Light Of Loreandril (27 page)

The wagon door was suddenly heaved open, and the red evening hue of sunlight flooded in, forcing the comrades to squint. Still shackled together, they were pulled from the wagon and dragged through an archway into the fortress. Eilendan grabbed hold of Nymril as she nearly collapsed with weakness. He was forced to help her the rest of the way, providing support under her shoulder, his strong arm wrapped around her slender waist. She was icy cold to the touch.

It was a steep corridor, wide enough for a cart to pass, lit by numerous torches hanging from the slimy green walls. The deeper they went, the colder it became, and soon the air was filled with the distinct odour of decay and stagnant water.  

Finally they reached the bottom, and the tunnel levelled out. They were led down a narrow corridor to the left, through several locked gates opened by sentries until they eventually entered the dungeons.

Nechan was pleased to see there was no knee-deep water this time, instead there was a light scattering of straw. As the rest of the guards held onto their captives, another soldier unlocked them one at a time from the group shackle, and pushed them into their individual cages.

They left Gaular until last, knowing it was likely the dwarf would put up a fight. The guards’ judgement was right. As Gaular’s left arm brace was removed he snapped up his thick arm, knocking the guard backward onto the ground. Before the other soldiers had time to react Gaular had picked up the heavy shackle chain and began swinging it round and round his head, roaring defiantly, challenging them to come for him. Jaidan and Eilendan began shouting encouragement, rattling the bars of their cages.

The chain gained momentum and power with each swing. The guards ducked and rolled to avoid the heavy iron, spiked chain as he launched it towards them. One guard ran to the dungeon entrance and began frantically clanging the alarm bell.

It was barely a minute before the echo of running footsteps filled the corridor. The soldiers swarmed into the dungeon, and although Gaular took a few off their feet and smashed the chain into the heads and torsos of several others, their sheer number quickly overpowered him. They succeeded in pinning him down, two men on each limb. Gaular continued to struggle and yell, but they held on tightly until he was sapped of all energy. Only then were they able to drag his limp body into his cage. The dwarf lay on the straw panting heavily.

With the commotion over, the guards dissipated, helping the wounded back upstairs. Nechan and Eilendan were in the cages either side of Gaular. They grabbed the bars, peering down at the dwarf to see if he were still alive. He had put up a good fight, but had been punished for it.

“Gaular? Are you hurt?” Eilendan cried, stretching his hand out through the bars to touch him.

“Only my pride!” The dwarf’s response was muffled, his head buried in the straw. Gaular rolled over and sat up, brushing the straw from his leather tunic. “I’m just sorry I did not hurt more of them!”

“You did more than enough to make them remember you!” Jaidan shouted, standing at the bars of his cage.

Gaular reached up and wiped the trickling blood from his forehead. The gash was already tender to the touch.

“It appears one of the fools managed to hit me after all!” he growled.

Eilendan turned to the other cage next to him to check on Nymril. She was huddled in the corner of her cell, her cloak wrapped tightly around her delicate, pale frame.

“Nymril, speak to me. Is there anything I can do?” He crawled over to the far corner, trying to get as close to her as possible. He stretched through the bars, just reaching her with his fingertips. At his touch she recoiled as if woken from a bad dream.

“Nymril?” he asked again, his voice rising with concern.

Slowly she turned her head to look at him. He could see tear-stains down her dirty face, and her eyes were blood-shot and swollen, the sparkle of crystal-blue pools gone. Nymril feebly outstretched her small hand and grabbed his fingers. He could feel she was shivering. He clutched her hand tightly and began rubbing it, trying to transfer some of his warmth.

“When was the last time you ate?”

She shrugged her shoulders and stared back at him with dull eyes.

“We will get through this. I will make sure we all get out of this alive and return home! Please hang on a little longer….don’t give up hope!”

She shuffled forward and leaned against the cold metal bars as Eilendan stroked her face, wiping her silvery hair from her feverish brow. “I know you have not failed me in the past, but this might be too much, even for you,” she whispered as she closed her eyes, drifting back into a troubled sleep.

Eilendan feared she might be right. Even after the Great Battle of Andkhuin, trapped in the mountains, hiding from the Empire, their situation had never seemed as dire as it was now. But he knew he could not give up, for the sake of his friends, and his people. Still holding her hand tightly he looked up to see Jaidan standing in his cage next to Nymril.

“We need to get that thing off her neck,” he whispered to Eilendan. He was just as concerned for Nymril’s welfare and hated the gut-wrenching feeling of hopelessness as he watched her suffer.

Jaidan sat down in the straw, his back slightly turned away from Eilendan so it was not obvious to the guard that they were talking. “What are your plans?” he whispered.

“Plans?”

“To get out of here……..I haven’t stopped thinking about it, and I am sure you haven’t either.”

“You’re right, but I haven’t come up with anything yet. We are yet to see what they want with us.”

“You are surprised they did not kill us in the first place?” Jaidan asked, grimly.

“We must discover their plans for us before we can formulate our own!” replied Eilendan, wisely as ever, the continued voice of reason.

Another guard came in and rattled his baton across the cage bars and then relieved the first watchman off his duty for the night.

Again, he rapped bars and hissed, “There will be no talking on my watch!” He glared through the bars at Eilendan, and then laughed. “Save your talking until you are before the council!” With a sigh he eased himself onto his stool by the prison entrance and watched them with small, unfaltering eyes.

The comrades sat in silence the rest of the night, getting snatches of sleep filled with nightmares about what the future held. Nechan struggled the most. He was trying to put on a brave face and behave like the man his father would have wanted him to be, but he could not help sobbing quietly to himself in the growing, cold darkness of his cell. This was an endless nightmare, one from which he wished he could just wake up.

Tavor could not sleep. He stayed in his small, candlelit room, feeling the need to hide from the outside world. Thoughts about the boys he had betrayed consumed his mind, fighting against the yearning to be accepted back into the Empire’s fold. It frustrated and confused him that now his goal was finally within reach he was in a state of inner turmoil. Twenty years was a long time to be an outcast; too long. He knew this, yet his guilt threatened to overwhelm.  Perhaps the boys reminded him of his lost days of innocence and trust?

He stretched out on his bed, feeling the soft feather mattress ease the tired muscles  while he tried to block out his thoughts until summoned before the council.

His time finally came, his new life beginning with a knock at his chamber door. Following the guard dressed in ceremonial armour, Tavor was escorted down several darkened corridors and up the large staircase to the Chamber of Daam, the Council Hall.

Tavor followed his escort to the large double doors of the chamber, which were adorned with carvings of hideous faces of beasts and tortured men.

“I can go no further,” the guard announced, bowing low and leaving Tavor standing before the daunting doors. He waited a moment, composing himself, taking deep breaths.

The doors slowly creaked open as if the occupants knew he was standing outside. A large gong sounded as Tavor stepped through the doorway, revealing the chamber in its full glory. Lit by numerous candle on tall sconces, the hall was heavily decorated and daubed with gold. In the centre was a large open fire, surrounded by a thick, dark granite ring. A large shallow bowl was suspended just above the flames, containing a viscous liquid that steamed and bubbled, its fumes rising high into the vaulted roof. Heavy swathes of crimson and black fabric hung from the lofty ceiling, veiling off hidden sections of dark unknown. The  hall was thick with a suppressing and foreboding atmosphere.

At the far end, three figures sat on grand thrones, the true nature of their forms and faces hidden in shadow. Only their cold, gleaming eyes shone, piercing all they looked upon.  

Behind each chair was a black, crudely carved, stone statue. The first, on the right, was the symbol of the clenched fist, the emblem of the Empire’s ruling might. Behind the left-hand chair was the back of a hand, its fingers pressed tightly together, a reminder of the Empire’s harsh justice system. Finally, behind the central chair was a statue of a hand-palm, an open eye carved into its centre. Tavor stared at this Seeing Eye, a reminder that there was always someone watching. He felt as though the carved eye was looking into his mind and soul, feeling a sudden wave of guilt and awkwardness surge through his body.

A long, wooden table was positioned before the Rjukhan, at which the rest of the council members sat.  Before each member stood an ornate goblet filled with blood-oath wine, the custom to seal any decision.

The council itself was made up of an eclectic mixture of men, some of whom, like Govan, were respected captains from the Imperial army; others were high ranking, bureaucratic officials. There were  three karzon members, one of whom Tavor recognised as Vlandac, with the distinctive black fox fur draped around his shoulders. As with all council meetings there were no guards present, ensuring all proceedings remained confidential.  

All eyes were fixed on Tavor as he stood before the council table. Displayed before him was an array of weapons and other items, which he immediately recognised as belonging to the prisoners. They had obviously been presented before the council for examination, although he doubted there was much that could be learnt.

From the far end the dark, probing eyes of the Rjukhan pierced him as if searching his deepest thoughts and emotions, their faces hidden beneath large hoods. A shiver ran down his spine, making the hairs on his neck and forearms tingle and stand on end.

“You carry the burden of shame about your shoulders, yet today we welcome you before the council!” The menacing voice of the central Rjukhan echoed about the hall, bouncing between the columns and the high rafters.

Tavor stood, his head bowed, not wanting to look any council member in the eye. He felt the burning, shameful memory of the last time he stood before a similar council twenty years earlier. Sentenced him to two hundred lashings, he had taken them like a true soldier of the Empire without a single cry of pain, and then, half dead, he had been banished.

“The council has discussed your recent deeds for the Empire -” declared the second Rjukhan, his voice just as dark and evil.

“- and following their judgements we have agreed to return your honour.” finished the third, his voice a hiss of venom. The Rjukhan spoke as one mind, split into three bodies.

Tavor’s heart leapt at the words and he raised his head, able once more to look at the council. The members stood and saluted, raising goblets of blood-oath wine. “Brother in Arms! Strength in Brotherhood!” The chant reverberated around the vast chamber.

“Brother in Arms! Strength in Brotherhood!” responded Tavor. He could see Govan’s eyes glinting with pleasure for him as he gave his friend a slight nod and tipped his goblet in his direction. The council sat once more, leaving Tavor standing before them.

“You have earned your honour and our trust, Tavor, but you are yet to earn the council’s respect.” It was the sombre, monotone voice of Canvil, a military council member who, like Govan, was Captain of several Karvathan garrisons. “Govan has spoken for you and has asked that you be placed under his command until you have earned the respect of the council. Only then will you be given full rank and command within the Imperial Army.”

“As the council wishes!” replied Tavor, bowing his head in acceptance of their decision. Although disappointed, he had not expected to regain his original rank at once. Their decision to place him under Govan’s command seemed just; at least he knew he would receive fair treatment. Other captains, like Canvil, would not be so forgetful of his failings and would find it hard to look past them, making his progression within the Empire slow.

Govan was also satisfied the council had trusted his judgement, believing Tavor was really a loyal man and honourable warrior. Despite their recent quibbles, he was sure he could bring the old Tavor back to the surface. Govan had always believed in Tavor’s innocence, knowing his loyalty should never have been doubted. This was why he had ensured he knew the location of his friend’s whereabouts, giving him the perfect opportunity to call him back into the Empire’s service when the opportunity arose.

“You are dismissed!” Canvil instructed. “The council has other business to attend to.”

Tavor clicked his heels together and bowed again. He turned smartly like a soldier on parade, and left the council chamber, heading straight for the soldiers’ mess hall where he could celebrate over several cold ales.

“The council needs to decide the fate of our new captives,” Canvil requested.

The council mumbled in agreement.

  “My first question is how do we use them to find the rest of the Elves. There must be more of them out there. Perhaps they are growing in number once more.”

The council rumbled again, strongly objecting to the thought of the Elves spreading throughout the Empire once more.

“They were wiped out after the Great Battle. These can be the only survivors!” stated another council member.