Jorlin's eyes flew open the next morning, and when she saw Draven fast asleep on the bed she soundlessly slipped on her boots and put on her jacket and cloak. After she crept out of the room and was out of Draven's earshot, she tore down the hallway, her cloak flying behind her as if caught up by the wind. Her heart fluttered with hope as she raced down the stairs and through the corridors.
The sound of blacksmiths, tanners, and soldiers filled the chilly air when she got outside. It was barely sunrise, and even from behind the tall castle walls she could tell that the color of the lower sky was a cold, distant yellow. Jorlin briskly walked to the outer bailey, then straight across the frozen ground to the guardhouse, her breath billowing out in the cold. Upon entering, a soldier in the standard guard uniform said in a heavy northern accent, "What is your business here?"
"I have a prisoner I need to see," she answered after ushering a deeper voice.
"Why?"
"The king's business."
His eyes narrowed. "Very well."
He led her down a narrow hallway and unlocked a reinforced iron door with a key. He held it open for her as she walked through.
"Knock when you need to come out," he muttered.
"Are no other guards down here?" she asked.
The guard chuckled then let the door swing shut with a dull boom that echoed off the dark stone walls.
Slightly nervous, she descended the three steps and proceeded down the hallway with rows of cells on either side. She could barely see the bodies behind the iron bars asleep on the floor with the dim light, the lucky ones on rickety cots. Some of them peered at her, their eyes twinkling like bleak, distant stars as they reflected the torchlight.
"Asher?" she called out softly.
She cringed as she heard the faint rustling of prisoners moving, reacting to her voice. Her boots thumped on the stone floor as she slowly inched down the hallway, afraid of what she would find.
"Asher?" she called, louder than last time.
More movement in the cells reminded her of rats.
After she walked farther she yelled, "Asher!"
She was desperate to find him. He had to be in here. The frigid, moist air of the dungeon smelled like mold and filth. The prisoners looked like caged animals, and the worst fear crawled into her heart, the fear that Asher had been diminished to some sort of beast like them.
A sound that was hauntingly familiar came from her right. A man groaned as he slowly woke up.
"Asher?" she asked hopefully.
A dark form rose from the floor in the cell on her right, and Jorlin approached the bars.
"What do you want?" asked the prisoner. The voice was unmistakably Asher's.
She struggled to speak past the lump in her throat; she had nearly forgotten what his voice sounded like. Jorlin gripped the metal bars to steady her hands.
"Who are you?" he asked.
His eyes almost glowed as the faint light glinted off of them. That's when Jorlin realized how glazed they looked.
"Asher," she murmured.
He stiffened with recognition, and a broad grin spread across his face. He shuffled up to her, his eyes staring blankly ahead, and he reached his hands through the bars. His face was bruised and dirty, and his sandy blond hair was dirty enough to appear brown.
YOU ARE READING
Sides of War
Historical FictionNineteen-year-old Jorlin lives in 14th century Britain, in a country that's in the throes of a civil war. Her childhood friend gets drafted into the war, which drives her into a search for him. However, along the way, she is forced into coming to te...
