King Marjanovic sat at the high throne of his kingdom and relished the feeling of power that was always present in him, even when he wasn’t actively exercising that power by sentencing disobedient subjects to death in the dungeons or raising an army to wage war on one of the lesser states nearby. In the grand hall of the castle, there was little movement save for the servants fetching him his wine, but outside the tapestried walls of this hall, a great amount of activity was taking place. Peasants were preparing for the fall harvest; tax-men were at their ledgers, calculating; lesser princes were devising their next plots against each other (their endless quarreling was meaningless, as the King’s iron-handed reign ensured that order remained in place at all times); advisers were compiling reports from both within and without the lands.
A time of great prosperity was upon them. The fields were fertile; the spoils of war were rich. The tribute that the vassals owed this year would be less, also the taxes levied on the merchants in the city. King Marjanovic was greedy, but he knew that giving up a small measure of his wealth in the short-term would strengthen his rule and allow him to amass wealth far into the future. Besides, as long as he had enough money to import the most exotic fabrics and wines from faraway lands, he was satisfied. Other rulers endlessly commissioned gold statues of themselves or unnecessary annexes to their fortresses, but King Marjanovic had a deep appreciation for the simple pleasures of life.
The gold-plated statue of himself at the front of the hall, standing twice as tall as his already substantial height, was quite nice, however.
His smile disappeared when the heavy oak doors opened. His servants always used the side entries, so somebody boldly entering through the main doors without prior announcement would have a very good reason for doing so.
“The manhunt is over,” declared Krigsar, the kingdom’s most cunning lieutenant.
Upon hearing these words, the smile, which had so quickly vanished from the king’s face, returned. If Krigsar’s words were true, one of the kingdom’s most reviled foes was either dead or in custody. “That is most excellent news. Tell me, lieutenant, does Carlisle live?”
“He lives,” confirmed Krigsar. “As instructed, he has been given the most uncomfortable cell in the dungeon.”
King Marjanovic stood up with a speed which was impressive for a man of his great size. His purple robe glistened in the late-afternoon sunlight. “Take me there. I wish to see him.”
—
The dungeons of the castle were a dismal place indeed. The flicker of a guard’s torch was the only light. Some of the cells were occupied by corpses, a reminder to the living that King Marjanovic’s rule, while just, was also ruthless.
He was led to the far end of the dungeon, where there was a small chamber barely large enough for a child, much less a full-grown man. By some quirk of construction, the castle’s moat leaked at this point, making the cell perpetually damp and frigid.
There in the cell, sitting in a chilly puddle, naked and shivering, was Rick Carlisle. When he looked up and saw the king standing there, he winced and looked away. And when the cell door was opened, he shrunk back.
“Pathetic,” the king sneered. “For all his bravado in attempting to limit my powers, he cannot even meet my gaze.”
“Please accept my repentance, my lord,” Rick rasped. Already the cold had made him sickly. “I was foolish, blinded by power, but I am now reformed.”
Filled with fury, the king raised a booted foot and shoved it into the Rick’s chest. The man yelled out in pain. Judging by the amount of give underneath his foot, several ribs had been broken. “Lies! No man ever reforms. I do not expect you to be the first.”
There were footsteps approaching. King Marjanovic looked up to see that his most trusted adviser, Tobias, had joined them. Upon Tobias’ arrival, the two men did a small coordinated dance, as was their custom. The lighthearted spectacle was ominous, somehow. Then, the king’s attentions returned to his prisoner. “The severity of your crimes would normally call for your death. However, I think I may keep you alive for my own personal entertainment. What say you, Tobias?”
“A splendid plan, my king.”
“The torture chamber has been unused since the last heretic uprising, many moons ago,” King Marjanovic continued. Thoughts of vengeance burned in his mind. “I am pleased that another use for it has been found. Do you agree, Tobias?”
“I do, my king. Will you allow me to operate the crank? You know that is my favorite part.”
King Marjanovic nodded. “Yes. The punishments commence tomorrow. Let us allow this wretch his rest.” The cell door slammed shut with a clang.
Foreign wines were nice. So too were golden statues. But punishment exacted upon a foe was the greatest pleasure of them all.