Talon the Black (Dragonwall Series # 1)

Chapter 41 - Fulfilling a Promise

Kastali Dun

Claire couldn't see her captor. She strained her gaze, but King Talon paced just out of sight. His footfalls were heavy. With each one her anxiety grew. She tried to anticipate his next move, but he was as unpredictable as a rabid dog. Worse still, she was helpless to fight back.

Restraints cut into her skin, harsh and insistent, gnawing at her, reminding her that King Talon's control was absolute. The smell of aged blood was pungent and rotten. It made her queasy. All around her, dim torchlight cast an orange essence upon moldering walls, throwing up monstrous shadows from medieval devices. The chamber itself whispered to her, tortured like the souls who'd come and gone. It was meant for a single purpose, to break the spirit and shatter the soul.

She wanted to be brave. She wanted to be strong and fearless. Those were the marks of a true heroine. Instead, she was a terrified girl sinking in quicksand, weighed down by the irons of her captivity. Cyrus should have chosen better.

A heroine is not born, she is made...

A sudden silence fell. The king's pacing had stopped. Her muscles tensed and her fear redoubled. She craned her head around and caught a movement in the corner of her eye. All too quickly, he came up beside her. She flinched at the sight of him.

"Relax. I am going to remove your gag." He no longer sounded like a snarling beast. His voice was composed and quiet as if nothing had happened, as if his blade had never kissed her throat, as if the guards never dragged her from her cell. Without waiting for permission, he reached behind her head and untied the rope, tossing it aside. Then he stepped out of view.

She moved her jaw from side to side, trying to relax the muscles of her mouth. More sounds came from behind. King Talon was picking something up. She heard metal graze the stone wall. A tool perhaps? Something to cause pain? A fresh wave of panic flooded her system. As quickly as he disappeared, the king reappeared holding the weapon of Cyrus's demise—the Vodar short sword. She exhaled.

"You are lucky to have earned Reyr's good grace," he said. "I do not think you deserve it, but he gives it nonetheless. Luckier still, I owe him a favor. Since you refused to explain this during your trial, we will start here." He gave her a stern glare as if the trial was her fault. "Tell me how you came by this sword."

She wanted to tell him to shove the sword up where the sun didn't shine, but the fight in her was gone. "I pulled it from Cyrus minutes before he died." Her throat was so raw that she could barely talk.

"And how did it come to be there?"

"A group of Vodar wraiths stabbed him with it." It was the first time in weeks she could finally speak their name—that alone was liberating.

"The Vodar?" His eyebrows drew together, pulling the scars on his forehead tight. "Were these the same Vodar wraiths who attacked you on the plains of Kengr?"

"Yes," she whispered. If he was surprised, it didn't show.

He studied it anew, as if seeing it for the first time. His scowl deepened. "You were wounded during that attack, yes?" He looked up at her. Surely by now he knew every detail of her journey. She nodded. "I am told that your skin blackened until you were healed by the Sprites."

"That's correct. The same thing happened to Cyrus's skin when he was injured."

"And he died within minutes of being stabbed?" He appeared skeptical. "Poison does not spread that quickly for a Drengr—his magic would have held it. I saw his body. His entire upper half was black as tar."

"Because the Vodar attacked twice." She knew what was happening here. Talon was attempting to find flaws in her story. "The first attack was seven days prior to the second. If you let me explain, I can start at the beginning."