Pseudonym part 2

“That…shouldn’t…have happened,” the witch gasped.

“Make it stop!” Maya cried out.

“Seriously, stop!” Dana yelled at the witch. “You’ve healed him enough. Keeping him here hurts you and us. You’re not even getting the secrets you want.”

Tears rolled down Maya’s cheeks. “These are just memories from a dead child.”

Suddenly Dana gasped and looked horrified. “Maya, what if they’re not?”

Witch Way crawled to the table and pulled herself up to her knees. “What do you mean?”

“What if the spell worked?” Dana asked. “I’ve heard stories about Jayden the same as everyone, and they all date from ten years ago to today. Nobody knows where he came from. He just appeared in the kingdom years ago, no family, no friends. And Prince Mastram has been gone for a long time.”

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Jayden had told her months ago that he’d once been known by another name. Goblins in Fish Bait City said Jayden had come there as a boy, part of a royal expedition. Jayden had known the interior of Baron Scalamonger’s mansion. Prince Mastram in the visions had also been studying the sorcerer lords, which would explain how Jayden could translate their spell tablets.

All three women stared at Jayden. Witch Way was the first to speak when she said, “I am going to get into so much trouble over this.”

“We have to get him out of here before he wakes up,” Dana said. “He’ll kill you if he figures out what you’ve done.”

“There’s no ‘if’ to it,” Witch Way said. “When I view memories from my clients they don’t just remember them, they experience them as if they were happening again. He just relived the worst parts of his life.”

“I don’t see this ending well,” Maya said.

Witch Way grabbed Jayden by the shoulders and tried to lift him. “My spells are linked to the heart stone in my house. Taking him outside will break the connection. Ooh, he’s heavier than he looks, all muscle by the feel of it. Come on, help me move him.”

“We can’t!” Maya cried out.

“We’re still tied up!” Dana yelled.

Witch Way looked at them, a puzzled expression on her face as she said, “I’m not making good decisions today. Wait, do you feel tha—”
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The cold air matched Mastram’s mood. No longer a prince, he was a criminal dressed in sackcloth, his black hair a mess as a strong wind blew in his face. The longboat he was on rose and fell on the rough sea, the overcast sky adding to the sense of woe. Eight sailors manned the oars and an equal number of soldiers stood guard in case someone tried to rescue him. There had been three attempts in the two months since Mastram was declared illegitimate, one by peasants, another by renegade soldiers and the third by harpies, all three failures. These soldiers were here if others should try.

They’d been at sea for eight day traveling to the Isle of Tears. Mastram had no idea where it was, as the isle appeared on no maps and was shielded from magical attempts to locate it. They’d passed several small, rocky islands, some inhabited and others not, and a strange black pyramid that moved through the water faster than the longboat. Still they traveled, sailing far from the coast and any chance of escape.

Hours later they reached their destination. Mastram wondered why the island was used only for executions, for it looked large enough to house many people. The shorelines were rocky and inhospitable, and there were few trees or plants, but he knew ways even such foreboding land could be made productive. Deeper inland were mountains with narrow ridges that jutted up like the bones of a dead monster. The only sign that anyone had ever lived here were brick piers reaching into the icy waters of a natural harbor.

As the longboat neared the harbor, Mastram saw a soldier draw a dagger. His officer saw it, too, and shouted, “Sheath that blade!”

“It’s a mercy compared to what we’re doing to him,” the soldier protested.

“It is the king and queen’s command, and you will obey!” the officer snapped. “Touch so much as a hair on his head and I’ll leave you here in his place.”

The longboat docked at a pier without further incident, and soldiers placed Mastram ashore. The officer stood up and unrolled a scroll. “By order of the king and his beloved queen, Mastram, pretender to the throne is thus banished to the Isle of Tears without chance of pardon or commutation of his sentence. Any who attempt to remove him from this place or offer him aid is guilty of treason and will be put to death. Here you shall remain forever.”

Without further adieu the longboat departed, leaving Mastram alone. It didn’t bother him. He’d been alone for years in a castle packed with people. This desolate island made his solitude more complete, nothing more.

He wondered briefly what to do. No one knew how long condemned men lived on the Isle of Tears, only that when boats brought new victims there was no sign of those who’d come before them. Would he last a day? A week? A month? Mastram had to wonder which would be better. Any thought of giving up soon vanished, though, for he would not give his enemies the pleasure of surrendering. If death came for him, he would fight it.

Surviving the night would be the first challenge. Cold could kill faster than thirst or hunger, so he needed shelter from the coming night. Mastram searched the shore for buildings or even ruins. The brick piers were proof that someone once lived here. Sadly they were the only evidence. Maybe powerful winter storms had swept the isle clean.

With no help at hand, he headed further inland. The ground was rocky and had little plant life, none of it edible. There were no trails leading from the piers, forcing him to pick his way between large stones. Here and there patches of soil supported tough grasses. Ahead he saw caves in the side of a rocky cliff. Most were far too high to reach, but one was low enough he could climb to it. With no other options available that would be home.

Mastram climbed up to the low cave and crawled inside. The roof was surprisingly high and the floor more even than he’d expected. He’d visited a few caves in the past and found them awkward and cramped. In comparison this was spacious. He traveled deeper into the cave to a spot that still received light from outside but was out of the wind. Mastram cleared away sand and small stones from the ground. He didn’t have to dig far before he hit a perfectly flat floor.

“This is surprising,” Mastram said to no one. “Hmm. I wonder if talking to yourself is proof you’re going mad. I hope not. I’ve been here less than an hour.”

Mastram cleared away more stones and sand. The floor extended in all directions and was as flat as a board. He reached the side of the cave and found larger piles of debris. Clearing that took more time, but the reward was worth the effort when he found the floor and cave wall met in a ninety-degree angle. He dug at the edge of the opposite wall and found the floor and wall met the same way.

It was a mystery that had to wait. Mastram mounded up debris around the cave entrance to further block the wind. It was a poor shelter but should keep out the worst of the weather. Wind began to whip around him, carrying sand that stung his face. That hurt, but it inspired him. He dug around the edges of the cave and found four corners.

“This isn’t a cave,” he said. “It’s a room. I didn’t see it before because so much sand has been blown in that it obscured the edges.”

He checked the back of the room and found a passage leading out. There was less sand here, and to his surprise there was light from holes in the roof. He followed the passage until he came to more rooms. Some were filled with debris while others were nearly empty.

He looked for clues who had built this place. Finding paper or velum was out of the question when both would rot in the damp air, but maybe there were bits of furniture or rusted tools. A clever person could determine much about a man by studying the junk he left behind. That had been one of Mr. Wintry’s stranger lessons, but his tutor had showed Mastram how scraps of armor, broken pots and other garbage people cast aside said a lot about them.

In this case it said nothing. There was no broken furniture or metal goods. He found bits of broken pottery barely larger than sand grains. Mastram frowned and rubbed his chin.

“Storms must have blown in water that rotted perishables, and the wind and sand ground down whatever survived the water. That would take decades or more. Whoever built this mansion died long ago. Strange that no one moved in.”

Further study turned up more mysteries. The walls were thick, some made of brick and others natural stone carved into rooms and passages. Building this mansion would have been hard work, and construction materials must have been imported. Yet in the end the effort had been wasted, for the thick brick walls were pierced in multiple places, and rooms dug from the rocky isle were broken into as well. Indeed, most of the rooms he found had holes in them, some as large as a man. The mansion’s fall had been violent and thorough.

Mastram found his despondency momentarily gone, replaced by curiosity. He’d always asked why and dug deeper when faced with a puzzle. Back home he’d spent endless hours finding answers to Kipling’s riddles with the dedication of a dog chewing a bone to reach the marrow. Questions were personal challenges to him, a test of his wits and perseverance. A prince never gave up.

That thought nearly made him stop, the memory of what he had been and what he’d lost stinging, but he pressed on. Princes didn’t give up. They didn’t stop when the odds were bad and enemies numerous. By law he was no prince, but he’d show his enemies and his father. A man could live here if he knew what he was doing and didn’t give in to despair, and that was what Mastram intended to do. Morning would find him alive, as would next week, next month and next year.

Mastram’s exploration turned up a stone staircase leading up. He followed it, slipping briefly on debris covering the steps before safely reached the top floor. It looked like he wouldn’t be visiting the place often, for much of the roof was gone, leaving it open to the sky. There were bits of walls rising from the wreckage, and what looked like empty sea bird nests. Mastram wondered if the birds only came here to breed or if previous prisoners of the isle had eaten them all.

Not far from the stairs were the ruins of a large room with a stone throne at the outside edge. Mastram studied it and found worn down letters cut into the throne. He rubbed away sand filling the words and smiled when he recognized the language.

“This is the writing of the sorcerer lords,” Mastram said. “That’s the owner’s name, his rank and ancestors. This was the home of Jayden The Fell Hand of Doom. I read about him. He was one of the powerful sorcerer lords. Hmm, not powerful enough to save himself from his enemies.”

Mastram cleaned off the throne and sat on it. “I guess this happens to all dynasties in the end. They grow strong and expand their influence, but in time fall and are replaced by others. It nearly happened to my family.”

The room had plentiful signs of battle, like fallen stone columns, jagged holes cut through thick walls and lots of black granite chips. That was interesting. The sorcerer lords had written their spells on granite tablets instead of paper. He poked through the rubble, finding a few larger pieces of granite but none that fit together.

Then he saw it. He’d missed it at first, nearly buried by sand and broken bricks, but behind the throne was an intact spell tablet. The edges were worn down, the white marble lettering was chipped, but it was legible. Mastram’s heart beat faster at the sight. Spell tablets were rare! Few were ever found, and those disappeared into private collections. This treasure could have been found ages ago if someone had bothered searching the isle. How many riches were here, waiting for a man with the patience to dig them out?

What if he could use the tablet? It was a fascinating question. Mr. Wintry had taught Mastram much, including a love of languages, but the prince hadn’t learned magic. Mastram could read the tablet and understood it, but the writing paused frequently and was replaced by small diagrams showing what looked like hand gestures.

“It says aklamasan morashal rathan,” Mastram translated. “Then it says the exact same words twenty more times. The hand gestures change each time you say it.”

It was an interesting puzzle, and with nothing else to do he tried solving it. His first try failed, as did the second, the fifth and the fiftieth. Daylight was fading and he should find a place to sleep, but the prince was tenacious. The problem seemed to be the hand gestures. He could make the silly looking patterns with his fingers, but how long was he supposed to maintain them?

Night approached and he was still trying. He sat on the throne using the last of the light coming through the sundered roof to try one last time when he felt a jolt go from his elbows to his fingers. The spell had worked! Unfortunately it only made a tiny spark that drifted away.

“That was anticlimactic,” Mastram said as he watched the spark float across the room. “Maybe this is a spell for beginners. It might explain why no one took the tablet.”

Boom!

The spark expanded into a massive fireball that engulfed half the room. Mastram screamed and fell off the throne, then scrambled behind it. The flames died away, doing little damage to the already destroyed room. His heart beat so hard he thought it might explode. He’d nearly killed himself!

“Very dangerous business, magic,” he gasped. “Not sure I should try again.”

He headed for the staircase, traveling only a few feet when he saw filthy creatures with long hair and dressed in rags come boiling up from the stairs. Mastram fled the stinking mob until he had his back to the stone throne. He didn’t try using the spell he’d just learned, lest it burn him and these foul creatures.

“We saw you make a fire,” one of the creatures croaked. “Please, can you do it again?”

“We’re so cold,” pleaded another.

Mastram hesitated, trying to tell who or what he was facing. He was afraid, but the unruly mob didn’t come closer. He approached the nearest one and asked, “Who are you?”

“Baronet Silas Fieldcrest,” the filthy figure said. Mastram was close enough to touch the poor person when he realized the claim was true. He’d assumed these were monsters coming after him, but they were men wearing dirty and torn sackcloth, their hair long and tangled, their beards caked in filth. More members of the ragged mob introduced themselves. Knights, earls, lord mayors, sheriffs, guild masters and more stood before him, sixteen in all.

“Forgive our appearances,” Fieldcrest apologized. “We were left here weeks ago, and I fear we’re lesser men for our time spent on the isle. Tell us, stranger, who are you?”

One of the men exclaimed, “Even in the darkness you should know your prince!”

Men cried out in horror. Many bowed their heads. Mastram said, “I am prince no more. My family disowned me.”

Fieldcrest stared at Mastram before dropping to his knees. “Then all is lost. Before my exile I asked my sister to seek you out and beg you to intercede on my behalf. Many of us did. We’d heard you were the kindest member of the royal family and might take pity on us. If you’re here then not only are we doomed but so is the entire kingdom, for no one else listens to petitions for mercy.”

“I didn’t know others had been sent here, much less so many,” Mastram admitted. “What were you accused of?”

“Treason, larceny, failure to uphold the law,” Fieldcrest replied. “The charge laid against us varies, but behind each one is the fact that we had what others wanted. Land, money, livestock, positions of authority, all coveted by those who had royal favor.”

Another man grasped Mastram by the hand. “The queen’s family and the king’s new favorites demand compensation. They gave much to the crown during the civil war and said we did little. We defended our good names and wouldn’t give up our homes, our livelihoods, so it was taken from us.”

Fire burned inside Mastram as great as the magic he’d so recently summoned. He demanded, “When did this happen?”

“This year,” Fieldcrest told him. “Royal officials travel the land removing those who the king doubts and installing his favorites in their place. Trials are quick and secret, guilt guaranteed and punishment swift. I’d heard it happened to another nobleman only days before the same fate befell me.”

Mastram gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. Kipling was wrong, for his father had proven to be terrible at balancing the demands placed upon him. What his father had excelled at was hiding the evidence of his wrongdoing if no word of this had reached the prince. The loss of so many friends and familiar faces at court made more sense now. The newcomers had reason to help hide this injustice, and might have benefited from it, for their jobs had once gone to other men.

Fieldcrest got up and placed a hand on Mastram’s shoulder. “We must go. The Isle of Tears is a place of execution in more ways than the king knows, for two predators roam the isle. There are passages they can’t fit in, refuge from their attacks.”

Overhead the clouds parted to reveal a full moon that bathed Mastram and his fellow victims in welcome light, just enough to see the two monstrosities sneaking up on them. Men screamed and scattered as the nightmarish pair shambled toward them. To his horror, Mastram knew exactly what they were, for his studies under Mr. Wintry included the sorcerer lords who once called this land home.

These were estate guards, abominations built by the long dead sorcerer lords. Each one had a golden scarab attached to the pile of driftwood and bones that comprised their bodies. They had the form of men, but twisted, malformed things with long dragging arms. Under the light of the moon Mastram recognized where the bones in those horrible monsters had come from. Some were from seals, others sharks, and some were from men.

“Run!” Fieldcrest shouted.

Mastram held his ground as the wretch things approached. Estate guards were only as strong as the bone and wood they could find to make their bodies from, and these were poor specimens with brittle bones and half rotted wood. They shuffled toward him, making sure they were between their prey and the stairs leading to safety.

“You face an enemy worthy of you,” Mastram said, a warning the beasts ignored. He chanted the words he’d learned from the tablet, weaving strange symbols in the air with his hands as his foes raised their twisted arms to attack. He finished the spell when they were still fifty feet away, sending a tiny spark toward the pair. One recognized the spell and ran to the left while the other took the blast head on. Boom! When the flames died away the first monster was gone and the second had lost both legs.

Mastram marched toward his enemy while the other men watched in awe. The first estate guard was dead, its scarab melted in the fire, while the second tried to drag itself away. Mastram grabbed a large broken brick off the floor and swung it at the estate guard. Brittle bones snapped. Narrow branches of driftwood broke. The estate guard tried to block his swings and failed.

Men joined him with large stones they seized off the floor. They surrounded the beast, pounding it from all sides, breaking it to pieces and pulling it apart. The gold scarab tried to flee, but Mastram saw it run. He struck it with the brick, snapping off three of its gold legs, taking off another leg with the next blow and finally crushing it to pieces.

Mastram screamed in defiance. Fear, shame, doubt, these burned away as rage swelled in him, hatred greater than any he had ever known. The suffering he’d experienced was nothing compared to what was happening elsewhere in the kingdom. His father and stepmother had inflicted inexcusable crimes on their own people, and it was going to stop even if he had to—
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Witch Way was on the floor, both hands covering her face. Maya cried and Dana stared at Jayden.

“Please, stop,” Maya pleaded.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Witch Way mumbled and rose to her knees.

“Do it faster,” Maya begged. “Look at him, he’s in agony.”

Jayden was still asleep but not at peace. He clenched his fists and his muscles tensed. His lips pulled back in a snarl as he ground his teeth together.

“That’s not pain,” Dana corrected her. Months traveling with Jayden had given her insight into his moods. “That’s rage.”

Witch Way’s terror grew as she backed up to her heart stone. “Son of a—”
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Clams and fish. It was a boring diet, but enough to keep men alive. Mastram wouldn’t let his fellow prisoners die, demanding they go on in the face of what had seemed impossible to endure weeks ago. They stayed strong because they had hope. They had a sorcerer lord.

The ruins yielded further treasures now that they were safe to explore. No doubt most of the riches had been stolen when the original owner had been killed. Still, they found gold and a few weapons, and Baronet Fieldcrest discovered another spell tablet. Mastering it had taken time, a commodity Mastram had in abundance.

Safe, fed after a fashion and armed, they had only to wait. Patience was a virtue Mastram was finding hard these days. He yearned to save his people, and it galled him how long he’d have to wait to do so. Even with two spells he was weak. Once he was free he’d need to find more spell tablets, more gold, more of everything, for overthrowing a king was a task many tried and most failed. It would take decades, but he would do it. He would pay back his father and stepmother for the crimes they’d committed.

The wait was intolerable, but not eternal. After long weeks they saw the longboat approach the Isle of Tears with more victims of the king and queen. There were only four soldiers this time. Perhaps these prisoners weren’t so important that men would risk their lives to free them.

Baronet Fieldcrest came up alongside Mastram where he and the other prisoners hid near the piers. The prisoners were dirty and thin, but they’d found daggers in their search of the ruins and had used them to shave. “Careful, prince. We need the boat intact.”

“Never fear, friend,” Mastram replied. The longboat was large enough for them all to escape. Once they reached land the prisoners would scatter, going to friends and family, gather them up and leave the kingdom.

“You’re sure you won’t come with us, prince?” Fieldcrest asked. “I know of distant lands where you could live unknown to all.”

“It’s a generous offer, but I can’t accept.”

The longboat came to the pier and stopped. The same officer who’d brought Mastram to the isle stood up and unrolled a scroll. “By order of the king and his beloved queen, Tallet Mistrof and Anthony Albreck are thus banished to the Isle of Tears.”

Mastram stood up and approached the longboat. “I would ask a favor, though. Don’t call me prince. Prince Mastram died on these rocks.”

It was overly dramatic, but Mastram knew he couldn’t use his name and escape discovery. He’d adopted the name of his long dead host who had generously provided two spell tablets. Jayden had a nice sound to it, and a historical connection to the old sorcerer lords.

The officer on the longboat stopped reading from his scroll when he saw Jayden approach. A soldier pointed at him and told a sailor, “He’s still alive. You owe me a beer.”

Jayden cast a spell called the entropic lash, forming a black whip that could melt through nearly everything. Sailors manning the oars cried out in terror. Soldiers drew their swords, as if that would help. Jayden savored the opportunity to make them feel the fear they’d inflicted upon so many others before he swung the whip at—
********************
Jayden’s screams echoed through the woods outside Witch Way’s house. He thrashed so hard he fell off the table and landed on the floor before shooting to his feet. Covered in sweat, shaking in uncontrolled rage, he announced, “Someone is going to die!”

“I can explain,” Witch Way said hastily.

Jayden turned toward her. He opened his mouth, but the words died when he saw Dana and Maya tied up against the wall. For a moment he looked surprised, then his rage doubled as he faced Witch Way.

“That’s a little harder to explain,” Witch Way admitted.

Jayden cast a spell and formed his magic whip. Witch Way paled at the sight of it, but only for a moment as her own anger swelled. “You’re feared in many lands, but in this house we’re on equal footing. Make an enemy of me and you won’t leave here alive.”

“You page through my mind like a book, exposing my greatest shames, bind my friends, and now you threaten me? I’ve killed men for less.”

Witch Way snarled a spell that made the drapes and tapestries holding Dana and Maya let go and lash out at Jayden. He swung his whip and wrapped it around the bindings, burning through them before they could touch him. His next swing missed Witch Way’s head by inches.

“Spirits of wind and fire, grant me your power!” Witch Way commanded. “My life is in danger. I’ll pay time and a half, so don’t be stingy!”

“Done,” a high-pitched voice said. The heart stone beat faster than ever, and red light from it poured onto the witch. Under its influence her next spell was far stronger. Tables, chairs, beds, every piece of furniture animated, their wood legs becoming as fast and flexible as a deer’s nimble limbs.

Chairs charged Jayden as he exchanged his whip for a magic sword. He drove the blade through the first chair, which reared up and kicked like a horse as it died. He hacked another animated chair apart, then a third. Jayden’s next spell formed a shield of spinning black daggers. The table he’d been laying on charged him and went headlong into the blades. The shield spell buckled and failed, but not before reducing the table to woodchips.

“That was a gift from my mother!” Witch Way screamed.

“Good,” Jayden growled.

Dana had been in plenty of battles alongside Jayden and knew she had one advantage he didn’t: people ignored her. It was natural when she was a girl and he was a sorcerer lord. Men and monsters focused on the obvious threat and treating her like she was invisible.

She grabbed Maya’s hand and let her to the edge of the room. “Come on.”

Dana and Maya skirted around the battle, dodging broken pieces of furniture that crashed into the walls. Maya shrieked when the witch caused gouts of fire to leap from her fireplace, an attack Jayden avoided by using an animated chair as a shield. The chair cried out like a living creature when it burned.

“Where are we going?” Maya asked.

“Just follow me,” Dana assured her. They went around the fight, keeping down and trying to stay behind cover. Maya shrieked when a shadowy hand as big as a man slammed an animated bed into the wall next to them. The bed braced its back legs against the wall and pushed the hand back. Jayden leaped upon the bed and cut it in half with his sword.

“I’m going to regret this in the morning,” Witch Way said before casting another spell. Shadows lengthened around her before a horrifying red skinned monster rose up from the darkness. It had the shape of a man, but with eyes and gaping toothy maws scattered across its grotesque body. “Sid, I’ve got a job for you, double pay.”

“I can guess what it is,” the monstrosity said from its mouths. It lumbered after Jayden, shoving aside broken furniture to reach him. Jayden met it with sword in hand and a roar of defiance. The monster tried to wrap both arms around him in a bear hug. Jayden ran straight at it, and at the last second brought his giant shadowy hand in from the side to knock the monster over. Once it was on the ground he stood over it and swung his black sword again and again, cutting the monster to pieces that boiled away.

Dana finally reached her target with Maya. The two stood next to the fireplace and the beating stone heart over it. Dana drew her sword and held it high as Witch Way caused iron nails to pop out of her floorboards and rise up in a lethal cloud.

“Retribution spell,” Dana reminded the witch.

Witch Way scowled and let the cloud of nails drop to the floor. A surprised look crossed her face, and she turned and saw Dana and Maya next to her heart stone. Then the witch saw Dana’s sword. She held up both hands and said, “Wait, what are you doing?”

Dana swung her sword at the fireplace to prove its danger. Her sword had damaged an iron golem and had no trouble slicing through the brick fireplace. She then pressed the tip of her sword against the stone heart and said, “Hands in the air, or the rock gets it.”

“No! It took a year to build that thing!”

“Then stop fighting.”

Witch Way pointed at Jayden. “Tell him that!”

Jayden’s shadowy magic hand grabbed Witch Way around the waist and lifted her off her feet. He pointed his sword her and said, “You claim to be my equal within these walls, so let’s take this fight outside.”

Dana had seen Jayden consumed by rage before, a terrifying sight. Getting him to calm down would be difficult. She ran over and grabbed Jayden by the arm.

“Jayden, I know this woman is evil,” Dana began.

“Not helping!” Witch Way shouted.

“But she saved your life. No one else nearby could have helped you. People warned me about her and I brought you anyway. I was desperate and you were dying. What she did was inexcusable, but I’m asking you not to kill her.”

Jayden stared at the witch. He was breathing hard and looked like he was seconds from attacking. Dana needed to do more.

“Maya and I saw your memories along with the witch,” Dana told him. Jayden’s fury was replaced with confusion. He stepped back and lowered his sword. “We know what you went through as a child and why you fight the king and queen. I’m so sorry. You deserved better.”

“Should we bow?” Maya asked. “He is royalty.”

Jayden looked down. “Don’t bow. Don’t kneel. Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’ll take contempt over pity, for I’m worthy of scorn.”

“Jayden,” Dana began.

“I failed!” he roared. “I watched my father descend into evil. No one else could have saved him. No one else had the connection to him I did. I didn’t know the words to reach him. Countless villains masquerading as allies badgered him, pulled at him, never letting up for a minute as they tried to make his soul as ugly as their own. They succeeded and I failed, and countless lives have become infinitely worse.”

“I know you’re hurting, but you have friends who can help,” Maya reminded him. “You did then, too, Mr. Wintry and the jester. Um, what happened to them?”

Jayden’s anger was replaced with a depression every bit as great. “I’m told Mr. Wintry passed away three years ago. He waged a campaign of words against the king and queen, telling every man of influence what villains they are. Father and stepmother never understood why their diplomats suffered such hostile receptions in foreign lands. Kipling might still be alive somewhere, an old man by now. The last I’d heard of him, he’d stolen a month’s payroll for the army and fled the kingdom.”

“Why didn’t you go to them for help?” Dana asked him.

“I wanted to. Countless days went by where I yearned for their advice or a friendly voice in dark times, but if anyone saw us together they would guess the truth, meaning death for me and them.”

“Surely the king must know you escaped,” Maya said. “You stole a longboat.”

Jayden shook his head. “Waters around the Isle of Tears are treacherous, and storms are frequent. Losing a small boat there isn’t surprising or cause for concern. Other ships sent to the isle would expect to find only bones rather than men, so our absence wasn’t noticed.”

“Your hair was black in those memories,” Witch Way pointed out.

Jayden saw one of his bags on the floor and took a small bottle from it. “Hair dye. It does more than you’d think to disguise me.”

Witch Way laughed. “The mighty sorcerer lord dyes his hair?”

Dana glared at the witch until she shut up. With the witch silenced, she said, “The king and queen are responsible for their own actions, not you. They had the loyalty and love of good men. They threw that away for followers with dog-like obedience. What happened wasn’t your fault, and nothing you could do would have changed it. You were only a child.”

“I was a prince,” he said bitterly. “And now I’m a dead man. I warned you once that if my true name became known it was a death sentence. The king and queen will send armies after me if they learn I still live. You, Maya and the witch know the truth. I trust you and Maya, but my secret isn’t safe with the witch.”

Dana sheathed her sword and approached Witch Way. “You’re cursed with total honesty. Whatever you say has to be the truth, and you have to keep promises. Promise that you’ll never tell anyone what you’ve learned tonight.”

Witch Way hesitated. Dana pressed her hard, saying, “Do you want this fight to start again? Either he’ll kill you or you’ll kill him, and then his retribution spell will kill you. You’ve already lost much. Don’t add your life to the list.”

The witch heaved a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Prince Mastram, in return for my life I’ll never tell another your secret. Many will know that Sorcerer Lord Jayden came to me for help, so telling clients I saved your life is good advertising. I can’t break this promise even if I tried. Does this satisfy you?”

Jayden dispelled the magic hand holding Witch Way. “Your can keep your life, witch, but what you’ve done demands a response. I won’t harm a hair on your head, but my vengeance shall be brutal.”

Dana and Maya grabbed their things and helped Jayden out of the witch’s house. The fight had taken a lot out of him, and he only went a short distance before sitting down. The sun began to rise, welcome light after such a difficult night.

“I never realized how hurt he was,” Maya said from a safe distance. “Inside, I mean. Imagine having your own family turn against you. I always wondered what it was like to have a father and mother, and his were awful.”

“He’s blaming yourself for everything that’s gone wrong in the kingdom,” Dana said. She’d known that for all Jayden’s bravado he was a mess, but she’d never thought he was so badly damaged. How could she fix this?

Dana had thought they were done with Witch Way, but the witch came near Dana and said, “I’m sorry. You have no idea how rare it is for me to say that. Jayden or I would be dead if not for you. Probably me. I brought it on myself, like all my problems.”

“Your house is ruined,” Maya said sadly.

“My heart stone is all that matters. Those are hard to build, and costly in power and promises.” Sounding more worried than apologetic, Witch Way asked, “About Jayden’s threat. Exactly what did he mean?”

A tiny spark drifted by them and went through the open door of the house. Witch Way’s face turned pale. “He wouldn’t.”

“He would,” Dana said.

Boom! The house exploded in a fireball that destroyed what little had survived the recent battle. Pieces of the heart stone landed nearby and shattered when they hit the ground. High-pitched laughed echoes across the forest as the spirits in the heart stone made their escape.

“He did,” Maya said.