AUTHOR'S POV
With the blazing sun overhead, Atrius buried his feet in the hot dry sand. He found pleasure in the shifting cushion underneath his weight as he wiggle his toes. Feeling the roaming fresh air in the verdant part of the alhambra, he watched the young princes and princesses of Vierme splashing in the sapphire waters of the river of Nahi. Their laughters layered with the sounds of the flowing river and whispering rustles from the palm trees. He turned, sauntered towards the wide stretch of cracking sandstone floor that leads to the Queen's verdant garden. In a little while, a cavalcade of women in a decorated cream colored brassiere and matching loose flowy trousers danced in like butterflies gliding in the light breeze. It was magically enchanting, that Atrius couldn't look away. The last line of women carried a bottle of wine, fruits, and a gold crown. They all served each trinket to the young prince with all smiles. The purplish grapes were sweet, the wine was even sweeter. As soon as the crown was placed on Atrius' head, a brute current of electricity crawled in his entire body as he gasp for air…
Atrius awakened from his short slumber, which felt incredibly more like a deep sleep. Confusion instantly hit when he opened his eyes to the sight of an unfamilair overhead interior with helix stairs in an cylindrical brick shelter. The blanket over his body slid down as he got up. There's no more indescribable pains, labored breathing and seeing things. Looking around, his eyes widened at the confounded men inside the room. "Mago?! What are you doing here?", he immediately recognized the curly haired man not too far from him.
"Prince Atrius", Mago knelt on one knee, succeeded by the six other men standing before him. "We are delighted to see you alive. Your father, King Desmun, sent us".
"Father?", Atrius felt a slight pinch in his heart. His father delberately sends him heavenly provisions, great weapons and jewelries that he never eat/wear but still wholeheartedly accept. He never returned the great deal of affection from the King. Somehow, a part of him who long for his father agreed with him to wear the fine clothes intended for the young prince of Vierme.
Atrius scrunched his nose at the strong scent of oud coming from the sand soldiers. As he scan the room, his eyes set on the staff resting by the fireplace. Suddenly, vivid bursts of flashbacks resurfaced in his head. Fragments of his memories pieced together that he finally remembered how he got there.
Behind Mago, Atrius caught a glimpse of a man lying on the floor. He felt his heart drop seeing his bloody head. "What did you do…", Atrius painstakingly uttered as he rush to Stellan, that his eyes were clouded with inexplicable fury and distress seeing her unconscious.
"I thought she was hurting you. I just did what I should have done", Mago stood back on his feet, signaling the other men to leave the room and give the prince privacy.
Atrius flinched at Mago's remark. "She? …you know?".
"I am not the archmage of Vierme, if I don't see things. Yes, I do see a woman inside the paladin knight's body", Mago draw nearer to Atrius, and sat on the other side of Stellan. "She had no pulse for a moment. Not even a single breath rising that bloody chest, and yet, she cheated death".
"You got your hands at the wrong person! If the princess of Nether dies, I'll have you all punished with a hundred lashes!!", Atrius voiced his anger. Then, he sturned to Stellan with hardened jaw. "Hold on, Helena.. I'm here".
Earlier, Jacomus, who picked up herbs and collected some water, returned to the watchtower at a fast pace. As he arrive closeby, he immediately spotted seven war horses waiting outside. He hid in the bushes, and put down the things he gathered. The caparison on the horses showed the emblem of Vierme.
Jac chose not to show himself casually. Instead, he walked his way to the other side of the watchtower. He saw a different way in and found an opportunity to climb his way up. Jac grunted as he stand in front of the brick wall. He looked up and measured how high he has to climb. With a lump in his throat, he started climbing.
"Soup, steak, bread. Soup, steak, bread", he said on repeat. It was the same motivational words that he uttered during those times that he trained for it.
The wall is wet from the rain. It was hard to grasp the wall face, and summit without sliding back. But that's okay. He once climbed walls while it was pouring hard. This would be just a piece of cake he thought with a smile. Nevertheless, he had a team to complete the climb before. He continued to argue with himself. "Soup, steak, bread", he groaned.
The brick wall is old. Some blocks crumble down as soon as they are touched. Jac had to graze the wall for harder uneven stumbling blocks to serve as his hand holds and foot holds.
As he come across an arrow slit window, Jac took a quick peek inside. He counted seven sand soldiers, just as he thought. Then, he moved away from the windows, afraid that he might get caught. Grunting as he lift himself, he doubted if he could climb up well… and, if this is such a brilliant idea. A truly foolish blunder he had to partake. He wouldn't wanted to be speared to death either, if he choise walk into the watchtower with all the sand soldiers in. Jac looked down. One mistake, he'd fall to his own death. "Soup, steak, bread", he said again.
Jac climbed and never looked down once more. He was almost near the large open window when he felt his legs tremble. His palms started go sweaty as the cold breeze brush his skin. "Soup, steak, bread", finally, Jac reached the window with his hand, and heaved a very relieved sigh.
Jac snuck in. Cautiously. From up there, he could hear the men mumbling in deep low voices and strong accents. Crouching, Jac descended the stairs stealthily. Now even more closer, he could hear the conversations clearly, and visibly see the intruders.
"Is that the prince? I thought he's dead", one man said.
"Well that's great news. The King would be in frenzy if he realizes his son is alive! Ha!", another one said joyously.
"What are we going to do with this guy?", another voiced out. Jac looked closely and saw Stellan's bloody head, as he lay unconscious on the floor.
"That's Stellan, you idiot! Let's get rid of it. He's dead anyway", another answered.
"No one touches him. He's still alive", the man with curly head hissed. His eyes shifted up, where Jac is hiding. Timely, Jac lowered his head, unsure what to do next.
The sand soldiers are particularly dirty fighters. They are the archetype that stomp on honor. Fair plays disgust them. And more importantly, they fight to death. It shows on every scar on their faces, and every finger that they lost. Without any weapon, Jac cannot take them all down.
"Mago?! What are you doing here?", Atrius' flinched with widened eyes, goggling in total confusion.