by Adam Bishop
Before he could carry on this thought, Odo approached his cell.
“Get up, slug. Today you leave.”
Leave?
Again, he was utterly baffled. This day was becoming stranger by the minute. Odo unlocked his cell door and shoved a large waterskin against his chest.
“This one you don’t drink,” Odo said, kneeling beside William and clamping a pair of iron shackles around his ankles. “You stay put, or you get the club.” Odo warned him, pointing his sausage of a finger not but an inch from his face. William stood in the open doorway of his cell, frozen with confusion. The thought of running never entered his mind. All he could think of was finally being able to leave.
“Well, well … it seems today is your lucky day, Will. You finally get to leave.” Gus said with a smile. He was so genuine, you would’ve thought he was the one being freed. “I know you don’t fancy Havelmir, but give ‘er a chance, eh? Stick around long enough to have a drink with your old pal Gus. I should be out in a day or two at the most.”
William nodded. Despite his eagerness to leave Havelmir, the last thing he wanted was to spend more time in the hardened kingdom. However, Gus had proven that not all those who reside in Havelmir were bad. And if a man like Gus could find happiness in such a place, maybe he could as well.
“Don’t worry, Gus. I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. I look forward to that drink you promised me. With that said, where do you suggest I stay in the meantime? I’ve no home, no coin, and you’re the only friend I’ve got.”
Gus was glad to hear William was willing to stay in Havelmir a little while longer. He wanted to show him the other side of the hard-strung city, the side he had yet to see. “Glad to hear that, Will. Ah yes, where to stay, where to stay?… I would have to say the Mutton Pot Inn. I’ve spent many a night under its roof. I’m dear friends with the owner, Simon. Just mention my name and I’m sure he’ll give you a room at a fair price. Tell him Gus is paying, fare she flew, unscathed and true. He’ll understand,” Gus said with a wink. “Oh! And be sure to try their lamb stew. It melts in your mouth.”
“Sounds like a fine idea. I’ll head straight there as soo—”
“Oy! Leave Gus alone. Join the lot behind me,” Odo’s grating voice rang out, interrupting William. He nodded in a backwards motion to a number of prisoners waddling behind him. William was stunned—there must have been fifty or sixty in all, shackled by the ankles as he was.
William waited for Odo and the other prisoners to pass him before joining the group. His excitement grew with the passing of each prisoner. It was hard for him to believe he was finally leaving the dungeons. He turned and nodded to Gus before joining the chain gang on their way out.
As he followed the other prisoners, that familiar feeling of fear settled in his gut. Why were so many others leaving at the same time as him? Scenarios ran through his mind, and none of them ended well. Were they all being led to their death? He figured the dungeons had gotten full, and now the decided solution was to kill off a select few. Or perhaps the group of them were going to be used as a source of entertainment in some sinister game of life and death. He’d heard stories of kingdoms that would hold tournaments where prisoners would fight to the death for their freedom. He wished never to be a part of something like that. He used to have nightmares as a child where his father’s ship was invaded and the crew was brought to a foreign kingdom. Upon arrival, they were forced to fight for their lives. These dreams often ended with him being strangled by one of his crewmates.
He tried to shake the negative thoughts stirring in his head.
Come now, Will. Soon you’ll be free. Focus on the thought of spending a night in the Mutton Pot Inn, where you can sleep in a feathered bed and eat something other than stale bread.
The continuous sound of clanging chains came to a sudden halt. William realized they had reached the exit of the dungeons.
Odo unlocked the heavy iron door and once again that ear piercing sound of iron on iron screamed in his ears. This time he was met by a blinding light. It stung his eyes in the most unfamiliar, yet welcoming, way. His eyes had grown so accustomed to darkness that they began to water and burn with every step he took. He was anxious to finally see more than just grey and black, yet he struggled to focus on anything other than the piercing glow of white light. As his eyes began adjusting, they were finally reunited with a beautiful array of colour and tone. He was now free from the dull caliginosity that consumed him in the dungeons. His days of staring into a void of black had finally come to an end.
William could feel a shared appreciation among the surrounding prisoners. Only those who had spent time in the dungeons could truly understand the pure joy he was feeling at the moment.
“What’s the matter, slugs? You all gone blind? Follow me!” Odo barked impatiently.
William and the other prisoners set their squinting eyes on Odo and began following him through the towering halls of Temperbailen.
***
The magnitude of the castle impressed William. He had thought the dungeons were big, but the long stone hallway they were walking through towered high around them, joining a strong arched ceiling forty feet above, making the dungeons seem small in comparison. Each brick looked as though it weighed five hundred pounds. Their size resembled that of a bookshelf rather than an average sized stone. William wondered how such brickwork was even possible. He doubted even someone like Odo could lift one of these giant slabs.
Even the metal torches lining the walls were oversized. If one happened to fall, it would surely crush a man to death. William felt small and weak being in such a place. This was a fortress built for war, he thought. He then imagined manning a catapult and launching giant stones at this kingdom, only to watch them disintegrate and crumble against its monstrous walls.
He knew little of the Braxi, but he’d always known they had a strong and daunting reputation. Now he was beginning to see why. As he reached the end of the hallway he entered an enormous room. It rose even higher above. The ship he’d grown up in was quite large, but even that would sail through here with ease. Abyss. even two ships would fit.
Long black and silver banners hung from each of the stone pillars lining either side of the room .Each one bore the sigil of house Braxis: two silver-headed rams butting heads. William then noticed he and the other prisoners weren’t the only prisoners who’d been freed. There were already a few hundred others standing in front of him, shackled at the ankles as he was. He quickly realized where he was standing as he approached the centre of the room.
“This is the throne room,” he muttered to himself.
King Dadro was sitting on his throne, staring down at the filthy lot of them. This was the first time Will had seen Dadro. He was fiercer than he had imagined. His hazel-grey eyes blazed with the look of a man hardened by war, and his stare brought back the fear which had haunted him since the morning.
“Is that all of them, then?” Dadro asked in his deep, gravelly voice. His words emerged from a mouth hidden behind a beard as thick as a bear’s coat. He was a beast of a man, standing nearly seven feet tall without armour. He was wearing a long black cape with wolf fur lining the collar, along with a blood-red tunic, embroidered with the widely-feared sigil of house Braxis. The crown he wore was far from elegant. It had a sharp, jagged design resembling twisted ram horns, and it was forged of black iron rather than gold. It looked more like a weapon than a head piece.
His voice echoed throughout the room, sending a shiver of fear through every prisoner in front of him. William felt his arm hairs rise. The feeling in his gut turned into a grinding pain and made him feel like his feet had been cemented to the floor.
“Yes, Your Grace. Every last slug you asked for,” Odo replied, struggling to bow over his bulging gut.
Dadro simply nodded, looking over the six hundred prisoners beneath him. His eyes scanned back and forth with disappointment. The seconds lingered, until finally Dadro decided to speak.
“You
’re all probably wondering why you’ve been brought here today. If you’re truly free, or if you’re all going to die … that’s up to you. I’ve decided to put your fate in your own hands. War! War is coming to the Elves. Too many years have passed without retaliation, without redemption for the acts of the treacherous race of woodland scum. The Elves slaughtered thousands of our kind ninety-six years ago, casting them to a lonely death deep inside the chasms of the earth. They sought out to extinct the race of men, and they nearly succeeded. My great grandfather, Roald Braxis, led his men into battle against the Elven army. He, along with many more, died fighting for this land. For his family. For you! Today is the first step toward avenging his death and his sacrifice for the human race. So, what I say to you is: join me! Join me in my fight against the Elves, as your ancestors did all those years ago! I know most of you have no training. Some of you have probably never even held a sword before, but that won’t matter. Your weapon has already been given to you. The waterskins you all hold have been filled with oil. Your purpose is divergent compared to that of my soldiers. You will run through the forest of Rhan in groups, dousing every tree, bush, and plant in your vicinity. And when my army fires flaming arrows and boulders into the Elven wood, it will light like a wick to a flame. All those who make it out of the forest alive will gain their freedom. So ready yourselves, men. We march for Rhan at midday.”
Dadro then turned to speak with his younger brother, Fordro, who was standing to the right of his throne. The two of them had always been close, yet Fordro didn’t hold the same animosity towards the Elves. He didn’t like them, nor did he want their actions to go unanswered, yet he never believed them to be a spiteful race solely responsible for the deaths of all the men who fought in the War of the Fallen. Fordro believed all those who fought in the war were held accountable unto themselves for what took place on that woeful day. Though this is something he never shared with his brother, and he was smart not to. He knew if he spoke his mind an endless quarrel would follow. His brother would refuse to see things any other way, of this he was certain.
William felt a surge of fear pulse through his body. All his thoughts of freedom were drifting away like a laughing gust of wind. He tried to convince himself that everything was going to be fine—but the thought of running through an Elven forest terrified him in ways he had never imagined. Much like the Braxi, he knew little of the Elves. What he did know was that no one would ever dare enter their home without invitation. He remembered the stories his father’s friend, John Strum, used to tell him as a child. Of how elusive they were, and how skilled they were with a bow. He had claimed to see an Elf strike a man from over six hundred yards away. “One second he was fishing, and the next he was dead. Bang! right through the head,” John used say, always following the story with an echo of hoarse laughter. John claimed to have seen many things from the height of the crow’s nest, most of which the crew learned to just ignore. But not William. William always found his stories more entertaining than anything. Only now, his stories sent a shiver down his spine.
“Follow me, men. Rhan is a far ways away. You can’t be expected to walk such a length on an empty stomach,” Fordro said as he walked passed the prisoners. The young heir’s words grabbed the attention of all the shackled men. The thought of a good meal momentarily misdirected their thoughts of dying in an Elven forest. Now they were dreaming of stuffing their faces with something other than stale bread and half-eaten chicken.
William was excited by the thought of a feast himself, yet he refused to get his hopes up. After all, he was still in chains. It wouldn’t surprise him if the meal consisted of the same cruddy food they had been serving him for the past two months.
Fordro led the prisoners through another towering hallway. Most of the men had no idea who he was, nor did they care. He dressed respectfully enough, though it wasn’t obvious that he was royalty. He wore a dark-green tunic embroidered with a pattern of black and grey leaves, along with a beautiful pair of auburn leather boots. Any fool could tell he was no commoner, but his appearance didn’t stand out like that of his brother. He had never wanted to be perceived in such a manner, and held an equal respect for all those he crossed paths with. He was referred to as the Prince of the People, rather than as a tyrant like his brother and their father before them.
William followed the prisoners, unaware of who the man leading them was. At first he figured it was just one of the King’s stewards. But the closer he looked, the more he found himself wondering if it was the King’s brother.
Gus had told him of Fordro, how he was loved by the people, and how he was a kinder looking version of his brother. William could see the resemblance. Their eyes and nose were the same. His brother had no beard, yet his face held a similar likeness. William then realized that, if this was truly the beloved brother of the King, he may very well be leading them to a bountiful feast. A warm gust of air carrying the aroma of fresh meats and greens entered his nostrils, and this sensation was followed by a loud rumbling growl from his stomach.
As the prisoners flowed into the room ahead, a long wooden table holding an abundance of food revealed itself. William couldn’t believe his eyes. Just seeing the beautiful display of meat, bread and vegetables was enough to subdue his thoughts of death and defeat. There must have been forty roasts, twenty chickens, three full pigs, and an endless amount of colourful roasted vegetables. William wanted to cry. He had eaten some fresh food in the prisons thanks to Gus, but actually seeing the food—and knowing he could eat it without having to hide the evidence—was exhilarating. He sat and began filling his plate. Just before he could take his first bite, a rough hand firmly grasped his arm.
“Hold it there, little man. What makes you think you deserve any of this food?”
William looked up at the prisoner grasping his arm. He was met by a set of cold, piercing brown eyes.
This must be Garid, he thought. Gus had warned him of the man. He had told William never to get in his way, or even look at him, for that matter.
Garid had quite the reputation. He’d been in the dungeons nearly as many times at Gus, and he was one of the only men to kill another prisoner during his stay. Gus had told William many stories during his time spent in the dungeons, most of which he didn’t believe or thought to be exaggerated. But his tale of Garid pulling a man’s head through the bars of his cell, beating his skull into a pulp against the ground, was one of the few William did believe. He had never seen this maniac before, yet he knew without a doubt this was the man Gus spoke of. William searched for a way to respond without pissing him off. Nothing came to mind.
“You’re that little shit Gus was so fond of, aren’t ya?” Garid said.
William’s mouth felt clamped shut. All he could think of was Garid’s giant fist slamming his head against the table.
“You’re a big talker, eh? I know Gus was sharin’ his food with ya. Fresh bread, hot chicken. Now you think you can just come in ‘ere and help yourself to more? Well, I don’t think so,” Garid said shaking his head. “Come to think of it, I think I’ll have your share. And every piece of food you eat, I’ll break one of your fingers … so go ahead, dig in.” Garid laughed and snatched the chicken right out of William’s hand.
There was nothing William could do. He sat back and watched the others feast on the food around him. He was finally free from the dungeons, but he was far from free of the ill-willed manner of Havelmir. He almost wished he was back in the dungeons with Gus.
At least there I would have something to eat. It’s easy to see why my father chose a life at sea. If I make it out of here alive, I’ll find a ship, a boat,or even a raft … and I’ll never set foot on land again.
***
After a long hour of torturous mockery to his stomach, William and the other prisoners were called to leave the hall. As he stood from the table, he noticed a young blond man across the room staring at him. He didn’t recognize him, nor had he seen him in the dungeons before. The thought of more confronta
tion made him feel uneasy, so he looked away and began following the chain gang once again. He contemplated snatching some food before they left—the thought of a broken finger or two helped him make up his mind.
“Oy! Hurry up, you filthy bastards!” a voice called out.
William didn’t recognize the voice, but he knew it didn’t belong to Fordro. This was somewhat of a disappointment for William. Aside from Gus, Fordro suddenly felt like the only person in Havelmir who wouldn’t kill him at any given moment.
A soft breeze blew through William’s curly brown hair, letting him know he was soon to be outside the monstrous castle, known as Temperbailen. His blue eyes grew wide, and the distinct dimples his father told him the girls would like, decorated his freckled cheeks. He was overjoyed—he would finally breathe in fresh air and feel the warmth of the sun on his skin. He missed being outside. After all, he had lived his entire life at sea. The most time he’d spent indoors were the few hours he’d spent sleeping in the haul of his father’s ship.
His first steps out of the castle brought forth a blissful feeling of appreciation, and for a split second he no longer felt the heavy iron shackles gripping his ankles. His stomach was free from the pain of hunger, and he forgot his current situation altogether. He was back on his father’s ship, breathing in the salty ocean air, coasting along the restless back of the boundless sea. He could have stayed in that moment forever. But then that unfamiliar voice returned.
“Move along, move along! We haven’t got all day!”
William finally saw who this boorish voice belonged to. At first glance he thought his eyes were deceiving him.
This is a giant, not a man.
He’d never seen anyone of such size and proportion before. The man standing before him was Darith (The Bastard) Gollyeth, King Dadro’s closest friend and the captain of the Braxi army. He was one of the most feared men in Havelmir. His first kill came when he was still a child, at just eight years old. Hundreds more followed, and after a time few dared challenging him. His jet-black armour added to his size, making him look like a giant black statue. He carried a short sword, a long sword, and his favourite, a greatsword, which was taller than most young men and sharp enough to cut two men in half with a single swing.