The Second RecruitMature

The silence was interrupted. 

"Hey, I said get up!"

And it was interrupted again. Who wanted to break this? A year had gone by since it had last been broken by Drakmor, himself, but never had someone else interrupted his silence.

"Maybe he's dead, Gray," a deep voice said.

"No, we have reports of a voice coming out of here a year back," another deep voice said, "And that was after ten years of being locked up."

"Whoa! Really? Just who is he?"

One of the people outside Drakmor's cell sighed. "Well, apparently he asked to be locked up. Something about trying to die. Anyway, let's see if he really is alive."

Keys. Yes, that's what the sound was. Drakmor couldn't see the door opening once the lock was dealt with, but the light burned him instantly. Water poured from his eyes to relieve the burning they felt, making Drakmor temporarily blind, but eventually he was able to see two men in armor standing over him. 

"" Drakmor's voice was still lost. As usual, though, the inner working's of his body were working to fix the issue. As the blood flowed to fix his throat, Drakmor watched the guards prod and kick is body. They hadn't heard him?

"His eyes are open and moving, I think," the older looking guard said flatly. He seemed in a superior position. What did they want?

"Who are you?" Drakmor said after a second.

The other guard, still large, but younger by a large margine, jumped slightly. "By the Gods!"

The older guard shook his head. He was experienced. "Stand up, Vayr."

Valeria. Drakmor stood as commanded. He didn't have a reason to say no. Maybe these men would occupy his mind for a while. The silence was becoming... painful. It only took a few seconds to adjust to moving once more, since it had only been a year since he had moved. This time, his bones held strong and supported his weight. 

"How is he alive?!" the younger guard shouted to his fellow guard. 

"Shut up, Sheer," the guard - whom Drakmor now knew to be Gray - snapped, "Now, follow me, Vayr, and no stopping." 

Drakmor didn't move. "Why?"

"Because our king seems to have a better way for you to die." He was well-informed. 

Drakmor just nodded and followed them out of his cell. 

At first, he was amused at how much the walls of the dungeon had aged, as if neglected. What was the King of Galabria thinking, letting his dungeons become messy? Drakmor remembered him saying that if the castles worst parts looked clean, then it raised morale for the guards. He must have changed.... like so many others.

As they left the dungeon area, a girl held by two other guards passed them. She was a small one, though not weak-looking. She had what would be called an athletic build and golden hair to accent her body. Had it not been dirty and her grey eyes glaring at everyone around her, she might have been considered a noble in terms of beauty. 

And, for some reason, when she looked at Drakmor, he sensed an odd feeling of understanding.

It lasted only a second before Drakmor left the dungeon and headed up to the floors above. He had thought he would see the King right away, but was instead escorted to a room full of servants. For some reason, he was measured instantly and clothed. It took a moment to understand that his clothes had become little more than rags from the time spent in the dungeons. 

What they dressed Drakmor in was quite odd, truly. Had he been any other person, who was not dead inside, he would find these silky fabrics and neat stitches something to be cherished for all of his life. Sadly, Drakmor just didn't care. 

They also shaved and cut his hair. From the long time spent underground, Drakmor had collected nearly a pile of extra hair in his face and head. 

"Why did you have this done?" Drakmor asked one of the guards who were still waiting by the door when the servants finished with Drakmor.

"King's orders." Did the Galbradian King really care? Last time Drakmor had seen him, he thought Drakmor was crazy and a threat. He had only granted Drakmor's request out of fear that Drakmor was guilty of something.

The trip to the king was fast as soon as they left the dressing room. Apparently, from the looks of the castle flags and the King was some other person. King Remerez, from what Drakmor heard of the people in the hallway. 

The King stood and greeted Drakmor with a smile. "Ah, so you are the legendary sleeper!"

"Sleeper?" Drakmor questioned.

One of the guards - the larger one - stomped. "Show respect!"

The King merely motioned the guard to stand down. "Now, now, no need for that." Remerez gave Drakmor a sly look. "The people here call you the sleeper because you haven't moved for ten years."

"Eleven years and twenty eight days," Drakmor corrected him.

The King gave a slight twitch and some girl who sat near him did the same. Sadly, they did not give an order of execution for Drakmor's insolence. Drakmor wasn't that lucky, though even if he was executed, he doubted it would work. "What is your name?"

"Drakmor Vayr."

"Is it true you can fight twenty men easily?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"Can you?"


The King smiled widely. "Then I have a task for you."

A task? That's what this was about. But... "Is it dangerous?"

Remerez shook his head. "Oh, of course not for someone of your caliber!"

"Then I am not interested." The King would have probably been mad if he had not been confused. "I am seeking death. Can you find a way to make that happen?"

King Remerez smiled widely. "Oh, you really are perfect for this job. Alright, then I'll let you in on a secret."


"Yes," the King said with a sly smile, "This is an extremely dangerous mission that you will most likely die in." Drakmor doubted it. "But if it doesn't and you can complete the mission, I will devote my men to finding a way to kill you. Do we have a deal?"

What was there to lose? "We do." 

And that was all. Drakmor was escorted back to his cell until the next day could come and the mission could begin. What harm was there in trying out this foolish king's way? It was obvious he knew about Drakmor's life and his suicidal needs. He had played Drakmor - or attempted to - to follow his dance. Well, maybe this would be Drakmor's last night. 

As Valeria would say, don't give up hope.

Drakmor didn't think she meant hope of death, though.

The End

61 comments about this story Feed