The Fanged Throne

Chapter 21

Elora awoke groggily a couple of hours later, her eyes battled to open against the splitting headache that grew louder when she sat up. The four walls that surrounded her were constructed out of aged grey stone which made the room smell damp and musty. There was also a foul putrid smell that hung about the room, the smell so bad it had made her scrunch up her nose in disgust. Her top was damp from where she had been lying on the cold ground which was covered in dirt.

Her right temple pounded and when she reached up to feel her head, her fingers grazed over a tender lump. As if someone had opened the curtains at a window, the haze of sleep lifted, and she remembered everything. Panicked, she jumped to her feet, swaying for a dizzy beat before stabilising herself with a hand pressed against the wall. She remembered being taken and Banu being trapped by one of the men. Where was she? With growing dismay, she looked around to find her bag missing with growing dismay, which meant the troublesome coin too was gone and her broken sword was no longer tucked under her belt.

There was a tiny window high up on the back wall, the small square was too high for her to peer out of and too small to let enough light in to illuminate her surroundings. The door was old and made of solid wood and with no window either, she had no way of knowing where she was or what was outside. Feeling despondent at her dire situation, Elora slid back down onto the floor with her back against the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. She had grown up in a prison her entire life, yet somehow this prison felt different. More oppressive, it had felt as if the walls were closing in around her, getting smaller and smaller by the minute.

As much as she really wanted to, she did not allow herself to cry, for she knew if she started, she would not be able to stop. Her heart had beaten furiously in worry, wondering how on earth she was supposed to get out of this, if Banu was okay and if she would be okay. Who were these people, why did they take her and perhaps more worrying, what were they planning on doing with her? The thoughts in her head spun in circles making her dizzy and tired.  As the hours passed by, there was no sound. No thumping, yelling, clanking, or crying. Just complete silence. She knew this for she had sat with her ear pressed to the wooden door, waiting for something to give her an idea of where she was. The one thing she did know was that it was becoming night, the dull light had begun fading until the room was enclosed with darkness. With nothing else to do, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come.

The morning had come and gone when Elora heard the rattling of keys in the lock. Quickly she shuffled backwards into the corner, moving as far away from the door as she could. A man dressed in the same outfit as her kidnappers stepped through the open door, in his hand he held a wooden baton.

"Time to move." He commanded in a voice that was equally as dangerous as he looked. He stepped toward her and waved his baton to indicate that should she refuse, he had no problem using it, he was twice the size of her. Obediently she stood up, looking away from him and instead at the wall behind him. Together they exited the cell and came to stop outside the door, "You try anything funny and I'll flatten your fingers." He thumped the baton against her chest, "Understood?" Scowling at the brute, she nodded her head in confirmation.

The man removed the baton and placed a hand around her arm before leading the way. The passageway they walked down was as dark as her cell and smelt just as bad, although the man didn't seem bothered by it. He led them up a steep set of stairs and opened a creaky metal gate at the head of the steps, all without letting go of her. The gate opened up into a wide cobbled street and that was when Elora bent over to throw up. The smell was even worse out here, it hung thick in the air, so thick she could feel it weighing down upon her.

As she was bent over with her hands pressed against her knees, she discovered the source of the smell. On the floor, alongside her puddle of sick, were long thin, wet, red lines. The lines pulsated as the liquid flowed through them and with blinding terror she recognised them like veins. Thousands and thousands of blood veins grew and stretched along with the cobbled stones, up the walls and through buildings. The street was covered in pools of dark blood, some congealed and stagnant. Others trickled slowly down the walls and ground, like tiny red waterfalls. The warm metallic smell of blood floated in the air, forcing itself down her nostrils and made her stomach turn inside out again.  

The street was completely empty, there were no people and animals, the only sound she could hear was the gurgling and bubbling of blood flowing through the veins, like a small stream. The man had grown impatient and roughly yanked her upright. "What is this place?" she asked, gazing up into the sky to avoid looking at the street, fighting the urge to be sick again.

"Welcome to The Red City."