leave Lalssu Keep.
Hagan had been the only one to weep over his father’s cooling body. The new Grand Master would keep a silent vigil while those around him planned the grand state funeral that would lay the seventh Grand Master to rest. Now and again, he would look to his twin, needing the support Dagan always had at the ready.
“You are my right hand,” Hagan broke his silence to say. “I am going to need your help, little brother.”
“I will do whatever you tell me to, Milord,” Dagan agreed.
Thinking back now on that conversation, Dagan sighed heavily. His word had always been his bond and he had prided himself in never going back on a promise. He squeezed his eyes shut to blot out the anxiety pumping through his heart.
The scrape of metal against the stone floor made Dagan open his eyes. He heard heavy footsteps coming down the steep steps that led to his cell and breathed a sign of relief. It couldn’t be Brother Qutaybah coming to gloat. No doubt it was the Master Executioner Verial coming for his answer.
As harsh lantern light blinded him, Dagan looked away from the brightness, squinting.
“Have you reached a decision, Lord Dagan?” the Master Executioner barked in his gruff, bass voice.
Dagan looked around, still squinting and saw the tall, broad-shouldered man who had put the fear of the Prophet in many a prisoner’s soul. Verial was holding the lantern up beside his large, round face and the shadows cast that scarred visage into a nightmarish apparition.
“What did His Grace tell you?” Dagan asked.
Verial shrugged. “If you do not agree to His Grace’s orders, I am to take you to the post,” he said flatly. “I would regret having to do so but I will lash you until you agree to do as you were bid.”
Dagan shuddered—more from the thought of being whipped with Verial’s cat-’o-nine than from the slime that oozed into his armpit.
“And if I should die while you’re whipping me, Verial?” he had to ask.
The Master Executioner sighed deeply. “I would regret that even more but orders are orders and I follow mine, Lord Dagan.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “So, what’s it to be?”
Dagan knew his decision had been made long before the guards had brought him to this vile place. He knew Hagan understood that, as well. It had simply been a lesson in who was the true Grand Master and who the servant.
“Tell him I agree,” he said, then quickly added, “but under protest.”
Verial nodded. “I don’t know what you’re agreeing to, Lord Dagan, but it’s good that you did. I would not like to strip the flesh from your back.” He lowered the lantern and turned to go.
“Wait!” Dagan called out. “Aren’t you going to unchain me?”
Verial never looked around. “No, Lord Dagan. I was told to let you stew until an hour before His Grace’s Joining then I was to take you to the baths and let the stewards dress you.”
“How soon to the Joining?” Dagan yelled for Verial was already out of sight.
“Three hours, Milord,” Verial yelled back as he banged the door behind him.
“Three hours?” Dagan whispered, shocked. He slumped in his bonds. “Three hours,” he repeated.
The sound of Hagan’s laughter drifted through his mind.
Chapter Seven
Jameela’s tears had ceased but the blood from her hands still oozed as she tiredly struck the door behind which she was locked. Brother Qutaybah’s sneering face was emblazoned in her mind’s eye as she pummeled the door again, smearing scarlet upon the wooden panel.
“Because of you he is being lashed and may well die, slut!” the Grand Master’s Chancellor had gloated when he had come to tell her of Dagan’s arrest and removal to the dungeon.
“Let me go to the Grand Master!” she had pleaded. “Let me explain!”
“There is nothing you can do, bitch!” Brother Qutaybah sneered. “The die has been cast.”
Sinking to her knees, she crouched beside the door, her forehead dropped to her
Hagan had been the only one to weep over his father’s cooling body. The new Grand Master would keep a silent vigil while those around him planned the grand state funeral that would lay the seventh Grand Master to rest. Now and again, he would look to his twin, needing the support Dagan always had at the ready.
“You are my right hand,” Hagan broke his silence to say. “I am going to need your help, little brother.”
“I will do whatever you tell me to, Milord,” Dagan agreed.
Thinking back now on that conversation, Dagan sighed heavily. His word had always been his bond and he had prided himself in never going back on a promise. He squeezed his eyes shut to blot out the anxiety pumping through his heart.
The scrape of metal against the stone floor made Dagan open his eyes. He heard heavy footsteps coming down the steep steps that led to his cell and breathed a sign of relief. It couldn’t be Brother Qutaybah coming to gloat. No doubt it was the Master Executioner Verial coming for his answer.
As harsh lantern light blinded him, Dagan looked away from the brightness, squinting.
“Have you reached a decision, Lord Dagan?” the Master Executioner barked in his gruff, bass voice.
Dagan looked around, still squinting and saw the tall, broad-shouldered man who had put the fear of the Prophet in many a prisoner’s soul. Verial was holding the lantern up beside his large, round face and the shadows cast that scarred visage into a nightmarish apparition.
“What did His Grace tell you?” Dagan asked.
Verial shrugged. “If you do not agree to His Grace’s orders, I am to take you to the post,” he said flatly. “I would regret having to do so but I will lash you until you agree to do as you were bid.”
Dagan shuddered—more from the thought of being whipped with Verial’s cat-’o-nine than from the slime that oozed into his armpit.
“And if I should die while you’re whipping me, Verial?” he had to ask.
The Master Executioner sighed deeply. “I would regret that even more but orders are orders and I follow mine, Lord Dagan.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “So, what’s it to be?”
Dagan knew his decision had been made long before the guards had brought him to this vile place. He knew Hagan understood that, as well. It had simply been a lesson in who was the true Grand Master and who the servant.
“Tell him I agree,” he said, then quickly added, “but under protest.”
Verial nodded. “I don’t know what you’re agreeing to, Lord Dagan, but it’s good that you did. I would not like to strip the flesh from your back.” He lowered the lantern and turned to go.
“Wait!” Dagan called out. “Aren’t you going to unchain me?”
Verial never looked around. “No, Lord Dagan. I was told to let you stew until an hour before His Grace’s Joining then I was to take you to the baths and let the stewards dress you.”
“How soon to the Joining?” Dagan yelled for Verial was already out of sight.
“Three hours, Milord,” Verial yelled back as he banged the door behind him.
“Three hours?” Dagan whispered, shocked. He slumped in his bonds. “Three hours,” he repeated.
The sound of Hagan’s laughter drifted through his mind.
Chapter Seven
Jameela’s tears had ceased but the blood from her hands still oozed as she tiredly struck the door behind which she was locked. Brother Qutaybah’s sneering face was emblazoned in her mind’s eye as she pummeled the door again, smearing scarlet upon the wooden panel.
“Because of you he is being lashed and may well die, slut!” the Grand Master’s Chancellor had gloated when he had come to tell her of Dagan’s arrest and removal to the dungeon.
“Let me go to the Grand Master!” she had pleaded. “Let me explain!”
“There is nothing you can do, bitch!” Brother Qutaybah sneered. “The die has been cast.”
Sinking to her knees, she crouched beside the door, her forehead dropped to her
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