The fact that Raymond had just witnessed the raw display of magical power didn't strike him as the weight of the pregnant woman's words. He felt his stomach boil and his skin tighten.
The more he heard or thought about it, the more guilty he felt. He wondered what Mason and Nana would say if they heard he had committed murder. The thought of his old parents crossed his mind. Was he ever going to meet them again?
He was completely bombarded by thoughts until Phoebe called out his name. Raymond raised his head and saw the girl standing in front of him. He was too lost in thought to notice when she arrived. The cries of the woman seemed to have died down now. She already handled it.
"Who is that woman?" Raymond asked.
"Someone you need not worry about, my Lord," Phoebe responded.
"How can I not be worried when a pregnant woman barged in here claiming her husband would die because of me?" Raymond said, harsher than he meant. "I'm asking because I want to know. Who is she and how am I involved with her husband?"
Phoebe was startled for a moment. Then understanding registered on her face. "The woman is Toby's wife," she explained. "According to the culture of the Wedge, when a Ghansiki dies, the leader of his guards follows him."
"Why?" Raymond quizzed.
"It is a punishment for his incompetence in protecting his lord. Knowing that he will follow when his Lord dies, he does everything in his power to keep him alive. But now that Ghansiki is gone, it is mandatory that he goes with him."
"Oh my goodness! Then that explains his special hostility and hatred for me," Raymond said, his shoulder sagging. "He must have felt betrayed when he learned his would-be killer would become the new Lord of the Wedge."
"As I said, the culture must proceed. You need not worry, my Lord," Phoebe said. "It has been in existence before we were all born."
I must save him. I won't let another man die because of me! Raymond thought. He gazed out through a large window partially covered by a white silken curtain. The sun has dipped below the horizon. Nightfall was coming fast.
****
"Say Radim, why did you have us flee from those vermin?" Jerek groaned at his companion. "I was already weakening the girl, and the boy couldn't even raise a blade. We could have repaid them for the four brothers we lost and claimed their supplies! Why did you make a coward out of us?"
"They are dangerous. I mean the boy," Radim, the goateed man replied. "He possessed something that could wipe out our entire family from the surface of Africlaux."
"You have been repeating that for hours, yet you will not tell us!" Jerek frowned. "A barely matured lass wiped out almost our entire team, and you flee like a coward!"
"Say whatever you want. Cerulus knows I did what I did to save us," Radim said, staring at the meat being roasted above a fire in front of him. His four brothers were sitting around the fire, three of them still nursing their arrow injuries, now wrapped in pieces of clothes. "The less you know, brothers, the better. I will keep this secret to my grave, lest you and your families perish with me."
Bandits from Hovrem or other villages and cities worship Cerulus, the God of Fortune, or Neble, the God of Luck. Although it was only those who were religious, which was almost rare among bandits. Some believe there was no point in worshipping gods who doesn't support looting.
"I am your only brother, Radim. What more could happen if you share the secret with me?" Jerek grumbled.
"We are all bandits, we live and die together if we must. If there is something worth knowing, would it not be better for us to know as well?" one of the injured men said, a bald man with an overgrown mustache.
"I do not want you to die with me!" Radim shouted. "This is more complicated than you think!"
"You are going to die?" Jerek whispered.
"I am, and I wish I could avoid it. I wish I could unsee what I saw, and untouched what I touched," Radim said, a wistful look coming to his face. "But I could not. I already knew what I was not supposed to. I will not drag you into this."
"You are not making sense, Radim!" Fane, one of the bandits said. "You can tell us and we shall also keep it to our graves."
"Do you think I do not know that? You might be able to keep it from everyone else but you will not be able to keep it from the grotos. Those monsters would see through you and kill you if they suspect it in your head," Radim responded. "Unless you have a warding artifact, which I am sure you don't."
"Wait… what?" Jerek exclaimed. "This involves the grotos?"
Radim inhaled, held it for a while before releasing it. "Now that you are aware of the risks involving what I know, you better ask me no more," he said, his voice now barely a whisper.
"There must be a way to solve this," Jerek said sadly. "We can just disclose the truth to the entire Africlaux, and wish the grotos good luck in slaying everyone who knows it."
"That might be a good idea, but time is not on our side," Radim said, and a foreboding silence descended upon the bandits, punctuated only by the soft cracking of the fire consuming the dry woods.
It was getting darker every moment, the fire in the middle of the bandits was the only thing keeping the surroundings lit since the trees had shielded off the moonlight.
Suddenly, a fierce gust of wind buffeted the group of bandits, throwing them off balance. The fire was immediately extinguished, plunging the group into darkness. Radim's bone-chilling screams violated the air, echoing far into the woods until no more. Everything went quiet afterward.
"Radim!" Jerek called – screaming out his brother's name in panic – but there was no reply. "Get the torches! We must find him. We must find my brother!" he shouted to his fellows, who scampered about, looking for their lighting tools.
After getting their torches and weapons ready, the group set off to find their missing brother. Evidently, Radim was dragged away, judging by the trails he left behind. In any case, his brother would never abandon him. That was the guiding principle of the bandits of Hovrem.
Meanwhile, as Radim opened his eyes, he found himself tied up to a short tree. He struggled to break free but the rope wouldn't budge. In front of him stood three humanoid figures in robes, at least what he thought they were, considering their figures were silhouetted against the waxing gibbous moon. The green glow of their eyes was unnerving as it shone from their otherwise dark figures.
"Are you sure this is him?" one of the entities asked another in a mechanical tone.
"I am certain," another replied, a voice like hundreds of buzzing bees. "I can sense the trace of the emblem on him, he touched it. He's aware of the prince's existence. He must be silenced."
"Not until we learn the human's location," the third said in a voice that sounded like the roar of a large river. It stretched forth its hand, causing Radim to scream in pain as his inner organs began to twist and boil. "Tell us, mortal. Which way did the prince go?"
"I heard the grotos have a reputation for finding even the most powerful spellcaster. Why are you asking me when you can find him yourself?" Radim seethed amidst pain. "You will hear no word from me about the prince. If his purpose is to bring balance and peace to Africlaux, I would rather not rat him out!"
"You are wrong!" The groto with a mechanical voice rasped. "We shall find him eventually, and his head will be on a pike in Alaty. And you shall perish with your friends who knew of the prince's existence."
"I will face my end alone, for my brothers do not know anything about the prince!" Radim said through gritted teeth. The groto with a mechanical voice looked over to the bee-voiced and the latter mumbled an incomprehensible throaty word as it looked into the captive's eyes as though to detect if there were lies in his words. Finally, it stepped back and nodded to his companions.
"Then he dies alone," the mechanical-voiced groto said and raised its hand.
"Wait," the river-voiced groto intercepted. It stepped closer to Radim, its green glowing eyes locked onto Radim's fearless eyes. "I will ask you one last time. We shall spare you if you tell us the truth. Which way did the prince head?"
"I suppose all the rumors about you were lies," Radim skimped. "You monsters were just being overestimated. People fear you like a god, yet you FAILED to find one man! You will never find him, and even if you do, you will not be able to harm him, for he is loved and blessed by all the gods of Africlaux."
He shouldn't have said that, and he knew it too. Deeming the greatest and most feared tracker in Africlaux incompetent is a huge slap on the Grotohood, a journey he knew he would never return from. But Radim feared nothing now; not death, not pain. Regardless of what will happen his fate was sealed the moment he encountered the Emblem of the Royal.
Radim witnessed the glow on the river-voiced groto dimmed, and the rune on its forehead shimmered for a moment. The monster stretched its hand toward him and Radim heard a loud, nerve-chilling scream. It wasn't his. He was totally sure his mouth wasn't moving. Then what? Who?
The scream continued for about a minute and Radim felt his body convulsing. He could hear the scream louder now, it was coming from him, but not from his mouth. His soul! It was being drained while he was still alive. He tried to speak, but his mouth had gone limp, indeed, his entire body had stopped functioning.
Radim caught movement ahead and he mustered his remaining strength to move his eyes to look. Swirling around the river-voiced groto was a sea of mambas, their bodies entwined in a maddening dance. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, Radim couldn't even begin to estimate because they never stopped increasing. He must have been seeing them with his spiritual eyes. He had heard the saying that those who are on the verge of death have a high chance of seeing ghosts and other entities from the spiritual realm.
A small smile escaped Radim's lips, or at least what he believed would've happened if he were able to move them. He had always thought about many ways he could die, but being killed by the Instrument of Death was never part of it. In fact, he had never thought of meeting one, let alone talking to them. He hoped his brother, Jerek would spread the news across Hovrem about his honorable death at the hands of the grotos; one of their kind to be given an expensive and otherworldly death.
The snakes around the river-voiced groto hissed and spat almost in unison, their forked tongues darting in and out as they writhed in frenzy. The air was filled with a cacophony of sharp, piercing hisses, like a thousand tiny steam vents releasing pressure at once. The sound was almost deafening, a sibilant roar that seemed to vibrate through every molecule of the chilling air.
And suddenly, all black and red mambas, with deadly precision, shot forth from the groto at Radim. The breaking of screams and gurgles of his soul was the last thing he heard before darkness enfolded him.