The Great Unknown

         

The Great Unknown by Yonatan Kirby
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Chapter 1
It felt like a burn, but what was it really? Jaka could not tell, as he was lying face-down upon the rusty metal bed and the machines were really loud. They were about to cut into him once more, he knew, and implant whatever they wanted to implant inside of his very bones. What these implants did Jaka did not know, but he knew they'd better hurry, because even with the drugs it was painful; and becoming more so by the second.
"Do you like it?" said the doctor. "The pain, I mean: it has such a delicate, razor-sharp edge, and if you apply it without skill..." and he put pressure on the device he was using, causing Jaka's spine to burn, and then the sharpest pain imaginable engulfed his very being. When it was over the doctor said, "Well, that should teach you never to tamper with the device. It is in your back for good."
"I guess so," Jaka said as he huffed and puffed. "And you'll be first on my to-kill list once I get out of here."
"I have heard that many times," grumbled the doctor, patting Jaka's back to ensure whatever was in there stayed. "But you don't know my name, where I live, even where this place is. This place could be on the North Pole for all you know."
"It's nice out," Jaka said. "I know what latitude we're at."
"Good luck finding this place from that information," said the doctor. "Anyway, you're ready for discharge. And remember, we can track your every move."
"Not my thoughts," said Jaka.
He rose up from the torture bed and started walking past the doctor and through the open gate into the hallway. Yes, even rat and spider-infested dungeons had hallways. But that was not important so Jaka pushed it from his mind.
He had to get away from this place. "The door's locked!" yelled the doctor, an old and sallow man of about sixty. Of course, Jaka had stolen his keys. He opened the door to the dungeon and locked the doctor in. This was what he had planned. Everything so far was going perfectly.
And if the doctor didn't know magic, as Jaka suspected he didn't, then he wouldn't be able to call for help. For a few days, at least.
But then Jaka halted in his steps. Why? Because he had no clothes on. He had been in here long enough for him to disregard that fact. So he opened the dungeon door again and went back in. The doctor was lying against one of the wall of the cell, weeping.
Jaka stripped him of his clothes without a fight: the doctor didn't want to die, so he stripped bare when he saw Jaka coming. Jaka didn't thank him. In fact, he bludgeoned the doctor with his fist once and watched as he fell unconscious, and then he shook him to make sure he wasn't acting. Jaka was pleased that he didn't find anything awake in the doctor's body. Now came the hard part: making his way past multiple guards. He would use his training and put it to use after weeks and months of rotting away. He was extremely hungry, of course, and they had just given him bread and water, a torture in itself, so his frame was as gaunt as the God of Death would allow before taking his life. He walked past the dying corpses again and shut the door to the dungeon and locked it. He walked up a set of stairs and heard the voices of a couple of men talking.
"Who goes here?" shouted one of them.
"It's me," Jaka pantomimed in a voice that he hoped would sound like the doctor's. He wheezed as he ascended the final steps. Once he heard the guards talking again he knew that this would be his only chance: he vaulted over the last step and came face to face with both of them, who were both waiting with huge clubs. Jaka had little time for irony as they both came for him, swinging their sticks. They, also, evidently had training. Jaka just wished his training would outlast theirs.
He slid underneath the first one, who was so surprised at the move that he let his guard down. Jaka deftly kicked him where it hurt the most and stole his club as the guard doubled down screaming. "Just one now," Jaka said, already beginning to tire.
But he masked it well. Nevertheless, the brave guard, drawing a sword, yelled epithets as he charged him. Jaka deftly stepped to the side, drawing whatever reserves he had left, and then crashed his club down on the guard's skull. The guard dropped, as Jaka knew he would.
But the sound the guard made when he crashed to the floor was doubtless to attract more guards. Jaka stripped the guard of his clothing and put them on. He didn't bother to redress the guard with the doctor's clothing, as whoever ruled this place would eventually figure out what happened. But Jaka, filled with newfound hope and energy, took the guard's keys and unlocked the barred door. Then he slinked against the wall and listened. No sound. But maybe they had heard the fighting, so Jaka waited a little more. Finally, driven by an insatiable desire for food, he began walking along the wall. He came to another hallway, created from stone instead of metal. It was quite cold here, but not as cold as the dungeons.
Then he heard someone walking down the corridor. The steps grew louder but not slower or faster, so immediately Jaka stepped out from behind his wall and took his newly-acquired sword to use. There was one problem, however, and Jaka immediately stopped when he saw it: it was a maiden, a beautiful one at that.
She froze as well and the two of them just stood there. Then came a call: "Gracie! Gracie? Grace?" It was a woman's voice and it echoed down the passageway. Jaka did the only thing he could do: "My lady," he said hoarsely, "I have been wrongly imprisoned. Where does m'lady advise me to go?"
She pointed to her right and immediately Jaka strode hurriedly down the passageway. "Thank you, m'lady," he whispered. "I am forever in your debt."
Jaka broke into a run, if you could call it that. But it was more like a weak trot--and he needed sustenance immediately. He began sniffing for signs of a cookfire. Then, after a couple of minutes, he smelled one: not just a cookfire but more... it must be the kitchens!
Jaka began salivating uncontrollably and wiped his mouth on his garments. He sheathed his sword and stumbled into the kitchen, hoping he didn't smell too bad but knowing that he should definitely not stand within a couple of meters from any other person. He would have to take a long bath somewhere, if he ever got out of this place.
A chef, or rather a peon working for a chef, saw him and immediately took a piece of bread and a piece of meat and handed them to Jaka.
Jaka took them without a word and said, "I've taken sick. Could you please tell me the quickest way from this place to the front of the palace?"
"Down the path," the peon whispered. None of the other workers had noticed them so far, or it was possible that none of them cared.
"Thank you," whispered Jaka, the escaped prisoner turned guard. He set off down the passageway confidently, and then once he was out of range of the kitchens he stuffed his face with the food. He stopped halfway though, and put the rest in his robes--he didn't want to actually become sick after so many months in the dungeons. He now needed water--lots of it. But that would have to wait until he escaped the palace through and through.
There was suddenly light, and a lot of noise. A bunch of armored guards clambered down some nearby steps. This could only mean one thing. Jaka tried to look as well-fed as possible and shouted, "Here, guards! He went that way! He wounded me and has a sword. Tread carefully!"
They all rushed past, but the last one looked him up and down with an expression of distaste. Jaka hurried now, as they would be on his trail within a few minutes. He walked quickly to the side of the stairs and then nonchalantly strode, sword in hand, down the multiple marble steps. He didn't even know where he was, only that there was a great city below the steps and beyond that was a great plain that stretched into forever. He kept his eyes from wandering too much, instead looking right in front of him as a disciplined soldier should. He pushed past a couple of street vendors at the bottom of the steps and found himself standing on solid cobblestone. That would make this province a rich one, because they had found the time and money to pay people for paving streets instead of just farming. Jaka didn't know how he knew this, but he knew. He tried to think back to his youth, his homeland, but it wouldn't come. He would have punched himself in the face in order to think back, if it would have worked and if he wasn't surrounded by quickly-moving people. He didn't want to end up in the insane portion of the dungeon. How he knew this, he still didn't know.
Sooner or later, he would have to steal or he would have to sell himself for servitude. As he had no money at the moment, he walked until he found a porter. He was about to speak to him until he remembered he needed to get as far from the palace as possible in order to avoid the guards. This porter would surely give him up to the guards, as he had no reason not to. So stealing was the only solution.
He saw a street gang and approached them. They backed away, scared of someone who looked like was about to die. "I have a proposal," said Jaka. "You cause the distraction and I steal the food."
"Are you crazy?" said one of them. "We're too close to the palace!"
It was a good thing he had pointed that out, as there were guards coming their way. Jaka ducked into a nearby shop. He breathed a sigh, for the air in the shop was pleasant, the combined aromas of a few dozen candles.
"Hello?" quavered the voice of an old woman. Jaka peered around the corner and saw her and her husband behind a counter. Then he heard the thieves talking outside. He didn't hear what they were saying but he didn't need to--he heard the tones of their voices: they weren't betraying him. Or at least it seemed this way at first.
"We'll find him," one of them said loudly. "Thank you for your support, Officer. Yes, don't worry, it'll happen soon." A pause. Then, "Of course. The king himself, you say? Well, we'll try our best. Thank you. Goodbye."
One of them opened the door. Jaka hid behind a display. The thief sniffed: "Hmm, doesn't look like he's here," he said. "It smelled too nice in here, and he smells horrible."
Thanks a lot, Jaka thought.
"You fool!" said another thief, smacking the first with something heavy. There was a muffled cry. "Now go in so I don't have to do that again."
The thief stumbled in. He looked this way and that before turning around and leaving. There was another muffled cry. Jaka knew his capture was imminent: he had next to no energy and thieves were usually brutal fighters.
So he decided to surrender on his own terms. He stepped out behind his fortress of candles and walked past the wounded thief into the center of a circle of six of them.
"Ah, there he is," said the lead thief. "Break one of his legs or something."
Suddenly, a compulsion made Jaka stick out his hand for a handshake. The lead boss narrowed his eyes and spat on the ground, some of it reaching Jaka. "Me?" he said. "Shake with...you?" Then his eyes widened.
He couldn't take his eyes off of something--then he finally broke free of the spell and ran. Most of the thieves followed him. The wounded one didn't--he too looked at something on Jaka and then ran in a completely different direction. It was as if he didn't remember where his cohorts had run.
Jaka was stunned. He had merely stuck out his hand. Then he saw it: a black circle on top of each finger of his right hand. He knew it meant something...something! But he could not remember.
"Excuse me, son," said the elderly man who had just opened the door to the shop: "Might you need some lodging or food? We have ample enough room for another boarder. You can stay for a few days if you wish."
"No, thanks," muttered Jaka. He continued walking. Eerily, he felt fine now: no hunger pangs and no weakness. He was still thin as a rail, though. And he had to get out of the city to escape anyone who might report him to the guards: if thieves would, then certainly the average citizen would. He walked, head down, into the city. His goal was to reach the other side and the plains. Hopefully the reach of the kingdom didn't go that far.
So he chose another alleyway so that there would be less people. He still had his sword, and as soon as he arrived at a fountain he ate the remaining bread and meat and washed it down with water.
The fountain, he noticed after he had drunk his fill, was in the shape of a serpent. Something in his mind told him that this symbol was evil and must be eradicated. But Jaka had no molten iron tools nor a fire, so the best he could do was urinate on it. But even this he dared not do, for he had looked around and seen the faces of little children from the windows.
He moved on through the city and then the noise of people became louder and louder. He had reached a huge marketplace, full of fruits and vegetables and bread and fur and flies feasting on rotten fruit.
He had picked up some coins that were strewn in the street and especially in the fountain: these he gave to a fat merchant with balding hair and an enormous mustache. "Whad'ya want?" said the merchant. "Meat pies? A salad? Although I'm personally against eating leafy greens, myself. So what'll it be?"
"I'd love an ear of corn,"
Jaka said, looking directly into the merchant's eyes.
"Quite a personality you have there," commented the merchant. "I can give you most of your coins back."
"I'd love to get away from here," said Jaka quickly, using his instincts, which said to trust this man.
The man's eyes narrowed: "Where do you want to go?"
"Oh, just out of here," Jaka said. When he saw that the man's eyes were still narrowed, he said, "I just escaped from prison. The torture chambers. I do not know of my former past; perhaps the torturers erased them from my mind."
"Come here," the man said, looking around. His gaze caught on something. "There are troops headed this way. Come hide in the back, where my family is."
Jaka made no protest as the man motioned him into his stall and into the tent in the back. There was no one there. "Just hide here, and stay here," said the merchant, massaging his head with his dirty palms.
"My wife will be here presently."
Jaka was surprised: in his last sentence, the merchant had sounded like a nobleman.
But of course he didn't say anything, for the object was to keep quiet.
"Yes, what can I help you with?" he heard the merchant's booming voice say.
"Man about this tall, wearing a guard's uniform," muttered the soldier.
"Don't know who you're referring to," said the merchant. "You said he was wearing a guard's uniform?"
"Don't know what--" and then there was a loud crash. The merchant arrived at the tent: "Come, ride with me. We only have two horses and my wife and children can stay here at a secure location. You must come."
Jaka didn't refuse.
"What's your name, son?" said the merchant as he pulled the body of the soldier into the stall and under the counter. "It won't take long for them to notice, so hop on... there you go. We will talk as soon as we get to a safe place."
Jaka again didn't refuse: the man had seemed pretty friendly thus far.
They both rode through the city streets away from the market. Then Jaka saw the palace. "I can't go back there," he told the man.
"This is the direction they will never search in," said the merchant, his horse huffing and puffing already. "We will switch horses once we reach the forest."
Jaka couldn't help but laugh at the comment.
They continued through a gate with a couple of sleepy-eyed guardsmen and into the forest which spread out beyond the back of the palace. "Ever been here before?" said the merchant. "Oh, no."
There was shouting from behind them and they urged their horses faster. "They have a problem," said the merchant. "They have too much forest to scout and too little men.
They will stop searching in about half an hour or so. There is only a small chance we will be caught."

Chapter 4
Somehow not so comforted with the situation, again all Jaka could do was follow this man.
Both their horses were entirely exhausted after walking up a hill for two hours. They sighted a small stream and let their horses rest. "We would have to slaughter them if we tired them any longer," said the merchant. "Here, I don't even know your name. I'm Jumbert."
"I'm Jaka," said Jaka, wondering if he should have used a fake name. It was over now, though.
The man spat on the ground. "Do you even know what that means?" he said, through gritted teeth.
"No," said Jaka.
"You don't want to know. Choose a new name."
"Maybe I can take your name?" Jaka suggested, and then he felt faint. "Until tomorrow," he said, dropping on the ground, unconscious.

He woke to the smell of burnt bread and cheese. "Good, you're up," said the man. "Here, I took a couple of oranges. Eat one or die."
Jaka laughed at the jibe. "Where are we going?" he said.
"Deeper into the forest, my brother. We must go visit some friends of mine. And see my extended family, of course."
"Can I have some bread and cheese?" asked Jaka.
"No, that's mine," said the merchant. "Of course you can, you dolt! Just eat quickly, we should go now."
Jaka ate quickly and they rode again. Fortunately for the horses and by association for them, the horses had made a full recovery and the ground was now level. They covered a good distance before they set down next to another small stream for lunch.
The merchant smacked his own forehead again: "Right! What do I call you? I can't call you 'Jaka' because that means a rude part of some animal. I will call you Chadler. And don't complain, it's a good, reputable name."
They had been mostly silent while riding the horses, in case the wrong ears were about.
But now Jaka was permitted to ask questions. "Firstly," he said to the merchant, "Who am I?"
The merchant shrugged while chewing on a piece of jerky. "How would I know? I was just minding my business in the market when you came along."
"Don't lie to me," said Jaka. "You were ready for a getaway at any time and you even killed a soldier. Now please tell me the truth."
"I can't," admitted the man with some sadness.
"I swore an oath. But for now consider me a simple smuggler, alright? The less people know of me the better.
They will debrief you once we reach camp, where you will also hopefully get your memories back. And you will be able to ask questions there."
"Very well," countered Jaka, still hungry and weak but able to hold his own now. "So we are riding into the evening as well?"
"Correct," said the merchant, finishing his jerky and tossing some pieces of fat on the ground, causing vultures to dive and fight each-other for the measly scrap.
"Here we go, saddle up."
They saddled and rode again. Here and there there was a marked trail, but for the most part they went off the trails and were barely able to make their way. "Don't want to leave any footprints," explained the merchant.
"But I thought we were past the threat?"
"Just making sure," said the merchant.
"There are other hostile servants that would seek to stop us. In fact..." and his face went white.
Jaka looked. There was a large black mass that was flying its way toward them
"Stay behind me," instructed the merchant. "I haven't banished one before but I did stop one temporarily."
Hooray, Jaka's mind sang sarcastically.
The black thing rushed them.
Chapter 2
Jaka cowered for safety while the merchant drew a flaming sword, to Jaka's surprise. He didn't know who to be afraid of more now, his friend or the black monstrosity.
The black and the red met, and the black split into two parts down the middle. They each tried to get up and fly themselves, but they didn't have enough lift. The merchant proceeded to cut these two pieces into many smaller pieces. Then, when he was done, he dug a few holes in the ground with his sword and put the black things into them. Then he said to Jaka, "Would you mind helping me put the dirt back on top of these things?" Jaka of course complied and helped. When it was over he asked the merchant for his name.
"My name?" said the merchant, incredulously. "Why do you need my name?" When he saw Jaka's reaction, he said, "Ha, I made you fall for it. My name is Prestor, at your service."
"What was that?"
"Oh, just an unfriendly welcome from one of our adversaries. But since I killed it, it won't transmit our location back to it's master. Or masters."
"I think of myself as a brave man, but yet I cowered before that thing," Jaka said.
"Don't worry," said Prestor. "You'll get used to them. Come on, only two hours to go, and we need to make it by nightfall else one of thost black things will tear us apart when we can't see it. Come now."

They both looked around and realized the horses had gone. Prestor swore and said, "Bullocks, I'm in no condition to walk, but walk I must. You must make sure I do not fall off a cliff in my moments of exhaustion."
"Very well," said Jaka. "You know, I think my memory is coming back. I used to be a painter."
Prestor chuckled. "Now I don't remember you as a painter, but as a lumberjack."
"You knew me?" asked Jaka, aghast. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Too early, too much," said Prestor, huffing and puffing his way up the slight incline. "I would have seemed as crazy to you, not someone who was just waiting for vagrants in order to protect them."
"I'm not a vagrant," said Jaka. "I was in the dungeons, not on the streets."
"Trust me," Prestor said, stopping for a bit to rest.
"I know. But the streets are worse. Do you know how cold it gets at night on the streets? And no one to take you in. The jealousy is almost worse than the cold."
Jaka grunted and pulled on Prestor's arm. "Come on, you dolt," he told him. "We're almost there."
After a few hours of inclines and a few rests beside various streams, they finally reached the summit. "I had no idea this was a mountain," said Jaka.
"It isn't," said Prestor, gazing down three thousand meters to the city below. "It's a rise. It's different, it's only a mountain on one side."
"Whatever," said Jaka, but then backtracked. "I apologize, I'm just moody after all this hiking with no trail."
"Don't worry," Prestor puffed, winking. The trail we are about to embark on is actually marked, and it's all downhill.
"Sometimes they say downhill is worse than uphill," said Jaka.
"Good, your memory's coming back. Follow me and don't let me fall." Prestor picked up a hefty stick from the ground and broke off its branches. "In the case that you fail, this thing will serve as my burial pyre." Jaka was glad to see that Preston still retained his sense of humor.
They started down the path with a sense of comfort that soon turned into trepidation. The path had become steep and rockfalls were imminent: one happened just meters behind them. They were both too nervous to talk, and besides, talking could bring on more avalanches. The only thing they were able to do was creep, one foot in front of the other, and hope that they would still be alive when they got to the bottom.
But their hopes were interrupted: someone was trying to get to the top.
They encountered him about a third of the way down. He was traveling up the winding path and he was wearing armor and carrying a sword. When he came within voice range he said, "Step aside, or I will slit your throats."
Prestor responded, "I think it is you, friend, who need to be afraid. Your sword is no match against mine."
The man laughed and laughed. When he finally stopped, he said, "No, friend fat man: I think it is you who will end up falling to those sharp stones so far, far below. Shall we see who wins?"
Jaka took a rock, a large stone, and threw it at the adversary. It clunked off his armor and he fell. All the way to the bottom. And with him went part of the path.
"Please refrain from calling me an idiot," said Jaka. "Forgive me; I was only trying to protect us."
"I wish I could say I had the situation under control," Prestor said.
"You did well, Chadler. Better than I could have done had I been in your place."
"I am such a weakling, that was all I was able to do," chuckled Jaka. "And don't call me Chadler. It sounds like I'm a horse."
"Well, you are one, aren't you?" retorted Prestor. "Oh, dear." And the ground under his feet caved in. He desperately held onto the path with both hands but he was slipping quickly. FIve meters away stood Jaka, unable to help: if he walked any closer the rest of the path would cave in.
"Go... to the city," Prestor croaked, almost gone now. "They--" and he fell, screaming, from the cliff.
Chapter 3
Jaka watched his friend get pierced by the sharp rocks. It wasn't like he hadn't seen such a thing before, it was just that he couldn't remember when he had seen it. Briefly he wondered if he was simply a reanimated dead person that someone had stolen from the morgue, but that explanation didn't seem satisfactory. He sighed, looking down at the now-bloody rocks, and continued his journey.
He deftly jumped over the break in the trail created by Chadler and continued walking. His foot hit something sharp and he almost fell off the path, but he steadied himself at the last minute by windmilling his arms. Somehow, he thought this was quite comical, and started chuckling. When that subsided he started walking at triple speed down the path: Chadler had walked quite slowly, after all. Jaka shook his head at the thought of Chadler, his guide. Now he was on his own again, he would have to use his instincts to pick out another person he could trust.
He made it down the mountain in good time, and walked the remaining kilometers to the city. He thought it might be hard to explain the fact that he was dressed as a guard and had no money and had actually met Chadler and had seen him killed.
But it was his only chance, as they would arrest and imprison him in that other city that he had escaped from. At least he didn't have blood on his clothing: that would be really hard to explain.
He finally emerged out of the forest. He saw a long field and then a gate. The gate was part of a wall, and there were soldiers at the top of it.
One of them bellowed at him once he had reached the gate: "State your business, man! Who are you?"
Here was the hard part: telling the truth. "Well," Jaka began,
"I have escaped from prison."
"From where?" the guard demanded, his booming voice falling down upon Jaka like an anvil.
"That city back there, beyond this mountain," said Jaka.
"You don't even know it's name?" laughed the guard. His companions also burst into laughter.
"Look at me," gestured Jaka. "I am thin as a rail and I'm told my name means some kind of unclean thing. I don't even have my memories; I have amnesia!."
One of the guards whispered something to the lead. The lead then whispered something to the guard who spoke for them.
"Fine, you can come in," said the guard. "But only under certain conditions. You'll be informed of them shortly." He cupped his hands to his mouth: "Open the gate!"
There must have been some elephants there moving the gate, because it took almost a minute to fully open it. Jaka simply ducked under the half-opened gate and saw himself surrounded by guards, including the lead. "Come with us," he said, prodding Jaka's back with the pommel of his sword.
They walked through the city, which looked drastically different from the other city he had escaped from. For one, the cobblestones weren't dark--they were white. And frequently he could hear singing coming out of the various taverns. Even the working people seemed to be in good spirits: a blacksmith raised his hand in greeting as Jaka's party passed his shop, and a butcher shook his raw side of beef at them, to the consternation of the guards. "Get back to work, hound!" said the lead to the butcher, who simply smiled.
"Why is everyone so happy here?" Jaka asked the lead guard in amazement.
"The king is dead," said the captain. "He had levied many taxes upon rich and poor alike. The coronation of his son is to take place tomorrow at high noon."
"Fascinating," Jaka said, to no response.
They arrived at the palace. "Prisoner transport," announced the captain, and the doors opened.
"Prisoner transport?" asked Jaka.
"We don't want to alert anyone that someone important is coming," said the captain. "We don't want you to be assassinated. There are many factions in this fine kingdom that are trying to gain more power."
"Ah," said Jaka.
"Stop talking," the guard behind him said, and smacked him on the back with his hand.
The guard was immediately silenced by an axe to the neck. "This man here is important," said the captain. "Anyone else who disrespects him will suffer the same fate."
They walked through endless rooms and hallways, all of which seemed to be getting cleaner as they progressed. Then they saw diamonds and pearls on courtiers' tiaras and necks and Jaka knew they were close.
Then they arrived at two huge double doors. "Throne room," the captain told him. "Don't walk too close to the king, you smell awful."
Jaka already knew this, but wisely he decided not to respond. Four guards, two on each side, strained with the doors and finally opened them with a crash. They walked in.
"Hail King Lindor of Rasavatia!" roared the captain.
"Hail," said the king, somewhat nonchalantly. He was wearing a modest yellow and purple outfit which reached down to his toes.
"And who do we have here? A prisoner?"
"No, sire," said the captain. "He has come from Lasavia where he had been imprisoned."
"Imprisoned? Why?"
"I believe he was... may we speak in private, majesty?"
"Of course," his highness snorted. "First day on the job, still have to deal with important matters, what will become of me? Let us retire." He led the captain to a back room, leaving his shiny gemstone-laden throne empty.
Jaka stared at the assembled courtiers and took in their dress and rank. The higher-up people wore furs and were seated nearest the throne. Then came the merchants, whom he assumed Chadler would have been part of, and then there were some petty farmers, and then even some serfs. Jaka pitied the serfs--he had once been one, though he didn't know how he knew. His hands ached to unbind their chains.
Presently the king returned with the captain at his side. He said, "Please come here, sir," indicating Jaka. "I must speak with you at once."
The room, which had previously hosted a light chatter, became silent at once. The king did not often call in commoners for private meetings, even if it was a new king.
"As you know," said the king once they had arrived in a private room,
"This is my first day as king. And I assume you escaped the dungeons of our accursed sister city Rasavatia?"
Jaka nodded mutely.
"Speak up, man. What is your name?"