The Unfortunate, стр. 65
Yes, he had heard the voice before. He was certain. But where? And when? Those questions he could not answer. “Who are you?”
Rather than provide an answer, the individual continued to recite the mysterious verses. “But when the shackles be severed and the bars are finally bent, in the embrace of the shadow, sorrows of life are away sent.”
“Tell me who you are!” Gildas insisted as his breathing and heartrate increased.
“The light is always misleading, and when it becomes distressing, this is true and always certain, the darkness will always be caring.”
Like when the owner of the academy had first awakened, silence resumed, but this time it was different. It was reminiscent to the calmness that proceeds a tempest or the stillness that occurs before the first war cries of battle. It was most unnerving, and Gildas knew it would not linger.
“Have you ever considered what it is to be a prisoner?” the individual finally resumed. “How they feel? How they must think about possible methods of escape. How they wonder if it is even possible? No doubt you have. But if you have not, it is time you should.”
The numerous questions caused Gildas’ long-held concerns about the prison of Dorstor Keep to return. If one of the most notorious criminals were to somehow escape—given that he could break out of his cell, discover a way to bypass the multiple gates, and manage to elude the prison’s guards and those at the armory—a surplus of weapons and other mechanisms of war could be reached within moments.Is that where I am? The Imperial Keep? Impossible. The thoughts provided Gildas with a new sense of fear, and they caused him to become more tense. The owner of the academy flinched when the hood was finally jerked away, but despite the uncertainty and despite the horrors he had created, he was even more taken aback to see the individual.
“Hello, Gildas,” the man smirked. It was Pleoh, the advisor to King Wyman. “You are confused, I know, but allow me to explain.”
“Where am I?”
“In Winnix yet far enough removed from the capital.”
Despite the vagueness of the response, Gildas still nodded before adding, “How did I get here?”
“I have one man to thank, and I believe you know him well. I would have had a much more difficult time without Molan.”
Molan? Have I been betrayed? Gildas could not believe it. Had I not gained the Drunishman’s trust? Had I not made amends?
“Yes, he has been most resourceful,” Pleoh added. “He agreed to translate and carry the initial letter—the poem that praised King Wyman, even though he knew he and his cousin would likely be arrested. But I wanted him to be caught because I knew you would be summoned to translate the letter.”
“And the second?” Gildas inquired, still attempting to make sense of his condition and the contributing factors that continued to mount. “The poem about the darkness.”
Pleoh nodded. “That was also my doing. It was I who penned the messages, but it would have been for naught without Molan.”
“Did you also instruct him to inform you of my return?”
“Yes and no.”
“What is that supposed to imply?”
“My mercenaries followed you for the past weeks, for the entire length of your progress. You see they could have attacked at any time, but I wanted to ensure no blood was shed, especially your own.”
There had been mercenaries? I had been followed? If so that is true, they had been well trained, for I never sensed their presence. Still being uncertain of the situation, Gildas inquired, “And what of Molan? Did he have a role in this scheme? Is he one of your hired soldiers, too?”
The advisor chuckled as he peaked his fingers. “Since you are so eager to learn the details, yes, he did.” Pleoh moved closer—still at a safe distance, though—and paced around Gildas as he continued, “When I learned you were returning without your gang of thugs, I personally rode north to intercept you, and I was rather surprised to discover you were accompanied by Molan.”
“What did you tell him?” Gildas spat, his composure slowly waning. “And when?”
Pleoh chuckled again. “The opportunity did not occur for several days, but you could not always watch him, and you had to sleep. Am I correct?”
Ah, yes. Sleep. Without it my downfall would have been exhaustion, and because of it I still have failed. Before Gildas had time to answer, however, the advisor continued to describe his encounter with the Drunishman. “He immediately recognized my voice. You know how it can be difficult to forget certain voices especially when they are associated with specific events, no?”
Gildas did not reply. He simply glared at Pleoh.
“That is beside the matter. To answer your question, I instructed him to convince you to stop for the night before reaching Carlingford. As I stated … I wanted to ensure that no blood was shed, and I knew an attempt would have more success in a rural area rather than the city.” Pleoh paused and once again chuckled. “So, Gildas, I guess you cannot judge people as well as you claim, at least not when it involves loyalty.”
Gildas spat upon hearing the word. “What do you know about loyalty?”
Despite the challenge the advisor remained composed. “I have always been loyal to those most dear, and that is why I had you captured. I intend to finally avenge the wrongs my family and I have endured.”
He was even more confused, but it had nothing to do with Molan. The Drunishman had betrayed him. He was certain. Gildas’ bewilderment, rather, was the result of what the advisor had claimed, and he promptly answered, “I am not reasonable for what happened to your daughter and neither is King Wyman, but it is he against whom you should hold a grudge, not me. It was King Wyman who allowed Yrre to live.”
Pleoh again chuckled. “King Wyman’s time will come.