The Storyteller

Chapter 2: Into the Dungeons

 She sat in the corner of the gloomy darkness of the dungeon cell. She hugged her knees to her chest and let her hair fall over her eyes as she huddled in, desperately trying to retain as much heat as she could. Pale hands, ghostly in the dull glow of the torch lights shifted as she clutched her knobbly knees. Her shackles scrapped and rubbed already raw and tender flesh. Dirty and bruised, she sat like a mouse caught in a trap, her tail broken and mangled and waiting for the final blow to come from some upset maid's broom handle.

The other prisoners looked at her; the only young girl. Some of the men where no older than young boys and they looked about as frightened as she. One of the lads she recognized as the miller's son. She lifted her head and gave a small smile to the young one. Quietly she began to whisper a story to the other prisoners. Chains and shackles clanked together as many moved towards the bars of their cell to listen better. Lynna did not move from her crouched position in the corner, but her voice moved all about the room.

She said the darkness was merely made up of playful imps, tricking and enticing them to join them in their nocturnal romps. Even though she was terrified of the dark. The torch lights were hardly made of flame, but faerie light. Even though the flickering glow spooked her own senses. The shackles were not cold and cutting, but made of elven metals. Even though they hurt her and made her whimper. Her words made the others relax for a moment, but Lynna remained shaking and shuddering with fright in her own cell.

From her corner she could see the tools of torture hung on the walls. Every cold looking piece of metal, every spike, every branding iron sent a chill down her spine. Her voice shook momentarily as she looked at the devices which would surely bring her death. The prisoners blinked at the faltering voice. She cleared her throat, apologized and blamed it on the dampness of the room which had obstructed her throat and continued. She was surprised to find that even the rat-faced jailer was listening to her words, but she paid him no mind. He was evil, there was nothing could be done for that affliction.

Suddenly the dungeon doors opened with loud bang. Metal footsteps coming down the steps halted Lynna's story dead in mid sentence. She lowered her head again and kept it focused on her knees. The stalking, booted sound was like a dragon as it echoed around the dripping walls. A dragon entering its lair, Lynna thought terrified, coming to kill them all just like the sacrifices in her stories.

“Are these the debtors from Locksley?” A growling, snarling voice invaded her ears.

Worse than a dragon, Lynna thought, a man! She made herself invisible in her corner, drawing her little body as tight as it would go against her. “There was a problem on the road, my lord,” the jailer's oily voice came like the flicking tongue of a lizard to Lynna's ears.

“What problem?” The dragon-like voice asked tightly.

“Outlaws, my lord,” the lizard was choosing his words careful, Lynna knew when there were things left unsaid and those were usually the greater stories that that which was spoken. “Only one of the Locksley lot made it 'ere. In there.”

The metal footsteps seemed to come closer to her cell. Lynna did not move, she heard her heart thud in her chest and she was almost certain that it would echo around the room. Her feet curled in her little boots, she must have looked rather like a human sphere than an actual body.

“A girl?” The dragon spat.

“Aye, my lord, and rather talkative too. Been telling the other prisoners tales, she 'as,” the lizard hissed as he tattled.

“Really?” The dragon tapped on the bars, and it sounded like a sharp claw scraping against rock. “If she persists, cut out her tongue.”

Lynna could not restrain it, she let out a thin cry at hearing such a punishment. “Or if she cares to sob over it, cut out her tongue and string her up on the rack for a time.”