“Even so, why would three peasants, who obviously have never gone through combat training, try to kill me? Did you really think it would be that easy?”
When the man did not answer, Rhada shook him until he cried out in pain. “Answer me!” She shouted. “Why did you attack me?”
“I will never tell.” He replied between gasps. “But know this- soon you will be as dead as I am!” With those words, Dungar pushed himself forward into the tip of Bloodbinder. Rhada felt the blade glide through his flesh with ease. He sputtered and choked on his blood until finally, his eyes rolled back into his head and his body went limp in her grasp.
Chapter 19
Lord Ivran Cassius sat upon his stone-hard throne in his hall with his subjects surrounding him. His face was hidden behind his open palm as he tried to focus on the words being spouted at him. His headache, which never seemed to go away anymore, grew increasingly worse as the seconds rolled by. And though he had clearly heard what Lord Doran Caster had just told him, his heart refused to believe it. Even when Lord Doran laid Protector Fendrel’s sword down at his feet, Lord Ivran still could not bring himself to believe that he was dead.
“The King knows!” Lord Doran said in a panic.
“There is no proof of that.” Protector Emeric replied.
“Even if he doesn’t, it will not be long before Terryn tells all. He is a brave man, have no doubt, but no one can suffer through so much torture and not tell all they know.” Lady Isolde said. She stood next to her husband, with one hand resting on his shoulder and eyes facing Lord Ivran.
“We should gather our forces and attack now! Before the King figures out another rebellion has begun and has time to strategize!” Lord Doran was shouting now.
As much as Lord Ivran wanted to attack, he knew they were not ready. “We need time to strategize.” Lord Ivran said. He looked to his court with regretful eyes and continued- “We are not ready for a full attack on Axendra. They would crush us, even without the High Protector leading them. We must wait for our allies to gather. I will send word to them at once but even if they left as soon as the message is received, they are still weeks away.”
“But the King’s forces could be ready to strike by then!” Lord Doran argued.
“Lady Isolde is right. Terryn may be a brave man but he will not be able to withstand the torture for long.” Lord Ivran stood now and looked to Protector Emeric. If ever there was a man he knew he could trust, it was Emeric Lanslet. He stood before Lord Ivran with his right hand resting peacefully on the hilt of his sword- always at the ready to unsheathe the blade at Lord Ivran’s command. His sandy hair and hazel eyes were strikingly brilliant in the light of the sconce he stood underneath and Lord Ivran noticed that a few of the younger maidens’ eyes were fixed on him.
“We cannot attack the castle with our army as it is at the present, that much is certain but we can send someone in to rescue Terryn.”
“It is a waste of time.” Lady Isolde said with spite. It was clear to Lord Ivran she wanted the army to attack now. She and Lord Doran cared for nothing but their revenge on the King it would seem.
“I do not consider it a waste of time to rescue a friend from certain torture and death. If we can rescue Terryn before he tells the King anything, then we will have more time to wait for our allies to arrive.”
At that moment, Emeric stepped forward and kneeled down before Lord Ivran on one knee.
“I shall rescue the prisoner, my Lord, or I shall die trying.” Lord Ivran nodded.
“You have my thanks.” He stepped down from his podium and addressed Lord Doran and Lady Isolde. “Go home and get your people ready. I shall send word as soon as the time is right.”
Lord Doran bowed graciously to Lord Ivran but Lady Isolde merely shot him a look of loathing before spinning on her heel and stomping away.
Lord Ivran watched them go with regret. He understood why they were so eager to attack and felt that he was somehow to blame for the delay.
Finally, he turned to Emeric and spoke in a voice soft enough for only the Protector to hear. “You must not make your presence inside the castle be known. Get to Terryn quietly and escape even quieter.”
“My Lord, what if Terryn is unable to flee?” Emeric asked with concern.
Lord Ivran, knowing the meaning behind Emeric’s words, pulled at his beard and sighed with sadness. “If his injuries impede his ability to escape, then you must do him the kindness of releasing him from his pain.”
Emeric nodded. “Worry not, my Lord. I shall accomplish that which you have asked of me.” With that, Emeric turned and was gone before Lord Ivran could shed a tear for the sorrow of his captured friend.
The wine was hot and bitter but Lord Ivran drank it nonetheless. He had no desire to leave the confines of his room and order another wine be brought to him. He sat huddled by his window, wrapped in his bear-skin blanket and staring out at the city that surrounded him. An afternoon haze had come with the setting sun and blanketed the tiled roofs of the houses below. The orange glow of the last day’s light sifted through the haze and glistened like falling gold through the streets. The people scurried about on horseback or their own two feet, going from shop to shop, completely unaware of the peril that surrounded them. He had been born in Ylia and would have happily died there if it was not for the realm that cried out for him to be their ruler. His people were very fond of him and he governed them with pride which is why they wished so badly for him to be their King.
In that moment, as he sipped his wine, he wondered what had spawned his desire to begin a new rebellion. He had heard whispers of men who wished to regroup but never before did he think about joining them. Even when he had stumbled upon the pyre of charred bodies the High Protector had left behind, or when Captain Jamus Ardul had thrown himself from Lord Ivran’s balcony, unable to bear the pain of failing his people, Lord Ivran had not dared stir the pot that would make the land boil with war.
It started almost a year ago when his wife Meira came to him on a summer day and whispered in his ear that she was with child. The memory of the joy he felt that day brought such sadness to his heart now. He squeezed the wine goblet in his hand until it nearly broke then sighed with frustration.
For years they had tried to have a child but never could Meira conceive. When finally she did, Lord Ivran decided any child of his deserved to grow up in a better world than what he lived in. And so the new rebellion began.
It started with secret meetings in the basements of taverns with only the Lords of the realm and their Protectors. It wasn’t long before word spread and the entire realm it seemed was whispering about it. Many people from all over Kaena showed up on his doorstep to swear fealty to him and offer him their armies. Lord Ivran knew then if their rebellion was successful, he would be crowned the new King and would spend the last of his days in that dark, forsaken castle that grew like a shadow in the depths of Axendra.
It was this chair he sat in now that he sat in the day everything changed for him. He had been sitting as he was now, looking out the window with hopeful eyes and watched as the Lords, Ladies, Protectors and Sorcerers all flooded through his gates for their first ‘official’ meeting. His heart raced with the thrill of seeing them all gathered and the knowledge that this time, the rebellion had a better chance of succeeding. He beamed down at them with a grin so wide, his cheeks began to hurt.
Suddenly, Meira burst through his door, crying out in pain. He rushed to her side and when he saw the trail of blood that followed her inside his room, he knew she had lost the child.
The world around him grew grey and grim in that moment and ever since then, he had been searching for some light- some glimmer of hope that would make everything seem worthwhile but he could find none. It wasn’t until he met Terryn that he felt a ray of happiness.
Terryn had come to him on the winds of a storm. He watched as his horse rode through the blowing rain and mud, his head covered with a hood, and in he stormed through the front doors wit
h such courage, Lord Ivran found himself feeling guilty he did not share the same passion for the rebellion.
“I want those who have destroyed this land to be brought to justice.” Terryn had told him over their supper. Somehow, word had reached Terryn’s ears and he had rushed to Lord Ivran’s door as quickly as he could to offer his services. “I shall be a spy for you.” Lord Ivran graciously accepted.
Now he sat staring out that same window and the light had faded once again. He could only imagine the pain and suffering Terryn was experiencing in that moment. He is a brave lad but not a fighter. He looked down to his wine glass with sorrow. I should have watched over him better.
At that moment, a hooded figure on horseback raced down the dirt path away from Lord Ivran’s small castle. He watched as the man’s cloak billowed behind him in the wind and even though it was growing dark out, he recognized Protector Emeric.
Please save him. Lord Ivran pleaded silently as Emeric flew through the darkness and away from view. Bring him home safely. It was his last hope in the darkened world that surrounded him.
Chapter 20
There was no sunlight in the dank and foul room that held him captive- only the sinister glow of the sconces on the walls. It had taken two whole days for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and now they were wide open and filled with tears from the smoke that burned them.
Terryn lie outstretched on a wooden table. His arms and legs were stretched away from him and strapped down with leather bands. His body ached from being pulled and his naked skin crawled from the chill in the air.
He could never tell day from night and had no concept of how long he had been trapped down here. Zane never let him sleep. The most he could get was a few moments here and there before his tormentor would return and flick the leather whip at him to wake him. He had become afraid to sleep, knowing that the whip’s lick would pull him from slumber.
As he lie outstretched on the rack, his heart pounded and his arms and legs trembled. He was uncertain how much longer he could withstand the torture but he knew he had a purpose. It was in the first day, locked away in the bowels of the castle, he realized the King did not know when Lord Ivran planned to attack. Nor did he know the extent of Lord Ivran’s allies. Lady Ashryn could not have been certain but she would have told King Firion that if anyone knew, it would be Terryn. That is why it is me in this dungeon and not someone else.
He decided he would not speak a word to Zane, though it was becoming more difficult every day. The only thing making him keep his promise to himself was the small glimmer of hope he held onto- hope that somehow, he would escape and rush to Lord Ivran to warn him about Lady Ashryn and her evil protector.
Zane peered down at Terryn through narrowed eyes. His hands rested on the large wooden wheel, threatening to turn it at any moment.
“Have you anything to say?” He asked quietly, as though he did not want the other prisoners to hear.
Terryn felt himself begin to shake with panic but he shook his head regardless. Zane twisted the wheel with a grunt and Terryn immediately felt his arms and legs being pulled farther away. He cried out in agony and tears began rolling down his cheeks. He was certain that Zane was determined to rip his arms and legs off and then Terryn would die a slow, agonizing death. Death would be such a pleasant end. He thought. But I cannot die, not until I’ve warned someone about Lady Ashryn and Zane.
“Have you anything to say now?” Zane asked in a still quiet voice. Terryn did not open his eyes. He merely shook his head and heard the wheel turn again.
It was his left arm that popped first. He felt it pull and then twist and heard the sick sound of his arm pulling away from his shoulder. He screamed in agony and cursed into the darkness. Zane twisted the wheel again and Terryn cried out, knowing that one more pull would rip his arm off completely. He waited for the turn but it did not come. Instead, the sound of footsteps walking away and then the shutting of the large, wooden door on the other side of the dungeon told Terryn he was now alone in the dark. He let his tears roll freely down his cheeks and soon, the pain took hold of him and his eyes closed as his mind slipped into unconsciousness.
Terryn woke to excruciating pain jolting up the length of his arm. He screamed, though he was barely aware of it and turned his head to gaze at his tormentor. He had expected to find Protector Zane standing next to him, pulling his arm free of his shoulder, but instead, he was faced with an aged man, wrinkled and withered. His forehead jutted forward like there was something beneath the flesh trying to break free and his eyes were being buried underneath, barely visible.
“Who…” Terryn tried to speak but his voice cracked and he choked then began coughing instead. Each compression of his chest sent waves of pain throughout his tired and mutilated body but there was no way for him to scream.
“I am the alchemist, Derrick Morveyac.” The old man said, knowing what it was Terryn was trying to ask. “I have been ordered by Protector Zane Almeric of Bhrys to reset your arm.” He held tightly to Terryn’s shoulder with one hand and with the other, grasped his upper arm. With a strength that was not expected of such a frail old man, Derrick twisted and pushed Terryn’s arm until it locked back into place.
The cavern of the dungeons was filled with Terryn’s howls of pain and Derrick flinched at the sound. He turned to his satchel he had carried with him and pulled out a vial of liquid. He reached forward and grasped Terryn by the jaw, squeezing until his mouth opened then poured the liquid down his throat.
“This will help you sleep.” He said as the last bit of draught trickled down the back of Terryn’s throat. He drank quickly to avoid choking and relaxed when he heard the word ‘sleep’ escape the alchemist’s lips.
Sleep was the release Terryn craved. He wished he could sleep and never wake.
Terryn closed his eyes and the sound of the dungeon door echoed throughout the cavern. When he reopened his eyes, Derrick was gone and he was once again alone in the darkness. He did not fight the tears that formed in his eyes. He cried aloud, unafraid of who might hear. He cried because sleep would take him and it would be such a sweet ignorance but it would not last. Zane would return and when he did his patience would be running thin. Terryn knew that he was given permission to sleep only so that his torturer could return and deliver to him more pain without fear of his body succumbing to exhaustion.
Terryn’s eyes fluttered and his vision focused on a burning candle against the opposite wall. He watched as the tiny flame danced before him, happily unaware that dancing in a place such as this was inapt.
The flame danced and twirled until it no longer flickered with light but grew dark and cast a shadow over the cavern. The faces of his enemies appeared in the shadow- the King, the High Protector, and Zane…
Zane was standing over him, kneading his hands into Terryn’s wrist. He stood at the arm Derrick had reset and pulled at the leather strap that held it in place. The sound of metal, like that of a chain being dragged across the rough floor, filled his ears but Terryn’s vision blurred and Zane’s face melted away. The chain suddenly stopped and his wrist was lifted. Terryn could not understand what Zane was doing but was barely aware of the pain. He tried to ask, but instead, let out a low moan. He shook his head from side to side then looked up to the candle only to discover it had burned out.
How could the flame have died so quickly? Then darkness took him once more. The shadows swept over him like a blanket and Zane was gone.
Terryn’s cries for mercy could be heard echoing down the halls. They bounced off the stone walls and found their way into the cells of the other prisoners. All of them shuddered at the cries of pain- knowing that it could very well be their own cries echoing off the walls. They crouched and huddled in their dark corners, pushing aside the rats in an attempt to hide their faces against the stone. They covered their ears and some cried out at the torment they felt just from hearing the pained echoes.
“The King has been told of the rebellion.” Zane said as he p
aced back and forth in front of Terryn’s shaking and crippled body. “Lady Ashryn has told him everything she knows.”
Terryn looked up and through tortured gasps asked- “then what does the King want from me?” He wished Zane would just kill him. He looked to the blood that had spilled on the floor below and wondered how it was that he was not dead already.
“We must know what Lord Ivran is plotting. He was reluctant to share any information with me when I asked. We need to know how many allies he has and when he plans to strike.”
Terryn lowered his head once more. He felt his eyes flutter and his right arm grew increasingly numb. The pain in his left shoulder never subsided and grew worse with every moment from being shackled in the spikes.
Long, metal daggers protruded from the shackles that held his wrists, cutting into his flesh and turning his hands into mulch. He dangled helplessly from the ceiling by two chains and watched as his blood raced down his arms and dripped onto his chest.
He shook his head once more, signaling to Zane that he would not tell. I cannot betray Lord Ivran. For all the suffering I have endured, I will be avenged. The thought brought a small, indecipherable smile to his face.
The sound of the whip cracking through the air made Terryn shiver in fright even before he felt its sting. It landed on his chest and broke apart his flesh, making a fresh new wound. Terryn howled in pain and again the whip struck him, this time on the underneath of his arm and he whirled and writhed in his chains, causing the spikes to dig deeper into his wrists. Finally he went limp, realizing that struggling only made his pain worse.
“I am surprised at how long you have held your tongue, Terryn, but it will do you no good. The King will attack regardless of the information you give me but if you tell me what I want to know, your suffering will be cut short.” Zane stepped in front of Terryn and grasped his neck tightly. Terryn struggled for breath under Zane’s grip. “Tell me!” He hissed and he shook Terryn violently.
Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) Page 21
