“Where is your king?” his unexpectedly soft voice carries on the salty breeze.
Orrian steps forwards to leave the safety of our ranks, a defiant solitary figure standing proudly to face an army. Ignoring the many eyes upon him, he reserves his attention for the golden outline above and for him alone.
“Ah yes, I see the resemblance,” says the man, his smile dripping with sadistic pleasure as Orrian visibly stiffens at his words. “What a fool you’ve been, boy.”
Orrian says nothing, his sword still hanging by his side. There’s no need for him to reply, the colony’s army haven’t hunted us down for a discussion and both sides know it. The man is simply delaying the inevitable, relishing his position of power before he gives the command to begin what they really came to do.
“Theodluin must have been your father, no? I remember cutting him down, it was right after he failed your mother,” the man grins wickedly. “Oh, forgive me. I haven’t even introduced myself,” the man continues with mock sudden realisation.
“I’m Prince Arron, son of King Breyden the Second. The one true king,” introduces the prince. At his words the soldiers surrounding him briefly cheer and thump fists against breastplates in loyalty. “And you are?”
Orrian keeps his silence, unwilling to exchange pleasantries with the man responsible for the death of his family and the destruction of his home.
“No matter,'' Prince Arron continues after several long seconds. “I know who you are, Orrian. A pretender, a fake. How can you call yourself king when you don’t even have a crown or throne to sit on?” the prince sneers.
As the silence resumes the prince gladly fills it once again with the sound of his own voice, “Still nothing? Very well. We’ve had eyes on you for a while, we need to set an example see? If everyone else starts thinking that they can refuse our generous offer then nobody’s going to know their place, and then where would we be?
“Now if it were up to me, I’d just put an end to all of you and that would be that. As it is however, for whatever reason my father would like to meet you himself. Now of course, I could come down there, kill your people, and take you back with us, but that could be a little too risky for my liking. What if you were killed by accident, wouldn’t that be a terrible shame?
So here I was, trying to decide just how many of your people needed to die before you handed yourself over, when none other than you yourself handed me the perfect opportunity on a platter,” Prince Arron pauses, revelling in our confusion.
I look up at the prince, I can’t make out the details of his face, but I can imagine the predatory glee that must be dancing behind his eyes all too clearly. The people surrounding me are muttering to each other, the same questions reverberating off all of us, apart from in battle as far as I know none of us have ever met this man before, so how could Orrian have possibly given him anything?
For the first time, the prince turns his back to us, beckoning to unseen men. Gradually we hush and wait with dread-filled anticipation. A large wooden cross is slowly carried forwards, on it an exceptionally large man hangs, stirring feebly.
Edwyn.
The sun tickles the edge of the distant ocean now but it’s still enough to cast light on the hunter’s injuries. His chin slumps towards his sternum, making a connected trail for the thick blood dribbling out of the corner of his swollen lips. His eyes are shadows, one notably more purple than the other, whites appear only briefly beneath tiredly flickering eyelids. Deep gashes cover his body, mostly scabbed over but still leaking in places. His arms are outstretched, bound tightly against the wood with his palms facing outwards, his legs are similarly fastened to the base.
Prince Arron gives us a moment to process Edwyn’s arrival before moving over towards the giant. He grabs a fistful of hair, yanking it back to slam his head into the top of the frame. He mutters something to his prisoner, presumably gloating, but once he’s turned away from us, there's no telling what he might be saying.
Finally, the prince turns his attention back to us, leaving Edwyn straining to keep his head lifted.
“As you can see, when we found our mutual friend here it made things so much simpler,” says Arron, addressing Orrian once again. “So, here’s how this is going to go. You are going to order your people to surrender and then personally come up so that we can have a better chat, or you’re all going to watch as I teach your fearsome friend here what happens when you bow to a false king.”
The prince draws a long knife from behind him and presses the tip into the flesh just beneath Edwyn’s shoulder, twisting it once deep enough. Edwyn resits at first but even he cannot contain the screams that pierce our hearts. Next to me a young mother pulls her two children into her, shielding them from the torture. As for the rest of them, they all look on with fury and hatred, but none of them look away, determined warriors to the very end.
“What will it be boy? Are you ready to surrender yet?” teases Arron.
Orrian can’t give himself up, we all know that and surely the prince must as well. If he goes up there, then there’s nothing to stop his people from killing the rest of us anyway and taking him alone. Arron has not made the impression that his word should be trusted should he promise that the rest of us would come to no harm, not that such a promise has even been made.
The prince grins evilly, “Very well. Shall we continue?”
He really takes his time now, twisting the blade one last time before pulling it out
