by K. L. Thorne
Hestaesia: In Chains by K. L. Thorne
Twitter: @KLThorne1
Facebook: KLTRomance
© 2019 K. L. Thorne
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher.
E-book ISBN: 9781793006141
Hestaesia
Book Two
In Chains
Chapter One
“Get the demon into the dungeons,” the faerie captain shouted. “You – inform the king of our arrival at once.”
Haros let out a pained grunt as his captors roughly hauled him to his feet, taking little care to avoid the arrow jutting from his shoulder. He felt fresh, warm blood oozing around the puncture wound.
Though the demon could not see much through the hessian bag the faeries had placed over his head, pinpricks of daylight pierced the fabric.
His tongue was like sand beneath the coarse material of the gag and the corners of his mouth were sore and cracked. The demon’s hands were bound behind his back. His skin burned and wept, long since chafed raw by the tight iron manacles around his wrists.
A faerie soldier snorted at his side and shoved Haros forwards. “It’ll be a miracle if we manage to get him into a cell. I heard there’s a two-week waiting list to get prisoners processed these days.”
“Our esteemed leader is clearly unaware of the backlog in our dungeons,” the soldier on his opposite side muttered in agreement. “Still, the jailers may make an exception in this case. It’s not every day we manage to capture one of the demon king’s henchmen.”
A lowly henchman? How insulting. Haros scowled beneath the sack.
The demon allowed the soldiers to guide him forwards. He stumbled as his boots knocked against the cobbled street underfoot. The wind blustered around them and he heard the familiar whipping of a flag nearby.
They must have finally made it to Awrelwood. The prospect of being inside the faerie capital should have unnerved him, but after being tethered to a horse and forced to make the arduous journey on foot, Haros didn’t have the energy.
He hadn’t eaten or slept properly for days. His body was surviving on the scant sips of water that were offered to him and the odd exhausted blackout.
“I’m surprised the captain is so keen to inform the king of our arrival. We may have caught this demon, but we lost the princess.”
“Just pray he decides to take his rage out on our prisoner rather than us,” the soldier replied, his voice tight with concern. “Come on, through here.”
A door creaked open and Haros was unceremoniously pushed inside. The daylight faded away, plunging him into darkness beneath the bag over his head.
The room was dank and the acrid smell of stale urine assaulted his nostrils. Though his stomach was empty, the demon felt a wave of nausea overcome him.
“Back so soon, boys? And with a guest. My, he’s trussed up well,” a third man croaked. His voice sounded thick and wet, like he had something foul stuck in his throat.
“We captured the demon whilst scouting for the princess. Captain Daelynn has commanded that he be booked in immediately,” one of the soldiers said.
“Captain Daelynn will have to wait. He’s not the first captain to come in here, demanding miracles, and he won’t be the last. Why, I’ve had three ‘commands’ thrown at me today already and it’s not even lunchtime.”
“This particular demon was caught aiding Princess Lori’s escape. The king will want to meet with him. It would be in your best interest to see that he gets booked in as soon as possible.”
Haros heard the familiar sound of a heavy coin purse being dropped onto a wooden surface. There was a lengthy pause before the jailer spoke.
“Very well. Do we have a name?”
“What is your name, demon?” one of the faeries asked.
When he didn’t deign to reply immediately, Haros felt a hand grasp the shaft of wood embedded in his shoulder. The head of the arrow was twisted inside him and pain erupted from the infected wound like molten lava.
“Hurriss,” he growled and bit down on his gag.
“Harris, wonderful. Now that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” There was a brief scratching of a quill on parchment. “You can put him in there; that holding cell is vacant for now. I’ll see to it that he finds his way to the main dungeon later this evening.”
Haros was pushed roughly and he stumbled forwards, his body colliding with a damp stone wall. Rusty metal hinges screeched loudly behind him as he was locked inside the cell.
“You have our thanks. We will take our leave now,” the soldier replied. “Captain Daelynn will await an update from the head jailer.”
“Pleasure doing business with you both. Your generosity is appreciated.”
Haros heard the two soldiers exit the dark dungeon and the heavy door slammed shut behind them.
“Well, well, well… You’re in trouble now, demon.” The jailer’s laugh rattled, a truly grotesque sound.
I’m in trouble? Tell me something I don’t know.
Haros carefully lowered himself to the ground. Despite his unsavoury surroundings, he was relieved to finally be able to slump against the wall. Fatigue weighed heavily on him and he rested his head against the cool stone before closing his eyes.
He listened to the jailer’s disconcertingly cheery whistling echoing around him as the man began to shuffle though papers.
Though he was relieved beyond measure that Lori and Lephas had managed to escape, and didn’t regret being their scapegoat for a second, Haros feared what awaited him.
His faerie captors were certain he was to meet Lazuli. That was a truly terrifying thought. Though King Zelrus and the others, himself included, often spoke of going to war with the faerie royal, it was another prospect altogether facing him shackled and alone.
He could hear the jangling of chains as other prisoners shuffled in the cells around him. Other than the occasional weary groan or soft sobbing, they were silent. Their fear was palpable. These people clearly knew more of what was awaiting them than he did. Haros had a knot in the pit of his stomach.
Prince Oriel had often commended him for his bravery in battle, but, sat huddled on the wet stone floor of the holding cell, the demon could easily admit to himself that he was afraid.
“Right, let’s have a little look at you,” the jailer spoke, clapping his hands together eagerly.
Haros flinched as the cell door screeched open and the man’s footsteps approached. With little warning, the bag covering his head was ripped free. He blinked and forced his eyes to focus.
The jailer, to his surprise, was a demon. The man’s horns had been snapped off and only the jagged stumps remained. He was just as grotesque to look upon as he had sounded. Limp, greasy strands of hair hung from his balding scalp and his sallow skin was marred and pitted. One eye seemed to gaze off slightly in the wrong direction.
“Hm, younger than I had thought,” he muttered to himself, grasping one of Haros’s horns and forcing his head up.
The jailer appraised him, eyeing him like cattle at a market. Haros realised that perhaps that was exactly what he was. He silently allowed the jailer to examine him, only jerking away as the man’s eyes fell upon the arrow in his shoulder.
“Oh dear,” the demon grated, rubbing a hand over the patchy grey stubble on his chin. “That won’t do. We can’t have you dying on us before the real fun starts.”
He reached forwards and his bony fingers began unbuttoning Haros’s heavy leather jacket. Haros growled a warning at the man from around his gag.
Ignoring him, the jailer stood to dig through a large leather pouch attached to his belt. He pulled a small flip knife free and Haros stilled with apprehension.
The jailer knelt before him and ripped the k
nife clean through the front of Haros’s undershirt before carefully peeling the heavily soiled material away from the wound. The shirt was thick and sticky with dried blood. It pulled painfully at Haros’s skin and he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut and biting down hard on the gag between his teeth.
“How long ago did this happen? Looks to be a couple of days at least.” The jailer sat back and tutted underneath his breath.
Haros simply nodded, trying not to shiver as cold sweat beaded on his brow.
“Fools.” The jailer shook his head. “Soldiers these days know nothing of how to keep a prisoner. A day or so and that arrow would have been your end, boy. Unfortunately for you, I’ll see to it that you live long enough to meet King Lazuli.”
Without another word, he reached forward and grasped the arrow shaft protruding from Haros’s shoulder. The jailer began pulling, dragging it free from the thick, swollen flesh.
Haros roared in pain, his vision tunnelled, and he fought against the hold the jailer had on him. The man fixed him in place with extraordinary strength.
Though Haros teetered on the edge, unconsciousness refused to envelop him. He was going to be aware of every excruciating second. Haros felt the sharp tip of the arrow grind free from his scapula and blood and pus dripped freely from the wound. Thick brown track marks ran down his chest.
He sensed the familiar cold tingle of majicka pulsing from the jailer’s hold on his shoulder. It was no wonder he was unable to get away from him – he was bound by a spell.
Haros panted hard, growling audibly as the arrow gouged fresh slices through his flesh, inch by agonising inch.
The jailer jerked back as the arrow finally came free.
“There. My, you did well not to pass out. Very impressive. King Lazuli will have a lot of fun with a pain threshold as high as yours. Unfortunately, that’s not good news for you.”
Haros groaned and closed his eyes as he shivered violently and gasped to regain his breath. He glanced at his shoulder and swallowed back bile at the sight of the pus oozing from it.
Bright majicka shone from the jailer’s palm and he pressed his hand tightly against Haros’s shoulder. Haros breathed a sigh of relief as he felt his flesh pulling together, healing, and the pain dimmed immediately.
When the jailer finally released him, Haros’s head flopped forwards. He rolled his shoulder a few times, thankful when no pain met him. Though the gore remained on his skin, there was no sign of the grizzly injury.
The jailer picked up his knife once more and began slicing Haros out of the rest of his armour. The demon watched as the small knife mysteriously managed to cut through the thick leather like butter. More majicka enchantment, no doubt.
The scraps of his clothing fell away, leaving him shirtless. Next, the jailer pulled his boots free and threw them unceremoniously out of the cell, over his shoulder.
“Now hold still,” the jailer instructed, “unless you are keen on the idea of becoming a woman.”
Haros cocked an eyebrow at the man and flinched with surprise when he grasped the hem of Haros’s trousers and slid his knife quickly and expertly up the inner seam. The blade stopped just short of his groin and Haros held his breath. The jailer repeated the action for the opposite trouser leg.
“There’s no dignity in prison, I’m afraid.” The man laughed hoarsely as he sliced cleanly through the remainder of Haros’s clothes. Like his shirt, his trousers and even his undergarments fell from him in tatters.
“We’ll need to get you cleaned up before taking you upstairs. You’re covered in blood, but we also like to make sure there’s no lice, fleas or ticks on our prisoners before we admit them.” The jailer got to his feet and put his knife away, gesturing to the wall above him before hurriedly exiting the cell.
Haros glanced up and noticed a rusted metal tap sticking proud from the stone wall. No wonder the cell was so damp. From outside, metal squeaked as the stopper on a pipe was loosened and ice-cold water suddenly shot out. The demon yelped and got to his feet but, trapped in the tiny cell, there was nowhere to escape the water’s spray. He shivered, teeth chattering against his gag.
Haros watched the dirt and blood wash from his skin, grimy water tracking down his body and into the drain beneath his feet.
Just as the water was becoming physically painful, so cold that it burnt, the stream slowed to a stop and the jailer appeared at the door to his cell once more.
“Here.” He threw a pile of worn, faded clothes into the cell, uncaring when they landed on the wet floor. “Get those on. I wouldn’t recommend going into the main dungeon naked. You might make some unusual friends… Unless of course you’re into that kind of thing.” The jailer cackled.
Haros pinned him with a questioning glare, shrugging his shoulders and looking between himself and the pile of clothes.
“Ah, yes, of course. Your shackles stay on, I’m afraid. I know it seems like a real bore, but policy is policy. I’m sure a clever, resilient fellow such as yourself will work something out.”
The man shot him a wide smile of brown crooked teeth. He began to whistle once more, this time strolling away into another wing of cells.
Cold, wet and naked, Haros glowered after him.
Fucking brilliant.
Now he was unhindered by his shoulder injury, Haros awkwardly hopped through the loop between his arms and the shackles. Though he was still bound, he now had his hands in front of him. It was a very well-practised move; one he was pleased to say he had down to a fine art.
He tugged the gag free from his mouth and licked at his dry, cracked lips. Haros quickly gathered the damp clothes from the floor.
He stabbed his legs into the trousers and tugged them up. They were too small for him and the hems brushed above his ankles but it was a vast improvement on being naked. Bound as he was, he wouldn’t be able to get the shirt on. That would just have to wait.
An icy draft blew in. Haros shuddered and his skin prickled into goosepimples. Though he was cold, he welcomed the sensation. It countered his weariness and kept him alert.
He walked to the cell door and craned to get a glance around the room. There was nothing much to see. At the centre stood a shabby wooden desk, with piles of documents stacked haphazardly on the surface. A worn feather quill stood upright in an ink pot.
A corridor opened up on the other side of the room, but from the angle he was at, Haros couldn’t see where the jailer had gone. He could only hear the man’s voice echoing as he taunted other prisoners through the bars.
The main door swung open, snow swirling in on the breeze, and two more men appeared. They were both faerie, but just as shambolic and sinister-looking as the jailer. One was thin, his features sunken into his skull, with a grotesque boil upon his nose. The other was portly and bearded, holding a bag. The material strained against the weight of the contents inside. The faerie was glistening with sweat and Haros could smell him, even over the plethora of horrific aromas coming from his cell.
“Vik?” the bearded man shouted. “You in here?”
The jailer hurriedly reappeared from the corridor.
“Ah, Rokat, Chag. It’s about time. What took you two so long?” The jailer – Vik – scowled. “No matter, let’s get going. There’s a mug of mead with my name on it back at the inn.”
Vik cast his eyes over Haros and did a double-take. He grinned and gave a short laugh.
“My! Very impressive.” He appraised Haros eyes glinting with interest. “You’ve managed to get dressed and remove your gag already.”
“Cheers,” Haros replied with a cocky grin of his own. “Who are these jokers?” He tilted his chin in the direction of the two men.
The faerie with the boil narrowed his eyes and took a step towards him.
“Now, now, Chag. This is my latest acquisition.” Vik held out a hand to still the faerie. “Not that it’s any of your business, Harris, but these two gentlemen are jailers from the other holding cell blocks.”
Haros decided to let the i
ncorrect name pass. He endeavoured to keep as much information to himself as he could.
“We don’t need to explain ourselves to you, worm,” Rokat said with a growl.
“Harris here was caught aiding Princess Lori’s escape. We’re delivering him to the main dungeon. He’s to meet with the king.”
The two new jailers laughed.
Chag grinned maliciously. “Well in that case, I’ll let his impertinence slide. He’ll get what’s coming to him in no time.”
“Enough dallying.” Rokat dropped the heavy sack from his hands. It was filled with metal and clattered loudly against the stone floor.
Chag rummaged through the bag and gathered a long chain together, winding it around his arm.
“Listen up, filth!” Chag shouted, addressing the prisoners. “It’s time to visit the head jailer!”
His exclamation was met with a chorus of terrified howling and yelling from the prisoners all around. Haros faltered.
Both Chag and Rokat strode down the corridor out of view. Haros heard a cell screech open and a woman cry out in dismay.
“One step closer to the end of your days I’m afraid, Harris.” Vik cast him a sly smile. “You’ll join the others in the short journey up to the main dungeon. Once you’re booked in with the head jailer, he’ll assign you a cell and King Lazuli will be informed. The King’s Guard will collect you from there.”
Haros swallowed and shifted from foot to foot with unease. He clenched his fists tight.
In what seemed like no time at all, the two faerie jailers reappeared, followed closely behind by twenty or so prisoners.
Haros surveyed them with pity. There was a mixture of both demon and faerie, men and women, all in various states of disarray. Some howled and cried, others stared ahead vacantly.
“You can do the honours, Vik, as you’re so pleased with this one.” Chag nodded in Haros’s direction. “I wouldn’t tangle with him without majicka.”
“He’s one of Zelrus’s soldiers.” Vik fumbled through a ring of keys before finally finding the one that fitted the cell’s lock. “A mighty specimen for sure.”