Light Of Loreandril (25 page)

The morning came too quickly, and as on previous days the prisoners found themselves abruptly woken by guards dragging them off the ground and barking orders.

The comrades were tied together in a long chain once more, the cords running between their ankle and wrist bonds, making it awkward to walk. The only way was to try to fall into a rhythm. Nymril was still struggling, the heavy neck collar sapping her strength and power, almost stifling her breathing, making her weary and stumble all the more. Eilendan and Jaidan tried their best to help her, giving her as much support as possible, but were constantly met by the snap of whips from their captors.

“Captain, is the plan still to transport the prisoners to Ath’Yarzon before going on to Damankhur?” Javil watch the soldiers march away in a column leading their prisoners.

“Yes! It will take too long to transport them all the way on foot. We need to get a prison wagon to take them on to Damankhur,” Govan smirked, knowing what fate awaited the prisoners.

Two more days of hard marching on empty stomachs and swollen ankles passed. Govan gave his prisoners no opportunity to attempt escape, ensuring they were kept under close guard and their bonds never removed. Finally they reached the safety and increased security of Ath’Yarzon, a city and garrison of the Empire. The comrades had seen black walls and pinnacles towering above the horizon a day before they reached them. From this city the Empire ruled the surrounding lands.

As they entered the walled city through the imposing, heavy iron gates the security was immediately evident, with vast numbers of city guards and soldiers milling around. Eilendan and Jaidan dropped their heads in dismay, knowing an escape while here would be highly improbable.

“What do we have here then?” The eclectic group of prisoners bound together intrigued the captain of the gate watch. He had not seen an elf or a dwarf before, only heard about them in legend.

A multitude of soldiers and citizens began congregating around the prisoners, each of them gasping and talking amongst themselves.
Could it be that the Elves had returned? Where had they been? How were they captured?
 

Sensing the heightened security risk, Govan ordered their captives be taken straight to the city prison for the night. His troops, accompanied by city guards, escorted the prisoners through the crowded streets towards the monstrous fortress that dominated the city.

Nechan gasped as the building grew in size, filling the sky as they approached. Its towers were the tallest he had ever seen, even larger than the council chambers in Ath’Garnoc. Its walls of black granite shone in the sunlight yet it was still an oppressive force that overshadowed the maze of streets. They crossed the drawbridge and were led under the open portcullis, its cruel, jagged spikes hanging menacingly above them.

This garrison had not received such priority prisoners, or a visit from a high-ranking officer as Govan, in many years. All the soldiers had lined up on parade, saluting as Govan entered the courtyard. Their commanding officer greeted him with a swift salute and quick click of his heals. “Captain, it is an honour that you have chosen to visit us.”

“Enough of the grovelling and pleasantries. We will not be staying long, only tonight. My men need beds and food. We will also be requiring a prison transport for tomorrow.” Govan had no time for this inferior officer, commandant or not, keeping his eyes at all times on the prisoners.

“Of course, Captain. My men will take the prisoners to the dungeons for you. Let me escort you to the officer quarters!” The man almost bowed, desperate for Govan’s approval.

“That will not be necessary!” snapped Govan. “My men and I will escort the prisoners ourselves. I will also post my own watch. I cannot afford any mistakes!”

His orders given, he pushed passed the commanding officer and signalled for his men to bring up the comrades, who were so tired and hungry they could barely stand.

Still bound together, they were led in convoy down a cold dark spiral staircase, lit only by the red glow of an occasional torch. The walls were glistening with moisture, with evidence of mould and moss growing here and there. A guard greeted them at the base of the stairs and opened a heavy wooden door, studded with black metal spikes.

At the end of several short corridors and two more sturdy locked doors they finally entered the dungeons. There were several large holding cells, with steps leading down into them. Each was filled with knee-deep, freezing black water with a disgusting pungent smell, reminiscent of the marshes. The prisoners were forced down into one and the heavy, iron door slammed closed behind them, sealing them in complete darkness, except for the small slit in the door for the guard to peer through.

“At least we are only here for one night!” growled Gaular, trying to make light of their desperate situation.

“This is nothing compared to the dungeons of Damankhur.” Jaidan had heard many stories from survivors of Damankhur.   

Nechan’s eyes began to adjust to blackness. He found a long bench against the back wall and pulled his feet up out of the water, hugging his knees.

Several hours passed, with barely a word spoken between them. As they listened in the silence, they heard the sound of the heavy doors being opened and closed one after the other. Someone was coming down to the dungeon. Naturally, they assumed it was just another guard on his rounds, but to their surprise their door was flung open and before them stood Tavor.

“I have brought you all some food.” He was holding a wrapped up bundle of crusty bread. Tavor waited, but the comrades did not move from their bench. They did not trust him. He sniffed, turning his nose up at the stench of the foul water. “Don’t expect me to come to you. If you don’t want it I can just chuck it out on the street. There are plenty of beggars who would gladly take it!” He began to turn, closing the door behind him.

“Wait!” Nechan shouted just before the door slammed shut. He looked at the other comrades, and although they hated the thought of taking charity from a traitor their hunger got the better of them. They all stood, giving Nechan enough slack rope to wade through the water and reach the cell door. Tavor swung opened it again and handed him the cloth bundle of bread.

“Don’t worry, I am not expecting a
thank you!”
 He laughed and slammed the door, plunging the comrades back into darkness. Nechan fumbled in the gloom, handing out the bread. They each took a chuck gratefully, except for Nymril.

“Nymril, you must try and eat!” begged Eilendan, as he pulled her close, rubbing her shoulders, trying to bring back some warmth to her cold body. She shook her head, and clung on to him tightly.

“What is that around her neck?” asked Jaidan, looking at how drained and pale she appeared even in the gloom of their cell. It was as if her inner glow had faded and she was but a shadow of her original self.

“I do not know……….but I can feel its black magic running through my body,” she whispered in reply. A single, silvery tear trickled down her cheek glinting in the faint light coming through the slit in the door.

 The comrades, still bound in a chain, sat in silence, chewing on their bread and watched as Nymril shivered through the night. There was nothing they could do to help her.

The night passed slowly and the darkness seemed impenetrable, but eventually their prison door was opened. Several burly guards armed with iron shackles dragged them from the cell, even braving the dirty water. The heavy shackles were promptly fastened around ankles and wrists before the prisoners were led back outside.

Blinking in the bright morning light their dismal moods fell even further as they caught sight of their new mode of transport. The covered prison wagon was made from blackened wood and iron, so heavy it had to be pulled by eight strong carthorses. The heavy iron door the only way in or out. Narrow slits spaced along each side allowed in a minute amount of light. It truly was a prison cell on wheels.

Even Gaular did not bother resisting as they were bundled inside. All hope was forgotten and their spirits obliterated as they began the last part of the journey to Damankhur.

Cradon’s body ached from his evening of sword fighting. He had discovered muscles that he never knew existed. Gomel merely laughed, giving him little sympathy, exclaiming Cradon was
too young
to experience such aches and pains.

They had started out early, despite the delay of coaxing Gomel back onto the back of Danfur. It was a beautiful morning, although cold, with glistening dew dusting the knee length grass. Wisely, they travelled parallel to one of the tracks from the well, hoping it would lead them to a village. They dared not ride down the lane in open view, fearing it would draw attention, the last thing they wanted.

With such a fresh, perfect morning they found it hard to hurry, content for once to absorb their surroundings at a leisurely pace. It took nearly three hours to reach a small town.

“Have you thought about how we are going to do this?” Cradon asked, helping the awkward gnome to slide off Danfur’s back.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it. But we need supplies!” Gomel flattened the grass with his boots and sat crossed legged, pulling out his pipe to aid his thinking. “There’s no other way, you will have to go by yourself. I will wait here with the animal.”

“You want me to go there by myself?” Cradon gulped as he paled.

“Precisely. I will be too obvious, whereas you will not. You can’t ride in bareback, as people will notice, so you are going to have to walk!” He took another long puff on his pipe, rubbing his bald head in a soothing manner.

Cradon mulled it over in silence. “I suppose you’re right,” he said at last. “What should I get? And how?”

“Well, let’s see.” Gomel pulled out the leather, drawstring purse he taken from one of the soldiers’ bodies and tipped out the contents. They counted fourteen gold pieces and three silver bits.

“That won’t buy very much at all!”

“We will have to prioritise. Blankets are definitely required with winter starting. At least some food – crackers, salted meat, things that will keep. Hunting will be sparse now.”

Cradon turned up his nose at the thought.

“Lad, I don’t like the thought either, but beggars can’t be choosers!” He paused to contemplate their situation again. “We will also need warmer clothes if possible. Just try to make this stretch as far as you can. I trust your judgement.” He handed Cradon the coins and sent him reluctantly on his way.

“I can’t believe he sent me on my own!” Cradon grumbled, stomping off. He looked back and saw Gomel waving him to continue onwards. “Trusts my judgement! What judgement? How am I supposed to know what’s best?”

Cradon continued to complain until he reached the edge of the hamlet. He stopped beside a small paddock where several men were attempting to break in a stunning, white horse. Intrigued, he watched as the animal reared and bucked as the men fruitlessly kept trying to mount it. Each hopeful rider was quickly thrown to the ground, hooves narrowly missing their heads as the mare stamped wildly. Remembering why he was there, Cradon forced himself to move on.

The town itself was picturesque, each house having a neatly thatched roof, small round windows, and white-washed walls. People were hurrying about, conducting their daily business and no one paid Cradon the any attention. There was a nerve-straining moment when two soldiers came strolling towards him, but they passed without even a glance. Gradually he started to relax, realising he looked like anyone going about his regular routine.

Following a growing hum of conversation, Cradon soon found himself in a central square filled with carts and stalls selling everything imaginable. Used to the kind of market frequented by the Empire the young man was amazed at the variety of goods openly available for sale. Merging into the bustling crowds Cradon moved from stall to stall searching for the best things at the cheapest prices.

Everything is so expensive. How am I going to make this money stretch?
He had looked at nearly all the stalls, finding everything they would need, but he could afford very little of it.

First, he bought two woollen blankets, which came to five and two. Then he bought himself a buff-coloured cloak, not quite as thick as he would have liked but it would have to do. For Gomel, Cradon found a child’s cloak made of some rough grey wool, which he estimated would fit. Together these came to seven and three, leaving him very little spare change for anything else.

Growing flustered, he disappeared down a narrow alley between two buildings, to clear his head think what to do.
We need these supplies. I have to get them somehow!
 

A burning, nervous guilt spread from the pit of his stomach as he realised he had no choice. Putting on his newly-acquired cloak and trying to ignore the itchiness of the rough fabric about his neck, he tied the blankets and Gomel’s cloak to his back and rejoined the crowds. To anyone else he appeared a normal browser.

The first stall was a tanner, selling a variety of saddlebags, belts, boots and clothing. Discretely, he checked over his shoulder, ensuring he was unwatched. While the vendor was busy bartering with another customer Cradon slid a saddlebag from the stall unobserved. His blood pulsating loudly in his ears and his heart in his throat he turned his back and became lost in the crowd again. It was easier that he had imagined.

Leaning against a building wall, Cradon stopped briefly to lift his boot heel and scraped some mud off with his fingers. Using this mud, in an attempt to disguise the newness, he smeared it across the saddlebag. Satisfied, he plucked up the confidence to sling the saddlebag over his shoulder and continue walking.

After several near misses the young clansman also managed to acquire some food, enough to keep them going for many days, stashing it in his new saddlebag.

Trying to control his feelings of nausea Cradon walked casually around the corner away from the market, and found a discrete place to check his stolen items.
Is there anything else we could do with? Some more clothes would be useful. I think I have enough room.