Part 1 Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

 

 

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unarn’s trek down the stairs to the dungeons in a long one. Each step increases his fear of what may happen, or, more precisely, what may go wrong. The guards might not believe he means well, or one might see his face and recognise him. They might not let him into the cells or one might search him beforehand. Plenty could go wrong.

  His hands and feet shake so much he thinks he might fall and calming breathes do little to help him. When he finally does reach the bottom he stops, his shakes so bad he feels he might just break apart. Through the door he hears voices, he cannot tell what they are saying but that doesn’t stop his imagination flying. Part of him believes they are talking about troubles in the city, which to him isn’t bad but this is drowned by the thought that they are speaking of him. How can this be? Some know of him of course but not much about him and certainly not his connection to Thorne or the assassin. So why talk about Dunarn of all things.

  He tries to abandon that train of thought which goes slow but when he hears a low chuckle coming from inside it goes away faster. With unwanted thoughts gone he then turns his attention to his shakes, he takes several breathes which this time help then he purposely shakes his hands which help even more.

  He walks to the door and knocks on it. The sounds of voices cease immediately, leaving only emptiness in its wake.

  After a few seconds he hears someone say, “Enter!” and he does. The guards inside all stare at him as he enters all wondering who he is and what he wants. Dunarn can see some of them have their hands resting on their swords. Dunarn goes to one side of the room opposite the entrance to the cells, all eyes follow him. When he stops again he looks around at the guards; they all appeared older than him, older and stronger.

  “What do you want?” asks one of them, the suddenness makes Dunarn jump but none appear to see it. Dunarn says nothing, he reaches into his robe, an act that makes the guards shout out as they stand and make a defensive stance. He slows his hand but continues to reach for something. The two nearest him take out their swords and one looks ready to attack. Dunarn quickly takes out a glass bottle, this confuses all guards and the nearest on to Dunarn raises his sword-wielding hands.

  “May the Twelve guide you,” he adds quickly, since he is dressed in a long robe it was all he could think of. The guards stop. They all relax their arms and look relieved. Some laugh lightly as they sheath their swords and sit back down. Taking the initiative Dunarn pours a little from the bottle into all the guards’ cups, they each drink it as soon as he finishes pouring.

  The final guard he pours for appears to be the captain, so he calmly asks if he could borrow the cell keys which the captain agrees to but Dunarn is sure he isn’t really paying attention so he isn’t sure the captain knows what he is agreeing to, but Dunarn doesn’t want to ask again for fear the answer may be different. He takes the cell keys and with a final look at the guards he walks to the cells.

 

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Olraym is in the dungeons for a second time and for the same reason; to see the assassin. He still doesn’t know her name or what exactly she looks like. He is again sitting on a wooden chair in front of her in mutual silence between them with her now lying face up on the bed. Both their thoughts are interrupted by noise coming from the guards. To Olraym it sounds like raised voices, one talking to at least three others, but it is hard for Olraym to figure out what it is about. The assassin turns her head, trying to listen like Olraym; but she is more cautious; she quickly stands and goes to the bars as if trying to see what is happening with the guards. The noise soon quiets down and the assassin calms down, sighs, and walks back to her prison bed.

  “Why so jumpy?” asks Olraym, she whips round as if realising he is still there.

  “Just cautious,” is her cold reply.

  “You know I still don’t know your name.”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Olraym suddenly hears footfalls and turns to see a robed hooded figure walking towards them. The robe seems too big for him and both his hands are invisible inside the long sleeves. He has the cell keys dangling from one sleeve, being held by hands within. While the other hands is angled upward, resting against his chest. Olraym can’t tell if it is because he is holding something or if that arm is injured or broken. The cloaked man hesitates when he spots Olraym sitting watching him but then he continues on towards them. Olraym looks at him feeling mistrust when he does but thinks nothing of it as he has the cell keys. But the closer he gets the more the mistrust forms in his mind, so he stands up and quickly walks past him, keeping an eye on him as he does, and goes to see about the guards.

  They all seem to be fine, just quietly drinking. They all look up as he enters.

  “Who is that man?” questions Olraym, pointing down the cells, to the man in robes who is now at the assassin’s cell and looks to be about to open it.

  “Don’t really know,” says one of the guards as he drinks some more, “just came in and asked to see a prisoner. We told him no but then he gives us a drink he says he made. We thought he was alright so we let him.”

  Suddenly one of the guards starts coughing, at first it seems to be a small fit but it soon turns worse and worse. He stands and gestures wildly for help, he now looks very scared, the others stand also and try to help but can do nothing. One knocks him in his back thinking something is lodged in his throat and hoping to loosen it so he can throw it up. The guard moves around without direction, his wild arms knocking over chairs and plates. He takes one last desperate breath then falls over and dies. The other guards and Olraym looks down at his dead body as if they can’t believe what they are seeing. But he most certainly dead and soon another starts coughing, this time more afraid because they know what is coming.

  Soon another and another coughs heavily and dies until only Olraym is left. He rushes back to the cells to see the robed figure opening the assassin’s cell. The keys dangling from the key hole on the cell door and Olraym clearly sees a large knife in the man’s other hand. The assassin is standing against the back wall, she is waiting as if prepared for death but really she is waiting for a good enough moment to strike at him. She sees the hand wielding the knife is hardly steady but isn’t shaking too much to suggest he is going to miss or chicken out and run. He steadies his hand as best he can and raises his hand slightly so it is at her chest height then backs his hand and is about to thrust forward to strike when the assassin suddenly kicks out, knocking the knife from his hand and outside the cell. Before he can regain his composure to pick up his knife Olraym runs into him at full speed. He falls to the ground, giving out a groan, then becomes unconscious and Olraym drags him out of the assassin’s cell and closes the door, locks it and takes the keys.

  “Friend of yours?” says Olraym half-jokingly. The assassin walks to the bars and looks at the man in robes. His hood in off now as Dunarn lays still.

  “Don’t know him but I know of him,” Olraym kicks the knife away, hearing echo of the metal slide along the hall until the sound dies.

  “Another Cultist?” asks Olraym.

  “No,” she says shaking her head, “Cultists don’t kill other members no matter what.”

  “You’re not a member anymore.”

  “No matter what!” this time more firmly, letting Olraym know this line of questioning is over. Olraym nods, understanding.

  “Then how do you know him?”

  “I’ve never met him,” she sees Olraym’s confusion, “I hear things and I get good descriptions, he’s known to have meetings with certain people.”

  “What kind of people?”

  “My kind of people,” she replies quickly.

 Before Olraym can question her further Dunarn regains consciousness, looks around and as quietly as he can he gets to his feet. Olraym and the assassin soon notice and Olraym rushes to him again. Dunarn try to punch him but Olraym dodges and moves up behind him, grabs him by the neck. They struggle for a moment until Olraym finally snaps his neck and Dunarn falls back onto the ground, this time dead. The sound is sickening to Olraym’s ears. Olraym and the assassin look at each then he decides to leave and walks along the hall.

  “Where are you going?” asks the assassin. To Olraym it sounds as if she really cares.

  “I need help to deal with this, to clean this up.”

  “Hey!” she yells, making Olraym stop and go back to her cell.

  “What?!” he sees her hesitate for a second then slowly with both hands she lifts her hood away from her face. She has a soft oval face that goes with her voice, forest green eyes and long fiery red hair. She has a small old scar at her mouth but it does nothing to diminish her beauty. Olraym feels an immediate attraction but inwardly scolds himself for feeling it. She did try to kill him after all. If she notices she says nothing about it.

  “What did you do that for?” he questions, unable to stop staring at her.

  “The name’s Trugaime.”