Tanard ached. Every bone, every muscle, even the hair on his head seemed to scream with agony. He drifted in and out of consciousness through the night, not restful sleep but an agonized swoon. His arms were chained to the ceiling above placing all his weight on his shoulders, which had long since pulled from their sockets. His legs were nigh useless, though when he found the strength to stand; his shoulders found much welcome relief from torment. The last several hours, since he had been caught by Vlad, passed with the speed of a turtles life span. Hours were years, minutes were months and seconds, days. He had been beaten much like a dog by a malicious child. That had been the easy part, though. Vlads malevolent mind, with decades to plan just this opportunity, possessed much better violence for his hated enemy. A razor edged blade had been used on every crease of Tanards body. Some tiny cuts were inflicted between his fingers and under his finger and toe nails, some longer slices on the backs of his knees and his arm pits as well. The juice of lemons had been poured into the wounds, and then salt packed into them. His breath now came in ragged gasps and rattled in his chest. He had felt a rib snap with one forceful kick from Vlads boot. Tanard wasnt sure if his ability to breath had gone with that kick, or the plethora of blows that had followed. The only thought that kept the noble king clinging to life was the hope he would see his beloved Talaitha again. The possibility, remote as it was, helped convince him to draw breath. Even if he didnt survive to see his daughter again, he knew his drawing breath bought Pesha, Gunari, and Arek more time to find the princess. Though he knew his life was forfeit, he had come to Vlads lands in search of his only daughter. Alone he traveled, not wishing to risk his mens lives on what could have been a fools errand. Unbeknownst to him, but not surprising either, his personal guard and Talaithas tutor, the twins Gunari and Pesha had followed their king along with a young man Arek. His throat cried out for water, though his mouth had not the moisture to allow a sound. Two guards stood outside his cell. They both wore long braided hair, and carried a sword. One stared at the once noble man, reduced to a mere sack of flesh and bone, and grinned as Tanard tried to find the strength to beg for a drink. The other, a younger man, could not bare to look at Tanard for longer than a glance. Though they were similar in appearance and build they appeared too close in age to be father and son. A squeek managed to find its way from the kings throat. The younger man jumped at the cruel laughter released by his partner at Tanards expense. A look of disgust washed over his face, though in response to his fellow guards maliciousness or Tanards appearance, Tanard couldnt be sure. Give me the keys, Uncle, the younger man requested. What do you want with the keys? He needs water, or Vlad wont have his plaything by first light, younger man responded. Bah, you are too soft for this job Justinian. We were ordered to provide him no aid. Justinians eye twitched, Uncle, is it better for him to die by our hands, or Vlads? Im certain that our king wouldnt be pleased if the prisoner dies in his sleep, instead of at the royal boots, like the dog deserves. His uncles brow raised at the thought of having to explain Tanards death versus ensuring Vlad could deliver the final blow and watch his hated enemy die. He also realized that disobeying his order to offer no help to the prisoner was a sure death sentence if he were caught. Thoughts raced through his conniving mind until he had a suitable compromise. Ive got to piss. Ill be back, he dropped the cell keys on a table where more time was spent throwing dice than eating or drinking, before he grabbed a torch from the wall and walked away from the room. Justinian shook his head at his uncle. He was a coward at heart, and had put all the risk on Justinian. Still, he had allowed the time for a tiny bit of comfort to be granted to the battered man inside the cell. As soon as the torch turned the corner, Justinian unlocked the cell and carried a dipper of water in to Tanard. The musty water was only filled about once every third or fourth day, but tasted and felt like heaven to Tanard. His lips were only just able to catch a bit of the fluid, the rest flowed down his chin and dripped on the floor. His second attempt at a drink caused him to choke. The sound of boots returning and torchlight flickering on the wall, interrupted Tanard as he attempted to croak out a thank you. The young guard looked at the king with genuine pity, as he put finger to his own lips to signal quiet. He hurried to return to his post after locking the cell. After tucking the keys in his belt he realized there was water that had pooled in front of the prisoner from the spill, and that whomever was walking toward him wasnt his uncle. There were 2 men, neither of which he recognized but both wore the uniform of Vlads personal guard. He prayed to what ever diety might listen that the men didnt notice the water.
Posted on: Mon, 14 Jul 2014 02:43:35 +0000
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