Reaper of the Revolution

Cyrus walked steadily along with the crowd of commoners that surrounded him. Every now and again bumping shoulders with the group that huddled closer together for warmth more than fear of stepping out of line. On all sides they were surrounded by heavily armed guards who had picked them up at the gates. Now the group of thirty or so commoners moved as a single unit across the bridge that connected the main gates to the gathering hall of the castle. The wind was fierce this high up in the mountains, threatening to not only chill Cyrus to the bone, but possibly blow him off the bridge altogether. The night before he had slept surprisingly well, resting in the rocky alcove on the side of one of the mountains with Raul and the rest of the Drumlins. They hadn't been allowed to start a fire for fear of being seen by the royal guards, but the natural cavern had offered enough protection from the elements, coupled with the down sleeping bags the Drumlins had brought alone resulted in Cyrus's surprisingly comfortable night sleep.

As Cyrus walked along with the rest of the group, blatantly favoring his left leg and faking a limp with his right, cane clicking along the cobblestone bridge, he thought back to his discussion with Raul. An amused smirk crossed his lips as he remembered Raul's outcry at Cyrus's plans. Dios mio you're insane. Raul had spat, disbelief in his voice. I don't think it's so crazy, really. I walk in, get captured, spend a night or two in the dungeon and viola, I'm exactly where I need to be. Cyrus said, twirling his cane in one hand while leaning against the cave wall. You fool, once you go into the dungeon, you don't come out. They'll lock you up for life. Cyrus sighed and rolled his eyes, Raul, today we surveyed the area and you were concerned there was no way in. Now, I've found a way in and you're worried I won't be able to find a way out? Please, getting out will be the easy part. Finding Dr. Taylor is going to be difficult, but if I'm placed in the exact location that we've been informed is as close to the doctor as possible well then, no worries, right my friend? Raul opened his mouth to rebuttal Cyrus's point but simply closed it again and waved the taller man off. He was clearly done with this lunatic, no point in trying to talk sense into the insane as far as Raul was concerned.

All I need from you and your people is to be ready. Hike back down tomorrow, gather more Drumlins and supplies and be ready for a fight. I don't plan on you storming the castle or anything, but when I do break out with Dr. Taylor I have a bad feeling we're going to need some cover fire. At the very least a distraction, if that's not too much to ask. Raul said nothing in response to Cyrus, other than a curt nod of acceptance and Cyrus knew that would be enough. The man was not pleased with this Revolutionary's plan, but he also had enough sense about him to realize that in following Cyrus, they would deal a blow to the king and his court and that was enough for Cyrus to believe Raul would be where he needed him at the time of his and the doctor's departure. Cyrus had faith in the little man, and that was more than he could say about most people.

It was that faith that kept Cyrus a little warmer than the others gathered around him as he walked through the massive wooden doors to the castle. The doors themselves looked at least six inches thick and well over ten feet high. They were beautiful to behold, but powerful and imposing all the same. Perhaps breaking out would be a little tricker than he thought. As if in answer to his silent questions, the doors swung shut behind him and Cyrus was both literally and metaphorically locked in. Cyrus looked back at the doors and sighed, well, time to begin. He turned back to the lavish interior of the grand ball room. The room itself was massive and decorated with some of the finest things the young revolutionary had ever seen. Silk tapestries, golden statues of animals and man alike, servants lined the walls in equal number of marble pillars. Cyrus let out a low whistle, Wow, nice place the king's got here. He said to no one in particular, and his comment was met simply by flustered stares from both the guards and surrounding peasants alike. Several moments later a guard began barking orders for the peasants to get into line if they wished the king to hear their requests. Being the good little faux cripple he was, Cyrus lined up behind the third person, fairly certain that the other peasants had seen his supposed handicap and felt guilty for going ahead, allowing him a closer spot.

Moments later trumpets sounded and several more guards entered the ballroom, because, as Cyrus noted sarcastically in his head, there weren't enough guards already. Behind the iron-clad guards walked in a stout man, shorter than even Raul. Although, if it weren't for the curved posture of his back, perhaps he would have looked taller. Ash colored wisps of hair poked out from beneath the golden and jeweled crown he wore. Threads of silk and cashmere made up his royal outfit, accompanied by a cape, who's collar appeared to be made of the hide of some rare creature. The man himself was clean shaven, most likely somewhere in his late fifties Cyrus decided. His face looked taught and saggy at the same time, high cheekbones and sagging eyes made for a dreadful combination. His fingers looked both brittle and malicious. The man, Cyrus decided, was a walking paradox of body parts. As the king found his place atop the throne, a guard belted out, King Ramsey the fourth, kind and gracious leader of Drum Island. He or she who seeks his audience may now approach. Cyrus traced the grooves of Crow's head with his pointer finger and thumb as he waited for the people in front of him to beg at the king's feet. The first woman was granted half the food rations she had begged for for her growing family. The second man was turned away with nothing, being told that the wild animals that ravaged his farm were his own problem. The woman in front of Cyrus was stopped before she could even say half her request and the king had her escorted to his "private chambers" for later. Considering the woman's suddenly pale face and hollow look, the tears that burst forth from her eyes, Cyrus didn't have to really imagine what that meant exactly. He felt for the woman, tightened his hand into a fist as she was dragged away, but maintained his anger. The reason he was here was not for her. Finally, it was his turn.

Cyrus approached, blatantly limping once again. He used his cane to support his weight as he moved, showing the king just how useless of a peasant he was. He was maybe ten feet from the man when a guard held out a spear, stopping his approach. Cyrus bowed, removing his hat and dipping low, Your royal anus, a pleasure to finally meet you. Cyrus said, straightening back up, aware that the room had fallen deathly quiet. Neither the guards nor the peasants were quite sure of what to make of this clear lunatic. I'm a bit new in town if I'm going to be frank, but it's dawned on me that you're quite the royal bastard. Look at these people, if they don't freeze to death, they'll starve and if they don't starve to death, they'll be eaten by wildlife. Wildlife that you're too lazy to cull, not that you'd do it yourself, no that would take a bigger man than you to do. I mean that both literally and figuratively if we're being frank. The few that you do deem worthy, you rape. Cyrus shifted his weight to his left leg and rested his cane against his right before adding a slow clap, Bravo sir, bravo. King of the year right here folks. As Cyrus watched the king began to sweat, droplets of salt water streaking his forehead. Whether it was from anger, stress, embarrassment or a healthy mix of all three Cyrus wasn't sure. Finally a guard stepped forward, spear raised above his head so as to beat Cyrus with the tail end, You ungrateful swine, I'll make you beg for merc-

Enough. The king broke in and the angry guard lowered his weapon, somewhat confused. But your majesty he-
I said enough. A beating will not teach this man to hold his tongue. It will only anger him. He'll be beaten down for some time, sure, but it will only inspire him to come back for more. Perhaps next time more violently, perhaps next time with more violent friends. Instead we should take him out of the equation all together. Escort him to the dungeons until further notice. The old king said with a wave of his hand. Almost immediately two guards appeared behind Cyrus,seizing him beneath his armpits. A third grabbed Crow from Cyrus's grip and Cyrus yelled out, Whoa there buddy, that's the only thing keeping me upright. It's a piece of wood, nut a nice pointy spear like you yourself have. Surely your beloved king wouldn't actually want to hinder a cripple anymore than the cold outside world already has.

The guard looked to his king for an answer and, to his credit the king smiled pleasantly. Cyrus had been around enough sociopaths to recognize a smile like that however. It was a smile for show, there was absolutely nothing genuine about it. Contrary to this man's image of me, I am a kind king. Allow him to keep his cane, it won't do him much good where he's going anyway. The guard on Cyrus's right chuckled as the third guard handed Cyrus his cane back. Then, Cyrus was escorted out of the ballroom and into a hallway off to the right. From there the guards half-walked, half-carried Cyrus down a set of stone steps that seemed to descend into the pits of hell themselves, endlessly descending. So, on a scale of one to five stars, how would you say the food is down here? I'm hoping for a modest two, but I could see a two point three. In response to Cyrus's mouth, the guard on his right sucker punched him in the stomach. Pain shot through Cyrus's abdomen, leaking into the rest of his body as his lungs strained to reclaim the air that had been forcefully pushed out of them. Maybe just a one and a half then. Cyrus mumbled between wheezes. Finally reaching the bottom of the steps, Cyrus was escorted along a long hallway of cells. Each cell looked to be about eight by eight feet with thick metal bars that acted as both the door and the fourth wall of each room. As they passed by the cells, Cyrus noticed a single, metal fram bed and a bowl. Cyrus didn't have to guess what the bowl was for, the stench down here was enough to key him in. Farther ahead he noticed the end of the hallway, which oddly had its own door. This one was thick steel, no bars save for a small window at the top. It looked reinforced, much stronger than the bars of a normal cell. As the guards threw Cyrus into a cell of his own, about two down from the end of the hallway, Cyrus asked, Hey, what's down there? But they simply ignored him, already tired of their newest tenant's mouth. Without another word they slammed the barred door shut and left Cyrus to his thoughts. A far more dangerous choice than either of them knew.

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