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The last Vultrel had seen of his best friend, Arus had been lying in a pool of his own blood with his severed arm a short distance away. The image was etched into his mind, accompanied by Arus' piercing cries of pain. There were few things in Vultrel's life that had left a lasting impact on him, but he was sure, even now, that he'd be haunted by that image for years to come. His best friend—a young man he'd grown up with, trained alongside, taught, and learned from—was clinging to his last ounce of strength, his last bit of will, perhaps the last moments of his life, and Vultrel had been powerless to stop it.
They'd heard nothing of Arus' condition since being returned to their prison cells. Olock and F'Ledro had only shoved them inside and wrapped chains around the bars to replace the locks that Kitreena had destroyed. A series of heavy padlocks held the bonds tightly, though none of the prisoners had even tried to fiddle with them. Kitreena lay motionless on the floor of the cell across from him—the one Arus had previously occupied—with her black hair draped over her face and across the dirt. In the cell to Vultrel's left, his father sat with his back against he wall and his head slumped in despair. For all they knew, Arus could've died on that arena floor. But Truce had been adamant about getting medical attention for him, insisting that it was vital to the success of his experiment.
And then there was Anton. Regardless of his attitude or his skill, Anton was a fellow swordsman and a citizen of Keroko. They'd practically grown up together despite their constantly clashing personalities, and Vultrel had watched in horror as the young man thrust his sword through his own body. It was a fate he wouldn't wish upon anyone—the lone exception being Truce, perhaps—yet Anton's refusal to allow himself to be controlled by the Mages had shown more bravery and sacrifice than Vultrel would've expected from him. Rather than follow Truce's orders, rather than fight his own comrades, Anton had chosen death. There had been an honorable and noble young man underneath the arrogance, yet his life had to be sacrificed for his bravery to be revealed.
Truce's experiment had both succeeded and failed, it seemed. While the mind-controlling implant failed to keep Anton under the Mages' command, it had forced him to fight Arus, and only a brief moment of clarity had saved him from being Sartan's lapdog. If Arus managed to survive, Truce intended to fit him with another implant, one that was more powerful if Vultrel had overheard correctly. And if Arus withstood the loss of his arm, the possibility of being forced to fight him just as Arus had fought Anton was all too real. It was something Vultrel wasn't sure he could do.
A long sigh of dismay came from his left. Eaisan had not been taking the events well, either. More than once Vultrel had thought he'd seen tears in his father's eyes. It was no surprise, considering that Eaisan had taken responsibility for training Arus after Dayne had passed away. Anton had been one of his students, too. For him, it was like watching two of his sons getting skewered by a madman. And, like Vultrel, there had been nothing Eaisan could do to stop it. Vultrel had never known his father to harbor bitter feelings or a lust for vengeance, but it was hard to imagine that Eaisan would be able to maintain his composure the next time he and Sartan Truce were face to face.
"Are you all right?" Vultrel asked him.
Eaisan's unfocused gaze was directed at the floor, and he did not look up. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. How are you holding up?"
"Trying to keep myself focused," Vultrel said, rubbing his temples. "I don't want to seek revenge, but it's hard not to want . . ." he didn't want to finish the thought, ashamed that he'd even begun the sentence.
"Revenge?" Eaisan asked with a soft laugh. "I know, Son. I know. Everything I've ever taught you boys revolves around respect, honor, intelligence, and nobility. And murder for the sake of revenge carries none of those qualities." He fell silent for a moment, then sighed again. "Yet I find myself eager for a chance to run my sword through Truce's heart. I know it's difficult to keep your emotions in check sometimes, particularly times like this. When Arus' father died, your mother had to practically tie me down to prevent me from running off to the Mayahol to slaughter any leftover Mages I could find. But I kept telling myself that Dayne wouldn't have wanted me to get myself killed in a blind rage of vengeance. And I don't think Arus or Anton would want us to do that today, either."
Vultrel nodded, albeit reluctantly. "So . . . what do we do now?"
Eaisan wiped the sweat from his forehead. "We wait for an opportunity to present itself and then try to get back to the village."
"But what about Arus? We can't leave him here!"
"We don't even know if he's alive, Vultrel." It visibly pained him to suggest otherwise. "Even if he is, I think it is abundantly clear that there isn't much we can do here on our own. We should go back to Keroko, round up as many members of the militia as we can find, and come back to destroy the Vermillion Mages once and for all."
Vultrel thought about it for moment. He hated the idea of leaving Arus alone, alive or otherwise, but both he and Eaisan were still unarmed and heavily outnumbered. All it would take was an unlucky encounter with a pack of Mages in one of the tunnels for any hope of escape would be lost. If they could manage to get free in the first place.
Across from him, Kitreena stirred. She groaned softly as she moved a hand to her face. "What about her?" Vultrel asked. "We can't leave her here, either."
"She's welcome to accompany us, should we manage to escape, but I doubt she'll take kindly to the suggestion."