Light Of Loreandril (29 page)

“Why would they do that?” demanded Nechan, standing in his cell looking through the bars, unsure what it all meant. “That’s barbaric!”  His knees felt wobbly, and he had the uncontrollable urge to vomit, the taste of bile filling the back of his throat. Nechan quickly turned away and was sick in the corner of his cell, and then sat down, his back resting against the cold stone wall. “This cannot be happening! This is all a bad dream! I must wake up soon!” he mumbled over and over again to himself.

“Believe it, boy. It is happening. To
all
of us!” Gaular snarled. He thumped his clenched fists against the wall behind him.

“But, I know nothing. Why am I here? How can I help them?”

Gaular had nothing comforting to say, knowing the boy was right. Nechan should not have been involved, but there was nothing any of them could do to help him now.

Several long hours passed before Eilendan groaned and rolled over, slowly drifting back to consciousness. As he began to open his eyes, all the pain came flooding back to him, overwhelming his senses. He clutched the sides of his head and cried out in anguish.

“Eilendan!” Nymril cried. “Speak to me!” She watched as a weakened Eilendan slowly crawled across the floor towards her. He propped himself up against the cage bars. She turned her head for a second, a lump in her throat as she saw the extent of the damage to his head. They were skilful, neat cuts, but would quickly become infected if unattended. Nymril gently stroked his blood-streaked face with her fingertips.

He sighed as if her touch revived him.  “Nymril,” he whispered. “How are you?” He opened his eyes again to look at her.

She laughed nervously. “You’re asking me how
I
am?”

He forced a smile, and lifted his hand to touch hers. “I told him nothing!” he whispered. “Nothing!”

Nymril nodded. It was clear from the scale of his injuries that he had not cracked under pressure. She was also sure that if he had, he would probably not be alive, having served his purpose.

“Has the bleeding stopped?”

Nymril turned to see Jaidan standing by the bars of his cage, looking over to them. She quickly double-checked Eilendan’s wounds, “Yes!”

“We need to tend to those burns! Here, bandage them in these. Make sure you wrap these leaves in with them.” He handed her several ripped strips of cloth, torn from his tunic, along with some dried leaves that he had stored in his belt pouch. She took them and carefully bandaged Eilendan’s arm and neck.

“They should help reduce the swelling and stop the blisters from festering.”

“What about his head?”

“There is nothing we can do for that. It needs to be kept clean, but we can’t even do that. As long as the bleeding has stopped it will start to heal itself.”

He sat back and watched Nymril tend to Eilendan as best she could. He did not envy the pain Eilendan had endured, but was jealous of the closeness the elf had with Nymril. A pang of guilt passed through him, and he shook his head, turning away in shame.

“He needs to rest. You should too, Nymril.”  Jaidan tried to make himself comfortable in the hay of his cell floor. Taking his advice Nymril also lay down, curling up in the straw, remaining close to Eilendan holding his hand as he fell into an uneasy asleep.
Chapter 31 – Tavor’s guilt
 

The mess hall in the barracks was loud, full of raucous, off-duty soldiers who were all getting drunk. Tavor was no different. He had spent most of the day down there, attempting to drown out the thoughts about the torture that was going on. He had been there so long he had grown accustomed to the stench of stale vomit and alcohol. Try as he might, Tavor could not shake the image of Nechan from his mind and even his ninth stanik did not appear to be helping.

Govan was avoiding him, most likely due to his recent behaviour, but he was happier with his own company for the time being.

The conversations around him had seemed mundane, full of the normal moans about a soldier’s life; however, the two guards who had just entered the bar caught his interest. They were talking about the prisoners. Tavor discreetly moved closer, sitting at the table next to them so he could hear them more clearly.

“That elf looked pretty bad! Doubt he’d survive another session with Canvil!” laughed the first soldier.

“Most people don’t! That Canvil’s a nasty piece of work! Very skilled at what he does!” The man let out an evil cackle and took a long drink from his tankard.

“Did you see the weapons that they took from them? I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on one of those swords or nice shiny daggers. I’m sure they would sell for a fortune,” replied the other soldier.

“It wouldn’t take too much to lift one. They’re not guarded, they’re just lying in the council chamber,” agreed the other soldier, egging his friend on as he took another long pull of beer.

Tavor watched the two men, careful not to draw attention to himself. He did not recognise them but their black and bronze armour denoted that they were prison guards at Damankhur rather than soldiers under Govan. They continued talking about the torture of the elf earlier that day.

“You were there then?” Tavor joined in the conversation, taking a slug of beer, trying not to look too interested.

“What’s it to you?” sneered the first soldier, staring at Tavor who had intruded on their conversation.

“No real reason. I was involved in their capture, that’s all.” Tavor continued to act as if he were not really concerned, but merely passing the time. His statement caught the guards’ interest as they put two and two together and realised who this stranger was.

“Hey, I know who you are! You’re that Tavor. Just been given your honour back, right? Well deserved on all accounts!” The first guard raised his beer to Tavor in salute.

“Let me get you another drink. Stanik?” offered the second guard, signalling to the barman. “My name’s Tozan and this is Borvik.” He pulled his stool towards Tavor’s table.

“I won’t say no!” replied Tavor, finishing his drink, slamming the empty tankard down on the table. He was pleased that he had lulled the guards into a false sense of security. Hopefully they would be able to tell him more the prisoners.

“So, did they find out any information from the prisoners? Who did they put through the grinder first?” asked Tavor, taking the drink from the guard.

“One of the elves…….the male one,” replied Tozan.

“They didn’t get anything out of him though,” laughed Borvik.

“How so? I thought Canvil was the best in the trade?” Tavor leaned in. They responded likewise, happy to divulge all they knew.

“He is! That’s the point! That elf didn’t know what hit him. Inflicted so much pain that the poor fool passed out. He had to be taken back to his cell………couldn’t be questioned any more!” whispered Tozan, not wanting everyone in the bar to hear what they were talking about.

“What did he do to him?”

“Sliced his ears off!” hissed Borvik, delighted at the sheer genius of the torture. “Right mess it caused as well. Don’t look like an elf no more!!!”

Tavor sat back and took a deep sigh before having another sip of stanik. The two men opposite took long swigs of their beers.

“What about the others?” asked Tavor.

“The others? Well, Canvil’s going to get started on them tomorrow. Got plenty planned for them. We’ve been making preparations all day.”

This was what Tavor really wanted to know, and he pulled his seat closer to the men. He knew it could be his undoing, but he could no longer fight the overwhelming urge to discover the boy’s fate. “What sort of things has he got planned?”

Borvik was becoming uncomfortable about Tavor’s interest. “Why do you care so much? Whatever Canvil’s got planned, you know its going to get the results the Empire wants.”

Tavor sensed the hint of distrust growing in Borvik’s voice. “Care? I don’t care! I want to make sure they get what they deserve. They’ve caused me no end of hassle, especially that boy. Tried to lead me on a wild goose chase, not to mention the fact his brother clubbed me on the back of my head.” He parted his hair showing the men the deep gash that was now covered with a flaky scab.

“I see! It’s revenge you want! I appreciate that.”  Whether it was the drink or the scar he had just seen, Borvik was convinced and relaxed once more.

“So, what’s Canvil got planned for him then? I’m not interested about the others, just him,” pushed Tavor again.

The two men looked at each other and then Tozan answered, “Going to string him up tomorrow. Flog him, stretch him, and hang him. That sort of thing. Won’t kill him though, not too soon at least,” Tozan laughed.

“Like you, Canvil seems to have taken a disliking to the boy!” said Borvik.

“I’m guessing its because he’s a traitor. Elves and dwarves are born enemies of the Empire. People like that lad make a choice to betray the Empire. Far worse a crime if you ask me!” agreed Tozan. Tavor and Borvik nodded in agreement, clinking their glasses together.

Tozan drained the last of his drink and signalled for another round to be brought. Tavor, having found out all he needed to know, resisted the urge to leave the men. Instead, he stayed for several more rounds, ensuring that when he left he did so without leaving any doubts in their minds.

That night Tavor could not sleep. He had too many plans to make. After turning over all the thoughts in his head for days, he could not shake the immense feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach and knew what he had to do.

Tavor had decided he was going to get the prisoners out. He no longer cared for his honour and name. The Empire had turned on him once, and that was one too many times. After twenty years of solitude he had finally learnt something about himself. Tavor no longer believed in all that the Empire and its devout followers stood for.

He had initially toyed with the idea of just fleeing with the boy, but then he knew that they would not get far and would have nowhere to hide. They would be hunted to the ends of the earth and executed. The only way was to free them all. The elves could then take Nechan back to their hidden places where the Empire would not find him.

Knowing he had to plan the exact details of the escape in the little time he had, Tavor got up to explore the darkened corridors of Damankhur. They had to escape under the cover of darkness otherwise they would stand no chance of crossing the vast plains of the Davathon plateau.

He slipped out of his quarters quietly, but his comrade next door still heard the door creak open. Govan could not resist finding out what was going on.

“It’s late…….you should sleeping!” Govan peered round his half open door. Tavor could see that he was still fully dressed and obviously could not sleep either.

“Long, slow day. I find it hard to sleep after being cooped up all day,” replied Tavor, leaning against the wall trying to look as relaxed as possible even though his insides were churning. He did not have time for this.

“Then you will be pleased to hear that you won’t be as of tomorrow. My platoon is moving out for reassignment, and so are you!” Govan smirked, with a glint in his eyes.

“Where have you been today? I haven’t seen you. I’d have thought you’d have been at Canvil’s side!”

“I went out to meet my scouts. I needed a progress report on the hunt for your two missing friends, the boy and the gnome.”

“And?” Tavor probed.

Govan shook his head and rubbed his stubbly chin. “Nothing. They lost the trail. Found two dead scouts, but that’s it.”

“Looks like it all rests on our prisoners, then.”

“I guess it does. Shame about the boy.” Govan paused for a moment, hoping to read some reaction in Tavor, but he did not flinch. “I need sleep. It’s been a long day for me.”  He sighed and closed the door, leaving Tavor standing alone in the gloomy corridor.

Govan listened to the fading sound of Tavor’s footsteps down the corridor. He had no intention of going to bed just yet. His instinct told him that his friend was up to something. He slipped out of his room to follow the clansman through the maze of corridors and winding staircases, but even with his expert tracking and covert skills he could not keep up with Tavor. He quickly lost him in the multitude of turns and was forced to give up.

Tavor’s mind was set. He knew Govan was starting to suspect him but he no longer cared. Nothing was going to stand him the way of his new mission. His first stop was the main council chamber to retrieve the prisoners’ weapons. These would have to be stored somewhere so they could be collected during their escape.

“Must we practice again tonight?” moaned Cradon, as Gomel handed him a crudely crafted wooden sword. “My arms and shoulders still ache from yesterday!”

They had spent the past three days riding hard, avoiding settlements and caravans, only stopping at dusk. Khar had proved very useful at warning them in advance about approaching troops and convoys. Flying high, her keen eyes were able to spot dangers far in advance. She would dive towards Cradon squawking her warning loudly. It worked well, and they safely passed through the grasslands without any trouble.

“Every day you are getting better and stronger. Who knows, perhaps you will be able to beat me soon!” joked Gomel, trying to encourage Cradon as he took a fighting stance preparing to attack. He was genuinely pleased with the boy’s progress and natural talent.

Realising he was going to receive several smacks with a sword whether he defended or not, Cradon reluctantly forced himself to stand and prepared for the gnome’s attack. Secretly, he knew he was improving and despite the moaning about it did actually enjoy the lessons, even though Gomel did sometimes hit him harder than was needed.

Gomel swung at his left shoulder, but Cradon quickly deflected, parried and lunged forward to hit his right side. With great ease, Gomel read Cradon’s moves, nimbly spinning out of the way. Cradon stumbled forwards, losing his balance and fell flat on his face as Gomel smacked the back of his legs with his wooden sword. He stood over Cradon laughing as he wiped the dust from his face.