Ignoring History - Ranger's Apprentice Fanfiction

Chapter 40

~🏹Halt🏹~

If you asked Halt, he would have told you that he despised dungeon cells. The problem was that he seemed to have a knack for getting thrown into them.

Letting his head fall back against the stone wall with a thud, he closed his eyes. A warm trickle of blood dripped from his nose. It seeped into his lips and onto his tongue, but he ignored the metallic, salty tang. There was also a low buzz in his ears. It was muffled underneath the pressure that tormented his head—a dull and slow ache. He ignored that too.

Over and over again, Halt replayed the scene in his mind. He just didn't understand. Where had it all gone wrong? What happened?

The dinner had been a trap, but Halt had known that going in. He was supposed to deflect; he was supposed to distract. He was supposed to have the upper hand because he knew how to play the game.

Morgarath, it seemed, had been playing a different game entirely.

His fate had been sealed the moment he stepped foot into that dining room. It had been small, furnished only by a table made of hardwood. They exchanged pleasantries, but that was it. There had been no signs of what was to come.

Dinner was served, then. Steak, potatoes, and bread: nothing special. Morgarath had smiled when the mug of coffee was presented along with the jar of honey. Halt remembered the way he had raised his wine glass for a toast. Cheers to us and a new future.

Morgarath hadn't been near his food or drink. The coffee had been poisoned from the moment it was placed on the table. The coffee or—Halt wrinkled his nose at the thought—the honey.

That wasn't important though. What was important was that there had been poison. That meant Morgarath had been prepared. Something or someone had tipped him off, and Halt was only lucky to have detected it before anything too drastic happened. Not that it mattered—he was still locked in a cell with a ball and chain. If the poison was meant to kill, then Halt was sure he wouldn't be breathing right then.

After all, there were other ways to dispose of a person.

Sighing, Halt finally reached up to wipe the blood off his face. He tugged at his chains for the millionth time, giving no reaction when the cuffs only dug deeper into his skin. He looked around the cell as if he would find something new, something that he missed. There was nothing. Gorlan's dungeons were as plain as they got. Halt had nothing but a reeking chamber pot in the far corner.

The click of the cell unlocking drew Halt out of his thoughts. He thrashed against his chains as a couple of guards took him by the arms. There was a cry when he elbowed one hard in the ribs. The ball and chain around his ankle suddenly clattered to the ground, and he thanked the guard that had unlocked it with an old-fashioned kick between the legs.

Halt got a couple more blows in before more guards arrived. The scuffle ended as quickly as it began. He was helpless as the guards dragged him into a nearby room. He hissed when they brought him to the back wall. His hands were chained above his head—he was practically hanging. The ball and chain on his ankles were replaced with shackles that locked his legs together. If there was hope for escape before, then there certainly wasn't anymore.

"This would be a lot easier if you would stop struggling."

Halt froze. Shivers ran down his spine as he lifted his head up to meet Morgarath's blue eyes. They were ice. Cold, chilling ice.

"Oh, good." Morgarath said, drawing out his words. "You do know how to follow instructions."

Halt glared at him. "What do you want from me?"