Chapter Ten
Their New Prison
FINALLY THE TIME HAD COME. The heavyset guard came thumping down the ladder toward the prison cell, his chain mail around his rotund middle clinking softly, but he did not carry a tray of food. He stood before the cell, contemplating his prisoners, who were trained into apathetically ignoring him until he passed by and went away, but this time he did not leave, and the imprisoned three looked up at him. Two other guards came down behind the first, and positioned themselves next to him, and then the first guard slid an iron key into the enchanted lock, turning it until it disengaged and opened. He swung the heavy prison gate open, and the three large guards crowding into the prison cell.
They roughly bound Rhoin, Paetoric and Seften in shackles. “Think any of these’ns ‘ll have information?” grunted one of the guards to the other, speaking as if none of the brothers were really there, hearing.
“There’s only two ways’f findin’ out,” one guard grinned nastily with yellow teeth, as he locked shackles onto Seften’s wrists, “Killin’ ‘em or torturing ‘em to death!”
Aren’t those the same thing?” Seften snorted at the inhumane yet witless line. Rhoin shushed him with a warningful stare.
The other two guards chuckled at the guard’s threats, and all of the brothers were wrenched from their cell through the small cell door way.
They were brought out of the ship into the beginnings of daylight, and could see the features of the land that they were in. It was very much like Windpass Isles, except for the people that they had met thus far, who had a certain rough type of accent. The ship was docked at a military port; such a port had no trade happening on it, only military or royal ships of small to grand sizes. The three were forced off of the ship onto the broad dock, and made to march on in shackles down the dock to solid ground. Paetoric could recognize the land. “Gaedia,” he uttered to his brothers. “I recognize the accent of those rogues aboard the ship. It is western Gaedian tongue.”
Seften looked up. “Were we not at peace with Gaedia since the wars of many years ago that Torius talked of?” he indicated.
One of the strange soldiers that were pulling him along overheard him and gave him a vicious tug on his chain, which caused his shackles to badly scrape his wrists. “Shut up, yeh – else we do our killin’ quick en’ painful, right ‘ere!” he threatened Seften, gripping his sheathed sword’s hilt.
They were marched on down a trail among thick wood, the trail broad but twisting, until a stout small military castle came into view, with sentinel guards posted atop it’s stonewalls. Small black windows along the walls seemed like many eyes looking out for enemies.
They were lead up to a wooden gate, twice the height of a man, and one of their imprisoning guards yelled up, “Prisoners to be questioned!” at which point a thud and scrape of enormous locks and groaning of heavily weighted hinges had the great doors opening inward.
The brothers were pulled inside and through the castle grounds into a doorway at the base of one of the castle’s stout towers. They were lead down a set of stairs, through an underground corridor, passing through several gates, each one having to be unlocked, the party lead through, and then locked again, and then they were turned into another doorway, and down, down, down many stairs on a circular stone staircase, until they reached their prison.
They were in a long stone hallway, badly lit by a few dim enchanted red torches, which cast poor lighting in each cell, each cell separated by a wall of rock, with rusty metal barred doors and crude iron locks that appeared similar to the enchanted lock that imprisoned them aboard that sailing ship.
The guards shoved them into their sand-floor prison cell and slammed the cell door shut, the slam resonating in their own cell as if pronouncing their fate to them. The lock was engaged, and the guards left them there.
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