Remnant of Power

Chapter Twenty-eight

Mal

He was in a damp-smelling stone room with no windows. His head hurt. Why did he go off on his own? How could he have been so stupid? With a boom, the door slammed open and a tall white-eyed figure wearing a tatty gray velvet hooded robe loomed in the opening. He banged his staff on the floor and a blue light glittered at its tip. Mal tensed, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck, but he could do nothing; his ankles and wrists were bound. A feeling he couldn't quite put his finger on made him feel it was safer not to look at the white-eyed man. He closed his eyes again.

"Why are you here? What were you planning to do? Did others come with you? Speak the truth, for if you lie, it will go ill with you" the figure hissed. Mal hesitated only a second. "I came here on my own."

The mage gave a sharp hissing cackle. "On your own, Mal Wainwright, I doubt that, what would you do here on your own?"

"I came here on my own to look for my dog..."

"Tell me where your allies are. What were your plans?"

"There are no plans. I just wanted to find my dog. I was looking for him..."

"You lie, fool! Didn't I tell you that if you lied it would go ill with you! Well you've lied, it's obvious what you are planning. Fear now for your filthy mutt. You won't see him again." He turned and left the room. Two soldiers entered and began to beat him. After the first few blows Mal began to drown in a sea of unconsciousness.

Sometime later he came to, aware of a stabbing pain and a sharp thirst.

I haven't done very well, he thought wretchedly, I only wanted to keep him safe, but now I think I've sent him to his death.

Somehow, he had to get out of here. If they killed him now it would mean he'd messed it up for everyone else. He should have stayed with the others. Why didn't he realize that of course they would've known better than him?

He tried to turn on his side to stop the back of his head hurting where it was bruised, but his ankles and wrists were bound too tightly. There was no window in the room, he must be in a dungeon. What chance did he have of escaping from a dungeon? He drifted in and out of consciousness.

Hours went by. When Mal woke again he felt glad of the pain. He deserved it. At least he was alive to feel pain. He lost track of time passing.

The doors were thrown open. Two soldiers grabbed him. They pulled him upright and cut the ropes around his feet, and yanked a sack down over his head. Dazed and weak, he was made to walk along an uneven path, then up a slippery flight of stairs smelling of mould and sweat. He heard a thick wooden door being slammed and bolted shut and then the sack was pulled off his head. Handcuffs were fastened around his wrists, then another pair attached him to one of the soldiers. He was dragged up another staircase. Then another. The next staircase led to a carpeted corridor. A shout made him jump. One of the soldiers was yelling at someone in the corridor. He looked up to see two women of similar height standing in a doorway. One was a bad-tempered-looking stout old woman, the other was a girl about his own age; his belly went cold as he realized who it was. He mustn't show any signs of recognizing her – it was Yavenna! He gulped.

He met her eyes and tried to flash her the fastest possible smile. As the soldiers shoved him along he heard her call out to the soldier in charge. The man barked a reply, then hit Mal. Groaning, Mal closed his eyes and felt consciousness start to ebb away again. He must have stumbled; the soldier shouted at him again and hit him. There were more stairs, then he was kicked into a small room. The cuffs were taken off. The soldier gloated at him.

"You're a guest of His Most High Majesty. Here's bread and water. It would be foolish to try to escape. You won't be able to." The soldiers marched out of the room and slammed the door. Mal collapsed onto the bare bed and looked at the table next to it. Water! He bolted it down and grabbed the hunk of bread that was next to it, ripping pieces off it hungrily. He felt slightly better after eating the bread and lay on the bed looking around the room.

Unsteadily, Mal got off the bed. At least there was a window in this room; he walked to it and pressed his face against the miniature panes of smeared glass. He could see the large walled stone courtyard below, and it looked as though he was about four storeys up above it. Soldiers in livery were spread out over the courtyard, and some were walking along the castle wall. They were armed with bows and short swords in baldrics. Beyond the walls of the castle were the walls of the city. As the back of the castle was so close to the city walls he could easily see past them. He'd never noticed before when he came to market, but immediately beyond the walls, almost butting up to them, was a huge midden, a pile of rubbish. No doubt it stank. Well at least with the window closed he couldn't smell it.

Mal pushed against the window but it hardly moved. Even if he could get the glass out of the frame, could he ever get down to the courtyard? And if he could get down to the courtyard, what chance did he have of overpowering the twenty or so soldiers? He stared out of the window thinking about his friends. They would come after him, he was sure, but would they find him? And if they found him would they be able to rescue him? Why had he ever thought he knew best? Now, he might even be dead by the end of the day.

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