The Unseen Hand

Ch 26: Dessian Mercy

Meldi, Twelfth of Sund'im, 445 A'A'diel

The cliff face beneath the palace of Reyza concealed a subterranean network of storerooms, kitchens, and servants' quarters. The lowest levels held the dungeons and a tangle of natural seaside passages that stank of rot and mold. In the earliest days of Reyza, when a fortified tower had stood on the site of the palace, the passages had been used as prisons for the fledgling nation's most hated enemies. Dubbed 'salons' by a long-forgotten jailor, the dismal chambers remained as they had hundreds of years ago.

Unlike the cells in the upper dungeon, the salons were crude. Each consisted of a barred door and a single window carved into the cliff face to allow a narrow beam of sunlight to filter through the dank air. The outer walls were scored with cracks wide enough for seawater to flow with the rise and fall of the tide.

At the center of each cell stood a stout wooden pole with a set of manacles bolted at its apex. The chains were long enough to allow the unfortunate captive to stand upon a wooden rung during low tide with their wrists extended above their head. When the sea crept in, discomfort gave way to a fight for survival. The prisoner was forced to cling to the algae-slick pole and keep their head high to avoid drowning until the ebbing of the tide. Crabs, rats and other vermin took advantage of the perch. Through the years many a forlorn soul had chosen a watery death over the fate of a thousand bites.

In the darkness, the wail of a sobbing woman echoed from one of the salons.

"Please," the woman cried, struggling against her bonds. She was soaked to the bone, and her clothes were ripped to shreds.

"Tell me what you know of this Jarle or by the Gods I will rip out your tongue!" Rigo yelled.

"That would be counterproductive, Sire," Neylen said from the shadows. "Why don't you offer our guest some incentive, perhaps a cold glass of water?"

The woman's feet slipped on the wooden rung. She regained her balance, then looked up from under a bedraggled nest of curls. Her eyes looked from one man to the other, yet failed to focus. "I am so thirsty," she croaked, "please have mercy."

Rigo snapped his fingers to the jailer. The man stepped forward, keys jingling, and took up a wooden pitcher. He poured water into a wooden cup and held it to the woman's trembling lips.

The woman drank heartily, draining the cup in one long gulp. Rigo watched with disgust.

"Give her another," commanded Neylen, "and let us hope it brightens her disposition, else I sense less charitable acts in our future."

The jailer did as he was told. Again, the woman drank, nearly choking as she swallowed.

Rigo looked Neylen squarely in the eye. "You must be referring to your future. The ambassadors from A'diel have arrived, and they have their petticoats in a bunch. I don't suppose you want to explain to them why the price of marble is lower in Reyza than it is in A'diel."

"I defer to your mastery of diplomacy, Sire. It is a matter more suited to one with your skills." Neylen bowed. "Please allow me the menial task of debriefing our guest."

Rigo's voice echoed as he stepped out of the cell. "We will discuss the matter later."

Neylen motioned for the jailer to release the woman from her bonds. While the brute unfettered the shackles, Neylen stepped around to face his prisoner. He allowed a genuine smile to light his face. "My apologies, Mejtress Yara. Allow us to begin again on a more proper note." Neylen bowed with a practiced flourish. "I am Lord Neylen J'zab Akkalon of Cartuj."

The woman shivered, rubbing the welts along her arms where the manacles had dug into her flesh. She stumbled backward and slipped on the slick stones. With a thud, she struck the wall. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as she rubbed the back of her head. "Please," she said, "I don't know anything else. I swear it."