Five years before the discovery of the Volcarren Wellspring

“Again? Really? Why does Ahnvad keep bringing them back? What does he get out of it?”

“What does Ahnvad get out of anything he does?” a tense voice replied. “I never asked, and I don’t care to find out.”

The voices came to Taelord slowly, their words distorted through the fog in his mind. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t. He was barely aware of anything. Only the two voices, speaking at the edge of his mind.

“What did they try this time?” the first voice asked.

“Carts,” came the reply.

“The supply carts? They were trying to escape the Volcarren, not just Srung?”

“Can you blame them?” Tense-voice asked. “I’ve thought about it myself a fair few times, and Ahnvad pays me to be here.”

“Still,” the first voice said. “Those carts were empty. That plan was never going to work.”

“What do you expect? They’re desperate.”

Some of the fog was beginning to recede. Taelord felt cold, and his arms and shoulders were stiff. He finally managed to heave his eyelids open.

Darkness met him, a void full of undefined shapes. There was light, in the form of a dancing gray shadow, only slightly lighter than the rest of the darkness. It flickered and moved, the afterimage of an obscured flame. Perhaps the light from behind a door, which was itself behind him, out of view. Where was he? What had happened?

“What will Ahnvad do, you think?” the first voice asked. It was much clearer now, and definitely came from behind Taelord, muffled by a door.

“If he wanted them dead,” Tense-voice replied, “he would have killed them long ago, the first time they tried to escape. So he’ll let them live.” There was a pause for half a heartbeat. “Honestly I don’t know why he bothers. They’ve defied him, tried to escape plenty of times… if it’s a woman he wants, he could take his pick from Ter.”

“I think he’s trying to prove something,” the other speaker said. “He calls them his family.”

There was a snort. “If that’s what he calls a family, then he’s even more deranged than most of us think. He’s not proving anything to anyone. The only thing I’ve learned is that those two can’t escape.”

Taelord’s head was clearing. They were talking about them: him and his mother. That was obvious. They had tried to escape, using carts as they had said. And… And they had been found. Taelord couldn’t remember much after that. The soldiers must have drugged them to keep them from fighting, and brought them back here, to Srung. To Ahnvad.

The guards outside continued to speak, their voices hushed. Taelord blinked several times, trying to see where he was, but it was pointless. He was in Srung, of that he was sure. No other structure in the Volcarren had stone walls or floors like this. He could feel them through his bare feet, the stone chilling him.

His arms were tied somewhere above him. He pulled experimentally, but whatever held him didn’t give. He was tied to a wall somehow. Perhaps a metal bracket. He could feel the stone at his back.

He could make out shapes in the darkness, black edges of sharp objects. The armory. It must be. Srung didn’t have a proper dungeon – there had never been any need, with the Volcarren ready-made just outside – but the armory was close enough. There was only one door in or out, and plenty of handy sharp objects for… persuasion. None of those had ever been used against Taelord, but he had heard the screams on some dark nights, animal-like cries of pain leaking up from below the stone floor where he slept.

The voices of the guards suddenly fell silent. Footsteps echoed in a hallway, and then light blinded Taelord, as the door behind him was thrust open. His eyes squeezed tight shut, he heard heavy booted feet approach, turn, and then stop before him.

“The door, Kel,” a cold voice said. “Leave it open a crack.”

The light dimmed, and Taelord blinked, his vision still blurred by the light. It flickered dimly – lanterns, in the hallway beyond. He blinked, and slowly the dark figure in front of him sharpened.

It was Ahnvad. Taelord’s father. Silent, arms folded, regarding him with a slight frown. He wasn’t drunk – Taelord could see that. That was good. He got angry when he was drunk. He wore armor though. It was scratched, and sand had ground its way between the plates. His black hair was full of it as well, and his face was dusty. Had he gone after them himself?

He didn’t say anything, and neither did Taelord. They simply stood there, staring at each other. Taelord wondered if Ahnvad could feel the heat of his anger. It built within him the longer he stood there.

“Why, Taelord?” Ahnvad eventually said. “Why do you keep trying to leave? And why do you insist on poisoning your mother against me?”

Taelord glared at him.

“You can’t win,” Ahnvad said. His voice wasn’t raised, or sorrowful, or even curious. It was simply there. Cold. Unmovable. Unchangeable. As if every word it spoke were an absolute truth. “Why do you keep doing this?”

“Because we can win,” Taelord spat, unable to stop himself. “We can escape, we can leave this… all of this behind.”

Ahnvad regarded him. “And do what?” he said. “Live in some secluded corner of Valhalla? Just you and your mother? You really think that would happen? You really think you would be happy?”

Taelord wouldn’t let him do that. His mother had begun to listen to Ahnvad’s poison, but he wouldn’t. “We can be free,” he said stubbornly, glaring at Ahnvad.

“Free?” Ahnvad repeated. “Free from what, Taelord? You are Volcarren. You can never be free.”

“Yes we can,” Taelord said. The words sounded hollow, standing here before Ahnvad, tied to the wall. But they were true. They had to be. “We can all be free of you. Every Volcarren. You’ll see. Someday, the Volcarrens will unite, and rise against you. Then you’ll see.”

“Hmm,” Ahnvad said, nodding. “Is that so? And what then? When these Volcarrens have slain me and claimed their freedom from this wasteland, what will they do?”

“Be free of you,” Taelord spat.

“Free to do what?”

Taelord looked at him for a moment, confused. “Free to… do whatever they want. They’ll have peace. Food. Safety.”

Ahnvad shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “I’ve sheltered you, Taelord, kept you safe within these walls. You don’t know the wasteland as I do, nor the Volcarrens who live within it. Perhaps if you did, you would understand. Perhaps…”

He studied Taelord for a long time. Too long. “Yes,” he finally said, drawing out the word. “If you knew, if you understood, then you might agree with me.”

“I’ll never agree with you,” Taelord said automatically.

“Of course you won’t,” Ahnvad said. “At first, anyway. You’ll insist you are right, and search for a way to escape. Then, when you are foiled, you’ll curse my name. You’ll begin to realize the truth. And then, when you meet reality and stare into the cold heart of truth, you’ll understand. You’ll know.”

“Know what?” Taelord growled.

“That you can’t be free,” Ahnvad said, his voice quiet. “You can never be free. None of you can. You are Volcarrens.”

“That makes no difference,” Taelord said. “Volcarrens can be free just like anyone else.”

Ahnvad raised an eyebrow. “If I were to set all the Volcarrens free today, what do you think would happen?” He paused, watching Taelord. “Do you think they would find a piece of land, settle down, become farmers?”

Taelord was silent.

“They are fighters, Taelord,” Ahnvad said. “Survivors. Barbarians. They know nothing of peace. They know only war and conflict. They must have it in their life, the same way you and I need to eat to stay alive. If they were free, they would bring that conflict to all of Valhalla. By keeping them here, I am preventing a war, a slaughter.” He shook his head. “You speak of a future which cannot be, Taelord. Until you accept that, you will know only misery.”

He watched Taelord for a moment, and then turned to leave.

“You’re wrong,” Taelord said.

Ahnvad paused. “Am I?” he said, glancing at Taelord. “Your mother doesn’t seem to think so.”

“She’ll never believe you,” Taelord spat.

Ahnvad glanced at him, a look almost like… pity? “She already does,” he said.

And then he left, walking beyond Taelord’s range of view. The door opened, Taelord squeezed his eyes shut, and then there was darkness.

“You’re wrong,” he said into the blackness. “You’re wrong, Ahnvad, wrong.”

“Wrong,” he whispered, slumping against the wall, his arms held tight.

“Wrong.”

Outside, the Volcarren wind beat against the stone walls, sand grinding against them in a fruitless battle.