Chapter Four - Oracle

A different perspective of Takeri and Caera's situation is given as we meet King Quohar and the possible reason for Amril and Maera's capture by the Arasin.

“Bring me the boy’s head.” 

King Quohar’s oily voice slithered down the walls of his chamber, causing his subject’s insides to squirm. There was a nasty aura surrounding the King, as if some negative force was constantly emanating from him. His physical appearance was as gruesome as the orders he gave to his soldiers. Graying hair laid greasy, long, and unkempt over his face. The King’s jeweled clothes stood in violent contrast with the pale, yellow tone of his tired skin. He looked dozens of years older than he truly was.

All in all, he was a terrible person to behold.

“I want him dead before he is within one hundred miles of Télatourey. Is that understood, Dragha?” King Quohar’s glazed eyes burned into his Second, expectant.

“I swear he will not reach Télatourey in anything but a coffin, your Majesty.” Dragha bowed deeply to his King, allowing his raven hair to fall into his face. 

“Good.” the King said approvingly, trusting his soldier. “Go, now.” 

Dragha left the dark chamber and entered into a dimly lit corridor. He was alone, but would soon be joined with thirty of the Arasin’s best fighters and soldiers. Dragha, along with the thirty others, had had the image of the boy imprinted on their mind by King Quohar’s oracle. It had been seared into their memory, and would be remembered long after the boy was dead. 

It had been three days since the Oracle spat it’s prophecy at King Quohar’s feet. The news of this Lataeri boy was the first and only direct threat to the King’s power. The measly, skinny, sixteen year old, said the oracle, will end the life and reign of King Quohar. At this news,  the King had immediately mobilized his army, sending out more scouting troupes and ordering for all young Lataeri men found to be brought to him, and then beheaded. They had not yet found the right one, and King Quohar grew more nervous by the day. He knew only by means of death could the Oracle’s prophecies be undone. 

In Dragha’s mind flashed the boy’s face�"the deep violet eyes, large and dewy, slightly obscured by thin, dirty-blonde hair. His skin was bronzed from sun exposure, far deeper than his natural complexion. The Oracle’s imprint was potent, and the image was often stuck in the beholder’s forethoughts for days after the initial imprint. Dragha did not like seeing the boy’s face. It made him uneasy, as though those innocent eyes held something more terrible than Dragha knew. 

A commotion was moving towards the King’s chamber. Three soldiers passed Dragha, carrying a struggling young man with long brown hair and purple eyes. Dragha shook his head as the boy kicked and yelled, squirming fruitlessly to extend his life. 

Dragha finally entered the military chamber and standing before him in perfect alignment was his thirty assassins. They were all tall, well built, and held a look of vengeance and malice in their eyes. They would bring terror beyond reason to any Lataeri that crossed their paths.

The Second took his place on a pedestal at the front of the room. He nodded approvingly at his troupe, and spread his arms proudly as he spoke.

“Soldiers, Arasin, men. We have been assigned a most important mission. In our hands we hold the life of our great King, who for the first time is in danger. This Lataeri scum�"” Dragha paused as the boy’s face flashed behind his eyes�" “is prophesized to murder our King. But we will wipe him from this Earth before he knows we are behind him. We will kill all that stand in our way. This boy‘s head will be brought to King Quohar on a silver plate.”

The men were stoic, silent, but within them all raged a fire. This fire was fed with the blood of Lataeri and the unfaltering loyalty to their king. It was the constant, racist speeches and the potent fear of punishment for betraying their people that drove them. They would give up the lives their own wives and children to serve their King the boy’s head on a stick. 

“By the King’s word spoken past his lips naught but a few moments past, we are to leave tonight.” Dragha gave the soldiers a final once-over, and with a flick of his wrist they drained from the room in an orderly fashion.

Determination ran through Dragha’s veins as he stepped into the crisp night air. If he failed this mission, he knew, it would be his last. King Quohar would not have a drop of sympathy for his Second. Dragha had killed many people, and did so mercilessly. Despite this, he feared death.

The troupe mounted their horses swiftly and silently, careful not to wake the sleeping townspeople. It was a mission that would be kept secret at all costs. King Quohar had explained to Dragha the importance of the secret: he would not have the people know if there was any kind of instability within his rule. It could cause chaos, and worse, rebellion. The huge gates of the capital Alahahst creaked open and thirty one men rode their horses south. 

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Century]

Sorry didn't mean to creep you out love.

[Rocki-san]

Geez, Ariel! Make a scary king why don't you!?!?