Flickering of the torches was the only sound that he could hear, besides the quiet clomp of a shod foot and the occasional ruffling from the adjacent cell. Each time it came he prayed that she would wake, but a crack in the mortar revealed only her quiet form, just as it had been the night he found her.
Rubbing his groggy eyes, he attempted to wipe some of the dirt from his face but was only rewarded with more on his hands, and no way to refresh his stale lips and parched throat.
Perhaps he deserved this punishment, at least, his actions had warranted such? But his thoughts were not selfish.
Neither were his dreams.
For three days they had laid there, without food or water, and not a word spoken between them, or the other soldiers of the camp.
At first he had counted some as his friends, but he soon came to the harsh realization that there is no such thing in the face of one’s own reputation.
And there it is again.
It ruins great men, especially when the rest tell them that they already are.
No, not a single man, even such as Brighton had turned their backs, and despite the pained look on their faces and the intent in their eyes, it was still a show of where their true allegiances resided.
They were alone in this one.
And now she came to linger at their door, biding her time, as she always does. Her perfect, blackened lips quivering in anticipation of the medication that would satisfy her own hungering soul.
She had claimed two victims from the short light show of a few days before. Two unlucky men who would never return to embrace their families.
But the girl wasn’t to blame.
And even if you could, there was no amount of chastisement that could put her lower. She was there, on the knife’s edge, and even the slightest of touches would send her toppling over.
In Feilden’s mind, enough blood had been shed as of late, and so he spared her that indignity, but none of his rage. She lay shackled to the wall, with iron manacles braced to her arms and feet. Whatever sort of dark magic had caused such destruction among his men was sure to stay locked away, at least until he decided what should be done.
For now, he would fume in his anger.
But lucky for his son, there was nothing left that he could do to further harm him. Even physical pain would do little but leave scars in his flesh. The rest had already been done, and his spirit was slain.
Of course, if the girl were to be taken….
An envoy had been sent to the Emperor’s palace, informing him to make all haste in retrieving this newfound commodity, and the general was sure that this would at least get him some points on the board of promotion, at least to leave this blazing hole of a place. Something he had been looking forward to for a long time, ever since the Cardon incident.
Aviin had brought that back to his remembrance. It had never left him, to be sure, haunting, like all the rest, but at least he could mask it over with a suit of armor and slay those demons by the sword.
A flogging had been spared, by request of the men who insisted that Aviin was only acting out of a free spirit and a desire for the betterment of another.
True, in some sense, but it was still a selfish thought, and had put his entire regiment in jeopardy. An action punishable by death.
Aviin had been thinking, though, something he did often, and a new idea sprouted in his mind. While she was close, the dreams had become more vivid, almost to the point of smelling the stale grass and the scent of her warm presence.