Echo of Boots

Alden's boots echoed sharply against the cold, stone floor as he strode through the castle's dim corridor. His hand clenched the hilt of his sword, the only sound that pierced the oppressive silence. His eyes, a piercing blue, scanned the shadows, as if expecting a surprise. The castle walls, laden with dusty tapestries of battles long past, seemed to whisper secrets of their own, secrets that mirrored the ones he sought from his captive.

The groan of the dungeon door creaked as it swung open to show a space that reeked of fear and despair. The flickering torch light danced on the damp stones, casting elongated shadows that twitched like ghosts as Alden approached the spy from the neighboring kingdom hung by his wrists on a chain bolted into the ceiling, his feet barely brushing the floor. Blood trickled down from his bruised and battered body, pooling under him. The man's head lolled to the side, chin resting on his chest, but his eyes snapped open as Alden entered.

The spy's gaze was defiant despite his precarious situation. His muscles strained, veins bulging as he tried to lift himself, but his efforts were futile. The chains held him in a cruel embrace, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. The room was cold, the air rich with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of sweat. The only pieces of furniture were a wooden table stacked with various tools of interrogation and a well-built chair that groaned ominously under Alden's weight as he sank into it before his prisoner.

"Tell me what you know," Alden's voice was low and measured, a stark contrast to the chaotic scene before him. The spy remained silent, his chest heaving with the effort of each pained breath. Alden leaned forward, his eyes boring into the man's. "Your king sent you here, didn't he? Tell me his plans."

The spy's eyes narrowed, and a flicker of pain crossed his face as he clenched his jaw. "I'll never betray my king," he spat through split lips.

Alden's smile was cold and calculating. "Ah, loyalty," he mused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "A commendable trait, but one that will serve you poorly here." He reached for a whip from the table, the leather crackling in his hand as he stood. "Perhaps a demonstration will loosen your tongue."

With a swift and precise motion, he swung the whip across the spy's bare back, leaving in its wake a crimson line. The man's body jerked, a strangled cry escaping his throat. The crack of the whip was like thunder through the chamber, sending shivers down the spy's spine. Yet the man never uttered a word; the sound of his teeth grinding seemed to be his answer.

Alden chewed on the metallic stalk, the sharp, metallic taste biting at his tongue as he fought to control his temper. His jaw muscles flexed as he stared at the spy, his handsome features twisted with a mix of anger and disgust. The stalk glinted under the torchlight, a silent testament to his self-control.

"Why would you risk your life for a mere gem?" he snarled, pacing the damp stones. The spy's eyes never left his, a silent challenge.

The man's voice was hoarse from pain, but the conviction remained strong. "Because it's not just a gem, it's the Heart of Arathen," he managed to say. "Without it, my kingdom will fall to ruin."

Alden's feet froze in mid-stride. His whip was held suspended in mid-air. The Heart of Arathen was no legend; it was the symbol of power and stability across the lands.

His resounding breath, the metal stalk was knocking as between his teeth. The sharpish smell of the metal was inside his mouth, a sober reminder of the control he would have to maintain. "You dare come here talking about gods and kings when you think you can go about manipulating me with this tall tale?"

The spy's eyes never left his, a silent challenge that ignited a surge of anger in Alden. The man's conviction was unshakeable, his gaze unwavering even as sweat and blood ran down his body. It was clear he was not going to break easily.

Alden stepped back, the stalk of metal clattering against his teeth. The taste was bitter now, a mirror to his own skepticism. He had to admit, the mention of the Heart of Arathen was intriguing. If it truly had been taken by King Tyrion, the balance of power in the realm could shift dramatically. But he would not be swayed by the words of an enemy spy.

"Your king sends you to your death with a fairy tale," Alden sneered, his voice biting with disgust. He hurled the whip at one of his guards, and it went spinning through the air, a snake about to strike. "Well, carry on, then," he said to the man, folding his massive arms across his chest.

The spy's eyes continued to challenge him, but his body told another story. His skin was a mottled mess of purple and red, each welt and bruise telling a story of his endurance. Yet, he spoke with a calm certainty that made Alden's skin crawl. "The Heart of Arathen is real, and it is in Veldryn," the spy said, his voice a raspy whisper. "If it is not returned, a war unlike any other will come to pass."

Alden took another step back, the metal stalk clinking against his teeth as he processed the information. The Heart of Arathen was not just a gem; it was a weapon, a relic of immense power that could decide the fate of nations. He had to admit that the idea of his sworn enemy wielding such power was troubling. He clutched the hilt of his sword tighter, his knuckles whitening as he dug his fingers into the grip. The leather cracked as he did so.

The spy's eyes stayed shut, his chest jerking as he labored for air. The lash had left a crimson tapestry across his back, an artwork of agony that looked macabre against his pale skin. His jaw was set in a stubborn line, however, and he refused to yield to Alden's demands.

Alden's hand hovered over the instruments of pain on the table. He needed the truth, and he needed it now. The metal stalk between his teeth was a lifeline, a constant reminder of the control he had to maintain in the face of such audacity.

He turned back to the spy, his eyes narrowing as he studied the man's battered form. "You expect me to believe that a mere gem could bring about the end of a kingdom?" he sneered, the metal stalk glinting in the torchlight as he talked around it. The spy's eyes snapped open, and the fire of defiance was burning in them despite his pain.

"It is not just a gem, it is the Heart of Arathen," he insisted, his voice strained. "It is a divine artifact, and without it, the very land of Arathen will wither."

Alden was getting impatient. He grabbed the whip from the guard and his eyes were burning red with anger. The body of the spy jerked with every vicious lash striking his skin. The slapping of leather on his skin reverberated around the dungeon, a pain and determination symphony, but the man said not a word. His jaws were sunk into his lower lip, muffled so that he could not shriek.

The muscles of the chief of command rippled with each sway of the whip, his breathing coming in harsh, irregular pants. Sweat began beading on his forehead; the metal stalk in his mouth grew slick with the saliva that ran over and over it. His eyes never left the face of the spy, hunting out the flicker of truth in his gaze. His eyes watered but they did not leave Alden's face, and behind them was a silent entreaty for mercy to come.

"Speak!" Alden bellowed, the whip cracking through the air like thunder. But the spy did not stir. His jaw was set hard and his body immobile against the torture that assailed him. More lines of crimson began to show up, a latticework of suffering etched across his back. And with each stroke, the man's will seemed to set, his silence a badge of allegiance.

Alden's frustration grew, his breaths hot and ragged as he paused in his assault. He threw the whip down, the leather slapping against the stone floor. The spy's eyes remained closed, his body trembling slightly. "You're a fool," Alden spat, the taste of metallic growing bitter on his tongue. "You'd die for a lie?"

The spy's head lolled back and, with a last agonized effort, opened his eyes. "Not a lie," he croaked. "The Heart of Arathen is life blood for our land. Without it, we shall be lost."

Alden's hand tightened around the stalk. He tossed the stalk aside and watched as it clattered to the floor. The words of the spy had hit a nerve, a thread of doubt worming its way into his mind. "Your king is a desperate man, to send you on such a fool's errand," he spat.

The guard took a step forward, his leather gloves creaking as he took hold of the whip. He glanced at Alden, wanting a nod before he went on with the questioning. But the spy's silence was starting to get under the commanding officer's skin. Could it be that this man actually believed what he was saying? Was he willing to die for a mere legend?

Alden's anger built to a head, his teeth grinding together in frustration. He had thought he would break the spy easily, get the names of any other infiltrators, and crush this evil plot before it could ever find its roots in Veldryn. But the spy's resolve was like a wall he hadn't foreseen.

He nodded his head and pointed toward Eryndor with a jerk of his head. "Burn him," he whispered, his voice chilling through the dungeon air, as he spoke. "Take him to the furnace, but do not let him die so easily. Two or three times, let him feel the embrace of the flames, make sure the pain is.unbearable. But keep him alive."

Eryndor stepped forward, his boots squelching in the puddle of the spy's blood. "As you command, my lord," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. The guard's eyes flickered down to the spy for a brief moment, the flicker of doubt in his gaze unnoticed by his superior. His grip tightened on the whip, the leather feeling sticky with sweat and blood.

He knew the king's words were law, but there was something in the spy's conviction that made him stop. Could it be true that they were fighting a war over a mere legend? The thought of the Heart of Arathen being real and all that it could unleash on them was not a good thought. Still, he had sworn to serve Veldryn, and now duty called for the suffering of the spy to continue; he could not back down.