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There wasn't any wind at all. No breeze gently held aloft the banners on the fortified walls, and the flags atop the city's towers. No gust howled mysteriously through the alleyways between the tall, serious buildings of the capital. Nature refused to bring its refreshing caress to the smiths, the artisans, the merchants and the passersby in the streets. The world was still and quiet. I noticed it because it was so profoundly unusual. Wind was the element the capital city had been built upon. The great lush plains were littered with mills, producing enough flour for almost the entire Southern Kingdom. I felt rather amused by the confused looks of the locals as they left their homes, scratched their snouts, and stared at the naked air around them, searching for the origin of this eerie emptiness. Silence was unknown to them. The wind had died for perhaps the first time in years, but I didn't take it as a bad omen at the time.

Maybe I should've.

The deeper I walked in the city, the more reactions I provoked. I was well known in the area, and people sometimes recognized me by sight alone. I'd always made a point of honor to accept a job or two from the less fortunate inhabitants of the city, now and then. A farmer was getting bullied by some local thugs, and sought to hire protection in the capital, or downtrodden traders needed a competent escort for their last-chance caravan, but had little to offer in exchange. It wasn't glorious, and the pay was laughable, but, boy, did it get my name out. No other mercenary did that. No other mercenary earned as much as I did. They didn't grasp the value of reputation, like I did. I was a hero. They weren't.

-- The Silver Warrior!

I looked to the butcher, behind his stall, and I raised my hand with a warm smile. The coyote went back to his work, pleased that I'd acknowledged him. It caught the attention of other passersby. A few cheered. Their faithful enthusiasm warmed my heart. They suspected what was going on. I wasn't back in the occupied capital without reason. Some of the better informed ones might also know that the barbarian king was waiting for me further up the street. Workers, merchants and nobles alike were united in their desire to see the invader destroyed before he could do too much damage to their homes, and to the realm that they loved.

-- Are you going to kill him?

The question had originated from behind me. I immobilized myself, glancing over my armored shoulder. Two tall kids were staring at me, emaciated, tough. The boy, obviously of lupine descent, was nearly as big as me, with solid brown-grey fur, and malicious squinting dark eyes. He had spoken. The girl was smaller, shy, or perhaps simply not as brazen as her companion. She remained more distant, but she was attentive, waiting for my response. Like me, and like the vast majority of Southerners, there was no real way to determine her lineage. She had pointy ears and a rather fox-like bushy tail, but a yellowish coat, not unlike a jackal's. She was also too tall for either of those bloodlines. Street kids. They reminded me of myself, like all kids unavoidably seem to do.

-- I'm headed to fight him, yes.

The Outsider. The Lowlands Demon. He had more silly names, but I wasn't one for superstition. Magic always seemed mysterious to the uninitiated. The barbarian leader was certainly an accomplished caster, everyone agreed on that, but those rumors of immortality? Nonsense. No amount of magic could do that, and he was most assuredly not from another world. In fact, he was a manacharian: one of those desert reptile people who had invaded the Lowlands hundreds of years ago, drastically changing the political landscape of the neighboring region. He'd risen to power among the Bonehead clans, and had then proceeded to form a single army out of soldiers hailing from almost every region in the Northwest, with promises of conquering the Southern Kingdom. The invasion had been sudden.

-- They say he can't die, said the boy.

-- They also say I can't lose, I retorted. "They" can't be right about everything.

-- Aren't you afraid? asked the girl.

Was I afraid? Surely not. I had no reason to be. I fought for good, and good always triumphed in the end. It'd been my experience, and I'd come to believe it. It was just like the stories of my childhood about great heroes of the Midlands fighting to protect the weak against the bloodthirsty barbarian raiders from the Northwest. As a pup, those bedtime stories were about all I had to look forward to, and as soon as I was old enough, I began pestering my caretakers and teachers about being sent to the Rusa monastery, as I knew the battle monks occasionally accepted kids as trainees. For some reason, the managers took my requests seriously, and the transfer of my guardianship was arranged.

Rusa was a quiet, isolated eastern province, and the monastery, an idyllic place embedded in a massive rocky cliff, flanked by waterfalls. The monks had watched me arrive among the new novices: an excited silver-furred and black-eared pup just like any other. I would prove to be much more. My masters later confessed that they were worried at first. I didn't talk. I didn't make friends. A fire burned in me. I was focused, and ambitious. I wanted one thing. I could see one path. I was determined to prove myself, of course, but that wasn't enough for me. I wanted to be unique. I wanted to be the legendary heroes that I admired. That motivation was a true gift, and gifted is what the masters quickly discovered that I was. I learned every lesson faster and better. I spent all of my free time training in the courtyard. My teachers could barely keep up with me, and so I was taken apart from the other trainees to follow my own course. I grew strong, fast... and extremely self-assured. I would remain that way.

-- Nah, I'm not afraid.

I was conscious that it was a bit of a lie, but a touch of anxiety was perfectly normal before such an important combat. In a way, this battle would be the fulfillment of my destiny. I decided to take a few seconds. The Outsider could wait. I turned, and put a knee down to the paved street. The kids were thrilled.

"You see," I explained, "there's a prophecy about me, made by a Diviner. You guys know who they are, right?"

The kids nodded.

"So you know that they are never wrong. They announced that I would protect the Southern Kingdom. It can't go any other way, so don't you worry about a thing."

-- I think you'll cut off his head! said the boy.

-- Well, uh, thanks for the vote of confidence. It's very kind. Tell you what. When I beat him, I'll do it for you both.

They grinned to each other. Oh, kids. They were cute.

-- Show us your swords! demanded the girl.

I got up, drew my blades, swirled them in a neat flourish, and sheathed them. They laughed and ran around while I resumed my walk. I was late for my meeting with fate.

My anxiety grew as I got closer to the square at the end of the street. The density of onlookers increased dramatically. Many were gathering around the designated area for the duel to watch the Outsider and his Black Guards. Very few of them had actually seen the barbarian leader in the flesh, and they were curious. So was I, for I'd never been in his presence either, but I still thought about my swords. Old memories of my masters telling me to abandon this fighting style appeared vividly to me.

"An inferior, overly aggressive style," they argued. "Everything a dual wielder can do, a user of the sword and shield can do better and more safely," they explained. I didn't even doubt they were right. I just wanted those swords because no one else could fight that way. I trained in, and was received as master of every style taught at the monastery, just to prove that I could do it, but I didn't put nearly as much effort and originality in any of those as I put in my dual weapons training. In the end, I entered the yearly grandmaster gauntlet as a dual wielder. After I became the very first two-blades grandmaster, the Headmaster came to visit me in private. He looked proud as he praised me for continuing to trust in my abilities and my chosen style, even as everyone around me held that it was a dead end. He then offered me a permanent place as the youngest teacher in the monastery's history, so that I could teach the new style I'd just created. Of course, I refused. I wanted to travel, and to put my skills to use. I wanted to earn fame and riches. I wanted to learn magic. I also knew, deep inside of me, that teaching the style was useless. It was inferior, I could simply compensate for it. It'd never caused me real problems before, but as I walked toward the most significant battle of my existence, I couldn't stop thinking about it. It was the nerves talking, without doubt. I shoved my worries aside.

The Outsider was waiting in the middle of the square. As I'd predicted, he'd accepted my challenge. Barbarian leaders were all about the appearance of strength. He couldn't afford to seem cowardly. I walked to the challenge alone, while my enemy had brought a considerable chunk of his elite Black Guards. The square was surrounded. Under the occupation rules, large assemblies were still forbidden, but the people must have figured -- since the Lowlands Demon was there himself, and the stakes were so high -- that they would be allowed to witness. They must have guessed right because he just sat there looking at them. There were no hints of any intention to disperse the crowds.

Accounts of various people who had seen the Outsider in battle often described him as an empty-looking suit of black, heavy armor. Seeing him myself for the first time, I couldn't disagree with them. Even his smallest movements had an unnatural quality that would befit a golem, or some other magically animated construct. I was tremendously excited about this fight; as Guardian of the Silvergate, it was my duty to defeat this evil to protect the kingdom. The Fair King's armies had long since been defeated, and the royal family had retreated from the capital. Most of the decisive battles of the war had been fought within the first month after the beginning of the invasion: the so-called "second wave". It was shocking how soundly the proud, organized armies of the kingdom had been crushed by the Bonehead heavy infantry, their auxiliaries, and their mad shamans. My name had been the rallying cry of the kingdom's resistance to the invading forces. They knew they only had to fight long enough to give me time to confront, and to defeat the master of the enemy armies. There I was, ready to end it. In the Outsider's mind, I suspected this would be the fulfillment of his destiny as well. All the same, I had an advantage: I knew how this battle ended already.

I walked straight toward him, and I stopped some distance away. The polished, spiky black armor slowly stood up, as if to welcome me. We said nothing, and faced each other, but the battle had already begun.

Heavily armored enemies had always been a problem, or at least a particular challenge for me, and I didn't like that this most important battle of all was going to be against such an opponent. I was confident, but I took the battle very seriously. If even half of what was rumored about the Outsider was true, he would be my most formidable opponent by a wide margin. Usually, I used magic to fight heavy enemies, but before I even struck the first blow, I could tell that it wouldn't work this time. Though I was dozens of meters away, I could feel the potency of the runes, or enchantments -- unless it was his raw power? -- emanating from him. He was a powerful witch indeed, no doubt about it. I expected a quickly thrown ghostblade spell wouldn't suffice to strike through his plate... unless, perhaps, if he didn't see it coming. I had no idea what would work or what wouldn't work against my enemy. There was little room for mistakes on my end. My own leather and light steel armor was designed for speed, precision and elegance, none of which were very useful since I wasn't sure where or how to strike. As far as I could tell, there was no obvious chink in my opponent's insane shell. I would have to fight a bit defensively, I decided, until I could figure out what worked against him. If it was too risky, I could just tire him out.

I drew both of my blades, and I started forward decisively. As soon as I did so, the metallic shape followed suit and moved, producing a large edged mace and a rather plain but strong-looking heater shield, both of which had apparently been resting against his makeshift throne. I hadn't noticed them before. With a quick, whip-like movement from my left arm, I pointed my blade toward the heart of my enemy, and with an almost instantaneous focusing of my will to energy, I released a burning white bolt that seared to my target... and never even got close. In my state of excitement, I'd poured much more energy than I'd wanted in what was essentially meant to test my enemy's magic protection. I watched astounded as my arcane bolt briefly seemed to slow down in the air and quickly whittled away. Whatever kind of magic protection that was, I didn't know, but it was no simple force barrier or absorption enchantment, like I had. It felt like some sort of twisting current, spiraling and eroding attacks as they drew close. Moreover, I felt no echo of an impact whatsoever, meaning my bolt had either been completely deflected, or siphoned into the current. In my state of uncertainty, I could not risk continued ranged magical assaults onto my enemy for fear of making him stronger. This was a huge problem, as keeping my slower opponent away while sending a continuous barrage of magical strikes until the problem disappeared had been my backup plan in the unlikely case that I proved unable to pierce his physical defenses.

That moment was one of the few times in my life when I tasted true fear. I'd been in delicate situations before. This one felt different. Not only was I discovering that my opponent was considerably stronger than I expected, but too much about him was unknown. So far, nothing boded well. I had no plan. I would have to muddle through. I felt underprepared. I did not care for that feeling at all. Curiously, the mere fact that I knew I'd win didn't reassure me much. For a second, I was afraid, and the new knowledge that I was perhaps not as fearless as I believed did not help. To repress the fear, I did the only thing I could do. Something unexpected. Something reckless.

I channeled an absurd amount of my energy in my physical body, and pounced forward through the air like some impossible beast. I had no way of seeing what was hidden under his helmet, save for the Outsider's horns protruding at the back of his skull, but I swore I could read surprise in the way he made his next few movements. I felt triumphant as I soared, and I landed on the ground with full power, breaking the stone slabs with my paw, and smashing both of my blades against his shield -- where his head had been but a moment before -- in a pincer motion. I felt the shock in my entire body, but I'd braced for it, and I could see that the sheer force of the attack had momentarily thrown my opponent off-balance. I flung my left hand sword in the air, gripped the top of the shield with the claws of my now free hand, and launched myself clear above the moving suit of armor, landing behind him for a quick, deadly strike under his unprotected armpit. Or rather, I would've been behind him, had he been as unbalanced as I thought. As it turned out, he wasn't. Instead, as I connected with the ground, I was immediately thrown clear of him by a precise and merciless backswing of his mace.

I pushed the ground away from myself, and lowered my head to look at my chest plate. It was deformed. I too felt broken. I was drained. Something was wrong with me, but I wasn't sure what. Without the magically enhanced protection from my armor, I would have been dead without a doubt. I'd either suffered some kind of head injury, or that mace had serious siphoning enchantments. Either way, I resolved to fight more carefully, unwilling to take another hit from that terrible object.

The fight continued following this pattern: the Demon moved slowly to me, shield raised. I either bounded aside, waiting for him to approach again, or let him approach. Whenever I let him get within my range to strike, he would block with a careful step back if I swung for the offered target that was the shield. If I tried to step in closer for anything behind the shield, he quickly stepped forward aggressively, and attempted to bash me with the shield. My superior range and agility were useless against such a moving cluster of metal, and with my magical abilities essentially nullified, I had more and more trouble holding my panic at bay, for that was what my initial fears had grown into. Time wasn't on my side. My enemy seemed thoroughly unaffected by the weight of his armor and the hot sun. His every move was perfect and mechanical. While I, on the other hand, was beginning to feel exhausted, on account of the overexertion, of course, but mainly because of the hits taken, and the devouring current the monster was maintaining.

Desperation drove me to my last idea. The large heater shield offered great protection but it had two flaws: it impaired the Outsider's vision some, and also offered no protection to his legs unless he crouched. Had I a large, two-handed weapon, I could've been a constant threat to his legs with my far superior range and heavier blows, but given my stupid, stupid choice of weapon style, my only hope was a very strong, close range, magically powered blow. Anything short of that wouldn't even scratch his leg armor.

It was risky, but I knew what I had to do, and I moved into position, stepping in direction of the mobile chunk of armor, and ducking so that I would very momentarily be hidden from his view by his own raised shield. I focused everything I had left in my right arm, and rolled forward to his legs. At that very moment, I exulted. I was already taking my swing, and he hadn't reacted yet. There was absolutely no chance for him to step back out of danger then. He crouched, and lowered the shield, but it was too late. I had enough battle experience to know that I would be able to strike behind the knee, and most probably take the leg clean off. I struck with full fury, and I was taken to the ground as my weight carried me. I hit nothing. I watched helplessly as the Demon _leaped_sideways into the air, heavy armor, shield, mace and all, and landed to one knee, with the grace of a huge, metallic panther, and, then, he rose.

He stood there, looking down to me, probably savoring my demolished expression. I understood then. I understood, and it angered me. I had nothing left, but somehow I managed to stand, and even to move toward him. I wanted it to be over already. I lifted my remaining sword and dove in like a fool, watching the mace that I expected to feel crushing my skull at any moment. Instead, he waited until the last second, and kicked me in the chest. I was thrown on my back. My sword clanged on the ground. I just lay there, conscious of the shocked and confused moans of the people that had come to witness their glorious liberation. The enemy's elite guards, however, did not cheer, or shout, or make any sound. They simply recognized that it was over, and they began to calmly disperse the crowds.

Meanwhile, the Outsider, very soon to be also the new Southern king, had taken his helmet off. His reptilian eyes were staring at me, expressionless. He bowed his head to the side, and scratched the dark scales of his forehead, at the base of his smaller horns. He moved to me, and grabbed the leather straps of my chest plate to lift me up. I growled, attempting to claw his face, but he just turned away from me, and struck me back down hard. My muzzle hurt, and I could smell and taste only blood. My vision was also strange, as if the images were arriving late to my mind. I felt him grab me by the ears before I saw him do it. His other hand drew near my forehead. I recognized what he was doing, as I was still not quite stunned enough to fail to recognize a basic fearlock seal spell. I tried to push back his arm, and to suppress my feelings of fear and panic, but it was pointless. I was terrified. I felt the edge of his claws quickly and expertly trace the rune on my forehead, and it was done. I sensed it in me, like a knot being tied into my soul. I would be unable to cast until the seal was dispelled.

The armored reptile shook his hand and, suddenly, he held a fair-sized dagger with a serrated bluish-white blade. He pushed against my throat, and under my muzzle, preventing me from biting, and from seeing what he was doing, but that didn't stop me from flailing my arms, and hitting at random, convinced again that I was about to die. He shook his head with a slightly amused expression, but said nothing. Finally, he released me, and rose up. The dagger had disappeared. He took a step back. I didn't understand until I tried to move. I felt that my armor was loose. A guard approached, as if some invisible signal had been sent. The Outsider pointed to me and ordered to "lock that up somewhere safe." I was prepared to claw the first thing that approached me, but the guard and another that appeared from behind wore armor, and moved fast. With quick motions, they grabbed the detached pieces of my armor, my swords, and then they went away. All I had left were the thin white clothes that I wore underneath my armor for comfort.

-- What the hell?

The way the demon stared blankly at me made me feel uncomfortably exposed. Why wasn't he killing me?

"Finish it, you coward!"

Don't get me wrong. I was terrified of death. I'd seen a lot of it. I knew it wasn't usually noble or dignified. The "best" deaths were the quick, surprise ones. The more this dragged on, the more I had time to realize how profoundly frightening the end was. I didn't relish a lengthy execution. It had to happen now, before the terror became too much, and I lost all sense of poise.

-- You should be silent and on your knees, said the Demon.

I froze. Was that an offer of surrender? I'd quite simply never been in that position before. I was the one who smugly demanded my foe's surrender, watching them squirm with curiosity as I wondered what would win out between their pride, and their self-preservation. Countless times had a bandit or a lawless knight stared helplessly at me, inquiring as to how they might be certain that they would be spared if they gave in. I never reassured them, of course. As the triumphant hero, I knew that I would spare them, but why make it so easy? It couldn't possibly be this complicated to choose between immediate death and a chance to live. How were they this stupid?

Yet, there I was, despite myself, calculating the odds that if I did indeed kneel before the Outsider, my life might be spared. Words can't describe how desperately I wanted to believe in this suspicious shimmer of hope. I'd never realized how cruel a dilemma that was. Was it worth playing along, and giving my enemy the satisfaction of my humiliation when he was almost certainly going to put me to death regardless? Almost. It was impossible for me to make up my mind. Seconds passed, and it was unbearable. I couldn't beg for mercy. Not me. But more importantly, I couldn't choose death. The stupid words slowly began to leave my mouth. I was surprised to hear them.

-- How do I know you'll let me live if I do?

I knew exactly what the answer was: I didn't. It was all meant to test how low I would stoop even though I knew it was pointless... Unless it wasn't.

The reptile barely moved. He threw me a hostile, impassive look.

-- Your decision to kneel will not make any difference concerning the length of your life. How dumb are you? Now, kneel.

I opened wide eyes.

-- Fuck you.

He stared blankly again.

A lightning fast, entirely unexpected kick to my stomach sent me sliding a good meter away. Pain like this cannot be described. I couldn't breathe, and I reflexively curled into a protective ball. I vomited. There was blood in it. The feeling that I had in there didn't seem to gradually diminish like ordinary pain. It felt like something had been irrevocably squashed in me, and that I was dying from the breakage. I was dragged by the paw for a few minutes, while I was blinded by suffering. When I finally emerged, we were several dozens of meters away from the square, and into the market street. I was dirty, and the dragging against the rough, rocky street had already begun to create some holes in my clothes. I looked like a beggar. I still couldn't really move, so when the Demon's clawed hand formed a firm, dreadful grip around my skull and prompted me to my knees, forcefully extending my abdomen, all the pain came back. His guards were around, but they maintained a respectful distance. People in the street ran indoors, looking with a morbid curiosity from the windows.

-- There. See? I did not give you a choice.

I immediately attempted to curve in a ball again, to protect my stomach from further harm, but since he was holding my head high, and my abdominal muscles were in no state to lift the weight of my legs, I simply covered it with my arms. He took hold of my wrists then. Using his knee, he pushed against my back to force me face down to the ground. I felt cold, hard metal shackles fastened right above my wrists. He lifted me up to my knees again, under the sun, in the middle of the street.

I tried to bring my hands to my stomach. The cuffs prevented me. I struggled, but they were real, metallic cuffs. Of course they were. There was no reason in the world for why cuffs would behave differently for me than they did for anyone else, but somehow, unexplainably, I still expected my hands to go where I wanted them. When they didn't, I discovered a new feeling. I refused that feeling. I didn't want it. I didn't fucking want it. The Outsider was circling around me. That predatory bullshit was too much. I was never going to give him the satisfaction.

-- You slimy sac of shit! Untie me!

-- Silence.

-- No, you fuck! You can't control me! All you can do is kill me, you fucking moron, and I don't care! Fuck you! Untie me and fight me, you coward!

-- I already fought you. It was easy. And no.

-- "No?" What, "no?"

-- I can do less.

-- What?

The scaly asshole crouched in front of me.

-- I could just kill your eyes, he whispered. I could kill your tongue. I could put a tiny little stick down into your ears and push and scramble everything squishy inside. Do you think you would scream off-key, then? I could cut off your hands and paws, and walk what is left of you around for people who resist me to stare at in horror, to dream about. Would you like that? To be an image, a nightmare?

I recoiled at the brutality of the proposed picture, but I didn't buy it. I'd been threatened before. Threats are easy and cheap. I was too smart for him. I decided to let him know. Screw him.

-- That's a lot of trouble just for me. If you really wanted to do that, you'd be doing it already, not making up pretty stories. Just by how completely you went overboard with this, I can tell that you need me alive, and that you want me to stop putting up a fight. Well, too bad. You can't make me do anything. Take your threats, and shove them.

His face. His perfect passive face twitched just a little bit. He didn't answer. He was obviously upset at how easily I'd read him. It took many, many moments before he said anything.

-- You are absolutely right.

Did he really think I would allow him to concede gracefully?

-- Good comeback, I sneered.

This time, the passivity mask just broke. It was sad. He could beat my ass into the ground but he couldn't even dominate me in a conversation while I was at his feet. He struggled to reclaim face.

-- Do you really think I'm going to get dragged into a ridiculous verbal duel with you?

-- I think you already have, and now you're trying to weasel out of it by feigning indifference -- ineptly. Even with all the power in the world, you aren't shit. You lost. I won.

I adopted as much of an obnoxious tone as I could.

"It was easy."

It was good to see that the Demon could at least feel anger, like an ordinary person. Of course, that specific person had full control over my fate, but I figured it wouldn't make much of a difference. I was dead in any case. At least my pride was mended somewhat. He was positively fuming.

-- What are you doing, just kneeling there, then? Stand up! Celebrate your victory!

Suddenly, a heavy gauntlet grabbed the back of my neck. I was lifted to my paws by one of the Black Guards. The brutal grip held me while that cheap thug of a reptile punched me in the stomach. I began to double over, gasping desperately, but the guard pulled me right back up to offer the Demon another swing, which he took. I couldn't cough, couldn't breathe. The pain alone would have been enough to make me sick again, but all that came out of me, as I twisted forward, maw agape, was a trickle of blood. After several seconds, I managed to force some air into my lungs with a revolting wheezing sound. The guard jerked me upright again.

-- F-fu...

-- Do not even bother, said the Demon in a cold, callous voice. I can guess. Fuck me, and I am a coward because I need my soldiers to hold you, right?

I threw that evil bastard a most heinous look, defiant.

"In that case, I suspect we have nothing more to talk about."

The overgrown lizard turned his back while two more guards practically jumped at me, one of them producing some jumbled piece of leather and straps. I realized that it was a muzzle when they slipped it on me, and secured it at the back of my head. I shook my head, struggling to no avail. They held me firmly.

"Display him properly. Everyone must understand that it is truly over."

On those last words, the soldier behind me slipped a dagger under my neckline, and cut my shirt at both shoulders. The useless piece of cloth sagged from my waist while my pants were unceremoniously pulled to my heels. The soldiers pushed me forward. I fell, nose to the ground. One of them pinned me down with his weight. They finally stripped away the remains of my clothes. I was propped up.

There I stood, nude and restrained. It affected me more than I'd imagined, to stand stripped in front of fully clothed and armored others. They would parade me around as a trophy, and as a warning. It was a fairly common thing to do for conquerors who managed to capture enemies of symbolic significance, even here in the Midlands. That was, I realized, the obvious reason why the Outsider needed me alive. I would be exhibited for some time, until the decided upon day of my public execution. I was aware of this likely chain of events, but somehow, I didn't feel anything about it. I couldn't connect yet with the notion that it would happen to me.

A length of rope was knotted into a loop. It tightened around my neck. They pushed and pulled me into a walk. I could barely comply. Every step felt like I'd swallowed needles, tearing me inside. I tried to pad my way as softly as I could, but my exhaustion from the fight didn't help matters. Maintaining my head up high, I struggled to conserve as much dignity as I could, despite the pushes and the tugs on the rope. Even as I did, however, it seemed desperate and pathetic. Did I really want to appear proud to be a prize for these brainless thugs? I soon ceased this overcompensation. Pointless. Besides, I was too tired to put effort into anything. I was beaten. It was over. I couldn't even fling insults at them anymore, to show that my spirit remained unbroken. At this point, unable to take any action, I had nothing left to focus on but my impending demise.

In all honesty, I'd faced danger countless times before. It was not the same. When facing danger, I could push it away. In fact, there was something exhilarating with proving to myself that I could do something about this thing, that I could fight it. That I could fight death. I'd hidden from it fairly successfully until then, but I could no longer. It had found me.

They dragged me for quite some distance, showing me off. The whole parade was about how helpless I was. Surely, if there was anything at all I could do, I wouldn't have allowed them to show my flesh to everyone. It was meant as proof that I was no longer able to prevent even my own degradation. If the mighty Silver Warrior could be reduced to simple property of the barbarian king, to do with as he pleased, then what hope did anyone else have?

Citizens cleared out of our way as our large, armed group approached. I could tell the exact moment they noticed me. It was heartbreaking. I wanted to look away, but there were so many of them around the town, in every direction. In the end, I stared down at my paws. I just wanted it all to stop. With every painful hit of my paws against the stone pavement, the same hounding question echoed in my being. Why? Why take the next step? Why bother to drag this along? None of this was to my benefit, and it was so hard to just keep on going. I slowed down. The violent forward pull of the rope immediately reminded me that the pace wasn't for me to set. Miraculously, I managed to regain my balance. I walked, blanketed in nothing but shame and defeat, for hours.

My legs were about to give up on me when I finally tripped. I never hit the ground though. The Outsider reflexively seized the rope about twenty centimeters from my neck, and held firm. The soldiers stopped, and turned to us. I just hung there for a while, feeling relief as the burning pain slowly subsided in my legs. The rope was slightly choking me, however. With every second that passed, I expected something bad to happen, but nothing. After a pause that both seemed to last an eternity, and was over way too soon -- a minute or two at the most -- I heard:

"Stand up."

The Outsider sounded neither angry, nor smug, just demanding. I didn't want to obey him, but I didn't relish him witnessing my state of weakness either. What else could I do? Hang there like a broken puppet forever?

I did my best, and gathered my legs under me. The forced march resumed. I collapsed again not ten minutes later. The Demon looked at me, annoyed. That's right, annoyed. I'd been drained, wounded, fearlocked, and I was possibly hemorrhaging internally, but he was annoyed that I couldn't keep up the pace. Crazy bastard. It occurred to me that if the forced march killed me, it might be for the best. Not much of a consolation. Still, the Outsider took matters in his own hands. He hoisted me up by my armpits, positioning me right in front of him.

"Strongest warrior of the land, eh?" he hissed.

I grumbled back at him when I felt his cold, metallic gauntlet slip under my rope collar. He held the knot so the rope wouldn't slide. The pressure of the loop against my throat increased tremendously as I suddenly felt lighter on my legs. I twisted and turned my neck around until I adopted a position that lodged the rope under my jaw bones, and thus allowed me to breathe normally.

Everyone started forward again, and though I was glad my naked body wasn't the sole center of attention any longer, I profoundly hated how close I had to be to that slimy reptile. I hated being near him. I hated the way my tail, my lower back, and, to a lesser extent, my bound wrists and arms all inevitably brushed against his armor. And I hated his hand on my neck with such a fiery passion that the touch almost burned. At first, I also tried to put as little weight on his arm as I could, mostly because, why the fuck would I want to rely on him for anything? As time went by, however, I had to let myself go. It was literally the only way for me to keep on going. I expected another acerbic comment when I almost completely shifted my weight onto his arm, but there was none. The lizard simply glanced at me, and returned his blank gaze to the road.

The sun came down. At last, a cool, solitary gust announced the return of the wind. The streets had emptied out save for some elements of the Black Guards, evenly spread around the King's Street. When this wealthy, aristocratic district came into my view, I noted a suspicious darkness shrouding it for such an early hour of the night. People should have been at home. Oil should have been burning behind the windows. I worried. Had the successful invaders begun to purge the city of its previous upper-class? I personally had worked for, and knew some of these people. The mystery quickly withered when the Outsider, his guards and I reached the end of the street.

The Quiet Palace rose before us on top of many cruel flights of steps. The base of the hill was surrounded by nobles, merchants and successful artists and philosophers. The elite of the Southern Kingdom filled the courtyard, forcibly gathered to witness the crowning of their new king. The actual legitimate monarch of the South, the Fair King, hadn't been captured, but in his absence, it was understandably difficult for anyone to challenge the barbarian's claim. It sure hadn't gone on too well for me, and weren't they going to flaunt that fact.

All at once, I was heavy again, my neck was free, and a slight push between my shoulder blades sent me two or three paces forward. I turned to my captor, unsure of what was happening. He stared back with a puzzled look. My lack of understanding aggravated him. He pointed to the palace.

"Go."

Of course, then I understood. I was the Guardian of the Silvergate. If I was in the Quiet Palace, along with the Silvergate itself, all three great symbols of power in the Southern Kingdom would be together when he entered as a conqueror to take possession of them. It was all very theatrical. I'd heard that the Demon refused to enter the palace after the fall of the capital, and I hadn't really believed it, but at that moment I could see that it was true. The great Outsider, the Plague from the Lowlands, certainly had a flair for the dramatic. So far, that much was evident. I began climbing the stairs. Nobody followed.

The world went utterly silent. Only the regular clanging of my shackles disrupted the scene. I kept trying not to think but the cold breeze gently whipping the most sensitive parts of me acted as constant reminder of how offered I was. It could've been a painting. It probably would be at some point. I could imagine the illustration of my humiliation: hanging on some collector's wall, my exposed body seen from a tasteful angle, but sufficiently detailed to titillate; the somber nightly décor of the steps and the looming palace, hinting at the ominous fate I headed toward... Ugh. Why was my own mind tormenting me?

The crazy notion of running away flashed briefly among other thoughts, but it was a stupid, hopeless idea. Black Guards were everywhere. They controlled the entire city. I had extreme difficulty even putting one foot in front of the other, and, at that very moment, I felt the eyes of the entire nation on my chained, beaten body. If there ever was a wrong time to attempt an escape, it was then.

I collapsed on the steps. I couldn't get back up. I didn't even try. Enough. I was done playing along.

I was too far from the Outsider and his cadre at the base of the stairs to hear if they said anything. After a while, I heard someone coming. I didn't bother to look. The presence lurched over me.

-- Can you stand up by yourself at all?

I growled.

It was a Black Guard. Another manacharian, like the Outsider. I breathed deep, and I instantly matched the olfactory presence with previous events. That was the guard who'd taken away my armor. He'd held me while his boss pummeled my abdomen into mush. He'd stripped me. He'd roped me like cattle.

I turned my head to face the guard. His helmet was fancier than other Black Guard helmets. It had metal wings ornaments with black feathers. The spikes on his shoulder pads also curved outward more prominently, like a wild beast's claws about to slash. I had no doubt that he was some kind of high ranking officer. It was possible he knew the Outsider personally. Out of the blue, he reached behind my head, and undid the muzzle. I stretched my jaws. I snarled.

-- When I get free, I'll cut you open.

The officer crouched near me.

-- Okay. In the meantime, would you get up?

His tone was warm. His voice was soft. He looked at me through his visor with large, friendly yellow eyes. It was difficult to remain infuriated with someone who pointedly refused to pick up on my aggression. I reverted to a slightly more polite attitude.

-- No. Sorry. I won't get up.

-- It would be preferable for both of us if you did, but mostly for you. It's already been too long. You have to move now.

-- I don't care.

-- The Black King won't like this at all. It doesn't look good.

I threw him a conspicuous glare. Could he even imagine how profoundly I couldn't give a shit about his boss' sense of esthetics? He sighed.

"I'll have to use force."

-- Do what you have to do.

The officer slid the leather straps around my snout again, and began to pick me up. Despite what I'd said, I still did help him. A little. I wanted to avoid getting handled too much. At the first hint of him trying to get a decent grasp on my lower body, I pushed my weight on my legs, and let him lift me up. I had no idea how violent a reaction I could get from being touched down there. My entire body told me that his hands had no business being even remotely close to that area. Every single one of my instincts urged me to do something about this. Luckily, as soon as I jerked away, and I motioned to stand, the officer desisted, returning his hands to my shackles and shoulder.

That one Black Guard and I reached the front entrance. We were immediately oppressed by the towering fissured columns, dominated by their massive triangular pediment. Under the pediment, from the entablature in which they were carved, various ancient Southern monarchs passed judgment upon us. We were too lowly for this place of power. I'd been there many times before, but the stones had never assailed me. I looked to the lizard at my side. He appeared unaffected. It was just me then. The Quiet Palace wouldn't welcome me anymore. It was angered at my failure.

The heavy bronze doors awaited, already open. Inside the entry hall, more Northwestern barbarians were keeping the obviously anxious palace denizens in line. Cooks, servants, entertainers as well as various dedicated palace artisans, including Lenard the Metalworker -- a large panther of a smith whom I personally knew for having made my swords -- were all assembled, or to be more specific: crammed in the vestibule. The Quiet Palace was a huge edifice, in many ways a small city in and of itself, and keeping everyone in the same room, regardless of the size of said room, didn't strike me as practical.

The guard walked right up to the two nearest soldiers. They wore armors made of leather, fur, bone, some iron here and there. They also wore metal shackles hanging from their belts. Both were tall, tough looking felines, and one of them was a warrior maiden. Boneheads. Bonehead clans comprised the vast majority of the Outsider's army, I was aware, but I was slightly surprised that he'd elected to entrust the palace to this vicious horde instead of his precious, highly trained Black Guards. It did make some sense, however. He must have been using most of the latter for the even more delicate task of maintaining control over the occupied cities and towns. Keeping populations under strict control had always been the Black Guards' forte.

The captain, or whatever his rank was, pushed downward on my shoulder until I fell to my knees, and then he struck up a conversation with the Boneheads. They spoke in a deep Lowlands dialect, so I could barely understand anything, but they were discussing me. The civilians were staring at absolutely everything that was away from my restrained body. I assumed merely witnessing the way I was being disgraced was embarrassing to them too. I felt the crushing weight of over two hundred people who'd known me as a hero pitying me. I wished they didn't care. I didn't want to be pitiable.

At least Lenard was too busy to even notice my indignity. The tall smith was embedding an iron ring into one of the smaller columns inside the entry hall. I sensed his focus, as he tried to use the exact amount of force necessary to hammer the metal rod in the stone without cracking it. The ring was about neck high -- no, exactly neck high. In fact, it was at the height of my own neck, I realized with sudden distress. I lowered my eyes. Directly under the ring, two more iron fittings had been driven into the marble floor where my legs would be locked. The worker finished up. I caught a fleeting look of shame and sorrow before he returned with the rest of the civilians. I heard metallic clicking.

The Black Guard stepped away. Almost instantly, both Bonehead soldiers were grappling me with undue violence, pushing me to the designated column, and pinning me in place. The male held me, his open palms pressuring my forehead and chest with as much strength as he could apply, while the female collared me with a plain, heavy iron band that immediately began to bite into my skin. Enraged by the needlessly rough treatment, I began to kick at the pair with what energy I had left. Of course, they had armor. The Boneheads laughed at my absurd attempt to resist, and the warrior maiden interrupted herself to whack me in the face. I felt the back of my skull collide with the stone pillar.

I awoke, nauseous. My head pulsated in rhythm with my heart. Every tiniest movement hurt but I managed to look around. The Black Guard that had escorted me was gone, but my two new "friends" had returned to their post a few meters further toward the entrance. I'd slouched while I was unconscious, but the brutes had accomplished their job. My ankles were shackled in a bit more than a natural spread. With my collar affixed to the pillar, I couldn't fold my knees in the slightest. I was bound in place. Displayed.