The Unfortunate, стр. 79
The physician nodded. “Yes. Had it not been for the mark on your shoulder, he would never have known.” The elderly man paused before he walked closer to the bed, retrieved a chair, and sat. “I remember the night you were born,” he recalled as he finished becoming situated. “King Beadurof was overjoyed, the happiest I had ever seen him, but his delight was short lived. Fate provided him a vision.”
“A vision?” The story was becoming stranger, and Awiergan was finding the words more difficult to believe.
“Yes.” The physician nodded. “He was warned you were cursed, and you would be his ruin. Within the hour of your birth, King Beadurof came to me and told me of the vision. He did not want to believe the warning, but he also feared what would occur if he were to defy Fate. Initially I, too, was uncertain how to advise, but I told him I was not a man of the spiritual world. Yes, I believe in the power of Fate. I have seen miracles, but my work is of the physical world, not to interpret the unexplained.” The physician paused before adding, “I have always thought of birth and life as a miracle, and I could not understand why Fate would want to punish an innocent child by robbing it of such a gift. For that reason, I advised the king that it was for him to decide, that he should do whatever his conscience told him.” The elderly man again paused, this time for a sigh, before concluding, “I do not know what occurred except that he took you away to another family, but before he did King Beadurof branded you with a mark unique to him.”
“My shoulder.”
“Yes, and he told no one except me. That night I swore two oaths to your father. First, I would never reveal his secret, and second, I would never stop looking for you, his true heir.”
Awiergan was hesitant to believe the story, but he could not think of an explanation to prove otherwise. The mark, yes, anything could be implied about it, anything could be claimed. But it was not that which was most convincing. He recalled his lashings and how he had become weaker and weaker before eventually slumping forward. By then he had been aware of nothing except pain, the swishing and eventual crack of the whip, and occasional mumbles, but Awiergan had heard the monarch instruct the guards to HOLD. Why? Why had King Beadurof—my father?—altered his mind so quickly? Because he had noticed and recognized the marking? It was plausible, and the more the fighter thought about it, the more he was convinced, and he soon replied, “You speak true.” The words had escaped against his will, but they did not betray his true feelings.
“I swear,” the physician replied and fell to his knees beside the bed. “I have fulfilled my promises to your father.”
All his life Awiergan had had nowhere to call home. His birth had always been a mystery. He had always been an outsider. Even though the family who had raised him had been caring, Awiergan had always known they were not of his own blood. Once on his own, his sense of homelessness had only increased, and it had especially been a torment during his months in prison when he had known there was no one who was concerned or who prayed for his safety. He had indeed been an unfortunate—had been unknown, unwanted, and unneeded—even before the academy. But all that was in his past, a time Awiergan did not choose to contemplate further, for what was done was done, and his only concern was the present. His only thoughts were that he was alive, and he was, so it seemed, at last where he belonged.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
BEADUROF
King Beadurof had charged from the great hall, ignoring the perplexed handmaiden’s calling. He had no longer been concerned by the events of reality. His concentration had been focused on the need to end the torment of his mind’s demons—among them, and most important, their queen who had once been his own. From the great hall, he had continued to rush through the corridors, occasionally turning to look where he had been but never stopping. He had to escape or, in the least, elude the apparition, the memory, or whatever it was that followed him.
“You have been cursed, Beadurof, and it is only a matter of time.”
“Leave me alone,” he wailed as he rounded another corner.
“You do not realize what a fool you are, do you?”
Marlisa’s voice surrounded him, and he was unable to determine from where it had originated. Her laughter and taunting continued to his left, his right, in front, and behind. She was everywhere, yet nowhere. He could not see her form, only hear her voice.
“You cannot escape me, Beadurof. You cannot cast me away as easily as you once did.”
“Leave me alone! Stop following me!” Becoming short of breath, he was forced to pause and slouch against the wall. Even after several moments, his heart continued to throb. Its pace seemed faster than a horse in full gallop, and the king closed his eyes. There had been no more of Marlisa’s laughter or endless taunting, but Beadurof could still sense her presence. Yes, she was there, watching him and waiting.
“Beadurof.”
He flinched and resumed a standing position.
“Why do you run from me?” she inquired with a meek smile and continued to pace the corridor, moving closer with each step.
The king reached for his dagger as he retreated, and despite the quivering of his lips, he eventually managed, “Y—You … you are not real!”
“Then why do you speak to me?” Marlisa continued to mock him with laughter.
“What do I have to do to be rid of you? Tell me!”
“Am I a bother to you? If so I am sorry, but there is