The Prisoner (The Dark Elf of Syron, #1)

by Laura Lond

  The Prisoner

  Book 1 of The Dark Elf of Syron series

  Laura Lond

  Copyright 2012 Laura Lond

  Cover design by Char Adlesperger

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 1

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Captain Torren slowed down his pace as he approached the main tower. He wished he could stop before entering, take in a deep breath, gather his courage; but the guards were watching. He couldn’t afford letting them notice his hesitation. Tall, broad-shouldered, intimidating, he was known as a fearless warrior in the past and the ironfisted master of the Dormigan Prison at present. He wondered how much longer he’d be able to keep up the pretense.

  Torren entered the tower and nodded to the guards inside to unlock the second, inner, door. That allowed him a much needed pause; alas, it was too short. He proceeded to climb the stairs, steeper and steeper the higher he went. Guards snapped to attention and saluted him as he passed. He ignored them.

  The last floor. The last door, the thickest, the heaviest of them all. Another justified pause.

  “How’s the prisoner?”

  “Quiet as usual, Captain,” one of the soldiers replied. “Not a peep all day.”

  Torren frowned. “I hope you’re not letting that fact trick you into losing your vigilance.”

  Not that their vigilance would help much, if things went bad. But he had to keep them on their toes.

  “No, sir. Never. We know our orders.”

  He nodded. “Good. Now, open up.”

  The soldier reached for the keys, two others helped him to unbolt the door and remove the huge iron bar. Then they stepped aside and stood with their swords ready as he pulled on the heavy door.

  Torren could just imagine how the Prisoner inside smiled at these precautions.

  The captain walked into the cell. “The cell” was no longer the right word for it, with all the fine furniture, carpets and all, but Torren continued to refer to it as such in his reports. “Cell 18, Prisoner 34.” He had to be careful.

  He saw the Prisoner at his usual spot: in the armchair near the window. His head was lowered, long dark hair falling over the face, obscuring the features. The slender, finely shaped hands were holding a leather bound book. The raven, the Prisoner’s recent companion, was sitting on the armchair back. He greeted the captain with a loud squawk.

  Torren motioned to the guards to close the door behind him and waited for them to do so.

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  The Prisoner closed the book. “Captain Torren himself. To what do I owe the rare pleasure of seeing you?”

  Torren’s mouth went dry. Did the Prisoner feel neglected?

  “I… I hope you have not mistaken my hesitation to visit you for the lack of care,” he stammered. “I would be honored to personally check on your wellbeing every day, but I simply didn’t wish to be bothersome.”

  The Prisoner rose in the middle of Torren’s speech and took several steps towards him, arms crossed. He was taller than the captain, and his eyes, with their ability to change color, both the pupils and the whites, were the eeriest thing Torren had ever seen. Right now, the whites would be more properly described as “the reds.”

  It took all Torren’s willpower to stay put and not back away.

  “You don’t need to act frightened of me, Captain. Being respectful is quite enough, which you always are.”

  If only it was an act, Torren thought, swallowing.

  “So what brings you here?”

  The warden was not quite ready to tell.

  “I wished to inquire whether you have received all the books you had asked for and whether you’re pleased with them.”

  “Yes, thank you,” the Prisoner replied.

  “And the food? Is it to your satisfaction?”

  “It is very good. I didn’t know the Dormigan Prison employed such a fine cook.”

  Torren chose not to point out that it was his own cook, not the prison’s, whose dishes had earned this praise. The Prisoner’s amused expression told him he very likely suspected it was the case.

  “Is there anything else you might wish to mention?” he asked. “Any complaints, perhaps?”

  “No complaints. You’ve been a most accommodating host.” The Prisoner took yet another step closer. “Now, Captain. Both experience and knowledge of human nature tell me you haven’t come here just to inquire after my comforts. There is something you want to say or ask. Go ahead.”

  Torren sighed. “You are correct, sir. I am facing a difficult situation. I am here to beg for your understanding… and cooperation.”

  Those impossible eyes were fixed on him. The “reds” were still red, but the pupils were changing from black to white.

  “I am listening.”

  “We have a new governor,” the captain said. “He wishes to inspect the prison. He’ll be here in a week.”

  The Prisoner smiled. “You want to ask me to behave.”

  “If I may be so bold, yes… and not just that. I’ll have to make some changes—temporary, of course.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, I’ll need to remove all the fancy stuff. The bedding, the furniture. Books and writing materials. The raven—”

  “Gelleran. That’s what I’ve named him.”

  “Gelleran?” The warden bit his lips. That was the king’s name. “I—I’m afraid he’ll have to go as well. Especially with a name like that. Just for one day, sir!”

  The Prisoner was frowning. “What else?”

  What was left was the hardest part. One of the two hardest parts. Torren averted his eyes.

  “You’ll have to wear prison clothes, sir. And I’m afraid I’ll have to shackle you.”

  “Shackle me?”

  “Please. Just for the governor’s visit,” the warden muttered, not daring to look up.

  He expected to be struck dead, or at least knocked unconscious. Instead, he heard a chuckle.

  “Does the fool think he’ll be safe if I’m shackled?”

  Torren raised his eyes. The Prisoner’s fine elven face marred with a long scar across the left cheek was just a step away, lips curved in contempt.

  “N-no, sir. That is, yes, he’ll think himself safe… and I’d say, let him think so. He’ll come and go and hopefully leave us alone. But I wouldn’t be shackling you just for him. See, the fact is, that’s how I am supposed to keep you.”

  “So you’ve been breaking your orders left and right, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir. For the sake of my family and possibly of the whole city.”

  The red eyes with white pupils narrowed. “You are honest about your motives. I appreciate it.”

  “Thank you, sir. And speaking of honesty…” Here it was, the second hardest part. Torren braced himself. “I still haven’t told you everything. The new governor’s name is Malgrid Jorensen. Younger brother of Fredric Jorensen.”

  He watched the Prisoner’s eyebrows slightly go up and the reds of his eyes blacken.

  “Is that so? Fredric’s little brother?”

  “Yes, sir.” The warden looked down again. The sight of those black eyes with white pupils was too unnerving. “I thought it would be only fair for me to tell you. Malgrid is not just pompous and proud, he’s especially proud of the fact that his brother has captu
red you. He… won’t be respectful. He will come here to gloat.”

  “And you’re asking me to allow him that.”

  Torren forced himself to face the Prisoner. “I don’t know what your plans are, sir. It’s a mystery to me why you choose to stay here. I only know that if you escape—or kill the governor—I will pay with my head for it, and my family will pay as well. There’s nothing I can do to stop you. I was hoping… hoping to convince you to stay until I safely retire from being the warden. Very selfish of me, I know, but a man does what he can to protect his loved ones. It’s only two more years; I thought I had a decent chance. But now this blasted new governor…”

  The Prisoner stood very still, listening. Torren knew he didn’t care one bit about his troubles and had no reason to help. The warden couldn’t persuade, entice or bribe him. He had nothing to offer. He could only beg.

  “Like I said, sir, I have come to plead for your understanding and cooperation,” he repeated, lowering his head.

  “You are asking a lot,” the Prisoner said.

  “Yes, sir. I know.”

  There was a long pause. Then the Prisoner spoke again.

  “I will consider granting your request. I’ll want something in return, though.”

  Torren was ready to do anything within his power. “What is it, sir? Name it.”

  “It has been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of beholding a female face. From this day on I want my meals brought to me by a young woman.”

  The warden couldn’t believe his luck. Was that all? It was against the rules, of course, but no harder than all the other things—pillows, books, decent food.

  “Certainly, sir. I’ll be once again violating my orders, but—”

  “I haven’t yet finished, Captain. A specific young woman. Your daughter Lenora.”

  Torren grew cold. How did this creature even know he had a daughter? How did he know her name?!

  “Well, Captain?”

  The warden struggled to find his voice. “Please, sir… spare me. Spare her. Ask for anything but her. Anything else.”

  “‘Anything’ is a strong word. I wouldn’t be giving it so lightly if I were in your place, Captain. What if I ask for your son’s life instead? I am, after all, a monster.”

  Torren did not need the reminder. He looked into the ever-changing eyes, now deep purple with bright yellow pupils, and shivered.

  “Please, sir… I’ve done my best for you… I will continue to do my best, upon my honor… Why her? I’m trying to protect my loved ones, and you’re asking for one of them!”

  “But I’m not taking her from you. I will not even touch her. I just want her to bring my food. I might ask her to read aloud while I eat, or tell me a story. That’s all. You have to agree it’s not a lot.”

  Torren hesitated. It would not be a lot, if he could trust the Prisoner’s word. How could he? On the other hand, if the Prisoner wanted to harm Lenora—or anyone else—he could do it at any time. They all were at his mercy.

  “Do you promise me not to harm her?” he asked in a weary voice.

  “I do. I also promise to let you do whatever preparations you want for the governor’s visit and play a good prisoner for the governor. I won’t even do the sword trick on him.”

  “What about his men? He won’t come alone.”

  “Very well, him and his men. Deal?”

  The warden let out a deep sigh. “If only I knew that I can take your word for it, sir…”

  “You mean Lenora?” The Prisoner walked back to his armchair. When he turned and sat down, his eyes were brown, the normal human color. “You can, Captain. I had a daughter once.”

  ***

  Chapter 2

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Lenora took one glance at her father and knew something was very wrong. She knew the likely cause, too. He’d told her earlier that day that he would go talk to the Prisoner.

  “What is it?” she asked, putting down her knitting. “He refused?”

  Her father approached and sat on the couch next to her.

  “No. But he wants something in return. Something I can’t agree to.”

  Lenora studied him. He had such a pained look on his face.

  “Well, if it’s something dishonorable, don’t do it,” she said. “Are you sure he is so powerful as you think? Perhaps if you chained him—”

  “He’s probably even more powerful. Take a look at this.” He unsheathed his sword. Only two inches of the blade were left. “He does it every time I enter his cell with my weapon. He does it without even touching it. I walk out, check the sword, and sure enough, the blade is gone.”

  Fascinated, Lenora reached out her hand, took what was left of the sword and examined it.

  “You never told me before!”

  “I never told anyone.”

  She touched the end of the blade. It looked like it was broken off, but the break line was not very sharp.

  “So what is it he wants?”

  “He wants you to bring his meals to him from now on.”

  Lenora looked up from the sword. “Me? Why?”

  “Says he misses seeing a young woman’s face. Claims he once had a daughter.”

  She pondered it, seeing the Prisoner in a new light. She did not know much about him; her father had shared very little and discouraged further questions. It was enough to know that the Prisoner was very dangerous, he would say.

  “You don’t believe him?” she asked.

  “How can I? He promises not to harm you, but what would make him keep his word?”

  “Well, if it’s just taking the food to him, I can do it.”

  “No.”

  “Have you already told him no?”

  Her father was sitting with his elbows propped on his knees, head clutched between his hands.

  “I asked for a day to think. I don’t know why. I can’t allow it!”

  “But what’s the alternative? He does something to the governor and escapes, you’ll be executed, the rest of us go to jail, right?”

  “That’s what the king said. Perhaps he would consider your mother’s condition—”

  Lenora placed her hand on his wrist. “Then it settles it, doesn’t it? Even if the king does consider Mom’s illness and decides to spare her, she can’t afford to go through the rest. Seeing her husband beheaded, her children taken to jail. If there’s a chance to prevent it, no matter how small, I will use it. You know I must.”

  Not giving him another moment to object, Lenora went to the kitchen and asked Mrs. Cleona, the cook, whether the Prisoner’s dinner had been sent to the tower yet. It had not; the servant boy was about to take it there.

  “Give it to me, I’ll do it,” she said.

  Her father was right behind her.

  “I’ll go with you. Put on this cloak, make sure your face is concealed. Mrs. Cleona here can be trusted, but I don’t want the others gossiping.”

  They walked to the main tower. Lenora had never been there before. Not a place for a young lady to visit, her father would say. She now saw that he was right. The grim stone walls, the squeaky iron-clad doors, the dark, chilly corridors were most depressing and unnerving. She shuddered at the thought of being locked up here for years.

  They reached the last floor. She saw four—no, five soldiers standing guard.

  “I can’t go in with you,” her father whispered. “He wouldn’t have it. If he frightens you or does something inappropriate—shout, run to the door and bang on it.”

  Yeah, and then he will kill us all, Lenora thought. She knew her father was well aware of that, too. She had no idea what she would do if the Prisoner grabbed her, but screaming and banging on the door were not on top of the list.

  “Don’t worry, Father, I’ll be all right,” she replied. “I have a feeling that he just misses his daughter.”

  “Unlock the door,” the warden ordered.

  Lenora took a better grip on the basket with food as she watched the guards remove the h
uge iron bar.

  “Arian be with you, child,” she heard her father’s whisper again.

  She entered the cell. The door screeched and closed behind her.

  Lenora knew that her father had broken a bunch of rules and made the Prisoner’s cell more comfortable, but she couldn’t imagine how far he had gone. She found herself in a spacious, nicely furnished room. It looked nothing like prison. There was even a painting on the wall, depicting sun-splashed green forest.

  The girl caught herself and turned her eyes from the painting to the man sitting in the corner, looking at her. The large raven perched on the back of his armchair was looking at her as well.

  “Good afternoon, sir. I am Lenora. I have brought your dinner. Shall I serve it?”

  “Yes, please.” He pointed at the desk. “Over there.”

  He was younger than she thought, but then he was an elf—or so she heard. His face was pleasant, despite that scar on the cheek, but the eyes were hard and cold. Why did her father warn her about his eyes? ‘If they scare you, just look away,’ he had said. ‘He doesn’t mind, he seems to understand.’ There was nothing scary about the Prisoner’s eyes, pale blue like the sky. Their hardness was certainly noticeable, but not frightening.

  Lenora walked up to the desk and placed the basket on it.

  “Thank you for agreeing to come,” the Prisoner said.

  “I deserve no gratitude from you, sir,” she replied, unwrapping the linen cloth the cook had put over the dishes. “I did not have a choice.”

  “You have inherited your father’s honesty, if such a thing can be inherited. I did not expect friendliness from you, but I didn’t expect you to be so outspoken about your dislike of me, either.”

  Lenora’s heart skipped a beat. It wouldn’t do to anger him.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s not dislike, it’s… apprehension. You are causing my father a lot of anguish. It’s hard for me not to be affected by it.”