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[Kaylor]

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The cell door slammed shut with a loud clang, leaving him in the abysmal solitude surrounding his despair. He pressed back against the cold uneven stones and slid to the floor.

Be it known that Kaylor McKairin of The Eight Devils of Kimone has been charged with the following: Disruption of a Governmental Function - the 162nd Assembly of the 6th High Council; Assault of Council woman Elizabeth; Arson of the City of Jhelom; Felony murder of ten orphaned children resulting from Arson of the City of Jhelom; Attack of a Royal Guardsman in the Commission of his duty; Unlawful flight from Yew Prison in avoidance of Prosecution; Resisting Arrest.

Britannia's Grand Marshal proceeded with a verbal attack. You, Sir Kaylor, are always at war. I have some combat for you, but first lick my boots clean. He felt the heel of Cross' boot being pressed against the side of his face. I mean you no disgrace, Prince. Just thought you might like being closer to the ground. You know, nearer to your own kind...dung and all. Cross jumped down from his mount arming his spear. Kaylor lunged at the Marshal, switching weapons from katana to staff. They fought for a long time, neither gaining the upper hand until Kaylor finally managed to knock the spear from his opponent's grasp. He stood over Cross trying hard to control his rage, all the while knowing it was well within his power to end the man's life. Suddenly a powdery substance was showered over him. He fell to his knees, helpless and dazed. You will come with me now. Cross sneered triumphantly as he yanked on the chains dangling between the manacles locked around Kaylor's wrists. Back to Yew Prison - your final destination before hell.

Forty-two days. He'd not been allowed outside in all that time, not been able to sense the changes as day became night and night became day. Nothing changed in this wretched place. Heavy stone walls confined him within a space barely big enough for a dog, let alone a man. The straw mattress of a bed was torn and smelled from the unwashed bodies of who knew how many of its previous occupants. If he was lucky, the jailor emptied the chamberpot when it was full to overflowing. And how many times had they let him bathe...once, maybe twice? It was a wonder he wasn't crawling with lice.

The priest had not sat in judgment, but rather spoken quietly of the fact that as long as he'd known him he'd felt Kaylor had overlooked his one great flaw. You always put the will of others above your own. If you think about it, everything you have ever done that troubled you and made you mad at yourself and mad in sanity, frustrated and hopeless...every single time you did something like that, it was for someone else either out of a feeling of fealty or out of concern for what may be thought of you. There are few sins worse than going against your own nature. Until you learn to say no and learn to turn your back upon the pressures forced upon you by those who would take advantage of your grace, you will never be free to see the truth of the man you are.

Tomorrow is my last. I will spend it in seclusion until they bring me to my death. King's Knight Champion, Heir to Faerwhynne's throne, Prince Kaylor McKairin. The criminal. Gone.

"Sir Kaylor? Are you alright?"

Harlequin's voice hovered over him, an intangible invitation to escape his fear. He could feel himself drowning in a sea of sweat, the frenzied irregular palpitations of his heart, the shallow halting inhalations of his lungs. His sinews tense and trembling beneath the weight of the enshrouding retrospections, he fought to find his focus as he slowly opened his eyes.
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*

[Harlequin]

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“Sir Kaylor, are you all right?” Quinn bent over the crouched and hulking form of the knight as Rythane stepped back and watched cautiously. She reached out a tentative hand to brush back the sweat-soaked tendrils from his eyes. Her every instinct was to step away, to withdraw quickly. Not to touch him. His own dagger had slashed out at her in rage not a fortnight ago. And here he was, cornered, crouching, like a wild and fearful creature. Still, she cupped her hand gently under his chin and lifted his head.

“Sir Kay.” She spoke more softly as she lifted his gaze to meet her own. The contrast between her stormy grey eyes and his clear midnight gaze was tangible as she searched his soul with her own. “What ails you, Kaylor? Are you ill?”

The answer lay in those deep blue orbs. Not affliction of the body, but of the mind. She pulled an ornate silver flask from her belt and uncapped it. She held it out to him hesitantly, but the confusion in his eyes did not offer a glimmer of recognition. Realizing that he would not spring, not attack like a wild and injured animal, she fell to her knees beside him and spoke soothingly. “Kaylor, please.” She raked her fingers gently through his damp hair, feeling his halting and shuddering breaths, then cradled his head tenderly against her shoulder, whispering. “Breathe, Kaylor. Take a drink of this, and breathe.”

She lifted the flask to his lips, and his eyes looked up, seeking hers again. They seemed to ease slightly as he closed them and drank from the flask, then took a deep and calming breath. “I’m sorry,” he uttered quietly.

“Shh....Just breathe, Kay. Are you all right?” Quinn watched him as she released her half-embrace to allow him more freedom to move.

Kaylor nodded slightly and looked up to her. “Please help me stand.”

Harlequin rose and stepped back with one foot, bracing herself. As she clasped her hand around his wrist, he gripped hers as well, and she pulled to help him to his feet. He stood over a foot taller than she, and perspective once again seemed aligned with reality. His eyes fell on hers as she watched him, unwilling to release his hand until she was sure he was steady.

“Let us get out of this place.” Kaylor’s voice was hollow and spent.

“Aye, Sir.” She stepped off to lead the way, not releasing him until he had taken two steady steps in the right direction. Behind them, Rythane’s gaze surveyed the scene protectively as he saw them out safely.

In the night air beyond the heavy door of the prison, Kaylor breathed easier, and looked back up at the decrepit and vine-infested stone walls introspectively. “I spent forty-two days there once, waiting for death. They never let me outside the doors for even a moment.”

Quinn silently followed his gaze back up to the walls, wondering how much more lurked beneath that memory that he would never reveal. Forty-two days in jail doesn’t scar a man that way.

“Please, don’t tell anyone what you’ve seen tonight.” Kaylor looked at Rythane, then settled an uncertain glare on Quinn.

“Of course not, Kaylor.” Rythane spoke swiftly and certainly.

Kaylor still watched Quinn as she uttered her response softly, and sincerely. “You are my brother in arms, Kaylor. I have no barb for you.”

For a moment, their gaze locked the distance between them. Then, without another word, Kaylor lowered his head and stalked off into the darkness of the moonless Yew night.
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Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar