3
ROSARIUS
SARASINIA
THE BASTION
Your first time in the Hole was the worst, or so everyone said. It certainly wasn’t Rosarius’s idea of a good time. The floor was covered in shit, which made him retch, and it was too dark to see anything. The shackles on his wrists fixed his arms to the ceiling, which was also so low he couldn’t stand up straight. He sweated as he struggled to free himself, but succeeded only in tiring himself out. The key to getting through this, he thought, was to relax.
Relaxing didn’t work. He felt around in the gloom with his feet, but there was nothing to sit on or lean against. Gods, but it was impossible to get comfortable. If he let his wrists take his weight, the shackles dug into his skin and the pain forced him back up. But stooping made his back ache. If he tried crouching to relieve the pressure, the burning in his thighs eventually forced him back to his original position. Cycling between crouching and standing didn’t work, either–there was simply no respite from the pain! He screamed in frustration. The Hole was fucking awful, much worse than he’d imagined. Whoever designed it had obviously put some thought into it, the cunning bastard. He chuckled, then laughed, and finally began howling. “I hope at least they got you too, Romelo,” he yelled. “Prick. Fucker! Motherfucking fucker!” The sound bounced off the walls, hurting his ears.
He could almost touch the ground with his knees. He tried a few times, and on the last he lost his footing. The shackles bit so hard he nearly blacked out. The floor betrayed him, too, and the harder he worked to gain traction in the shit, the less he got. He dangled from the ceiling, grunting and swearing. By the time he found his feet again he was out of breath.
No sooner than the stinging in his wrists abated, his back began to spasm. He shut his eyes and screwed up his face. He crouched to soothe his aching muscles, but couldn’t keep his legs from going white-hot from the effort. He thought about letting the shackles take his weight for a bit but wasn’t sure his wrists could handle it. Oh, this fucking place was taxing him to the limit, and he’d only just arrived!
He lost his footing again. The shackles took another bite, and he screamed as waves of searing pain rippled up his arms. Getting back on his feet took every scrap of his remaining strength, but he managed it. He perched there for a while, a quivering, clammy mess. His back felt as if someone had scattered hot coals over it, and his thighs were on the verge of quitting on him for good. And was that blood oozing down the insides of his forearms? Shit. A man passed out when he reached a certain threshold of pain, didn’t he? When could he look forward to that?
In the hours that surely followed, Rosarius knew true torment. He tried every trick he could think of to push through it, but nothing worked. Pleasant thoughts, for instance. Useless. For the briefest moment your imagination whisked you to a sunny beach or breezy mountaintop, but only for as long as it took for the pain to hammer its way in and drag you right back to reality. And counting your breaths? Nope. The pain drove the tallies from your head. Pretending to be a rack of jerked venison hanging out to dry didn’t work, either. All that did was remind you of food, and then of other things you also didn’t have.
More time passed. He was dimly aware of slipping through a hideous realm of agony and into an almost agreeable state of numbness. His body still ached, but it was as if he were somehow feeling it second-hand. He couldn’t decide if he were asleep or awake. And then something at the edge of this new consciousness prickled him. He focussed on it, and slowly became aware that he was pissing his trousers. It didn’t bother him, though a small part of him argued that it probably should have.
Rosarius shut his eyes against a sudden, blinding light.
“Don’t like the lamp eh, sir?” said a man. “It’ll pass.”
“Affn mmmmbf,” said Rosarius. “Fmmmmb nnnbmff.”
Another man spoke. “What did he say?”
“Dunno,” said the first man. “Let’s just take him up.”
“Nffff,” said Rosarius as the pair fumbled at his restraints. He took a big breath as he hit the floor, and a big mouthful of shit with it. He gagged as he was hauled upright, then bright pain blossomed in every part of his body. He screamed for all he was worth.
“Sounds like a hungry cat,” said one of the men.
“Yeah,” said the other as they dragged him out of the cell. “Left or right?”
“Left,” said the first man. “We’re ‘sposed to clean him up some ‘fore he fronts the tribunal tomorrow.”
Rosarius wasn’t familiar with this particular room in the Old Keep. A tiled stone floor, most likely slate. No bars on the windows. No bookcases or carpets, either, which was unusual. No furniture aside from a table with three plush chairs behind it. His warders hung around, chatting with two pairs of guardsmen. None of them paid him any mind.
He turned his attention to the ugly wounds on his wrists. He pulled the skin from a blister, wincing as drops of reddish liquid slid down his arm. Those shackles had left a mark–he’d have some nice, heavy scars there in a week or two. Not that he cared. He was covered in scars, so what difference would a few more make?
Time passed. Still raw and worn out from his confinement, he lay down on the floor and went to sleep. The first rule of soldiering was that you never stood when you could sit, and if you could sleep, you slept. Darkness claimed him for a time, after which a warder prodded him awake. “Eh?” he asked, bleary eyed.
“Apologies, sir,” said the warder. “But it’s time.”
Rosarius sat up and rubbed his eyes. Dannis and Tavaris looked down on him from behind the table, all silk gowns, painted nails, too-dark eyeliner and plucked eyebrows. “Oh, fuck off!” he said, scowling.
Dannis and Tavaris responded with hard looks.
“All stand for His Royal Highness, Prince Colton!” boomed a guard.
“His fucking what?” asked Rosarius, hugging his knees. He wasn’t about to get up for anyone, least of all a prick like Colton. “Did you say Royal Highness?”
Dannis and Tavaris stood up together as Colton sashayed into the room wearing what appeared to be an evening dress encrusted with a staggering quantity of gems. He wedged himself between Dannis and Tavaris, and the three began a hugging ritual punctuated by air kisses and over-effusive greetings.
“All present,” cried the guard, “be seated!”
As the trio sat and arranged their gowns carefully around their legs, Dannis spoke. “Before we proceed, my lord prince,” he said, “it would be remiss of me not to comment on the truly magnificent garment that you are wearing today! Such workmanship! Oh, Bo, just look at how the stones come together with the neckline to accentuate our lord prince’s striking facial features. What fabulous tones!”
“Oh my, yes, how right you are!” said Tavaris, clapping his hands. “Yes, my lord prince, it is indeed a truly marvellous piece. And the interplay of gold thread, even in this subdued lighting? It’s simply magical! Magical! Pray tell us, from whom did you have it commissioned? Was it Quintin? Oh, it was, wasn’t it? Yes, I bet it was Quintin!”
“It was indeed,” said Colton. “I cannot fault your eye!”
“Wondrous!” squealed Dannis as he pressed one of Colton’s outsized maunches to his cheek.
Rosarius looked around for a spare chair. It took longer than it should have for his brain to register that there wasn’t one. He concluded that it was a deliberate slight against him.
“Hmm. Let’s begin, shall we?” said Tavaris, flapping a hand at the warders. “Uh, you two prison... fellows. You are dismissed, actually.” The men bowed and exited the room.
Colton spoke. “Good morning,” he said, apparently addressing the tabletop. “A good morning to one and all.”
Rosarius didn’t say anything. Although it hurt, he stretched out on the floor on his back with his fingers steepled over his belly. If they wanted to play dumb games, he’d happily oblige them.
Colton frowned, finally looking at him. “You are,” he said airily, “almost certainly wondering why I and my colleagues are present at this tribunal instead of the usual tired old faces.”
“Nah,” said Rosarius. “Actually, I couldn’t give a shit.”
Dannis went red with fury. “By the gods!” he shouted. “We will not put up with such discourtesy!”
“I have never before encountered such rudeness!” screamed Tavaris. “Such poor manners! Why, I’ve a mind to order you back to the dungeons at once!”
Rosarius couldn’t help but grin at how easily he’d provoked them. Why stop, though? “It’s a good day to die.”
Dannis and Tavaris looked at Colton, who shook his head. “Er, yes. Well then, it seems I must remind you that we are here because Grand Magistrate Eusebio–my father no less–has willed that we be here. Furthermore, he entrusted me to head this commission of enquiry, specifically.”
Dannis smirked. “Indeed.”
“I just said it was a good day to die,” said Rosarius. “I mean, you said you wanted manners, didn’t you? Well, I just gave you the proper Bastion greeting. Why haven’t you replied as you should? Or have you forgotten where you are?”
“We know where we are.” Tavaris eyed him coldly.
“Yeah, well I don’t think you do,” said Rosarius. He pointed at Colton. “By the way, was it just me, or did they just announce you as Prince Colton?” As Dannis’s smile faded, he added, “Because I’m dying to know what that’s all about.”
Colton cleared his throat. “I heard no such thing,” he said, giving sidelong glances at Dannis and Tavaris, who started squirming. “Perhaps you misheard?”
“I don’t think I did,” said Rosarius, sitting up. It pained him, but he refused to let it show. “So, Princey, has your daddy ended our great republic, or something? Huh? Are we an empire again, eh?”
Colton ignored him. “Let’s proceed, shall we?”
“Sure. Why the fuck not?”
“Right then, to business!” Colton raised a finger. “Now, please understand that it is my fervent wish that this commission of enquiry should reflect,” and here he brought his hands to rest on the shoulders of his companions, “our collective youthful energy and idealism. The old men that presided over these sorts of things until recently we have displaced–for the time being, at least. I thought them too dusty, rather uninteresting, and on the whole... well, unhelpfully reactive. And my father agreed. And so I think you will find this institution–by which I mean the Bastion, of course–better served by minds like ours. Minds, of course, that are inclined to proactive engagement.”
“I’ve no idea what the shit you’re on about,” said Rosarius.
Colton continued to ignore him. “Assisting me with my task today,” he said, peering down his nose, “are His Lordship Parms Dannis, Esquire, and His Lordship Bo Tavaris, Esquire. Two very esteemed personages with whom I believe you are already well acquainted. True? Together, we shall continue our quest to uncover the facts of a certain recent–and most unfortunate–event, one in which you played a significant part. Of course, I am sure that you need absolutely no reminder of the subject of the aforementioned enquiry. Yes or no?”
“Huh?” Rosarius had stopped listening a while ago, having discovered that if he sat slightly hunched and perfectly still, he could hardly feel any pain in his back and shoulders. The little finger in his left hand was still numb, though, and had been since yesterday. A worry, but hopefully it would soon resolve itself.
“I said,” said Colton, “that I am sure you need absolutely no reminder of the subject of the aforementioned enquiry?”
Rosarius shrugged.
“My lord prince!” screeched Tavaris, rising from his chair and causing both Colton and Dannis to jump in fright. “My lord prince is speaking of the events of last week!” He settled back into his seat, looking daggers at Rosarius.
In return, Rosarius eyed the man’s skinny neck. He licked his lips as he imagined blood spurting while the head rolled away. A pity that his sword was elsewhere…
“Don’t look at me like that,” said Tavaris.
“Just get the fuck on with whatever this is, then,” said Rosarius, hands balled into fists as he got to his feet. All he needed was an excuse to let them fly…
Colton managed to hold his composure, but Dannis and Tavaris recoiled in horror. A silence descended on the room.
“I said, get on with it!” shouted Rosarius. He was tired, his nerves were raw, and at this very moment he wanted nothing more out of life than to beat the living fuck out of whatever poor sap tipped him over the edge.
“By the gods!” screeched Tavaris. “We will not–!”
Colton interrupted the man with a gesture. “Very well,” he said, fingering a sheaf of parchments on the table in front of him. He paused on one in particular. “Your name is Lozano Rosarius, yes?”
“It is,” said Rosarius, folding his arms and drawing himself up to his full height. “Lozano Iacanus Manismus of House Rosarius. What of it?”
Colton smiled thinly. “Actually, your name is not unknown to me, Lozano. For that reason, it came as a very great surprise when we heard that a week ago in this very city, you were involved in the… hmm… altercation… that you were.”
Rosarius didn’t reply, but instead started toward the pitcher and cup he’d just noticed on the table. How had he managed to miss that until now? Did it contain water or wine? Gods, he was so thirsty he didn’t even care!
“Oh yes, yes,” said Colton, beckoning him onward. “That was meant for you, actually. Forgive my neglect. You have my permission to help yourself.”
“Do I?” asked Rosarius, limping over to the table with a scowl. “Do I really?” Like fuck he did! He grabbed the pitcher and tried to pour its contents out, but his shaky hands got more of it on his shoes than in the cup. Water. In the end he abandoned any notions of decorum and put the spout to his lips.
“I can’t help but observe that you are trembling,” said Colton. “Does this commission of enquiry make you nervous, perchance?”
Rosarius held up a mangled-looking wrist. “Nope,” he said into his water. Some of it dribbled down his chin. “Been shaking like a motherfucker since I got out of the Hole. It comes and goes.”
“Good grief.” Dannis looked him up and down, his nose wrinkling in disgust.
“How uncouth!” said Tavaris. He was dabbing at his mouth with a lace handkerchief, looking ready to puke.
Rosarius edged closer to the table. He knew it wasn’t just his potty mouth that was the source of their discomfort. The day before, the warders had given him a bucket of water and some fresh clothes, but despite his best efforts he was still encrusted with filth.
“Oh dear,” said Dannis, waving a hand in front of his face. Tavaris paled and leaned back in his chair, pulling his handkerchief over his eyes.
Colton made a face and waved Rosarius away. “Yes, all right. Go now, please. You smell putrid. Go. You may take your vessel back to your place with you.”
Rosarius grinned. He wasn’t going anywhere. “Did you know that the Bastion’s sewers run through the Hole? I hadn’t really appreciated that fact until yesterday. The place is a toilet, basically.”
“I see,” said Colton. His eyes were beginning to water. “Right. Now if you’d be so kind as to stand back so we can get on with our business…”
“No,” said Rosarius, moving closer to table until he practically butted up against it. “Not until you bring me a chair.”
Dannis leapt to his feet. “Enough of this insolence! You will back up, Lozano, and you will back up now! Furthermore, you will frame your every utterance to our lord prince from now on using the correct appellation!”
Rosarius tossed the pitcher. It landed on the floor with a crack. “So, who are you again?”
Tavaris stood and gave Rosarius the hardest glare he could muster. “Your failure to address our lord prince by his title is galling to me as well, peasant! Were I you, I would do as I were told.”
“Peasant?” asked Rosarius, reaching for the blade on his hip that wasn’t there. “I’ll make you eat that insult. This is the Bastion, remember? Just who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
“Oh, dearie me,” said Colton. “Dearie, dearie me!” He took his companions’ hands and smiled. “It’s quite all right, dear fellows! And let us not force this young gentleman to use the appellation, please. Why, if we were to insist on such strict protocol, we might find ourselves engaged in enquiry well past luncheon!”
“Very well, my lord prince,” said Dannis, stroking Colton’s hand as if it were a puppy.
“Your wish is our command,” said Tavaris.
“Please do sit, dear fellows,” said Colton. They sat, but neither seemed willing to let go of his hands. He looked at Rosarius. “Lozano dear, please find it in your heart to forgive my colleagues. I freely admit that they are a touch overzealous in their devotion to me, but no insult to you was intended. Of this I’m sure.” He smiled at Dannis and Tavaris in turn, his eyes growing moist. “I do seem to inspire such love.”
Dannis brought Colton’s fingers to his lips. “There are no words, my sweet lord prince. No words.” A tear slid down his face.
“I concur,” whispered Tavaris, dabbing at his friend’s cheek with his handkerchief. “No words.”
“Fuck me,” said Rosarius under his breath. How mad were these three? They were only here as a one-time thing, and thank fuck for that! Gods help the Bastion if they were here all the time.
Colton cleared his throat and looked at him. “Now, as I was saying, about a week ago you were involved in an altercation that resulted in the injury of several of your colleagues. What can you tell us about that? We wish a thorough account, so omit no detail, no matter how trivial it may seem.”
“Yes,” said Tavaris. “Tell us of the events of the night in question, Lozano.”
Rosarius stared them down. “First, a chair.”
Colton frowned. “Very well.” To Dannis he said, “See to it that the gentleman is brought something suitable to sit on, please.”
Dannis blinked. “You there!” he shouted at one of the guards. “I say, you there! You! Guardsman! Do fetch this man here something to sit on, will you? A chair!” He clapped his hands twice. “A chair, at once!”
The guard left the room, returning with a carved hall chair. Much to the chagrin of Dannis and Tavaris, Rosarius took it and sat with his legs spread.
“Now if you don’t mind, Lozano,” said Colton, “tell us what happened on the night in question. “And again, I implore you, please omit no detail. Tell us, no matter how trivial it may seem. We need to know everything.”
“What happened on the night in question?” asked Rosarius, clearing his throat. “Well, it all started months ago. You see, Romelo... er, that’s Ales Romelo of course, not his father the general–”
“We’ve no time for all that!” shouted Tavaris. “Get to the part about the fight!”
Rosarius looked at the man’s delicate features, imagined himself pummelling them with his fists. How many punches would it take to kill him? Not many, for those soft little cheekbones would probably cave in under the first blows. He smiled at the thought. “Yeah, well without the backstory, the fight doesn’t really make much sense.”
“I see,” said Colton, perhaps misinterpreting his grin as a gesture of co-operation. “Go on, then.”
“As I said, it all started some months ago. Romelo had mentioned in passing, er, to a group of us that is, that a certain student had insulted him...”
“And that student was…” Colton trailed off as he consulted his notes. “Ah, yes. It was Riva of Herena, was it not?”
“Yes,” said Rosarius, nodding. “Riva. And that’s Riva junior, of course, not senior. Wes Riva.”
Colton looked down at his notes again. “Wes, yes. Of course. Your clarification is acknowledged, Lozano, but wholly unnecessary. We know of whom you speak.”
Rosarius shrugged. “Right. Well anyway, we asked Romelo what he was on about, but he couldn’t really tell us. Couldn’t say how Riva had insulted him, exactly. He was drunk as shit and rambling on about Riva stealing things that didn’t belong to him. Of course, it was all bullsh–”
“Wait, what?” cried Dannis. “Explain the theft!”
“There was no theft. It was just Romelo talking out of his arse. As usual.”
Tavaris thumped the table with a fist. “I believe my colleague asked you to explain why this Wes person was stealing things. Ales said he was a thief, did he not?”
“He did, but–”
“So, elaborate.”
“There’s not really anything to tell,” said Rosarius. “Riva’s not a thief. Never was.”
“But you just said that Ales said he was!” shouted Tavaris.
“In what way,” said Dannis, “does taking something that doesn’t belong to one not make one a thief?”
Rosarius shook his head. “Just because Romelo said Riva was stealing things doesn’t make it true. All you need to know about Romelo is that he’s melodramatic as fuck. Actually, that doesn’t even begin to describe him. He’s the biggest fucking diva you’ve ever met. He goes hysterical at the drop of a hat. And if you say or do anything he doesn’t agree with, he flies into a rage. That’s what happened with Riva. He did something Romelo didn’t like, and Romelo took exception to it. Took it personally, even though it had nothing to do with him. From then on, he was obsessed with what he called ‘getting even’ with Riva. It was… bizarre.”
“I see,” said Colton. “So, you mean to argue that Wes is not a thief, then?”
“Right. And I believe I’ve said it a few times now. You should just let me explain the situation to you and seek clarification later. Look, this whole thing came about because Riva was seeing this girl from the city, all right? A citizen, I mean. She wasn’t from a noble house or anything, but her father had money. Now, for some reason, Romelo didn’t approve of them being together. He kept calling Riva that Ahren barbarian, you know, and that sort of thing. Saying stuff about how his kind had no business consorting with southern women.”
“Ah,” said Colton, nodding. “I see.”
Rosarius scoffed. “So that’s where all this talk of Riva being a thief came from. This girl spread her legs for him, and Romelo twists it so he’s stealing her. All because she’s southern and he’s northern. How fucking stupid is that?”
“So, Wes did not take anything that actually belonged to mister Ales, then? No personal property of any kind?”
“Right.” Rosarius spread his hands. “And what’s also nuts is Romelo trying to set himself up as some sort of guardian of female virtue. He doesn’t even like girls.”
“Hmm,” said Tavaris, wrinkling his nose. “Unlikely.”
“Excuse me?” asked Rosarius.
“I said it’s unlikely,” said Tavaris, sniffing. “By which I mean that your story makes no sense at all. You say they were fighting over a woman? I say it’s unlikely. I mean, women are things of little value, are they not? Things that may be had anywhere, by anyone. Therefore, they hardly need be fought over, do they?”
“Absolutely,” said Dannis. “I concur. It sounds completely idiotic to my ears as well. To squabble over a woman? It would be like squabbling over a rock in a quarry.”
“That’s a shit analogy,” said Rosarius. “And you’re missing the point. It was never about the girl, or even about girls in general. It was about Romelo’s blind hatred for Riva. Riva, who didn’t even do anything wrong! It’s insane. He’s insane.”
“You are aware,” said Tavaris, “that the man you are speaking of so rudely is of noble birth, are you not?”
Rosarius stared. “Your point being?”
Tavaris looked down his nose at him. “What I mean to say is, do you really think it prudent to insult your betters?”
“Romelo’s hardly my better,” said Rosarius, laughing. “He’s my cousin.”
Dannis and Tavaris exchanged glances. Worried glances.
“It’s true,” said Colton. “They are indeed cousins.”
Rosarius laughed again, even though it sent a fresh ripple of pain through his body. They had no idea who he was! Good. Now that he had them off balance, it was time to press the advantage. If he could goad them into insulting him again, he would challenge them. Or perhaps he could make them angry enough to challenge him? Either way was fine so long as it satisfied his bloodlust. “You two have no fucking idea who you’re talking to,” he said. “Do you?”
“Hmm,” said Colton, squeezing their hands. His expression said he knew they were walking a dangerous path. “We graciously concede the point. Upon reflection, it strikes me that for a man to argue with another about a woman is not entirely without precedent. I mean, there are many old tales of friends falling out over a lady.” He paused. “So I gather from all this that Ales and Wes were love rivals, yes?”
Rosarius concealed his disappointment at Colton having thwarted him so easily. But then again, his plan hadn’t exactly been a sophisticated one. “Love rivals? Haven’t you been listening? No part of this is about girls. Anyway, Romelo likes boys exclusively. And little ones, too. It’s fucking disgust–”
“Hmm,” said Colton loudly, cutting him off. “Hmm. Well one thing’s for certain, and it’s that Ales has certainly complained about Wes a lot these past few months. In fact, I have in my possession a number of missives he wrote to the Bastion’s administrators about him.”
“So? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, to quote him, ‘I believe that Ahren barbarians have no business–’”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Rosarius, holding up a hand. “I’ll just finish that senten