by Aaron Bunce
“G’night, friend,” Minos said, walking away. “Don’t let those shackles keep you from escaping into the dyp mork. It’d eat up a tasty little morsel like you!”
Minos broke into laughter. It was a wet, belly shaking sound, cut off as he opened the door leading to the stairs and slammed it loudly behind him. Roman heard the lock slide home.
The Ifrit made one last, desperate push to break free, but Roman held firm. He slumped down to the cold stone, letting the rancid blanket slide off of his shoulder. His body ached and his insides smoldered. Every inch of his body hurt, but at least he wasn’t cold, for now.
A voice echoed out of the hole in the wall behind him. Haybear was talking, but Roman couldn’t understand what he was saying. Slowly, painfully, he pushed off of the ground and moved towards the hole, but froze.
An eerie noise sounded out in the hall, bouncing off the stone passageway, redoubling on itself. Haybear said something behind him, louder. Roman inched towards the hole, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dark door.
“Your door. Did he unlock your door?” the distant man asked.
A faint glow shone through the hole, and Roman dared to lean back and peer through. A solitary candle flame appeared at the end of the long, narrow space. An eye appeared on the other end, half covered by a crazy, tangled mane of gray-brown hair.
“Light?” Roman echoed confusedly. “How did you light your candle?” Roman asked, but stopped as a strange sound echoed in the hallway. It was a deep growling noise.
“That’s it. The dyp mork. Like I said, it’s a hungry beast that growls,” Haybear said, his voice peaking, the old man on the verge of hysterics.
Roman leaned back towards his door and closed his eyes. He let his experience in the wild tracking, take over. The noise ebbed and flowed, surging stronger before tailing off until it was almost imperceptible. It rose up again, stronger than before and Roman’s door creaked open.
“It’s not a beast,” Roman whispered, “It’s not beast at all, Haybear. It’s wind. There must be an opening to that tunnel somewhere below…an opening that is allowing a breeze to blow in.”
“A breeze you say?! You sure about that? It sure sounds like a beast to me. But you know, that reminds me. There was this place I saw when I was traveling…” Haybear said, but Roman wasn’t listening, he was too busy pulling on his shackles.
I need to get these shackles off, he thought frantically. But the red iron cuffs, as heavy and dense as anything he had ever hefted, were bound too tightly around his wrists.
“Wait!” Roman gasped, pulling his hands away and spinning in the darkness. “Wax…the candle!”
He patted his trouser pockets on instinct. I dropped it, he remembered and fell painfully onto his hands and knees. He spun in circles, sweeping his hands out before him.
His fingers bunched up in the soiled twill of the blanket, so he picked it up and threw it behind him. Roman crawled along, frantically scrambling his fingers against the stone.
He spun about, his heart leaping in his chest as the dyp mork growled once again, blowing his door open behind him. It was so close, just at his fingertips.
Roman’s fingers danced over the stone, and in his haste he felt the candle bounce off his finger tip and roll away. “No!” he cursed and dove after it. The chains snapped tight, throwing him violently against the ground.
Dazed, and his vision filled with bright spots, Roman clawed forward, the heavy lengths of chain jingling mockingly against the ground behind him. He pushed and jerked, Teague’s words fueling him. He would break free, and show them that his father wasn’t a traitor. That he was a good man. And he would find out who his mother was, no matter how far he had to travel.
Roman slumped against the ground, breathing hard, his shoulders and arms aching from the effort. He gave the chains one last, desperate tug, but they were too strong.
Dennah! He thought. He wanted to see his friend again, especially after what she had been through. She needed him, and in more ways than he was immediately willing to admit, he needed her.
Roman growled and slid his feet under him, extending them out before him. He searched the ground slowly, until he felt something roll under his foot. He froze, his breath catching in his throat as he slowly navigated the candle between his toes. Then, slowly, and carefully, he pulled it toward him.
Roman scooted backwards, scraping his rear along the ground until he could bring his arms forward far enough to grab the stub of a candle.
He lifted the candle up before his eyes. He couldn’t see it, but savored its waxy and slightly greasy texture between his fingers. First, he rubbed the candle over the skin in front of his shackles. Careful not to drop it, he rubbed it under the metal, scraping large chunks free to lubricate the space between the heavy iron and his already tender wrists.
Satisfied that he had coated enough of the wax on his skin, Roman started working the shackles back and forth. He felt the wax break down, forming a slick barrier between the metal and his skin.
The shackle on his right wrist slid forward until it butted up against the nubby bone on the pinky side of his hand. Roman sucked in his breath and held it, pushing the shackle forward even more. It popped over the bone and slid all the way up to his hand, taking a fair amount of skin with it in the process.
Roman let out his pent up breath, but no amount of pushing would force the shackle over his hand. He held it between his knees, scrunched up his hand, and coated more wax on it, but nothing worked. He would never get it off, not without breaking his own hands first.
He slumped back to the ground, the shackles riding back up his wrists, undoing in a heartbeat what agonizing moments of pressure and pain had gained. He slapped the shackles against the ground, staring bitterly out the open door of his cell, and waited.
* * * *
Dennah stayed in the bathing tub until the water became cold and her fingers shriveled like old fruit. Finally, when she couldn’t take the frigid water anymore, she crawled out, wrapped herself in the towel, and huddled by the fire. Anything more than that felt beyond her.
She stared into the fire for a long while, her eyes going unfocused and her mind wandering. In truth, she tried not to think about anything in particular.
Someone rapped softly on the door. She shifted to look, took a breath and tried to speak, but her voice was haggard and raspy. Dennah cleared her throat and tried again.
“Come in,” she said, a little louder, but her voice was still horribly weak. Just like the rest of her.
The door pushed open and Alma’s face appeared. She looked around the room before spotting Dennah huddled before the fire.
“I’ve your dinner for you, dear,” she said walking over and setting it into her lap.
“Thank you,” Dennah said and ate hungrily.
“You finish up that food and then we’ll get you dressed, otherwise you’ll catch a deathly chill. Plus you can’t answer the constable’s summons dressed in your towel,” the woman said, bustling into the room energetically.
“The constable?” Dennah croaked, turning to notice the dark window, “what time is it?”
“Ah, just listen to you, poor thing. The sun would be dipping in the sky, that is, if you could see it through this damned storm. It’s dark, that’s all I know. And yes, the constable hisself has asked to speak with ye. An honor, I’m sure, as not everyone is given a dispensation and a summons to a private meeting with the constable in the same day,” Alma said, bustling about the room.
She walked over and took her plate when Dennah had finished and helped her out of the chair.
“You can eat in the dining hall tomorrow. Breakfast is served at sunup. You’ll hear the gong rung for the start of each service,” Alma said, setting the plate down.
“Do you know what he wants?” Dennah asked, concerned by the idea of a private summons from Lord Desh.
“I’m afraid not, dear. Unfortunately they don’t trust little ole’ me with information like that. I�
�m sure tis nothing bad though. If it were, it wouldn’t have been me telling you,” Alma said.
Dennah let the towel fall to the floor, and pulled the clean dress over her head. It felt weird. She hadn’t worn a dress for winter thaws beyond count. Not since her big brothers were home, and chased her around with sticks. Hell, she was just a kid.
“I’m having new clothes brought for you, since yours were in such a poor state. I hope this will work for you in the meantime. I have thick stockings, lined slippers, and a shawl to keep you warm. This damned place is drafty as all hell,” Alma said.
“I think they will do nicely. Thank you,” Dennah said, uncomfortably. She sat down on the bed and pulled on the stocking and slippers before pulling the shawl over her shoulders. She couldn’t help but feel like she was playing dress up.
“You look nice, dear. I’ll help you with your hair, and then Sayer can take you down. We can’t have you meeting the constable with bath hair!”
Alma moved the chair closer to the fire and motioned for Dennah to sit, which she obliged. She closed her eyes as Alma brushed her hair, her hands unconsciously clutching to the heavy shawl.
The warmth from the fire, mixed with the soothing motion in her hair lulled her into a trance. Her thoughts drifted to her mother, who used to brush her hair before the kitchen fire every night before bed. She used to hum a tune, and before Dennah knew it, she was humming it softly to herself.
“That’s a pretty tune, dear,” Alma said a short while later. Dennah opened her eyes and saw Alma holding a brush in one hand and a spool of ribbon in the other. “There is a mirror over by the chest. You make sure you’re happy with how you look, and then you head on down to meet with constable.”
Dennah nodded, smiling appreciatively and crawled out of the chair. She stood before the mirror, struggling to recognize the reflection. She smoothed out a wrinkle in the dress over her stomach. The fabric was smooth and well kempt, relatively plain, but still nicer than anything she had ever owned.
Her light brown hair fell in a long braid over her left shoulder. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her hair braided. She looked like such a girl.
Her mouth cracked in a smile, but pain blossomed in her lip. A trickle of blood leaked down her chin and she reached up to wipe it away. It was then that she really looked at her face. Her lip was still puffy and her eyes darkened. The swirl of emotion started and she felt her eyes glisten.
Alma appeared behind her then, her hands gripping her arms reassuringly. “Just scuffs and scrapes, dear. Those will heal in no time. You’ll be your old self before you know it.”
Dennah nodded appreciatively and blinked her eyes. It wasn’t the broken lip or the blackened eyes that worried her. She knew those would heal. It was the wounds inside that only she could feel that worried her.
Will they ever go away? Will the memory ever fade? She could only hope.
Dennah broke her gaze in the mirror and walked over to open the door. Sayer was standing in the hall, fidgeting with the threadbare collar of his shirt.
“Hi,” he said, his head snapping up at the sound of the door. He looked her up and down appraisingly. It was just a quick glance, but Dennah noticed. “You ready?” he asked.
“I think so,” Dennah said, her voice still hoarse.
She fell into step behind him as he turned down the hall.
Chapter 25
The Silent lamb
Dennah followed Sayer through the pathways.
“Did you know that Falksgraad Creek is the largest and oldest of the Council’s garrisons south of the Capitol?” he asked.
Dennah shook her head. She wanted to respond, but didn’t trust her voice.
They turned a corner and went down a stairwell. She remembered the path from before. The fort was cold, the stone of the outer wall accumulating frost in the shadowy gaps between torches and braziers.
“Is it odd…?” Dennah said, and then cleared her throat, “to be summoned by Lord Desh so late in the day?”
Sayer didn’t immediately respond. He opened the door to the massive hearing chamber and waited for her to pass through before closing it behind them.
“I wouldn’t say odd…so much as not usual. Does that make sense?” he asked.
Dennah half-shook and half-nodded, unsure either way.
She followed him across the massive hearing chamber in silence, refusing to look down at the hooks they had used to chain her with, or the cages now sitting in the shadows of the gallery.
Despite her best efforts, Dennah’s gaze strayed to Lord Desh’s massive seat. Even with it cloaked by darkness, it made her feel small and insignificant. Her hands started to ache. She realized that they had balled up into fists, her nails digging painfully into her palms. She relaxed her hands and wiped the perspiration off on her dress.
Sayer approached the door at the end of the chamber and knocked. A moment late the polished wood slid open, a boy in a tunic and white gloves walking out to greet them.
Dennah refused to meet the young man’s gaze, instead following Sayer through without a sound. The short hall beyond led to a number of rooms, only one of which was illuminated.
As they walked into the lit chamber, Dennah took in a wide, well-appointed room heavily congested with furniture and stocked bookshelves. A wide, splayed deer rack hung above the fireplace while a large, gray pelt dominated the floor before the desk.
Captain Teague stood before the fire, while the lord constable hunkered down over his desk. A sizable cluster off candles lit the pile of parchment before him.
“Ah yes, very good. Thank you, bailiff, you can go,” Lord Desh said, looking up.
Sayer bowed and turned to leave. Dennah stared at the feet of the desk as the door closed quietly behind her.
“Miss Dennah, thank you for answering my summons at such a late hour. Normally I would have waited until the sun rose tomorrow. Unfortunately, this is something I feel must be addressed immediately. I hope you do not mind that I asked Captain Teague to join us?” Lord Desh said, his demeanor completely different from the last time she saw him.
He no longer looked rigid, and his voice had lost its harsh edge. Dennah looked to Markus Teague, who gave her the slightest of head nods.
“Please, have a seat, Miss,” Lord Desh said, half-rising out of his chair and motioning to one of a pair of chairs situated before his desk. “And you too, Markus. Enough of this hovering behind me…learn to sit down and relax. You’re making me nervous.”
Dennah strode forward, her hands clenched before her. She felt uncomfortable in the flowing garment. Not only did it feel inadequate, but it wasn’t particularly warm. She settled into the seat on the right, closest to the fire, while Teague sat reluctantly in the seat opposite.
Lord Desh settled back into his chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the glossy desk. He smiled invitingly, his silver hair seeming to shiver in the warm candlelight.
“Let me start by saying how sorry I am for the trials you have already endured. My personal maid, Alma, will take care of you while you are here. Please, if there is anything you need, let her know. Also know that while you are my guest in this keep, no one will lay a hand on you.”
Dennah nodded and smiled, keenly aware of her burning lip and the subtle, coppery taste of blood. Teague shifted in the seat next to her. He looked rigid and uncomfortable.
“With that out of the way, let me get to the matter at hand,” Lord Desh said, reaching beneath his desk and lifting a leather parcel.
“My bag!” Dennah said, recognizing the simple knap sack instantly.
“Yes, but what we must discuss is what is located inside it,” the constable added, pulling the glimmering box free and setting it before him on the desk.
Dennah settled back in the chair and crossed her hands, trying her best to hide the fact that she was shaking.
“I didn’t know what was in it! Frenin, the elder, asked me to give it to…” Dennah started nervously.
&n
bsp; “Relax, girl. I’ve already told the lord constable as much,” Teague said, the seat groaning beneath him as he straightened up.
“Indeed. Markus here has explained the events surrounding this box, in so much detail as he was able. But I must ask, have you seen its contents?” Lord Desh asked.
Dennah licked her lips, her thoughts racing around in frantic, crisscrossing spirals. Would she be admitting guilt and incriminating herself if she said yes? Would they know if she was lying if she said no?
Perspiration beaded up on her forehead and she suddenly became very warm under the shawl. She quickly decided honesty was the best route, and nodded.
“I thought as much, which is why you are here,” Lord Desh said, easing open the box’s lid.
“Am I in trouble?” Dennah asked.
Lord Desh shook his head, “Not at all. But there are a few things you need to understand.” He reached into the box and removed the decorative hair comb, its large gem sparkling in the candlelight.
“Before you were born, the five provinces struggled under the cruel reign of the Algast family. You have undoubtedly heard the stories?”
Dennah nodded.
“What many don’t know, or remember, is how depraved Djaron was. But it wasn’t just the king, but his father before him, and others in his family. They were barbaric, cruel, and inflicted horrible, dark magical crafts upon their people. The entire family was a blight!”
“My father told me stories growing up,” Dennah said.
“Good man, the provinces need to be reminded of those dark days,” Lord Desh said, nodding. “Our provincial Earls rose up and dethroned the king, breaking his dark reign. While Djaron Algast escaped, killing many in the process, the Earls’ men captured the remainder of his wicked family, and locked them away in Castle Astralen. One of them was his younger sister, Ophelia.”
“She was but a few winter thaws younger than you when her brother was dethroned,” Teague added when Lord Desh went silent.
