Remnant of Power

Chapter Forty-seven

Mal

Mal opened his eyes. Outside he heard horses clopping across paving stones, men shouting and laughing, chains grating. Another day imprisoned in King Ulric's castle in Gelenburg.

Just like he had yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, Mal flinched as he heard heavy footsteps along the corridor. The door was quickly unlocked and thrown open.

"Breakfast!" shouted Grundle, and banged it down on the table. The soldier picked up the tray from the previous night and without saying anything else slammed the door behind him. Mal was caught off guard by the speed of the exchange; if he was going to overpower the soldiers he'd have to be alert all the time. Normally when they brought him food there was a group of them. Now he knew only one soldier might come on his own he would be prepared for that. One way or another he was going to get out of this room, one way or another he was going to get out of Ulric's clutches. By whatever means it took, he would escape.

He'd given up hope that Yavenna would come back for him. Either she'd been lying when she said she would, or something bad had happened to her. Perhaps it had just been a game to her, seeing what it would be like to kiss him. Maybe she'd just wanted to kiss someone young and handsome before she married the King. Unlike him, she'd been brought up as royalty, perhaps she just thought people were there to be used. And yet he hadn't sensed that in her, when he'd been with her. But it could be that he'd been so dazzled by her beauty he hadn't even be able to think straight. Well, now he was going to concentrate on what mattered. Getting himself free, and finding Yoldas. And then he would find some way to kill Ulric. Slowly.

He rolled his shoulders and stood up to look out of the window. Resting his arms on the narrow sill, he looked down on the courtyard where a large group of soldiers seemed to be stacking up wood.

His gaze travelled over to the walls of the city and he glanced at the midden. He swallowed, unable to believe what he'd seen. He spun around, grabbed the blanket off the bed and scrubbed the smeary window panes with it, desperately hoping that he was mistaken. He wanted to look at the midden again; yet he was deeply afraid. He felt his sleeve for the softest patch of cloth he could find, then spat on it and rubbed the window again. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he peered through the glass where he'd cleaned it.

Lying on the midden on his side was Yoldas in wolf form. He was motionless, and a dark red streak lined his body. One of his legs was twisted at a funny angle. Mal stared at him for an age, not allowing himself to think or move, just watching. Then as the truth of what he was looking at slowly spread through his brain he realized he was saying "move" to himself, over and over. "Move, Yoldas," he whispered. "Move, show me you are alive. Please show me."

But Yoldas didn't move.

Mal stood at the window for the rest of the afternoon. Yoldas still didn't move. The door opened and food was banged down, but Mal didn't notice. As long as he could see Yoldas, he had a link with him. As long as he stared at him, there was some chance that he could suddenly move, the tiniest, minutest, faintest chance that he was still alive.

Evening came. The sky grew darker. Soon Mal could barely see Yoldas. Still he stood there, and when the sky was completely dark and finally he couldn't see him anymore, tears ran down his cheeks. Still he stood by the window. Eventually, his legs became so tired that he slumped to the floor.

All because he didn't look back to see if Yoldas was still with him. I don't care what happens now, he thought. They've hurt him, and I wasn't there with him. He was on his own, in terrible pain. All this time he was probably wondering why I didn't bother to go after him, to find him.

Later that night he was woken by strange noises. Moving stiffly from the uncomfortable position on the floor where he'd fallen asleep, he forced himself to look out of the hated window. He saw fire outside the walls of the city. Men were shouting. He stood up and then lay on the bed, and eventually drifted into a fitful half-sleep.

* * *

It was dawn. He scrambled out of the bed and raced to the window. He looked at the midden. The normal pile of rubbish was there, but Yoldas wasn't. Did he imagine it? Was it a dream, like the one he had before? Hope soared in his heart. Twisting around he saw that his food was still on the tray, untouched, from yesterday. Then he looked back at the window and saw the patch where he'd rubbed it clean. His heart plummeted. It wasn't a dream. Yoldas was dead. He would never see him again.

Returning to the window, his gaze wandered across the plain, and saw a mass of people. There was frantic activity in the courtyard, and smoke everywhere. It must be the army. The army led by Timod. His friends would be with them. But it was too late for Yoldas, he thought. Too late.

oo hot to even M]h