The Prisoner (The Dark Elf of Syron, #1) Page 3

  They entered the cell. It looked like an ordinary prison cell now, except for being considerably larger than most. Torren had thought of building an extra wall to make it smaller, a wall he would later remove, but there was no time for that.

  The Prisoner was sitting on a straw pallet in the corner. Torren cringed: his men overdid his order to tie him. Instead of just tying together the Prisoner’s wrists, they’d looped the thick rope around him several times.

  Idiots! I should have supervised it, like I did the shackling!

  However, the fact that the Prisoner was still here, and the guards still alive, indicated he was not too insulted and intended to keep his promise, at least for now.

  “Well, well, well.” Malgrid stepped closer, looking the Prisoner over. “What do we have here? Isn’t this the great and powerful Dark Elf of Syron?”

  The Prisoner said nothing. His eyes were, thankfully, brown.

  Please, keep them so, the warden silently prayed.

  “Do you know who I am?” Malgrid went on.

  “Malgrid Jorensen, the new governor,” the Prisoner replied.

  “Get up, then! How dare you sit in my presence?!”

  The Prisoner struggled to his feet, chains clinking. Malgrid took a step back, suddenly finding himself towered over. Even Torren, with his well above average height, often felt small standing next to the elf.

  The Prisoner clearly enjoyed the effect. Torren saw a hint of a smile on his lips. The governor must have noticed it as well.

  “Proud of your height, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice thick with thread. “Keep in mind that I can easily reduce it. My men only need one word from me to chop your head off. Get down on your knees!”

  The Prisoner didn’t move, and his eyes began turning red. Torren grew cold.

  “Will you defy me?!” Malgrid yelled, grabbing his sword. “I said on your knees!”

  Torren rushed to him and held him back. “Be careful, sir. He is stronger than he appears. Even tied up like this he can be dangerous.”

  The governor pushed him away. “Get your hands off me, Torren! Have you lost your mind? What do you think you’re doing?”

  Trying to save your life, you fool.

  “I only wanted to protect you, sir.”

  “Well, I don’t need your protection. My brother handled this creature just fine, and so can I.” He motioned to his men. “Get him down on his knees, he seems to need some help with it.”

  Torren stopped breathing as the men rushed to the Prisoner. They grabbed him and forced him down, dealing him a couple of blows in the process. He didn’t kill them. The warden saw the Prisoner’s now dark red eyes fixed on himself, and he understood perfectly what that look said. I’m doing it for you, Captain. I am keeping my word.

  “See, Captain?” the governor said, very pleased with himself. “It’s not that hard. You’ve been too lenient with him, it appears.” He turned to the Prisoner again. “And don’t you stare at me like that! What’s up with these red eyes? Stop it this minute!”

  “It’s not something I can control,” the Prisoner said.

  The warning rang clear in his voice. Malgrid heard it, and it set him off once again. Before Torren could do anything, he slapped the Prisoner across the face.

  “I said stop it! I can see you’re doing it on purpose, and I won’t have it!”

  Now you’re dead, Malgrid. Torren did not know whether what the Prisoner said was true, but he tried to interfere once again.

  “With respect, sir, he says the truth. His eye color changes by itself, from what I’ve observed.”

  “And how do you know that, Captain? He says so and you believe him? Have you ever ordered him to quit doing it? Have you whipped him for disobeying? Look at that—he’s changing it back to normal right now, because he knows I won’t be trifled with!”

  Indeed, the color was changing, but not back to normal. While the intensity of the red was fading, the pupils were turning white as well. The Prisoner must have made an effort, but either it was a half-hearted effort or he really couldn’t control the process.

  “Like I said, you’ve been too soft with him,” Malgrid went on. “Why is his cell so big? With a large window, too. Why straw bedding? He can sleep on the floor, and he should. How often do you feed him?”

  “Twice a day, following the regulations.”

  “Twice a day?! Twice, Captain? It should be once a day, bread and water, if he behaves. I am amazed at your incompetence, and I’ll report it to the king.”

  Torren couldn’t believe it. Incompetence?! After all his years of service?

  “I’ve been doing my duty the best I can.”

  “No, you haven’t. As for you, oh most powerful dark elf… What, you’re doing the eyes thing again? That’s it, I warned you.” Malgrid gestured to his men. “Give him a good whipping, right now.”

  That Torren couldn’t allow.

  “No!” He stepped forward, shielding the Prisoner, hand on the sword hilt.

  Malgrid’s men halted, unsure what to do. The governor gaped at him.

  “What’s that, Captain? Will you contradict my orders?”

  “Yes, sir. I must. I am the warden here, I can’t let you, or anyone else, harm my prisoners.”

  Malgrid’s eyes narrowed. “Do you realize what you’re doing, Captain? I represent the Crown. This is nothing short of rebellion. Step aside, or I will have you arrested.”

  Torren stood firm.

  “Let him do it, Captain,” came a whisper from behind his back.

  The warden was not sure he heard it right.

  “Let him have his way,” the Prisoner whispered again.

  Slowly, reluctantly, Torren took a step aside.

  “Very good, Captain,” the governor said, smirking. “Your behavior, however, will be reported. The king needs to know that the warden of the Dormigan Prison can no longer be trusted.”

  Torren said nothing. He watched the whipping, during which the Prisoner made no sound. Malgrid’s men weren’t experienced, he could tell right away, but they did their best, eager to please the governor, two of them taking turns. Torren just couldn’t comprehend it. Yes, the Prisoner had made a promise, but he’d never expect him to go this far in keeping it. What was it Lenora had said? ‘He is a tormented soul. I think he had fought with Fredric hoping to get killed…’

  The beating ended at last. They threw the Prisoner on the straw pallet; he lay there, not moving.

  “No food for him today,” Malgrid said. “Let him reflect on it all and learn his lesson. Let’s go.”

  They left the cell. Torren wished he could stay, check on the Prisoner, say something to him, but he knew attempting to do so would only make things worse. They walked down the stairs in silence. Malgrid was probably expecting him to try to smooth things over, to beg him not to report the incident; Torren was not going to do it.

  He lingered before leaving the tower. “Just a moment, Governor, I need to grab something from the guardroom. Please go ahead, I’ll catch up with you.”

  He stepped into the guardroom, closed the door, and pulled out his sword. The blade was gone.

  ***

  Chapter 4

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  It was raining so hard that the rattling of raindrops could be heard even behind thick walls of the main tower. Five soldiers guarding Cell 18 were sitting comfortably on the floor, playing cards in the torchlight. Both sitting down and especially cards were strictly forbidden; if Captain Torren caught them, it would be the end of their service here. But the guards were reasonably sure he wouldn’t show up so late at night. Besides, the prisoner never caused any trouble, and he certainly wouldn’t this night, not after the beating he’d received today.

  Yarden, the youngest of the five, was charged with the task of listening for the captain’s footsteps and watching for the glimmer of his torch coming up the stairs, just in case. Captain Torren seemed to have a thing about this prisoner, they couldn’t figure out why. He a
lways had extra men guarding him, paid him personal visits, fed him decent meals and recently even had a young woman — a woman! — deliver those meals to him. Had they not known Torren so well, they would have thought he feared him.

  Yarden turned to the stairs; he thought he heard something. He listened intently for a few seconds, but the noise, if he hadn’t imagined it, didn’t repeat. Yarden focused on the cards again. His opinion had been that the prisoner’s special treatment was done by the king’s order, but the governor’s visit today proved it wrong. Malgrid had ordered the prisoner whipped, they were told.

  Another noise, louder this time. Closer, too. A metallic clink. Others heard it as well; their heads instantly snapped to the stairs, hands hurried to hide the cards. Yarden sat closest to the cell door, and he thought the noise came from there, not from the stairs. He wanted to say something but found himself mute. He couldn’t move, either, his body felt heavy and wooden. The sound came again, and this time Yarden knew it for what it was. It was the door unlocking, as if invisible hands were turning invisible keys. Yarden stared, his teeth chattering. He felt his hair rise as he saw the iron bar begin to move. The huge bar that normally took three of them to lift was now slowly lifting all by itself.

  He would have screamed if he could. The others sat still, frozen just like himself. The bar fell on the floor with a thundering crash. The heavy door screeched and opened.

  The prisoner was standing in the doorway, looking at them, his eyes slightly glowing in the dark.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. Do not be alarmed. I have some business to attend to, I will return in a few hours. You will regain the ability to move and speak when I’m back. Captain Torren will never know.”

  He walked out of the cell. The glowing red eyes with white pupils stopped on Yarden, making him shiver even harder.

  “It’s raining. May I borrow your cloak?”

  ***

  Governor Malgrid Jorensen awoke from a chill, pulling the blanket up to cover his shoulder and ear, wondering in his slumber why Cheldor, the servant, was not taking proper care of the fire. The blanket was not helping, he was beginning to shiver, so he opened his eyes. The bedroom was nearly all dark, illuminated only with a weak glow coming from the hearth.

  Did the idiot let the fire go out on a cold night like this? Malgrid wondered, raising himself on the elbow.

  He gasped at the sight of a tall figure sitting in the armchair next to the dying fireplace, looking at him. Malgrid recognized it at once, breaking into cold sweat. The prisoner elf!

  “Good evening, Governor.”

  “Guards!” Malgrid screamed, thrusting his hand under the pillow for the dagger.

  There came no response, and the dagger was gone.

  “I thought you were smarter than that,” the elf said, his impossible red eyes flickering in the darkness. “The fact that I’m here should have told you I’ve taken care of your guards.”

  Malgrid sat there, shaking, clutching the blanket.

  “Let’s have a talk,” the elf went on. “By all accounts, you should be dead now. Why do you think you are not?”

  “P-please don’t kill me,” Malgrid stammered. “I’ll do anything you say!”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. The surest way to put me out of temper, which I assume you wouldn’t want to do, is by not listening. I have asked you a question. Why do you think you’re still alive?”

  Malgrid’s brain, paralyzed with fear a moment ago, now instantly knew the answer.

  “You… your vengeance wouldn’t be satisfied with killing me in my sleep.”

  “That’s a very good guess,” the elf nodded, bringing his hands together at the fingertips, “but, believe it or not, that’s not the main reason. Try again.”

  “There’s something you want. Something I can give you.”

  Malgrid hoped to Arian it was so, but the elf shook his head.

  “No, that one is totally wrong. And I’ll probably make the guessing even harder if I tell you that I could have easily killed you the moment you entered the cell, and at any time after that. You see, my strength goes way beyond physical strength. I can manipulate matter without touching it. Like this.”

  He looked at the fireplace, and in the next second it blazed up with roaring flames. Malgrid shrunk back, letting out a pitiful whimper.

  “Try again.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry I had you whipped, I was a fool, I had no idea—”

  “Malgrid, Malgrid. Once again, you’re not listening. You don’t want me to do this trick on your bed, do you?”

  “I don’t know the answer!” the governor cried out. “I don’t know why you have spared me this far! If not for a harsher vengeance, and if there’s nothing you want from me, what can it possibly be?!”

  “Interesting question, is it not? Very well, let us leave it for now. You will probably never guess, anyway. Tell me something else. Do you believe in goodness?”

  Malgrid was desperately trying to figure out what this new game was. He couldn’t.

  “Goodness?...”

  “Yes. As in, ‘Good and Evil,’ ‘Right and Wrong.’”

  The governor struggled to think, to come up with an answer. What did this creature want to hear? He was losing it.

  “Please… Why are you questioning me? If there’s anything I can do, tell me, and—”

  One of the bedposts burst into flames. Malgrid shrieked and jumped off the bed.

  “All right! All right—yes! I believe in Goodness, I know Right from Wrong! I haven’t thought much about such things, but if you spare my life, I swear to you, it will be different!”

  “Oh, I’m not here to turn you into a good boy. That’s between you and Arian, I don’t care. I only asked about goodness because I was curious. You see, I don’t know whether I believe in it myself. A short time ago, I would have told you I didn’t. But I have met someone, very young yet acquainted with pain, whose firm faith in goodness has somehow affected the lack of mine.”

  He paused, obviously letting Malgrid process it. The governor couldn’t even try, he just stood pressing himself to the wall, shivering.

  The elf snapped his fingers, and the flames dancing on the bedpost disappeared.

  “In other words, you owe your life to that young soul,” he said. “I would have killed you if it wasn’t for her. She says goodness still matters. I’m taking her word for it.”

  Malgrid let out a shaky breath. Dared he believe it? The elf wouldn’t burn him alive?

  “Who is she?” he ventured.

  “That doesn’t concern you. Now, here’s what you will do if you don’t want me to pay you another visit. You will write a report to the king, a glowing report praising Captain Torren’s excellent service. Particularly his good care of Prisoner 34. You will come to my cell, alone, and show that report to me before you send it.”

  The governor didn’t quite grasp the last part.

  “To your cell?”

  “Yes. I am returning to the Dormigan. If you haven’t yet figured it out, I am staying there because I wish to, for the moment.”

  Malgrid blinked. It had to be so. And Torren probably knew it.

  “Any other questions?”

  The governor shook his head. He still couldn’t believe he was getting out of this alive and unharmed.

  “I… I’ll do everything as you say.”

  “Good.” The elf rose from the armchair. “I expect to see you in a day or two, no later than that. Don’t make me come to you again. Next time I will not be so… lenient.”

  ***

  Lenora delayed going to her mother’s room as long as she could without getting her mother alarmed. How could she possibly hide it from her? Father told her what Governor Jorensen had done yesterday. The Prisoner had endured it—for their sakes, she knew—but it was all in vain. The governor still said he was going to report her father for “incompetence,” as he’d put it. Wicked man! It wouldn’t be long before the king sent his men to investigate or had her father arrested.
Or both.

  She sighed, shaking her head. Poor Father. Poor Prisoner… She had asked whether she could go to him and offer to treat his wounds, but her father said no, not yet. He was going to see him himself first.

  There was no way she could let her mother find out. If they had even a handful more peaceful days left before everything came undone, Mother must enjoy that peace. Perhaps… perhaps she wouldn’t live to see their family come undone.

  Lenora wiped away a tear and lingered at the door, doing her best to compose herself. Her mother usually saw right through her; it wouldn’t do to come in teary-eyed.

  If she still notices, I’ll tell her that the Governor whipped the prisoner I was visiting, she decided. That and nothing else. Mother knows Malgrid is a pompous fool, she won’t be surprised he did something like that. And she won’t question why I’m upset.

  She knocked, fearing, as usual, that there would be no response.

  “Come in,” her mother’s voice called. It was… cheerful? That is, Mother always tried to be cheerful, but it was getting more and more difficult for her. Today, though, it was different, it sounded like she was truly excited.

  Lenora entered and halted on the doorstep, unable to believe her eyes: her mother was standing at the window! All by herself, not even holding onto anything!

  “Mom!” She rushed to her. “Are you feeling better?!”

  Olivia Torren smiled, embracing her daughter. “I am, it appears. I’ve had the strangest dream this night, and… and I think maybe it wasn’t a dream.”

  Lenora searched her face. “What do you mean?”

  “Let us sit down, and I’ll tell you everything. I am better, but I’m still not very strong.”

  Lenora helped her mother to the chair, noticing how she leaned on her hand less than usual.

  “I dreamed that a tall man came up to my bed,” Olivia began. “‘Do not fear,’ he said, ‘I am here to help, if I can.’ He came closer and just looked at me for some time, as if studying. ‘Yes,’ he said then, ‘I can help you. It will take some time for you to restore your strength, but I can remove what is causing the illness.’ He took my hand and held it for a minute or so; I didn’t feel anything, only the warmth of his touch. ‘All done,’ he said. ‘Now sleep. Tomorrow you should start recovering.’ And he left.”