35 A Prisoner's Song

"The King comes hand in hand with death"

"It's our last breath"

"He who threatens us all"

"He who bring us to arm's call"

An old woman sang from somewhere down the cell block. The lyrics to the song were ingrained in Jacob's mind by this point; he'd been stuck with her for at least two days, judging by the number of sunsets he saw from the slit in the wall that brought him fresh air. If Jacob ever saw fresh air, and if he could reclaim the lute he left behind in Steelshade, he'd probably make the woman's song an accompaniment. Oh, the lute.

His last remnant of the kind old man remained in Will's custody, the instrument, his armor, and his weapon having been confiscated by the Tenth Vanguard. He didn't know where they held his possessions, but he'd make sure they'd come back to him. Losing the lute was not an option.

Jacob's cell's door creaked open ponderously. A familiar face poked his head through the crack, eyeing him. "Come. King Benjamin has agreed to hear your case," Will said, motioning for Jacob to follow him through the dungeon. The old woman's singing never ceased, Jacob etching the poor lady's wretched, emaciated appearance into his mind forevermore.

He was surprised that he didn't have to go through the maze again. There was a direct path from the military compound, via an underground tunnel, to the interior of the castle. Jacob supposed that Will didn't mind if he knew about it, given that he'd either be pledging his service to a new lord or facing the executioner's axe today. Both options would force him to keep the passage a secret.

The castle was massive, much like Steelshade's Academy, but far grander. The walls were built of the whitest stone, and the armor worn by the guards were unilaterally etched with gold. Standing stoically, Jacob passed by many of these statue-like people. Will was unfazed, clearly a regular visitor of the king's home.

Waiting outside the audience hall was nerve-wracking. Jacob's heart beat faster than it ever had before, nervousness warring with anger to seize dominance of his heart. Like a lamb to the slaughter, he walked into the ostentatious chamber when his name was called.

A plump king sat on a golden throne, a crown composed of something like platinum sitting askew on his brow. He maintained a semblance of regality with his perfectly poised scepter, but the rest of it screamed braggart. That was what kings did, Jacob acknowledged. Somehow, the disheveled state of the ruler in the boiling audience chamber – sweat was everywhere – brought Jacob comfort.

"You're the rogue mage that's been going around killing people?" the king asked.

"To be fair, your majesty, I've only killed bandits," Jacob replied. The monarch glared at him. Ah, the king's question was rhetorical. That was quite a foot he'd just placed in his mouth.

"So I've been told. Sir William has been singing your praises, you know?" Jacob's eyes widened as he took in the grim man beside him. King Benjamin continued. "He says that I should recruit you to my service, rather than waste someone of your potential. An accident, he calls your use of magic." The King bent down to look Jacob directly in the eyes. "You know what I call it? A high crime. You knew what you were getting into when you used magic, didn't you, boy?"

Jacob swallowed. Hoping this wasn't another rhetorical question, "The recruiter came to our town, your majesty. Her tests showed I didn't have magic. Anything I've done has been out of situations where my life was at stake."

"Your life? Your breaking of my most important laws means much more than a single life, boy. You threatened the stability of my kingdom. Luckily, only my men have seen you," the king paused to think, beads of sweat dropping down his forehead as he did so. Jacob felt for him; his own clothes were beginning to moisten with sweat. "I could pardon you, I suppose. Sir William, what do you feel is an appropriate length of service?"

The knight beside him straightened even more than he had been, a near impossibility, but the man had done it. "Your majesty, I believe ten years is fitting." A decade? Will had to be kidding. Jacob stared at the man with disbelief in his eyes. The king caught the action.

"The young man doesn't seem to agree. I don't think I do either. How about twenty?" The king smiled wide, his expression causing the flame of anger deep within Jacob to burn even hotter. Will assented to the idea of Jacob selling himself to the monarch for two entire decades.

Jacob's mind was racing as they discussed the specifics, not understanding half of it anyway. If he ever had the chance to be posted somewhere remote, in a unit like the Tenth Vanguard – but hopefully with soldiers less devastatingly skilled – he could make his bid for escape. The thought brought him comfort. There was an old belief on Earth. An agreement made under duress was nonbinding. Jacob brought the same argument here, and his anger lifted. Now he gazed upon the knight and king coolly.

"I'm glad it's all settled. He'll be assigned to the Fourth Infantry as a private, the only mage to hold such a rank. His armor and possessions will be returned to him, but I must trouble you, Sir William, to fetch the Binding Mage," the king's words sending Will out of the room. It didn't take long before he returned with a short, brown-haired man in tow. The Binding Mage took his position in front of Jacob after being debriefed by the king.

"You'll pledge your eternal loyalty to his majesty, King Benjamin II, and promise to never take any action that could harm him. You will also explicitly state that you swear to abide by a twenty-year long period in which your life revolves around his whim," the mage explained. Jacob laughed at the concept, figuring it was a bit tacky. Doing as he was told, Jacob recited the right words and stared the mage down. Then, the mage brought out a metal collar from behind him, placing it on Jacob's neck.

Jacob's neck burned as characters glowed to life on the collar. The king watched from his throne, the wide smile on his face displaying his pleasure for all to see. Jacob wished dearly to see the man keel over and die, but the burning around his neck grew even more intense.

He screamed, the king now laughing. He'd been made a slave in all but name, and he'd fallen for the false hope Will had given him.