The guard approached Delcan and looked down his nose at him. “Your friend asked a good question: what were you doing in the Royal quarters? And how did you gain entry?” he asked.
Delcan said nothing. He stared past the guard’s shoulder at Stanlo. Defiant.
Stanlo inflated his chest with a deep intake of night air and stepped forward. “He asked you a question,” he said to Delcan, nearly shouting. “How did you get inside the keep?”
The guard shook his head, quickly sobering. “Your tone, squire,” he said to Stanlo, “may well land you in the dungeon by night’s end. Stand down. What's more, I believe I know how your fellow squire here found his way inside.”
The guard turned to Sandrion.
Sandrion did not speak He looked at Stanlo and smiled then turned back to the guard.
Stanlo turned to Sandrion with an inquiring look that quickly turned to one of anger.
“You,” Stanlo said to Sandrion. “You allowed him inside so that he could go to Aria. Did you not?”
Sandrion did not respond. His smile grew wider.
“You snuck up to her tower,” Stanlo said to Delcan. “And your friend here gave you assistance.” He nodded as he came to the realization that Sandrion was still very much devoted to Delcan.
“I know nothing of what you are saying. I have been in the castle keep all evening but not in the Royal Quarters.” Delcan kept his eyes on Stanlo but could feel the guard turn his gaze on him. “With Malden. Long before any guard came on duty.”
Stanlo winced and turned to the guard. “He lies,” he yelled while pointing at Delcan. “He must be detained.”
The guard took a step back, crossed his arms, and grinned. His face and his posture made it known that he no longer believed—or perhaps no longer cared—whether Delcan or Stanlo was being truthful. “Indeed?” he said. It was clear he would not take orders from a squire.
Stanlo stood waiting and when the guard said no more, he stepped in front of Delcan, nose to nose.
“Move aside, Stanlo,” Delcan said.
Stanlo stood his ground, frowning. “I will make certain that you are jailed, Delcan. The King knows your lies. He knows them well. And I will bask in knowing the dungeon will be kept warm with your rotting corpse.” Stanlo pushed past Delcan and reached for the doors.
Delcan walked quickly to Sandrion and put his hand on his shoulder. “Come,” he said. “We must talk.”
The guard stood, perplexed, watching the squires go on their way.
As Delcan and Sandrion rounded the corner of the building, they turned back and caught a glimpse of Stanlo standing with the open door to the keep in his hand. In the threshold, with the candle-lit gloom of the foyer dancing around him stood Orsak.
Delcan ran into his room at the servants’ quarters with Sandrion close behind.
“I must go to the Valley of the Sun,” he said as he pulled his bow and quiver from under the bed. “I must find the Cave Dwellers. I was so certain that I could avoid it but if Stanlo is committed to see me imprisoned then I have no other choice.”
“Cave Dwellers?” Sandrion stood by the door watching Delcan scramble through the room gathering arrows and placing them in the quiver.
“Rebels. They have been forming for a year or more.”
“Yes. I know. But why go to them? And how would you even find them?”
“Aria,” Delcan said, unaware that he had briefly stopped what he was doing when he uttered her name. “She corresponds with them; provides them with information. I must go to them. Join them. They are my only chance of stopping Aria from marrying Stanlo.”
Delcan’s quiver overflowed with arrows. He placed it on the bed and rushed to the window sill from which he took a dagger and slid it under his belt.
“Do you know where to go?”
Delcan stopped momentarily then shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll find them.”
“How can they help you—?”
“I do not know, but there must be a way. She wants me to hide with them. She sees no other option but to marry Stanlo and wait the year it will take for Branis to prepare his rebels. Perhaps I can convince him to strike now; before Stanlo is knighted. Before he marries Aria.”
Delcan stopped talking and running about the room and stood in front of Sandrion, breathing fast.
“And how are you to convince him?” said Sandrion. “They will not decide to put their lives at risk only so that you can stop Stanlo.”
Delcan sighed. “I must find a way.”
Delcan headed for the door and Sandrion stopped him.
“Wait. If you are to be foolish enough to do this then I will come with you.”
“No.” Delcan shook his head. “I need for you to watch over Aria, make sure that she is free of danger. I am to meet her at the stable in the morning. You will go see her in my place.”
Sandrion put his hand on Delcan’s shoulder. “You will need my help more than she,” he said. “I am coming with you. I’ll get my bow.”
Sandrion did not wait for a response. He turned on his heels and headed out of the room.
Delcan sat on the bed for a moment to slow his racing heart. He covered his face with his hands and breathed in long breaths. As his heart slowed he heard the door thrown open with a crash. Everything that came after Malden stepped into the room followed by six large guards happened very fast.
Delcan stood and went for his bow. It was on the floor out of reach so he took hold of the quiver instead.
“Take him,” Malden said in a stern voice that echoed inside the small chamber. As he stepped forward Delcan pulled an arrow out of the quiver and threw it like a lance. The arrow head struck Malden’s shoulder, penetrating the skin.
“Secure him,” Malden growled as he stepped back against the wall. “Now.” He grasped the arrow and pulled it out of his shoulder. Blood trickled down his chest. He tossed the arrow on the floor and stepped on it, breaking it with a snap.
Swords drawn, three guards landed on Delcan. He struck the first on the face with his elbow and kicked the second in the stomach. The third slammed the sword’s iron hilt into Delcan’s face, drawing blood from his nose. Another guard pushed him against the wall while yet another pinned his shoulders back.
Delcan raised his knee and connected with the groin of the one standing closest to him, doubling the guard over. A solid fist hit him on one side of the face; a second fist struck hard on the other. He collapsed to his knees.
Malden walked toward Delcan, pressing his hand against the bleeding wound on his shoulder, and in calm, official voice said, “Delcan, you have committed acts against the King and you are suspect of plots against the kingdom. As Head of the Paraysian Council, it is my duty to inform you, in the name of His Majesty the King that you are to be incarcerated until an official review of your case has been arranged.” Then he smiled and casually said to one of the guards, “Throw him in the pit.”
The guards lifted Delcan by the shoulders and half carried him—half dragged him—out of the room.
As Sandrion slung his quiver over one shoulder, he heard the crash of Delcan’s door being kicked open.
He pulled the door to his room ajar slowly and peered out of the small opening. He saw a group of guards, at least four, rush into Delcan’s chamber. Without further thought, he threw the door wide open and headed to Delcan’s aid.
As he stepped out of his room he felt the blade of a broadsword against his side and he froze.
“Turn around, squire,” the raspy voice of a guard said behind him. “It seems you too will see the walls of the dungeon this day.”
Sandrion turned slowly at first. Halfway through his turn he spun faster bringing the bottom end of his bow up to strike the guard on the chin. He heard the guard’s teeth bite down and his jaw crack as the bow connected.
He swung the opposite end of the bow in a wide sideways arch and struck the side of the guard’s face. As the guard turned with the strike, Sandrion pushed the guard against the stone wall a
nd grappled the sword out of his hand. He pressed his boot against the guard’s chest and pushed him away with a kick. As the guard fell, Sandrion heard Malden’s voice leading the other guards out of Delcan’s chamber. He gripped the broadsword tightly and slung the bow over his shoulder. Without looking back, Sandrion ran out of the servants’ quarters building and into the waking dawn.
Chapter Twenty-four
As the night melted into daylight Delcan turned his face up to the brightening sky and caught the last of the dying stars as the guards dragged him through an open door and into the darkness of a poorly-lit corridor. His face throbbed with pain. It was bruised and his right eye had swelled to the point where it was nearly shut. The guards pulled him by his arms as the insteps of his feet dragging behind; the leather on his boots ripped on the rough stone floor.
He tried to pull himself up, to plant his feet on the ground so he could walk, but a guard drove a fist into his side. He stumbled and were it not for the grip of the guards on his arms he would have fallen hard on his face.
The narrow corridor was long and winding down a gradual slope. It smelled of wet, mossy stone. Delcan opened his one good eye as wide as the pain would let him and looked around. The walls were close together making the hallway seem more like a tunnel than a passageway. He sensed this to be a place hidden well beneath the castle. All at once, the dream of which Sandrion had spoken on their way to the Flarian Festival so many days ago rose in his mind.
After what felt like half of an hour, the guards pulled Delcan down a short flight of stairs. At the bottom, the corridor continued through an archway under which the guards had to lower their heads. A few minutes later the tunnel ended at a solid stone wall. Two sconces hung from the wall casting shadows upon the guards’ faces.
The guards gripped tightly under Delcan’s arms and lifted him so he could stand and support his own weight. It was then that Delcan realized that a set of iron shackles connected with a chain were wrapped around his ankles.
One of the guards stepped from behind Delcan. He ran his finger along the crevice that ran in a straight line from beneath the left sconce on the wall down to the floor. Between the second and third stone from the bottom the guard inserted his finger and pushed. The wall shifted and a stone door previously hidden opened to reveal yet another hallway. This one was wider than the last and better lit but still the walls embraced them like a subterranean tube upon which the world sat unaware of its existence. At the end, this new passageway led to a wooden door where two sentries stood at either side. The guards threw open the latches at the top and bottom of the door and pulled on the large handle with both hands.
Delcan stumbled into a long, narrow chamber with a low ceiling and a dirt floor. Prisoner cells with iron bars as thick as arms lined both sides of the room. Arranged in the center of the room, odd machines with chains and gears stood like soldiers waiting for orders. The contraptions stood visible from each cell to make certain that the men held prisoner could watch each apparatus at work when in use.
Standing in the doorway, Delcan looked at the torture machines and knew it would not be long before he would come better acquainted with one of them.
“Forward,” a guard growled from behind him. The guard’s hot breath stroking Delcan’s ear made him shudder.
Delcan began down the center of the chamber with the machines watching him, as if sizing him up.
“You will suffer here,” another voice said behind him. Delcan felt a boot push hard against his back and he stumbled. A baritone laugh followed.
He felt eyes upon him as he walked, and although reluctant to do so, glanced at the cells on either side. A few of them were empty. In others, men stood with fingers wrapped around the bars; fingers thin and scarred, perhaps from clawing at the walls, nails bitten down to the quick. Their faces were long and skeletal; their eyes seemed too large for their drawn faces. They appeared old to Delcan and he wondered if what he saw was their true ages or the result of years of imprisonment in this dungeon. Each of the prisoners lowered his head as Delcan passed— maybe some out of sympathy and understanding; perhaps others out of disappointment at seeing Paraysia’s youth walk down the same dirt path they had once treaded.
At the end of the room a low archway led to another chamber, this one round and absent of light. In the center of the circular room Delcan saw a trapdoor on the ground.
The guards pulled Delcan to a stop. One of them reached down and pulled open the trapdoor exposing the yawning hole that waited like a beast at feeding time. The guard behind him pushed and Delcan fell into the hole.
He landed on a muddy floor. It felt cold and damp in the dirt pit. The only light came from the opening above his head. Small insects—he assumed—crawled upon him almost as soon as his body had hit the ground as if wanting to devour him while the meat was fresh.
Delcan stood up quickly, brushing crawlers off his cheeks and hair. Looking about him he saw the pit was round and deep. He judged it to be deep enough that he would have to stand upon his own shoulders to reach the rim. As its namesake suggested, it was nothing more than a hole crudely dug in the dungeon floor.
By the size and shape of the room above him, Delcan figured he was now several yards beneath tower of the castle keep. He had gone from Aria’s chamber at the very top of that tower to a grave dug below its foundation. The thought of this hole becoming his final resting place dropped into his mind and its weight fell on his shoulders driving him to his knees.
He looked up at the sound of a creaking hinge and saw the guard above him close the trapdoor. Dim light shone down through the wide spaces between the boards casting bars of light and shadows on the pit floor.
Delcan closed his eyes and lowered his head. He rubbed the back of his neck with both hands and struggled to shake the faces of the prisoners in the cells above out of his thoughts. Inside his mind Malden’s voice informed him that a “formal review” of his case would be held on his behalf and he snickered at the notion. His being thrown into this hollow in the ground made him certain of only one thing—he would never come out.
Chapter Twenty-five
Roimas opened his eyes. Although he was now awake, in the darkness of the room in which he slept beside his wife, the image of the dragon in his dream remained.
He breathed heavy sighs and glanced at Telias lying beside him. He had not awakened her and was relieved. She had her back to him and one arm under her pillow as she snored softly.
He turned to the center of the room and still the dragon stood before him, watching him with gray-blue eyes. Through its transparent image Roimas could see the door that led out of his bed chamber. He rubbed his eyelids hard with the back of his hands until tiny, bright stars blinked behind them. When he opened them again the dragon was gone.
Roimas had had many dreams in the past twenty years—even pleasant ones—but none he had remembered in the morning. None had recurred for four nights. And none had materialized in his room and lingered.
For most of those years since Delcan’s birth his sleep had been undisturbed, as if the presence of the boy’s soul alone had banished the haunting spirits of the past. When the image of the dragon had first appeared in his sleep three nights prior it had forced into Roimas’s mind the fear that the void once filled with Delcan’s life had become empty again.
On the first night, the dream had begun with the dragon’s roar—a reverberating shrill more painful than fearful. The noise had come out of the darkness of sleep and soon thereafter the image of the dragon itself had appeared.
Its wings were spread to their maximum span as if it were gliding in the middle of night with none of the world in sight. With its mouth open it exposed its teeth and as it roared—as it screamed—fire sprayed out over its tongue. When the dragon flapped its wings to gain speed the world came into focus beneath it. As it descended from the gloom an image of Orsak’s castle rose into view like a fog.
As if he were a spectator sitting on the dragon’s back, Roimas saw C
astilmont emerge below him. In the courtyard, near the castle keep, stood two men face-to-face, each with a sword in his hand; their feet were set firmly upon the ground in a fighting stance. One he immediately recognized as Delcan. His son looked no different than on the day he had left to begin his training. The other wore a knight’s full armor. A few yards away three others stood with their backs to turned, unaware of the fight.
The dragon turned above the courtyard and dove, heading toward the silent scene. As the dragon sped down with its wings coiled to fight the wind, Roimas saw Delcan fall to his knees with the blade of a short sword driven deep into his back; Delcan clutched at the blade as if reaching to scratch an impossible itch. As his son fell onto his stomach Roimas saw a young man in common clothes standing beside the knight looking down at his own bloodied hands.
The dragon swept above the men’s heads, obscuring Roimas’s view. When the scaly wings rose once again into the night they all had vanished and only an empty courtyard remained.
The following night, the dream repeated in much the same way until the moment after Delcan’s body fell. As the dragon swept over the scene the creature’s wings eclipsed the courtyard below. It turned above the tower for another pass and revealed an impossible scene. As if the dragon were suddenly flying within the castle keep itself Roimas saw Delcan being dragged by his arms through a gloom-filled corridor, his head hanging forward; his eyes were open. Roimas opened his mouth to call out to his son but no sound emerged. He lunged forward as if to leap from his high vantage point when he awoke, disoriented.
The third night, as the dragon emerged the image manifested below him was once again the interior of the castle—a chamber shrouded in shadows. From above Roimas saw a pair of large wood and metal devices in the center of the room. Delcan laid on a table beside one of the contraptions, chains fastened to his ankles and wrists. His face and body were bruised and his eyes were shut as he thrashed in pain. Roimas recognized Malden standing nearby with his arms crossed. A voice—Malden’s perhaps—spoke calmly: “We know the truth. All you have to do now is say it.”
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