The Dorston Fall [Book I in the Dorston Legacy]

Chapter 38 - Hellmore

The citadel, in contrast to its walls and towers, was in remarkable condition. Twice the size of Sella’s keep, all of the walls seemed steady and complete, not as badly by fire but smothered in dead ivy and fungus. The roof, from what she could tell, was intact; however the distant sound of flapping, like fabric in a strong wind, caused her to doubt this. From the second, maybe third floor, a wide balcony stretched out into the air; looking out across the yard.

That must be where the Master sleeps, Katelyn thought; imagining what this Drake Lore looked like. Was he as ghastly as his followers? Or was he, indeed, a grand man with morals? She couldn't imagine either. He’d taken her father, her chance of a normal life. And he would pay for it.

She then inspected the roughly built stables, occupied by no more than a dozen horses of every colour and build. The wooden structure seemed to lean, dangerously, again suggesting its hasty assembly. Katelyn heard the rhythmic bangs of a hammer on metal. She looked to the far east corner and saw a smith workshop; alive with fire and work. Just outside were numerous racks bearing weapons: spears, swords, bows, arrows and shields.

Katelyn looked carefully at the faces of the men. All of them were dressed in their Justice attires, black from neck to toe, with swords on their hips and chain-mail on their torsos and arms. And they all seemed to wear the same solemn expression. A mark of their struggles and hardships.

She gulped, noting how they were all now glaring at her, as if she embodied everything they despised. Or desired. The idea made her quiver.

It was then, caught unaware, Katelyn was thrown - face down - on to the hard ground. She yelped, her lower back and abdomen throbbing with discomfort. All around her the men started to laugh. They stopped what they were doing and clapped their triumphant comrades on the backs.

Her heart roared with a ferocious heat. Her whole frame seemed to shake, uncontrollable anger threatened to break free. She may have tried to deny it in the past, but the obvious and the truth remained. She was the Princess, the heir to the throne of Belran. And look at her treatment! How could they do this? They would honourable, her uncle had said.

What a fool he was, thought Katelyn; swallowing the bile in her mouth and taking deep breaths. She focused on the present. There was no time to look back. She had to think of an escape plan.

I have to.

“Summon the Master!” shouted Snare suddenly, his feet landing in her line of sight. She looked up as best she could and glared at him; her lips pursed. He snickered, kneeling down in front of her and grabbing her chin. Her back immediately protested at the sharp and unusual lift.

“Welcome to our humble abode, Your Highness,” he hissed.

“Don’t so much as breathe on me, you pig” she snarled, jerking her head out of his grasp.

She fell back onto the ground with a moan. Dry, irritating dust swarmed around her; congesting her nose, eyes and mouth. It tasted earthy and rotten. She wanted to spit it out.

She heard Snare laugh as he got to his feet. He then cried: “Bring the poor lad forward.”

Her heart suddenly leaped into her throat. “Sammy,” she murmured worriedly under her breath. She heard the scrapping of feet, dirt being turned up. She tried to look round. A second later, he was cast down beside her. Landing sorely on his back and hands, he cried out; his chest panting heavily.

"Oh, you sons of-," he gurgled, blood streamed out at the corner of his mouth. Katelyn felt her stomach turn over, at the state of his once handsome face.