For a moment, Tal just sat there in silence.
His gaze lingered on Trista as she turned her attention to the fire, her curt answer and the way she regarded him making the displeasure she felt clear. It wasn't difficult to read the hurt in her words. The anger that had bloomed during his detachment the last few days.
For him, such a thing should have been nothing. He had used people every day of his exile. Men, women, slaves, soldiers and Kings. All of them had been his to move around like pawns. All of them had danced to his tune and played upon his strings. He had not cared about them, for they stood in his way. Trista had thought she earned a sliver of trust, that she had made a mark within the shell that surrounded the Prince.
The problem for The Prince; she had.
Trust was no small reward, and even the slight piece that he had offered her was a dagger that could be driven into his ribs. A
weapon that would, in his mind, one day turn and drive itself into his flesh. He knew that it would happen, because it had happened before.
It had happened every step of the way.
His eyes, still set on Trista, lingered for a moment more before they too drew to the flames.
A
snap rang out, a crackle within the fire echoed by Talmanes' fingers. The air around them seemed to shimmer for a moment, translucent, and yet thicker than before. The noise of the camp seemed to dull, the sounds of the cavern around them becoming almost indiscernible.
"When I was young." Talmanes voice carried softly above the flames, that same weariness drawing across his tone.
"I cared for nothing. I had power, more than my siblings, more than my father. A snap of my finger would turn even a Dragon to ash."
A small smile touched his face.
"Or so I would say."
"There was nothing, no one who could control me. I knew this, and I tested my limits, but I was loyal. I loved my family, my father. Calliope would remember. The tests they put me through, the offers of Marriage and power I rejected. Despite the trouble I caused, I was a good son." A small smile touched his face, as if there was a memory he did not share.
"But that didn't matter."
His fingers slowly laced between themselves.
"My father could not control me, so he chained me. Binding my magics and setting me to exile in the Ash Wastes. A sentence close to death, for the loyal son whom he could not command."
There was a short pause, but before Trista could offer her wrath or rebuke, Talmanes continued.
"It was Tigris who found me, saved me. It was six months among those we left behind, here in these mountains, before I found my will once more."
"When I left Sheketh, I traveled to Mallian." How long had it been since he'd told this story.
"There I met a man."
Five years? Perhaps longer.
"He was good, or so I taught. From him I learned the skills to survive within the world. I entered the city of Mallia as a Prince of Fools, barely understanding what it meant to be a man. Egrich taught me to fight, to be strong. He took me to his people, and with them I began to understand the gift that had been my strength."
He absently seemed to rub at his arms, where the great scars of his former chains now marred his flesh.
"We went north, in search of his daughter who had fallen in a raid to the Orcs of the Blight." A smile flickered on his face for a moment.
"I swore that I would help him get her back."
His head shook, and then he continued.
"And I did."
"When he sold me to one of the Sons of Menalus." As Talmanes spoke, he never looked away from the fire.
"I toiled for a year, a prize of Naghi Dread of Dragons. Most would have tried to sell me to my father, but he saw me only as a prize to be paraded." His lips thinned.
"In my captivity I met another slave, by the name of Urich."
His hand now stroked slowly over a scar on the back of his palm.
"For six months he and I planned and plotted. Working within the deep mines of Nexthint. We crafted our escape, and when the time was ripe...we made our move."
A weight seemed to draw into his words.
"The journey was harrowing, through tunnels filled with skulking Etrin Spiders, across the barrens of Yrud, and through the caustic rivers of Turmir." The words almost seemed to conjure an image in the air as he spoke, his voice dropping softly.
"It was near the Wylds, in the fields of Draghin that they found us. Wargs were on our tail, and the blue-orcs came soon after, but Ulrich knew they did not want him. He knew that he was nothing, and no one."
Another pause, as if the words were difficult to say.
"So he cut my leg, and left me for them."
"After another year I escape on my own. Crawling my way across the Spine and to freedom. There I was found by a tribe of Orcs. One among them took a liking to me, her name was Igrik." Again that rueful smile flickered across his face.
"She helped me regain my strength, and protected me within her tribe."
This time there seemed almost a moment of genuine warmth, and without him saying another word Trista could see the brief flicker of lost love within the Prince's eyes.
"There is a tradition, among their people. The Warlords of her tribe may hold no mate nor love. Duty first to their people, and nothing more." A single glance, and Trista would see the scar across his neck, feint, but illuminated by the light of the fire.
"So when her time came, she cut my throat."
His hands dropped, a breath drawing into his lungs.
"It was a gnoll that found me, interesting creatures."
Talmanes laughed bitterly.
"But the next betrayal came not from him." He shook his head, and continued on.
"Her name was Senya, and she taught me the final lesson I needed to learn."
This time there was no detail to the story, the smile on his face now completely gone.
"Trust and truth."
He said quietly.
"The two blades which have cut me again and again." For a second Talmanes let silence linger, and then slowly he stood from where he had been sitting. He expected nothing from her, no answer, no forgiveness.
For he had not the ability to offer it to even himself.
