The Priest paced back and forth through the passage, looking out for their return.
Midnight was only a couple of minutes away. Where could they be? They should be returning by now? Where were they?
An almost silent chuckle was heard from behind him.
It was Nyka, she was leaning against the rocky wall of the passage, victory and mockery dancing in her black eyeballs under the light of the moon that managed to seep into the tunnel.
“Where is your Heir now,” she paused and held his gaze, “Uza?”
The Priest frowned, knowing that she had intentionally not called him his title.
This was an insult to his vision, his ability and the fact that he had brought in the Heir— a prophecy that she obviously didn't believe in.
“Soon.” The Priest said, tucking his trembling hands into his black robes. “Very soon. They will be here very soon.”
“Will they?” She asked, her voice laced with laughter. “They have been gone for such a long time. Maybe there is something holding them back.” Her voice became more quiet. “Something that your Heir cannot fight.”
The Priest turned to look at the moon, mumbling inaudible words to himself.
No. Nyka wanted more from him.
More!
She wanted him to see that she was right. That even though he was a Priest and older than she was, he had allowed himself to be blinded by false hope, he had allowed himself to be stupid!
A foolish guardian shouldn't guide at all!
“The White King must have caught them. They are probably in his dungeon as we speak.”
He shook his head in a jerky manner, his mumbling increasing.
“His dungeon? What am I saying?” She chuckled softly. “The White King hates spies the most, intruders, anyone that wasn’t for him. You name it.” The words forced out through her teeth like hot coals. “He probably has a hot rod through them, a rope around their wrists and their ankles, each tied to powerful beasts, walking off in four different directions, ripping them apart over a fire, roasting them alive.” She closed her eyes breathing in the air. “I can almost smell it.” Then she opened her eyes and smiled. “Pleasant.”
“They will come back.”
She looked up, burning a stare into the Priest’s back. “Come back? No. Can't you hear me?” She stood up firmly, no longer leaning against the wall, her voice eerily gentle. “How will they do that? They are busy entertaining the White King, his Queen and their friends with their agony. All those House representatives. They must be laughing, right now, having fun. Fun, “Priest” Uza. Don't you know how fun that is?” Her black eyes were wide with madness and glistening with tears, her untamed curly red hair only heightened the look of insanity that absolutely embodied her aura. With one hand resting on the hilt of her sword and the other carving a line into the cave wall with a claw, she continued, “They are crying, wailing while the Royals click their goblets and make bets on who would go first. Who will get ripped into pieces first.”
The Priest was mumbling again and now his hands were trembling by his sides. His whole life was on this prophecy.
They would come back.
He knew they would.
They had to.
But the crazy redhead warrior was speaking again.
“How will they come back when they are over that fire, crying, screaming, and begging for a saviour?” She could almost hear it in her head again.
Screams filled her mind, those tears, those cries.
“Their faces to the sky as they beg for the Saviour, begging for the heir.” She laughed then stopped. “Oh, it is the Heir. The Saviour that couldn't save himself. Who has he even saved anyway? Dead! They are both dead! As they should be.”
“Enough!” The Priest turned to her abruptly. His outburst made her glistening eyes widen in slight surprise but her expression relaxed into one of madness once again, and her lips stretched into a wide smile. “The Heir cannot be killed! The Prophecy does not lie, it is written. They will come back.” His voice relaxed as he turned back to look at the Moon.
Just at that moment, the cave began to tremble and the passage was closing up.
It was midnight.
Nyka laughed.
Finally.
Good riddance.
The Priest stumbled back as he said to himself. “No! No, no, no!”
He extended his hand quickly, casting a spell to try to slow down the process but Nyka sent a knife through the air and it went straight into his hand. The pain jammed into his head, he fell back and cried in agony as he tried to pull the knife out, blood dripping down the sleeves of his robe.
Nyka came closer and watched the passage close up a second later, then she turned to the Priest.
“There. Hope no more, Uza.” She pulled out the knife and wrapped around his bleeding cut a piece of cloth. “There is no Heir anywhere.”
Then she turned away from him and continued her path back to their hideout as she laughed. “Fool. All of you. Fools!”