Stoc (A New Druids Series Book 3)

by Donald D. Allan

  Ten

  Munsten Castle - Dungeon - June 901 A.C.

  BRENT STRUGGLED TO keep his wits about him. He had been held in the dungeon cell for months with no interaction with anyone other than his gaolers who he saw only once per day. He marked the passage of time with scratches on the stone wall and was sure he had kept a pretty good track of how long he had been held. He had been captured in February and it was now at least June by his reckoning. Good enough, he thought as he pushed through another series of push ups and deep knee bends. He had barely any strength left to exercise. He longed to be able to move freely in the small cell but resigned himself to pacing the small six by six square feet his world had been reduced to.

  He wore a simple thin covering. He no longer felt the chill and damp and the meagre food he received barely kept his strength up. His muscle mass had greatly reduced and the act of completing a set of push ups kept him winded and he strained to stay fit. It was a losing battle but he forced himself to continue.

  He prayed several times a day and knew his faith was being tested again. The hallway outside his cell was quiet and empty of guards. Over the weeks he had called out to the others in nearby cells and they had established the other cells were filled with men and women of the Guard and Army all loyal to his brother Frederick and himself. There were over a hundred of them. All of them told the same story of being grabbed and thrown in gaol with no court or appeal.

  He had pieced together what had happened since he had left for Jaipers. It had not gone well for his brother. Over a period of hours, a mere month after he had left, the officers and men of the Guard had been slowly replaced with those loyal to the Lord Protector. Men disappeared overnight with their whereabouts remaining a mystery. Those who had not been killed had ended up here, deep in the dungeon. Healy now owned the Army, the Navy and the Guard. The men feared for the Realm and what would happen next.

  As for his brother Frederick, no one knew where he had gone and it was feared he was dead and his body thrown out to sea. Brent despaired for his older sibling and although he assumed the worst he couldn't believe he was dead. He prayed for his brother and for his men. He prayed they would be saved and released, but in his heart he knew that nothing good would come of any of this. Everyday men and women would be pulled from their cells and often no one returned. His faith was tested daily. He knew the day would come when he would be dragged out of the cell but he held firm to his belief that God had a greater purpose for him.

  He talked to the men and women nearest him and his words were relayed to the others. He told them the tale of what had happened since he had left for Jaipers and many refused to believe in the draoi and their magic. He spoke of his faith and his desire to see the realm returned to its former glory. He told jokes and told them whatever he needed to in order to keep their spirits up.

  Today was like any other. He had been fed a thin soup hours ago and his bowl had been returned. He collapsed on his pallet and grunted against the burning pain in his arms and legs from his short workout. He flexed his right arm and shook his head at the little muscle mass that remained. Picking up a sword will be difficult. He wondered when his gaolers would come for him when he heard the door at the far end of the corridor bang open and heard the voice of Major Sean Gillespie call out.

  "Bairstow!" shouted Gillespie. "It's time we talked." The gloating in the voice was unmistakable and Brent scowled. Several of the men in the adjoining cells yelled out comments about Gillespie's mother and Brent grinned.

  Brent listened to armoured feet striking the stone floor draw closer and then stop outside his cell. A foot scuffed across the floor and a key turned loudly in the lock and the door was pushed open. The head gaoler stood a moment in the opening and then backed away to be replaced by Gillespie. Brent continued to lay on his pallet and looked up at the uniform his brother once wore. Gillespie had been made the head of the Army of the Realm. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he coughed to clear it.

  "Stand up in front of your superior!" ordered Gillespie. A glint of hatred was there in his eyes for all to see but it was aimed at Brent.

  "Piss off," replied Brent.

  Gillespie strode forward and struck Brent across the head with his gauntleted right hand. Brent tried to block it but his reflexes were not what they once were. The back of his head struck the wall of the cell.

  "Ouch!" he cried and lifted a hand to rub his head. "Bastard. This how you show your strength? Striking an unarmed superior?"

  "Superior? Do you not see the uniform I wear? I am your Commander. The General of the Army of the Realm! Stand up!"

  "I see an arse dressed up like a child on Samhain. You are no more the head of the army as I am the head of Women's Guild. Now get out. I want my privacy."

  Gillespie stepped aside and two army sergeants stepped quickly forward. Brent recognised them as the two who had travelled with him to Jaipers. He forgot their names but not their faces. Their eyes are too close together, he thought and chuckled as they grabbed him under the armpits and rough handled him up onto his feet. Brent staggered and felt light headed. His vision swam, and he blinked.

  "Follow orders, swine!" one of them yelled in his face and the other one punched him hard in the stomach.

  Brent bent over double and retched. The sergeants hoisted him higher and Gillespie moved forward to stand over Brent as he slowly found his feet righted himself. He tried to straighten but his legs had no strength. He hung limp from the arms of the sergeants. This is disgraceful, he thought.

  "You'll answer our questions if you know what's good for you," he said and spun and strode out of the cell. The sergeants dragged Brent out into the corridor. Brent swallowed the bile that rose in his gorge and looked blearily around. With his bare feet dragging on the stone floor he was pulled down the corridor. The scraping of his toes was a far-away pain compared to his stomach.

  "Hullo, soldiers!" called out Brent struggling to put strength behind his voice. "I'll be back in a moment. Don't start the party without me!"

  Laughter could be heard coming out of the cells and a few called out for Brent to remain strong.

  "If someone could save me a glass of wine I'd be appreciative!" he answered back to the cheering.

  The sergeant holding him on his right punched the back of his neck. Brent gargled and fought to remain conscious. His vision swam, and he blinked only to find himself seated in a small cell, feet chained to a chair and his hands to a solid oak table. An empty chair sat across from him and he was alone. He looked around and blinked back tears caused by the smoking torch on the wall. The floor was covered in straw and he could see dried blood pooled in areas. Torture, he surmised. I wondered when it would start.

  The door banged open and Gillespie strode in and sat in the empty chair. He stared at Brent for a long time and Brent gave him no satisfaction and merely looked back at him without expression.

  "Where's the gold?" asked Gillespie.

  The question surprised Brent, and he ran through the many replies he could give and then shrugged instead. The chains holding him rattled with the effort. "Gone if it was ever there."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The chest was full of copper pence."

  "Liar! It was full of gold. Where'd it go?"

  "There was gold on top. Underneath it was all coppers. Redgrave had the last laugh."

  Gillespie stood quickly, reached across the table and punched Brent in the face. Brent was surprised by the speed of the strike. It hit him square in the nose and he felt the cartilage shatter and his nose spread across his face. I'm in terrible shape, I should have been able to dodge that. I'm weaker than I thought.

  Pain suddenly blossomed across his face and he cried out at the intensity of it. Gillespie sat back down and then slowly pulled off his gauntlets while watching Brent recover. Blood poured from his nose and chained as he was Brent couldn't stop it. He held his head down and let the blood pour out. He swallowed the blood running down the inside of his throat and t
hough that perhaps he might drown. This brought a quick laugh, and he groaned at the increased pain.

  "What happened in Jaipers? You were attacked. Your men killed. You escaped. What happened?"

  Brent coughed and tried to blow blood out his nostrils but they were now swollen shut. He raised his head a little and looked over at Gillespie. The man had a smug look on his face and was clearly enjoying this. "The Sect ambushed us. Struck us down in the streets of Jaipers. Ask them where the gold is. I saw them dump the chest out before I was struck down."

  "The Sect? What Sect?"

  "The Sect of the Church of the New Order, that's who," said Brent and hated the sound of his voice. He sounded drunk. Brent watched Gillespie and realised he had no idea who the Sect was. Strange, I was brought here by the head of the Sect and he doesn't know that. Seems Healy isn't telling Gillespie all he should know.

  Gillespie opened his mouth to speak when the door behind him opened. Gillespie looked annoyed and rose to berate whoever had opened it when he spied Healy standing there. "President!" he exclaimed.

  Healy tore his eyes from Brent and glanced at Gillespie and then frowned. "I told you no one was to speak to him alone."

  "Yes, sir, I thought I might get the details you wanted from him."

  "You thought wrong," Healy turned to the door and called out to the other side. "Kevin, come in."

  Brent watched Kevin stroll in. His bald head continued to shine in the torchlight. Kevin kept his eyes on Brent and smiled as he moved over to stand by the table.

  "What's he doing here?" asked Gillespie.

  "He's the head of the Sect you know nothing about, you moron," replied Brent. "He's here to torture me."

  "Leave," said Healy and Gillespie looked surprised. He opened his mouth to reply then thought better of it and quietly left the room and closed the door behind him.

  Kevin sat in the vacated chair and crossed his legs under his robe. He placed one arm over the raised knee and placed the other arm over it. "Hello, Brent. Good to see you again."

  "Likewise."

  "You look like cac. Your nose is shattered, did you know that? Sorry about Gillespie. I've only just gotten to know the man. I agree with your assessment. He is a moron. Speaking of which, the President and I have been speaking about you."

  "President? Who's that?"

  "I'm the President of the newly formed Republic of Belkin. There's been a regime change," replied Healy.

  Brent tried to focus on Healy but his eyes betrayed him. He looked at the table instead. "I didn't vote for you."

  "Haha! No one voted for me, Brent Bairstow. I have to admit to a great deal of pleasure seeing you here in my dungeon. When Kevin let me know you had arrived on his doorstep in Jergen I could scarcely believe the words! You really are an interesting fellow."

  "Really? I didn't think I was that interesting."

  "Haha! I assure you that you are," replied Healy. "Kevin, he's yours."

  Kevin nodded and reached into his robe and pulled out a leather bundle which he laid on the table. He started to unroll it as he spoke. "There were some things I wanted to ask you in Jergen and wasn't able to. There are some truths we need to get to, don't you think?"

  Brent watched the leather bundle unroll and spied the gleaming tools he had seen in Jaipers when Seth tortured him. "Oh goody, time for pinkie shearing again?"

  "No, not this time, I'm afraid. I'm curious to see if your ears, nose and eyes will come back as quickly as your pinkie did. What do you think? Is God going to save you again?"

  "Couldn't tell you. Hey Healy, you turd," replied Brent looking over to Healy where he leaned against the wall looking amused. "Where's my brother?"

  Healy blinked at the affront. "How dare you...!"

  "Oh, I dare. Where is my brother?"

  "He's not here to save your sorry ass, I'll have you know that!"

  Brent smiled and then spat a thick wad of blood to the side. "So, he's alive then. Good."

  Healy spluttered. Kevin raised a hand to silence him and Brent was surprised when Healy closed his mouth. "Tut-tut, none of that. We need to focus. I've questions for you. Answer truthfully and perhaps you save the lives of some of your men and women in here."

  Brent hung his head a moment and when he lifted it Healy was surprised by the smile he wore. "Go ahead. Those men and women swore an oath to defend this realm with their lives. You seek to threaten me with their lives? I never owned them. This man, this President did. You will be killing his own people."

  Healy laughed. "They were never mine. They swore allegiance to the realm but in reality, they swore it to you and your brother. I know what your brother was investigating. Nothing happens in the capital without my eyes and ears on it. You thought you were so careful."

  Brent looked at Kevin and squinted. "What is that you want? Can you not see the evil that lies in this man? You are a man of God. Show some moral compass."

  Kevin grinned. "I think you will find that I am not so blinded as our former leader Seth Farlow. Our President has had me spying on the Sect for decades. Ever since the Revolution, really. He never trusted the Archbishop. Too religious. Zealotry will get you nowhere."

  Brent closed his mouth and then opened it again to breathe. His head swam with pain and he tried to stay focused. The edges of his vision grew dark, and he fought to remain conscious and to speak clearly. "Wuh-what is it you want?"

  "You know what we want," said Kevin with little emotion. "Time you told us, eh?"

  Brent awoke an indeterminate time later. Every part of his body was in agony. Kevin had tortured him for hours. He was sure it had been hours. That little knife... Brent shuddered and wept a little in fear. It had cut and left no pain at first. He watched it part his flesh and wondered at the lack of feeling and thought maybe God was protecting him again. Then a cold burn started along the cut and then excruciating pain followed. His throat was still raw from screaming. Cut after cut followed. He had lost count.

  He lay on his back on the pallet and could feel that his back had bled long into the straw and was stuck fast to him. He could feel it tearing at his back with his breathing. Tears streamed from the corner of his eyes and filled his ears. He lifted his left hand to the light and stared at the single finger and thumb that remained. The blackened burned stubs along his knuckles showed where his three smaller fingers had been.

  "Tomorrow will be the right hand," Kevin had said as he wrapped up his tools. "Be thankful your ears, nose and eyes remain. Include that in your prayers."

  They had only asked one question over and over. Where was the gold? Where was the gold? Where was the gold?

  Brent choked back a laugh that threatened to escape him. He knew if he let that laugh out he wouldn't be able to stop. Not ever. He forced the wrist of his maimed hand into his mouth and bit down to stop the laughter that bubbled up inside him.

  He told them he didn't know where the gold was. He had hung on to the thread of that truth. It was true—he didn't know where the gold was.

  But he was pretty sure he could guess. Oh yes, I'm sure I could guess.

  He heard the lock of his cell door unlock quietly and he rolled his eyes toward the door.

  It opened a crack, and he heard a soft whisper. "Brent? Brent is that you?"

  Fear struck Brent when he recognised the voice. No, it can't be. Not here. Not now.

  "Brent, damn you. Answer me!" said the voice.

  There was no mistaking the voice and Brent whimpered. He kept his eyes on the crack of the door as it widened and he saw his brother's face peering in from the hallway.

  "Go away!" he hissed. "Run!"

  Frederick open the door further and crept into the cell until he was crouched over Brent's lying form. "Run? I'm here to get you out, you daft fool! What's the matter with you?"

  Frederick was dressed in common garb. A simple shirt and rough spun pants. On his feet he wore cheap sandals, and he wore fingerless knit gloves. His face was smeared with dirt to hide his face from the light but
it was an unmistakable face. Frederick gasped a deep breath when he saw the injuries to his brother. "By the Word! What have they done to you?"

  "Nothing. Nothing. Get out. You have to get out. They will expect you. You have to know that."

  "Yes, yes. I've been careful."

  Brent wept and tried to push his brother with his maimed hand. His right arm was broken in three places and wouldn't move the way he wanted. "No. Go... please, for the love of God..."

  The hallway beyond the door lit up with torchlight and Frederick whirled toward the door. The door swung open all the way and Gillespie stood in the doorway framed by his two sergeants.

  "Well, well, well. Who do we have here?" chided Gillespie.

  "Gillespie, you traitor. You won't get away with this," replied Frederick. He reached into his shirt but the two sergeants were quicker and reached in and grabbed hold of him and disarmed him.

  "No, no, no..." moaned Brent.

  Gillespie took the dagger from his men and held it up to the torchlight where it gleamed bright. "Lovely blade, General. Here. Have it back." Gillespie drove the point of the knife deep into the abdomen of Frederick.

  Frederick gasped and then cried out.

  Gillespie looked into Frederick's eyes and then twisted the blade one way and then the other. Frederick cried out and tried to grab the dagger to stop it. The sergeants held his arms to his side and grinned.

  "I always hated you, General," whispered Gillespie and then with a twisted grin sliced the dagger out through his side and eviscerated him. The sound of the entrails hitting the stone floor was wet and sickening.

  "Frederick!" cried out Brent and tried to reach toward him but he was too weak.

  The sergeants let go of his brother and he fell to his knees and grabbed his stomach. He then reached out with a trembling hand toward his guts on the floor. Gillespie loomed over him and with one quick stroke he cut deep into his throat. Blood fountained through the air and Frederick fell to his side and reached up to his throat.