Chapter 38: The Five Chances Rule

The alley had all the charm of a damp cellar and smelled like someone had thrown a cabbage into a blacksmith’s rubbish bin and forgotten about it for a month.

The stranger pressed his cheek against the brick, his teeth gritted so tight his jaw muscles trembled. His shoulders were shoved upward at an unnatural, agonizing angle by Caldrin’s massive gauntlets, but despite the pain, he refused to spill a single word. He just glared sideways, one bloodshot, defiant eye fixed on the young Grand Duke crouching before him.

Lioren didn’t rush. He rested his forearms on his knees, watching the man’s throat work as the spy swallowed hard.

Five seconds passed. Ten. A stray draft whistled down the narrow gap between the brick walls, rustling a bit of dry straw near their boots.

"Nothing?" Lioren asked softly, his tone carry none of the anger one might expect from a lord who had just been tailed across half the city. He waited another beat, giving the fellow every possible moment to reconsider the sheer futility of his stubbornness.

When the man merely spat a red-tinged glob of phlegm onto the cobblestones near Lioren’s boot, the Duke let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Fine," Lioren murmured, pushing himself up off his haunches with a faint pop of his knee joint. "You want to play it that way."

Lioren reached down to his hip as if he had all the time in the world.

SHHHING

The longsword slid from its scabbard with a clear, singing hum that echoed sharply between the tall buildings. The steel caught the sunlight filtering down from above, gleaming with a terrifying, mirror-like polish.

Lioren raised the weapon, holding it horizontally across his palms as if he were presenting an altar offering. He gazed down at the double-edged blade with a soft, almost tender fondness, a look usually reserved for a long-lost lover or a treasured family heirloom.

"She’s magnificent, isn’t she?" Lioren remarked airily, turning the pommel so the light caught the dark blue sapphire set into the crossguard. "My father gave it to me when I was eleven. This steel has seen more than its fair share of blood, you know. High-mountain monster subjugations up in the frost-wastes, three winter border skirmishes, the main breach at southern border... I’ve genuinely lost count of how many dark beasts and enemy soldiers have met their end on this edge."

He ran two long fingers along the flat of the metal, patting the guard affectionately. Then, leaning down just a fraction, Lioren pressed a brief, gentle kiss straight to the cold steel near the fuller.

Standing behind the prisoner, Caldrin didn’t even blink. He merely shifted his boots on the damp stones, wearing the thoroughly exhausted, resigned expression of a veteran officer who had witnessed this exact brand of dramatic nonsense at least four dozen times before.

The captive, however, did not share Caldrin’s weary familiarity.

The man’s eyes widened until the whites showed all around his irises. His chest heaved against the brickwork, his breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps as he stared at the long, gleaming length of steel hovering six inches from his nose.

"Y-you’re mad!" the stranger rasped out, his voice cracking with sudden panic. "You’re going to butcher a man in broad daylight?! Is this how the mighty Grand Duke of Roscaire operates? Murdering an innocent citizen in a alley just because he won’t answer your arrogant questions?!"

Lioren didn’t raise his voice. His smile remained perfectly intact.

"Well," Lioren tilted his head, looking as though the man had presented him with a rather amusing puzzle. "you’re certainly a man. The ’innocent’ part is still very much under active investigation."

He gave the sword one last appreciative look, then slid it smoothly back into its leather sheath with a dull, heavy CLACK.

"Besides," Lioren added, his smile dipping into something smaller, colder, and distinctly less pleasant, "I have absolutely no intention of dirtying my beloved sword on you."

His gaze dropped to the damp cobblestones near his boots.

There, resting in the shadow of an empty wine crate, lay the short, double-edged shortsword the stranger had drawn on Caldrin moments earlier. Lioren bent down, picked it up, and turned it over in his hands. He tested its balance, inspecting the nicked wooden hilt and dark guard with the critical eye of a bargain-hunting shopper.

"Not with this one, anyway," Lioren murmured.

He took two slow steps closer, turning the captured knife so the point faced downward.

"So, let’s lay out the rules for our little chat," Lioren said. "You have five chances left to answer me honestly and clearly. If you refuse, or if you decide to waste my time with more fairy tales about leather shops, I will begin asking my questions in a considerably less pleasant manner."

The man pressed his shoulders back against Caldrin’s grip, trying to sneer through his fear. "You’re bluffing," he spat out, though his voice lacked its earlier bite. "You’re a high lord of the realm. You wouldn’t dare butcher someone over a common stroll through the city square..."

Lioren didn’t argue. His expression didn’t shift into anger. It remained entirely, terrifyingly neutral.

"Why were you following us?" Lioren asked calmly.

The man set his jaw, staring straight ahead into the brick wall, refusing to speak.

SCHUNK

"AAGGHHH!"

The stranger’s high-pitched, strangled scream ripped through the narrow alley, instantly smothered as Caldrin slammed a heavy, gauntleted hand over the man’s mouth.

Lioren had moved with clean, effortless precision. The short iron blade had driven straight into the meat of the man’s right calf, deep enough to bite hard into the muscle, but carefully angled to avoid the main artery. He pulled the steel out with a sickening, wet slide, stepping back just enough so no blood caught his clean trousers.

The man thrashed violently against Caldrin’s hold, his legs shaking, tears of sudden, blinding pain welling in his eyes.

Lioren stood over him, waiting patiently while the man’s muffled, ragged gasps slowly slowed into heavy, shuddering breaths.

"Now," Lioren repeated, his tone just as pleasant, calm, and conversational as before. "Let us try that again. Why were you following my group?"

Caldrin lifted his hand from the man’s mouth.

"Curse you!" the stranger sobbed out, his face pale as lard, sweat dripping off his chin onto his collar. "Curse you to the hells, Roscaire! You’ll pay for this! My people will make you bleed for every drop...!"

"Mmm," Lioren hummed, considering the threat with a mild, almost polite nod of his head. "Perhaps. We can certainly discuss the political consequences and your revenge plans later. But right now, I have questions that need answering first."

When the man clamped his teeth shut once more, glaring through his pain with stubborn, bleeding pride, Lioren didn’t hesitate.

SCHUNK

"NNNGGHHH-AAAAGH!"

The knife sank cleanly into the left thigh this time, pinning the muscle before Lioren yanked it free once more.

The man’s knees gave out completely. Only Caldrin’s iron grip on his collar kept him from collapsing into his own blood on the damp cobblestones. He was shaking violently now, his earlier arrogance entirely shattered into a chaotic mixture of blind panic and overwhelming pain.

"You’re a monster..." the stranger whimpered, his head hanging low as dark blood soaked into his brown wool trousers. "A bloody, ruthless monster..."

"I am a Grand Duke who governs the north," Lioren corrected gently, wiping a red smear off the flat of the sword onto the hem of the man’s own coat. "You have three chances remaining, friend. I would strongly advise you not to waste them."

Lioren stepped in closer, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly cheerful register that made Caldrin himself shift his weight uncomfortably.

"You see," Lioren explained, gesturing lightly with the bloody tip of the blade, "the human body is remarkably resilient, but it is also full of small, sensitive extremities. Your legs are done. Next, we move to your hands, finger by finger. And depending on how stubbornly you choose to hold your tongue after that... well, we can move somewhere higher up. I don’t believe I need to elaborate on the details, do I? You look like an educated fellow."

The man stared at the small, iron knife hovering near his face. He looked at Lioren’s eyes, eyes that held no malice, no cruelty, but rather the cold, methodical detachment of a surgeon preparing to cut away dead meat.

There was no honor to be saved here. No grand heroic rescue coming down this alley.

"Why," Lioren asked one final time, his tone soft, clear, and absolute, "were you following us?"

The man squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving as he tried to swallow down another dry heave. He stayed silent for two agonizing seconds.

Lioren let out a quiet sigh and reached his left hand out, casually reaching for the man’s limp, trembling right wrist.

That was the breaking point.

"WAIT! WAIT! DON’T!" the stranger shrieked, his voice cracking into a pathetic, desperate sob as he jerked his arm wildly against Caldrin’s crushing grip. "I’ll talk! Sweet gods, stop! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything!"