Tin Thoughts (The Downfall Saga Book 2) Read online

  The passage of time was difficult to judge while trapped in an underground cell. Donovan kept checking the torches burning in the central room, but couldn’t judge how fast they were burning. Hunger pangs slowly crept up on him, but no meal came. The smoky air irritated his throat and he developed a persistent cough. He was preparing to fall asleep when he heard the grating noise of a door opening. He got up and rushed to the slit in the door.

  Six men entered the room. All wore a black cloth wrapped around their head, exposing their eyes through a small slit between wrappings. Two of the men replaced the torches on the walls with fresh ones.

  “Now listen up,” said one of the men in the middle of the room. “You will call me Master. All I want from you is the truth. If you cooperate, then this will be over quickly and painlessly.” He slowly paced around the room, looking through the slit in each door as he passed. “Now, why are you here? It doesn’t require two wizards to smuggle goods, so why did you come to the city?” He stood there, shoulders pressed back and hands clasped behind his back awaiting a response.

  “We have done nothing wrong, and you’re not going to believe anything we say,” said Osmont.

  “That’s where you are wrong,” said Master. “It’s only the lies which I won’t believe.”

  He let the silence stretch out for several minutes before continuing.

  “Just as I expected. Get the boy.”

  Two men walked over and unlocked the door to his cell. They opened the door and took a step back, hands resting on the pommels of their swords.

  Donovan reluctantly left his cell.

  They escorted him to a spot along the wall between two of the doors. A third man withdrew a pair of shackles from a sack attached to his waist.

  “Are you going to make this easy, boy?”

  Donovan kicked the man in a sensitive area on the lower abdomen. “My name is Donovan.”

  The punch to the stomach, from the man at his side, doubled him over. The clubbing blow to the back of his head knocked Donovan to the ground.

  The men attached the shackles around his wrists before looping the chain over a hook near the ceiling which Donovan hadn’t noticed when he first came into the room. The rough metal dug into his wrists, and his toes barely touched the floor.

  “Why are you here, Donovan?” said Master, stressing every syllable of his name.

  “Do your worst.”

  “You cannot even imagine my worst. I’ll be back tomorrow. Make sure he’s awake.”

  Master left the room while the remaining five men sat down in a circle and started joking with each other.

  “That’s it?” said Donovan. “You’re just going to leave me hanging here? No torture.”

  “Hold your tongue,” said one of the men. “We’ll get to you eventually.”

  One of the men produced a set of dice and several tokens. They started playing some sort of a game. Donovan watched them, but couldn’t comprehend the rules, nor the objective of the game. Eventually his weariness started to overwhelm him and Donovan’s head drooped down to his chest.

  “Hey, no sleeping!”

  One of the men got up, stalked over to Donovan, and slapped him across the face.

  “Let me know if you need a reminder.”

  The men went back to their game and Donovan struggled to stay awake. Every time he started to drift off to sleep, one of the men would propel him back to wakefulness with one form of violence or another.

  Finally, when the kicks and punches started to lose their effectiveness, they switched to a new tactic. They sliced open the front of his shirt, exposing the center of his chest. Donovan glanced down and was glad to see that the symbol carved over his heart was still covered by the shirt. The man tied an unlit torch to a piece of rope, and added a loop to the rope which he hung around Donovan’s neck. Examining his work, he was pleased to see the top of the torch hanging below Donovan’s sternum. He removed the rope and walked over to light the torch from one burning on the wall. Walking back over to Donovan, he gave him an evil smile. Hanging the torch around his neck, he stuck the bottom of the torch into Donovan’s pants. The burning tip of the torch sat a few inches away from his skin which was rapidly turning red. The acrid smoke started to burn his eyes.

  Donovan stared down at the flickering flames. If he lost focus for an instant and let his head droop, he’d be met with a face full of flame.

  “Have a good night.”

  The men went back to their game and Donovan stared at the burning torch, willing himself to stay awake. Time and space lost their meaning. His world shrunk until it was just him and the flame.

  He heard a door open and looked away from the flame.

  “Good morning, Donovan,” said Master. He crossed the room and removed the torch from around Donovan’s neck. “I hope you had a pleasant evening.”

  Donovan tried to focus on him, but his eyes were dry from the smoke and he was seeing double. “I,” he croaked, but couldn’t say anything else with his parched throat.

  “Where are my manners?”

  Donovan felt a glass press against his lips and he eagerly gulped down its contents without registering what he was drinking.

  “Better?”

  Donovan cleared his throat before answering. “Much.”

  “Care for another drink?”

  Donovan nodded his head.

  “All you have to do is tell me why you and your accomplices are here?”

  “We’ve ... done ... nothing ... wrong.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow in case you change your mind.”

  He spun on his heels and left the room.

  Donovan had little recollection of the next several days. He lived in a haze. The only things he remembered was the sharp pain in his temple and the smell of his soiled clothing. He occasionally heard voices that he couldn’t understand, and the shadows were always moving near the edges of his vision.

  Finally a couple of spirits lifted him up and gently lowered him to the stone floor. A soothing darkness enveloped him in a warm embrace.

  He was violently thrust back into consciousness by someone shaking him, and a bright light was thrust into his face.

  “Why are you here?”

  “What?”

  “Why did you and your friends come to Lornell?”

  “I came to find my adopted father and learn about my childhood.”

  “This is pointless. We’ll try something else tomorrow.”

  The light disappeared and the world was plunged back into darkness.

  Donovan woke up in his cell. He stayed on the floor, hoping that the pain behind his eyes would disappear, but it became obvious that the pain was going nowhere. He struggled to push himself off the floor, weak from days without eating, and staggered to the door.

  “Hey, are you guys still there?” he asked.

  “Donovan,” said Osmont from his cell across the room.

  “How are you doing, son?” asked Tuff.

  “I’ve been better. What’s going on?”

  “We think we been here for three or four days,” said Osmont. “They’ve ignored us except for the occasional meal, and focused their attention on you.”

  “Yay me.”

  “You’re tougher than an old boot,” said Tuff.

  “What’s going to happen now?”

  “Hard to say,” said Osmont. “They’ll either try something else on you or switch to one of us.”

  “Helpful. Why only focus on one of us?”

  “Watching them do that to you affects us all.”

  “Let us know when you’re feeling better and we’ll break out of here,” said Tuff.

  They were interrupted when the door opened and four men entered the room, their faces hidden.

  “Good, everybody’s awake,” said Master. “I don’t suppose any of you are ready to answer my questions.”

  “I’ve got something to give you,” said Tuff. “Come over here and get it.”

  “Charming, as always.”
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  He motioned to one of the men with him, who walked to the center of the room. He knelt down and unrolled a white piece of cloth from his backpack on the floor. He undid the straps on the satchel at his side. He carefully began removing sharp, metal instruments and laying them on the cloth. Donovan saw a whole set of razor thin knives, pliers, and many tools which he couldn’t identify.

  “We’re going to try something different today. This man is an expert at removing waste, and I only need your tongues to tell me the truth. We have many days ahead of us before running out of unnecessary things to remove.”

  Donovan rested his forehead against the stone door, and stared at the floor.

  “I know that I’ve been rough on Donovan these past few days. Are you feeling up to this today, or should I give you a few days to think about it?”

  “Leave him alone and give one of us a go,” said Tuff.

  “No, I don’t think so. You see, I have carefully planned this out, and I won’t even have to soil my hands by touching a dwarf, to get you to answer my questions.”

  “Please don’t,” said Donovan quietly.

  “What was that?” asked Master.

  “There must be another way,” said Donovan.

  “We can either start right now, or wait until later, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  “How can I convince you that I came here to see my adopted father?”

  “This doesn’t end until you confess your true crimes.”

  “Which are?”

  “You’ll tell me soon enough.”

  Donovan gently banged his head against the door and wished that he hadn’t come to see Eamon, when a thought struck him.

  “What about the pits?”

  “You’re stubborn, but wouldn’t last a minute in the pits.”

  “Can’t I fight for my freedom?”

  “You’re ready for a quick death. I’ll have to talk to the Magistrate, but I’m sure that something can be arranged for you.”

  “Donovan, don’t,” said Osmont.

  “If I win my fight, then I’m free?” asked Donovan, ignoring Osmont.

  “But of course,” said Master. “A trial by combat is a right guaranteed to you by our laws. Unfortunately, your arcane friends don’t have that option.”

  “Can I fight for them?”

  “It’s not worth it,” said Osmont. “Tuff and I can take care of ourselves.”

  “I’ll run it by the magistrate. Don’t go anywhere while I’m gone.”

  The men left the room, and they were left in an uncomfortable silence.

  A ball of red light appeared in front of Osmont’s door, illuminating part of his face through the slit. Osmont created a second light and placed it in front of Donovan’s cell so they could look each other in the eyes.

  Donovan couldn’t meet his gaze, so he stared down at the implements of torture still laying on the floor.

  “You know this is foolish,” said Osmont.

  “You’ve had three days to think while I was preoccupied. Give me another option.”

  “We’ll figure something out. Tuff and I have been in worse spots.”

  “I can do this. I have to do this.”

  Osmont’s face disappeared from the slit, and Donovan could occasionally see his silhouette pacing across the cell, before he finally returned to the door.

  “You’re old enough to make your own decisions. Watch yourself, and don’t do anything unnecessary. Free yourself, but don’t worry about us.”

  “That’s right, Donovan,” said Tuff. “We’ll be out of here in no time once we don’t have to worry about protecting you.”

  “I hate to think about what would have happened if you two weren’t protecting me.”

  “I’m serious, Donovan. The pits are brutal, and you’ve never had to kill anyone.”

  “I won’t leave without you.”

  ***

  “Why should I let you fight in the pit?” asked Rach, his jowls jiggling with each word.

  “I can handle myself in a fight,” said Donovan.

  Donovan slouched in a chair in Rach’s office, hungry and exhausted from the ordeal of the last few days. Rach lazily watched him from across the desk, the sweat stains on his shirt steadily grew in size.

  “We don’t normally let boys fight, but you can’t be far off from becoming a man. I’m sure the ladies will enjoy seeing that lithe body in action.” He eyed Donovan up and down, and licked his lips.

  Donovan was acutely aware of his ripped shirt exposing his bare chest, but he had no way to cover himself. The edge of the symbol over his heart was exposed.

  “What’s this?” asked Rach, pointing at Donovan’s chest.

  One of the guards walked up and moved the shirt away. Despite being carved nearly a year ago, the Blood Magic kept the cuts fresh, as if they were newly carved, but no longer bled.

  “That’s fierce,” said Rach. “They will just eat you up. That is, as long as we keep them far enough away that they can’t see those horrid eyes.”

  Donovan had come to the realization that his violet eyes were rare, and as such, most people found them unnerving. He sat there quietly, staring at Rach until he started to squirm.

  “Alright, you can fight for your freedom in the pit, but it’ll be a shame to lose someone so young.”

  “What about my friends?”

  “They’ll never be allowed in the pits. You can’t trust a wizard to fight fair, and I will not allow them to make a mockery of our traditions.”

  “They’ve done nothing wrong. How can I prove it?”

  “We found enough evidence in that house to keep them in jail for the rest of their lives. You could line up forty witnesses and they’d still not be set free. Don’t concern yourself with their wellbeing. We’ll keep them nice and safe until they tell us everything.”

  “Can I fight for them?”

  Rach reached into a bowl on his desk and picked up a small reddish brown fruit glazed with a sticky syrup. He turned it over in his hand before popping it into his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head as he munched on it, before spitting a small seed onto the floor beside his chair.

  “That’s an interesting idea. We could make a festival out of it. Yes, we’ll declare a holiday and schedule an entire day of fights. Once you lose, we can end the day with a public execution of the dastardly wizards. You wouldn’t tease me about something like this, would you? You’re too old of a boy to be teasing me.”

  “Promise me a fair fight and you have my word.”

  “Fair ... yes, but not easy. We’re talking about the freedom of three criminals, including two wizards. I think that you’ll have to win a group fight, and then defeat one of our champions to prove your innocence. This is your last chance to turn around and take that tight little behind of yours back to the cells.”

  “I’ll fight. It’s better than sitting in a cell until you grow bored of us.”

  “You could amuse me for a long time,” said Rach, biting his lower lip.

  The guards led Donovan out of the room. They continued past the door that led down to his previous cell. Several turns later, they took him down a different staircase. This staircase was shorter than the first one and led to a brightly lit hallway lined by wooden doors, with square windows covered by iron bars. Donovan stared straight ahead as he walked down the hallway to his new cell. They escorted him into the cell before removing the shackles from his arms and legs. The door closed with a heavy thud and he heard a heavy bar drop into place to lock the door.

  The cell was much brighter than the previous one. A stone bench ran along the back wall. A thin brown, musty smelling blanket was folded on one end of the bench.

  Donovan laid down on the hard bench and wadded up the blanket to use as a pillow. He was just falling asleep when he was woke by footsteps coming down the hallway. A metal tray was slid through an opening between the floor and bottom of the door.

  He rolled off the bench and went to examine his bounty. He found a bowl of lukewar
m water on the tray and a bowl full of a thin broth with chunks of a greyish colored meat. He picked out a piece of meat to eat. It had a gamey flavor, but wasn’t the worst thing that he’d eaten. He devoured the meal before sliding the tray out into the hallway and returning to the bench.

  It was several hours later when someone came to pick up the empty tray. He got up and headed to the window.

  “Hey, how long am I going to be here?”

  Donovan stared down at the guard’s greasy hair as he picked up the tray.

  “No idea.”

  Donovan fell into a routine of eating, sleeping and exercising while he waited. Every time a guard walked by, he asked them when he’d be fighting in the pit, but they never gave a straight answer.

  Donovan worried about Osmont and Tuff. He wondered if they were postponing the fight until after one of them broke and confessed to some imaginary sin. He’d get worked up and start pacing around his cell, but he knew that he couldn’t do anything to help them, except to keep himself focused on surviving the fighting pit.

  He thought that he’d been in the new cell for about a week when there was finally a break in the routine. The man who stopped at the window to his cell looked more like a soldier than a guard. He wore a leather vest, and held a helmet in his arm. Walking up to the window, Donovan looked down and saw a sword belted to the man’s waist.

  “Tomorrow you fight. What do you require?”

  “Come again,” said Donovan, mind hazing from many days of boredom.

  “Weapons, armor, boots. What do you require for the pit?”

  Donovan thought for a moment. He wore his usual pair of boots and a badly soiled pair of pants. He had discarded his tattered shirt, but didn’t feel another one would be necessary when fighting outside in the heat.

  “I had a sword when I was captured. I’d like it back, and a clean pair of pants. Maybe a belt or piece of rope to keep them up.”

  The soldier gave a nod. “Do you require a shield or armor?”

  “I usually don’t. What do people usually fight with in the pit?”

  “Swords and shields mostly, some axes, occasionally a bola or net.”

  “Just my sword then.”

  “May the sun bring you peace.”

  He marched back down the hallway.