he ordered them. "The Lady M'Cori has come to pay a visit."
The captain of the guard thrust his keys into the two massive locks on his side of the door, while from within heavy bolts were pulled back. The door swung open ponderously, and the guards within stepped back to allow their captain to enter the antechamber. Another key turned the lock on the door of thick bars that good inside. The guards watched tensely as this final barrier creaked open, but of the inmate of Thovnosten's most secure cell there was no sign.
The captain held the door. "If you please, milady, no more than half an hour. Your father's orders, you know."
Nodding halfheartedly, she crossed the threshold. Again she experienced that same tremor of trapped hopelessness, and she wondered if ever again they two should meet beyond its chill shadow. She called softly, "Lages?"
The room was silent--in subterranean darkness but for a single lamp and the torches outside. It was spacious enough so that much of the chamber was lost in shadow beyond the flickering light. As her wide eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, M'Cori could make out the spartan accommodations of the cell.
For this cell was no dank pit where prisoners were left to rot in chains, although no man had escaped from here in all the dungeon's long history. This was a very special cell. Here the monarchs and emperors of Thovnos chose to incarcerate political prisoners whose threat to their established order demanded that they be imprisoned beyond hope of escape--yet whose rank required certain considerations and privileges. Death was a more certain warden, but it was often expedient to confine a popular figure herein--until public sympathy waned, and his demise could be handled discreetly, conveniently.
M'Cori thought she could discern a still figure stretched upon the chamber's narrow bed. She moved closer, a note of alarm rising in her voice. "Lages?"
The figure on the bed started as she stepped close. He gasped hoarsely and blindly struck out at her. M'Cori cried out, as a powerful blow of his arm slammed back her hesitant touch.
The youth shook himself awake. "M'Cori!" he breathed. "It's you! By Horment, I'm sorry I startled you, M'Cori. I was in the midst of a nightmare and I..."
His voice trailed off as he haphazardly brushed his fingers through his disordered brown hair and wiped the cold sweat from his stubbled face. He fumbled for his water jug.
"Hate to strike a light, darling--I'm such a mess," he apologized. "Didn't really expect you until tomorrow, or I would have straightened the place up. Hey, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?"
His voice became edged. "M'Cori! Don't hide anything back! Have they...?"
She hurried to his side, cutting short his sudden panic. "No, Lages! Stop it, please! Father has decided nothing yet. Nothing has changed."
Her eyes clouded. "Lages, it isn't night. It's the middle of the day."
Lages cursed and swung to his feet. "Wait--I'll strike some more light. Middle of the day, do you say? Damn it, I've slept too long again. Wait--I'll make it day down here, too. High noon, if you like. I'm getting to be a vegetable down here, damn it all--a mushroom. Day, night, what difference! I eat when I'm hungry, I sleep when I'm tired. Lately I'm not too hungry, so I sleep most of the time. Someday I'll just not bother waking up, and I'll snore away here until the world outside has long forgotten Lages. There! Two lamps for morning, three for noon, and I'll blow one out for evening. Midday, you said--that means all three."
He turned to her then and saw the horror reflected in her face. Uneasily Lages realized that his words were bordering on a lunatic's raving. He straightened his rumpled clothing and muttered reassuringly, "Forgive me, sweetheart. That nightmare still has my nerves all shot to hell. Get used to talking to myself down here, and I forget how to converse intelligently."
He smiled crookedly, and she brightened hopefully. "Sorry if I
The captain of the guard thrust his keys into the two massive locks on his side of the door, while from within heavy bolts were pulled back. The door swung open ponderously, and the guards within stepped back to allow their captain to enter the antechamber. Another key turned the lock on the door of thick bars that good inside. The guards watched tensely as this final barrier creaked open, but of the inmate of Thovnosten's most secure cell there was no sign.
The captain held the door. "If you please, milady, no more than half an hour. Your father's orders, you know."
Nodding halfheartedly, she crossed the threshold. Again she experienced that same tremor of trapped hopelessness, and she wondered if ever again they two should meet beyond its chill shadow. She called softly, "Lages?"
The room was silent--in subterranean darkness but for a single lamp and the torches outside. It was spacious enough so that much of the chamber was lost in shadow beyond the flickering light. As her wide eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, M'Cori could make out the spartan accommodations of the cell.
For this cell was no dank pit where prisoners were left to rot in chains, although no man had escaped from here in all the dungeon's long history. This was a very special cell. Here the monarchs and emperors of Thovnos chose to incarcerate political prisoners whose threat to their established order demanded that they be imprisoned beyond hope of escape--yet whose rank required certain considerations and privileges. Death was a more certain warden, but it was often expedient to confine a popular figure herein--until public sympathy waned, and his demise could be handled discreetly, conveniently.
M'Cori thought she could discern a still figure stretched upon the chamber's narrow bed. She moved closer, a note of alarm rising in her voice. "Lages?"
The figure on the bed started as she stepped close. He gasped hoarsely and blindly struck out at her. M'Cori cried out, as a powerful blow of his arm slammed back her hesitant touch.
The youth shook himself awake. "M'Cori!" he breathed. "It's you! By Horment, I'm sorry I startled you, M'Cori. I was in the midst of a nightmare and I..."
His voice trailed off as he haphazardly brushed his fingers through his disordered brown hair and wiped the cold sweat from his stubbled face. He fumbled for his water jug.
"Hate to strike a light, darling--I'm such a mess," he apologized. "Didn't really expect you until tomorrow, or I would have straightened the place up. Hey, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?"
His voice became edged. "M'Cori! Don't hide anything back! Have they...?"
She hurried to his side, cutting short his sudden panic. "No, Lages! Stop it, please! Father has decided nothing yet. Nothing has changed."
Her eyes clouded. "Lages, it isn't night. It's the middle of the day."
Lages cursed and swung to his feet. "Wait--I'll strike some more light. Middle of the day, do you say? Damn it, I've slept too long again. Wait--I'll make it day down here, too. High noon, if you like. I'm getting to be a vegetable down here, damn it all--a mushroom. Day, night, what difference! I eat when I'm hungry, I sleep when I'm tired. Lately I'm not too hungry, so I sleep most of the time. Someday I'll just not bother waking up, and I'll snore away here until the world outside has long forgotten Lages. There! Two lamps for morning, three for noon, and I'll blow one out for evening. Midday, you said--that means all three."
He turned to her then and saw the horror reflected in her face. Uneasily Lages realized that his words were bordering on a lunatic's raving. He straightened his rumpled clothing and muttered reassuringly, "Forgive me, sweetheart. That nightmare still has my nerves all shot to hell. Get used to talking to myself down here, and I forget how to converse intelligently."
He smiled crookedly, and she brightened hopefully. "Sorry if I
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