The Crowned Captive

Rowan crept through the night, barely a shadow, a whisper of wind amongst the trees. His hood was up and he wore supple leather shoes, making him silent in the inky depths. His prey would never see him coming, he was certain. Their stunned faces would be nearly as satisfying as their screams.

He was barely a mile from the wall when he picked up the scent. Two elves at their camp nearby, a whisper of a third who had recently been with them. He strained his ears, but he could not hear them yet. He crept closer, dodging the moonlight as it filtered through the trees. Finally, their voices drifted to him on the wind.

“He says she is important, so I don’t think just killing her and running would be wise,” one said, a woman. Her accent was much like his. A deserter, then, likely a recent one. He made note to show her the error of her ways.

“If she was that important, he wouldn’t have let her slip away so easily. A day behind, a damned day! Why didn’t he run after her, aye? She’s probably just some pretty little halfling that he wants to fuck. You know how quickly he goes through his women! Killing her would be mercy.”

Rowan frowned at the man’s words. It was obvious they talked of the leader of the Rebellion but knew little of Morana’s ancestry. The thought he would want to take her as some sort of whore was utterly repulsive, the idea of a wife even more so. They were untrusted then, or the truth of Morana’s origin was still hidden from even the highest in the Rebellion. Either answer would not surprise him.

Rowan looked to the trees then, ignoring the conversation as he climbed. If he found the right vantage point, he could kill the less useful and then drop down on the other. He only needed one live captive for the king to question, and the man had pissed him off by talking of killing her. He weaved between the branches and readied an arrow. There was no fire for light, so he would have cover. All he needed was the right point for a clean shot.

They were nearly below him when he found his spot. Nestled in the fork of a trunk, barely two metres from the ground, he could see the two in the moonlight. He readied the arrow, took aim, and let it fly.

As the arrow buried its head in the man’s neck, the woman screamed. Rowan flew from the tree, flames spraying from his hand. A perfect ring formed around them, trapping the woman and dying man. Rowan stalked to him then. He clawed at his neck, gurgling, hands covered in ruby smears. Rowan grinned as he bent over the man, grabbed his neck and twisted it. He fell to the ground, unmoving, and finally silent. A death too quick, but Rowan did not have the time to dally.

The woman trapped in the flame circle screamed, unadulterated fear in her eyes as Rowan turned his attention to her. He flashed his fangs in a wicked smile, knowing it would set her on edge, and unsheathed his dagger. She scrambled back, yelping when her hand touched the circle’s edge. His flames were hot, leaving their circle stinking of seared flesh from barely a glance against them. Eyes wide, she looked at Rowan once more. He flipped the dagger in his hands. He so enjoyed toying with trapped prey.

“I am far from in the mood for an idle chat today, so there is only one way this is going to go. I ask questions, you answer, or you lose... pieces,” Rowan said, venom dripping from his voice. No idle threats tonight. He meant every word. He looked forward to her resistance.

“I am a loyal subject and I will never talk,” she hissed.

Rowan shrugged, knowing this would likely be her response. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed his bow from his back once more, knocked an arrow and let it fly, shooting through the woman’s palm and embedding deep in the ground beneath her. She screamed a blood-curdling cry that would likely be heard from the wall. He did not care. They knew he was prowling tonight.

“Believe it or not, everybody who says that talks eventually. It just requires the right persuasion.”

“You will all rot alone. The Gods will never take you in,” she spat, her face contorted with pain and hatred. Rowan shrugged, embedding the other hand to the ground much the same as the woman grabbed for a handful of dirt. He smirked as she screamed again, her hand going limp.

“I don’t care what I will do, I care what you know. This could be so much simpler,” he sighed, sliding his bow back into the quiver strapped on his back. He would have no more need of it tonight.

“The only way it would be simpler is if I had a sword in your gut right now.”

“Wrong answer.”

Rowan didn’t blink as he pointed a finger at her pinky finger. White hot flames licked up around it, and the woman screamed. He did not break eye contact as she writhed against the arrow through her palm, trying to pull away. He stared at her, blood-curdling cries echoing around him until her finger was nothing but dust and angry red welts licked up her hand.

“You see, I am rather fond of the woman you are trying to steal away in the dark of the night. I want answers, or I will burn every little inch of you to dust until I get them.”

The woman spat on Rowan, and he curled his lip in distaste. He flicked his fingers, then grinned as the woman writhed once more, another finger disintegrating under his flames. The woman laughed at him as the pain subsided, grinning. His eyes narrowed.

“You think you are being productive here, torturing me here for information? Do you want to know something? The other one of us is currently in the castle stalking down your little bitch,” the woman spat, laughing all the while.

“You are bluffing,” Rowan growled. He was far from sure. But if she was not, he needed to move. Now.

“I hope he rips her limb from limb. I hope he takes her and uses her for his pleasure every chance he gets, just like the beast she was raised to be. Every second our Lord will be watching through his eyes, savouring her screams.”

Rowan’s anger bubbled up inside of him then, rage clawing at his very soul. His face contorted into something horrid, the woman’s amusement dying at the sight. Pure terror shone through her eyes. Rowan savoured that look as fire exploded from his very skin. She did not have time to scream as flames engulfed her, her dead friend, their entire camp, and everything but Rowan. The second the flames died, Rowan was moving once more, sprinting to his charge in the dungeons.