dealing with his captives. He gave them no reason to believe that he was anything less than obedient and wouldn’t render himself to any trouble. They even believed him to be asleep when the sky grew dark and the rain started coming down harder. When he sensed he was being led down stairs, underground, he peeked through his eyelids. His captors had long since removed the head covering and now he employed a birds-eye view of all the goings-on.
It was the smell that greeted him first, the dreadful stench of rancid food and fetid flesh. Just the thought made his stomach heave. The rattling of metal broke his attention and he realized he was not alone in this underground prison. He struggled a bit to sit up—draped over the shoulder of one of his captors.
“Let me up!” he demanded as if he were the captor. “I mean to get up!” he repeated in as high-a-pitched voice as he could muster, intending to emphasize his youth.
“Hold still ye rascally bastard,” his captor exclaimed, grasping Braeden about the waist and setting him down on the bottom stair rung which lead to the caverns beneath the monastery. “There, am I ever glad to have ye off me back!”
“What is the meaning of this? Why have ye brought me here?” Braeden demanded again into the silence.
“Just ye hush now! This once, else we will see to it ye don’t live long enough to become Odetta’s sacrifice this eve. Ye should count yer blessings we haven’t the stomach to do her dirty work for her, else we would have already bled ye dry.”
“Bleed me dry! What on earth are ye talking about? Do ye ken who I am? Ye will regret the day ye ever met me! Ye have no idea how much trouble ye are going to be in once P….”
A loud clanging arose from the far, left corner of the cavernous underground dungeon, and a shadow appeared before them. “What is all this fuss about?” demanded the shadow.
“Sit yerself back down now Cordal, we’ve no need for yer assistance,” said the man known as Culver. “Ye,” he continued, grabbing Braeden about the shoulders and hurling him down the last of the stairs to the far wall of the dungeon, “will do as ye are told, or else ye will meet yer end with two fewer little fingers.”
Braeden gasped and complied, watching in horror as the man chained him to the wall beside a weeping woman and another boy who lay unconscious against the cold wet stones. “Now, drink this here boy, it will make things less painful for ye, trust me,” said Culver as he thrust a small cup containing some type of elixir into Braeden’s hands. “We’ll be back soon enough, ye best make yer peace son, rest and prepare for what is to come.”
The very minute the door to the dungeons closed behind the men, Braeden’s senses heightened. He may have the lost advantage of sight, but his sense of smell, hearing and feeling took over in an almost wraithlike fashion. From where he was sitting, he could tell he was not alone with the other boy or the crying woman. Even the man who spoke earlier from the back of the cavern wasn’t the only other person sharing the dank prison.
When his mouth caught up with his mind, Braeden spewed the contents of the elixir straight out in front of him several feet, the majority of which struck an unintended target. The now drenched prisoner roused a bit and sat up from its slovenly crumple on the barren rock floor.
THIRTEEN
O’Malley Territory
Patrick tightened his grip about Darina’s waist and pulled her closer against him as they continued their ride up the steep terrain. Moya prepared the best climbing steed she had, at his request; and Minea packed a basket of wine and fruit to enjoy on their “adventure” as she called it. It wasn’t so much that Darina didn’t enjoy a surprise every now and then—it was more that riding with her eyes covered was beginning to make her feel dizzy. As if she spoke it out loud, Patrick removed the sash tied across her eyes and softly pulled her cheek towards
It was the smell that greeted him first, the dreadful stench of rancid food and fetid flesh. Just the thought made his stomach heave. The rattling of metal broke his attention and he realized he was not alone in this underground prison. He struggled a bit to sit up—draped over the shoulder of one of his captors.
“Let me up!” he demanded as if he were the captor. “I mean to get up!” he repeated in as high-a-pitched voice as he could muster, intending to emphasize his youth.
“Hold still ye rascally bastard,” his captor exclaimed, grasping Braeden about the waist and setting him down on the bottom stair rung which lead to the caverns beneath the monastery. “There, am I ever glad to have ye off me back!”
“What is the meaning of this? Why have ye brought me here?” Braeden demanded again into the silence.
“Just ye hush now! This once, else we will see to it ye don’t live long enough to become Odetta’s sacrifice this eve. Ye should count yer blessings we haven’t the stomach to do her dirty work for her, else we would have already bled ye dry.”
“Bleed me dry! What on earth are ye talking about? Do ye ken who I am? Ye will regret the day ye ever met me! Ye have no idea how much trouble ye are going to be in once P….”
A loud clanging arose from the far, left corner of the cavernous underground dungeon, and a shadow appeared before them. “What is all this fuss about?” demanded the shadow.
“Sit yerself back down now Cordal, we’ve no need for yer assistance,” said the man known as Culver. “Ye,” he continued, grabbing Braeden about the shoulders and hurling him down the last of the stairs to the far wall of the dungeon, “will do as ye are told, or else ye will meet yer end with two fewer little fingers.”
Braeden gasped and complied, watching in horror as the man chained him to the wall beside a weeping woman and another boy who lay unconscious against the cold wet stones. “Now, drink this here boy, it will make things less painful for ye, trust me,” said Culver as he thrust a small cup containing some type of elixir into Braeden’s hands. “We’ll be back soon enough, ye best make yer peace son, rest and prepare for what is to come.”
The very minute the door to the dungeons closed behind the men, Braeden’s senses heightened. He may have the lost advantage of sight, but his sense of smell, hearing and feeling took over in an almost wraithlike fashion. From where he was sitting, he could tell he was not alone with the other boy or the crying woman. Even the man who spoke earlier from the back of the cavern wasn’t the only other person sharing the dank prison.
When his mouth caught up with his mind, Braeden spewed the contents of the elixir straight out in front of him several feet, the majority of which struck an unintended target. The now drenched prisoner roused a bit and sat up from its slovenly crumple on the barren rock floor.
THIRTEEN
O’Malley Territory
Patrick tightened his grip about Darina’s waist and pulled her closer against him as they continued their ride up the steep terrain. Moya prepared the best climbing steed she had, at his request; and Minea packed a basket of wine and fruit to enjoy on their “adventure” as she called it. It wasn’t so much that Darina didn’t enjoy a surprise every now and then—it was more that riding with her eyes covered was beginning to make her feel dizzy. As if she spoke it out loud, Patrick removed the sash tied across her eyes and softly pulled her cheek towards
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