I wore one stolen sword at my hip, carried the other in my hand, fingers wrapped around crossguard and hilt. Mariead had the bodkin somewhere under her stolen scarlet, cudgel in hand. The halls were a maze, each corridor the same, every line of sight blocked by sets of doors. It was like being in a dream surrounded by […]
There were no beautiful things here. That suited me fine. The dungeon smelled like piss and smoke. A single fat candle provided illumination for the end of the hall. My side was starting to sting. Light streamed under the door from the corridor outside, and when I listened at the keyhole, I could hear two […]
A properly trained guard wouldn’t open the cell. He’d’ve stood at the door and ordered me to be quiet, but if I didn’t obey, he’d fuck off and get three of his lads to come in with him. The only advantage he had on me was two feet of cudgel, and if he’d been rightly taught to handle dangerous men, he’d have known that wasn’t enough.
“Perhaps it merely galls me to have no say in the matter,” she glanced at me, cold. “Had you thought of that, sir? That I might chafe at being retrieved like a sack of grain?”