The governor’s arrival to the Dormigan Prison was a sight to see. Fancy carriage, decked out horses, mounted escort of six men, also dressed up as if they were coming to a ball. Captain Torren couldn’t help wondering whom Malgrid was trying to impress. The prisoners? Most of them couldn’t even look out of their tiny barred windows.
He watched Malgrid Jorensen emerge from the carriage. A blue velvet doublet with gold trim, a matching hat, a flowing white cape.
Worthless fop, Torren thought, plastering the expression of respectful attention on his face. Please, Arian, don’t let him tick off the Prisoner.
“Good morning, Governor,” he said with a quick bow. “Where would you like to begin?”
“As if you need to ask, Torren,” Malgrid replied, his tone tired and annoyed. The moment he was appointed the governor, he had adopted this manner of a wise sage frustrated to no end by the stupidity of his subordinates. “I want to see the creature my brother caught.”
The warden had little hope to dissuade him, but he still tried.
“Are you sure you need to spend your valuable time to inspect the cells personally, sir?”
“Yes, I am sure. You’re right, I have no time to check them all, but I will most certainly inspect this one.”
“Very well. Please follow me.”
He led the governor and his six men to the main tower.
“You guard him well,” Malgrid commented as they climbed the stairs, seeing soldiers everywhere.
“I am doing my best.”
“I’ve read your reports. According to them, he causes no trouble?”
“No trouble so far,” Torren confirmed. “No attempts to escape.”
“Good. You know how disappointed the king would be if that ever happened.”
They stopped in front of the door; Torren ordered the guards to unlock it. Malgrid looked confident, but his next question betrayed a degree of discomfort.
“He is, of course, properly restrained, right?”
“Of course,” the warden nodded. “Feet shackled, hands tied.”
And if you had the slightest idea of how useless these restraints are, you’d never dare step through this door, he thought, watching the soldiers remove the iron bar.
They entered the cell. It looked like an ordinary prison cell now, except for being considerably larger than most. Torren had thought of building an extra wall to make it smaller, a wall he would later remove, but there was no time for that.
The Prisoner was sitting on a straw pallet in the corner. Torren cringed: his men overdid his order to tie him. Instead of just tying together the Prisoner’s wrists, they’d looped the thick rope around him several times.
Idiots! I should have supervised it, like I did the shackling!
However, the fact that the Prisoner was still here, and the guards still alive, indicated he was not too insulted and intended to keep his promise, at least for now.
“Well, well, well.” Malgrid stepped closer, looking the Prisoner over. “What do we have here? Isn’t this the great and powerful Dark Elf of Syron?”
The Prisoner said nothing. His eyes were, thankfully, brown.
Please, keep them so, the warden silently prayed.
“Do you know who I am?” Malgrid went on.
“Malgrid Jorensen, the new governor,” the Prisoner replied.
“Get up, then! How dare you sit in my presence?!”
The Prisoner struggled to his feet, chains clinking. Malgrid took a step back, suddenly finding himself towered over. Even Torren, with his well above average height, often felt small standing next to the elf.
The Prisoner clearly enjoyed the effect. Torren saw a hint of a smile on his lips. The governor must have noticed it as well.
“Proud of your height, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice thick with threat. “Keep in mind that I can easily reduce it. My men only need one word from me to chop your head off. Get down on your knees!”
The Prisoner didn’t move, and his eyes began turning red. Torren grew cold.
“Will you defy me?!” Malgrid yelled, grabbing his sword. “I said on your knees!”
Torren rushed to him and held him back. “Be careful, sir. He is stronger than he appears. Even tied up like this he can be dangerous.”
The governor pushed him away. “Get your hands off me, Torren! Have you lost your mind? What do you think you’re doing?”
Trying to save your life, you fool.
“I only wanted to protect you, sir.”
“Well, I don’t need your protection. My brother handled this creature just fine, and so can I.” He motioned to his men. “Get him down on his knees, he seems to need some help with it.”
Torren stopped breathing as the men rushed to the Prisoner. They grabbed him and forced him down, dealing him a couple of blows in the process. He didn’t kill them. The warden saw the Prisoner’s now dark red eyes fixed on himself, and he understood perfectly what that look said. I’m doing it for you, Captain. I am keeping my word.
“See, Captain?” the governor said, very pleased with himself. “It’s not that hard. You’ve been too lenient with him, it appears.” He turned to the Prisoner again. “And don’t you stare at me like that! What’s up with these red eyes? Stop it this minute!”
“It’s not something I can control,” the Prisoner said.
The warning rang clear in his voice. Malgrid heard it, and it set him off once again. Before Torren could do anything, he slapped the Prisoner across the face.
“I said stop it! I can see you’re doing it on purpose, and I won’t have it!”
Now you’re dead, Malgrid. Torren did not know whether what the Prisoner said was true, but he tried to interfere once again.
“With respect, sir, he says the truth. His eye color changes by itself, from what I’ve observed.”
“And how do you know that, Captain? He says so and you believe him? Have you ever ordered him to quit doing it? Have you whipped him for disobeying? Look at that—he’s changing it back to normal right now, because he knows I won’t be trifled with!”
Indeed, the color was changing, but not back to normal. While the intensity of the red was fading, the pupils were turning white as well. The Prisoner must have made an effort, but either it was a half-hearted effort or he really couldn’t control the process.
“Like I said, you’ve been too soft with him,” Malgrid went on. “Why is his cell so big? With a large window, too. Why straw bedding? He can sleep on the floor, and he should. How often do you feed him?”
“Twice a day, following the regulations.”
“Twice a day?! Twice, Captain? It should be once a day, bread and water, if he behaves. I am amazed at your incompetence, and I’ll report it to the king.”
Torren couldn’t believe it. Incompetence?! After all his years of service?
“I’ve been doing my duty the best I can.”
“No, you haven’t. As for you, oh most powerful dark elf… What, you’re doing the eyes thing again? That’s it, I warned you.” Malgrid gestured to his men. “Give him a good whipping, right now.”
That Torren couldn’t allow.
“No!” He stepped forward, shielding the Prisoner, hand on the sword hilt.
Malgrid’s men halted, unsure what to do. The governor gaped at him.
“What’s that, Captain? Will you contradict my orders?”
“Yes, sir. I must. I am the warden here, I can’t let you, or anyone else, harm my prisoners.”
Malgrid’s eyes narrowed. “Do you realize what you’re doing, Captain? I represent the Crown. This is nothing short of rebellion. Step aside, or I will have you arrested.”
Torren stood firm.
“Let him do it, Captain,” came a whisper from behind his back.
The warden was not sure he heard it right.
“Let him have his way,” the Prisoner whispered again.
Slowly, reluctantly, Torren took a step aside.
“Very good, Captain,” the governor said, smirking. “Your behavior, however, will be reported. The king needs to know that the warden of the Dormigan Prison can no longer be trusted.”
Torren said nothing. He watched the whipping, during which the Prisoner made no sound. Malgrid’s men weren’t experienced, he could tell right away, but they did their best, eager to please the governor, two of them taking turns. Torren just couldn’t comprehend it. Yes, the Prisoner had made a promise, but he’d never expect him to go this far in keeping it. What was it Lenora had said? ‘He is a tormented soul. I think he had fought with Fredric hoping to get killed…’
The beating ended at last. They threw the Prisoner on the straw pallet; he lay there, not moving.
“No food for him today,” Malgrid said. “Let him reflect on it all and learn his lesson. Let’s go.”
They left the cell. Torren wished he could stay, check on the Prisoner, say something to him, but he knew attempting to do so would only make things worse. They walked down the stairs in silence. Malgrid was probably expecting him to try to smooth things over, to beg him not to report the incident; Torren was not going to do it.
He lingered before leaving the tower. “Just a moment, Governor, I need to grab something from the guardroom. Please go ahead, I’ll catch up with you.”
He stepped into the guardroom, closed the door, and pulled out his sword. The blade was gone.
***