. When had I ever known innocence?
“Not to ruin your mood, Uncle, but how is this winning?” He had conviction at least, that was something new. I’d always hoped to be the one to teach him things like that, about courage and tenacity, but not all dreams are meant to come true. “You’re trapped miles under the ground,” He continued, his frustration mounting, “waiting for your death sentence, while your army marches forward, leaderless, about to be slaughtered by the King’s men.”
“Very astute, Rayard, very good.” He was learning, but not fast enough. “But think about my predicament for a moment, won’t you? My army marches without a commander, this is true, and yes, they are almost certainly going to be slaughtered…”
His gaze hardened. For once his fingers lay still, gripping the bit of string like a beggar holding coins. “But?”
Perhaps he knew me too well. “But, Rayard, at what cost? Yes, my men are outnumbered ten to one, but has it not been said that every one of them fights with the power of twenty men? So when they lose, and rest assured, nephew, they will lose, they will take thousands of the King’s men down with them. And you seem to have studied well, so I’m sure you know how these people act without a commander to lead them. They’ll ravage anything in their path. So that’s a couple thousand soldiers, plus every innocent woman and child within the city walls. If they realize all is lost, which shouldn’t take too long, they’ll go and do as much damage as possible. And I promise you, by the time they’re finished, the King won’t recognize his own city.”
Rayard looked sick. “But the walls-”
“Walls work both ways, nephew. They keep the outsiders elsewhere and trap those within. Speaking of which…” I tapped the bars playfully.
The realization down on him and he pulled the string so tight it snapped. “You’re safe in here.”
I couldn’t help but let my tired face break into a garish grin. “Miles under the ground, in a prison that only those about to feed the maggots know how to access. It’s a lovely place to escape the carnage, don’t you think?”
I could see my words echoing through his mind as he processed what I’d said. It was paintless for me to explain it all, he had always been such a headstrong child, anyway, but he needed to learn and he was running out of chances. He needed someone to tell him that you can win a battle without ever drawing a sword.
But still, my heart went out to him. “There’s enough space for two.” I offered quietly, backing away from the bars and leaning against the moist walls of the cell. “And trust me, the bread and cheese grows on you.”
The thought disgusted him visibly. “I will fight.” He snarled, his hand instinctively reaching for the tiny dagger he kept at his waist like the true son of Gethyn that he was.
“And you will die.” I replied, exasperated. “Think, Rayard, for once in your life ignore what your father told you and listen to me. I’m the one still alive, after all.”
I’d gone too far. He lunged at me, pressing himself against the bars, his knife arm poking through a gap. The bars creaked under his weight but remained in place. The cell was small, but not so small that he could reach me. It was all I could do not to laugh at how absurd he looked. “Walls word both ways.” I repeated, crossing my arms over my chest and grinning again.
“I will fight.” He repeated, pulling himself away and running his long fingers through his hair. “And I will die with more honor than you can possibly hope to achieve.”
I shrugged, for once refusing to be baited. “And who will be left to honor you when the city is dead, the kingdom smoldering, and you lie in an unmarked grave like a thousand other men as stupid and guileless as you.”
His face flushed. “I am a son of Gethyn-”
“The youngest son of an exiled knight, you would do well to remember it. This chip on your shoulder will get you nowhere. Accept the odds and work with what you’ve got.”
“And what have I got? A cowardly uncle in a cell with a death sentence?”
“It’s more than most.” I whispered, then added, “Go up there and you’ve got your own death sentence written on your forehead as far as I’m concerned.”
“And what of you?” He sputtered, desperate to gain the upper hand. He’d always tried so hard to win, even as a child. Not easy, being the youngest brother, especially when you’ve got older brothers like Pyton and Wils. “You’ll starve eventually, trapped in there.”
I raised my eyebrow, standing up straight. “Will I?”
He snorted, thinking he’d won. “Trapped in a cell with no gaoler to feed you? I should think so.”
“No man has ever broken out of the Earthen Cells, have they?” I nodded, skimming through his thought process.
It was all he could do to keep his cocky half-smile in place. “And you intend on being the first?”
I spread my arms and bowed. “You do me great honor to think me capable of such a feat.”
“You’ve done worse.”
“Indeed I have.”
Somewhere, a dozen miles above our heads, something shook the ground. People screamed and swords clashed. I could tell he was itching to get up there, no matter what better judgement might be telling him.
He stood straight and tall and for the first time I saw him as a man. He was a shell of the man his father had been, but he had grown. So young, true, but there was no denying that he was no longer the boy who, to my dismay, had chosen the sword over the pen. “Goodbye, uncle.”
With one final, mixed glance, he departed up the steps and disappeared from my sight. As his footsteps faded I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, ready to wait out the storm.
“I’m going to win.” I whispered to anyone who would have listened. “But at what cost?”