The air in the royal dungeons hung thick and cold, a cloying miasma of mildew, despair, and something acrid that prickled Prince Rega's nostrils.
Torches flickered fitfully in their sconces, casting dancing shadows that writhed across the damp stone walls. Each flicker seemed to emphasize the hopelessness etched into the faces of the other prisoners.
Rega, however, moved with grim purpose. His polished boots clicked softly on the flagstones as two heavily armed guards flanked him.
They stopped before a cell at the deepest end of the corridor, a place where the silence was heavier, the darkness more profound.
A figure huddled in the corner, barely discernible in the gloom. The stench emanating from the cell was particularly rank—a sickly sweet decay mingled with the sharp tang of old blood.
"Njiru."
Rega's voice, usually resonant and commanding, was low, almost a whisper in this oppressive place.
A rasping cough echoed from the corner, followed by a slow, agonizing shift.
A pair of hollow eyes, burning with a feverish intensity despite their sunken state, fixed on Rega.
Njiru.
The black aseseer whose name had become a whispered curse within the palace walls.
Imprisoned for the unspeakable desecration of a deceased royal family member, his experiments with necromancy were a taboo so profound it had shaken the very foundations of the kingdom.
Njiru's frame was skeletal, his once-powerful build ravaged by starvation and torture.
Scars crisscrossed his exposed skin like grotesque calligraphy, testament to the tender mercies of the royal interrogators.
His matted hair, blackened with dirt, clung to his skull, and his lips were cracked and bleeding.
"Prince… Rega," Njiru croaked, his voice a dry rustle of dead leaves. "What… what brings the lion to the rat's cage?"
Rega stepped closer.
The torchlight revealed the morbid fascination in his eyes as he studied the broken aseseer.
"Intrigue, Njiru. Your… talents. They are… unique."
A sardonic smile twisted Njiru's lips.
"Talents that earned me this delightful accommodation. And the… enthusiastic ministrations of your guards."
He gestured weakly to the chains that bound his emaciated wrists to the wall.
"The transgression was severe," Rega conceded, his gaze unwavering. "Defiling the royal dead… it struck at the heart of our traditions."
"Traditions," Njiru spat the word like a bitter seed. "While your glorious traditions leave your kingdom vulnerable. Your armies bleed and die, feeding the earth. I offered a different path. A stronger path."
Rega's interest piqued.
"Undead soldiers. You claimed you could raise them."
Njiru's eyes gleamed with a desperate intensity.
"Not claimed. Demonstrated. Before your… zealous protectors intervened."
The prince considered this, his mind racing.
The war against the northern tribes was dragging on, their losses mounting.
The prospect of a tireless, fearless army—immune to pain and death—was a tempting one.
A dark seed of ambition took root in his heart.
"The risks…" Rega began, a hint of caution in his voice.
"The risks of stagnation are far greater, Prince," Njiru countered, his voice gaining a sliver of its former power. "Imagine. An army that never tires, never retreats, never mourns its fallen. An army that will fight until the very stones crumble."
Rega's gaze drifted to the other prisoners, their faces etched with weariness and despair.
The contrast with Njiru's vision was stark.
"What would you require?" he asked, his decision teetering on the edge.
Njiru's hollow eyes burned into Rega's.
"Freedom. Release me from these chains, from this starvation. Give me access to… resources. And I will give you your undead legion."
A tense silence hung in the fetid air.
Rega considered the enormity of the proposition.
Freeing a man reviled by the entire kingdom. An aseseer who had committed the ultimate sacrilege.
But the potential reward…
"An undead squad," Rega clarified, his voice firm. "A demonstration of your capabilities. If they prove… effective, then we shall discuss further arrangements."
He wouldn't unleash a full legion until he saw proof.
Njiru nodded slowly, a flicker of something akin to hope in his gaunt features.
"Agreed, Prince. Release me, and I will raise for you soldiers who will make your enemies tremble in their living boots."
Rega met Njiru's gaze, a dangerous pact forming in the depths of the dungeon.
"See to it, Njiru. Your second chance… it is a precarious one."
He turned to his guards.
"Release him."
The guards exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed their prince's command.
The heavy chains clanked against the stone as they were unlocked.
Njiru, weak but with a spark of dark purpose rekindled within him, slowly rose to his feet.
His gaze fixed on Rega, a silent promise of unholy service passing between them in the suffocating darkness of the royal dungeon.