Read Online A Sliver of Redemption by David Dalglish - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Dalglish
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crossed above his head, the chains hooked into the low ceiling. He sat on his knees, and when he tried to stand, he found another set of shackles holding him immobile.
“Don’t bother struggling,” Dunk said. “Not even a bit of chain on your feet, just locks attached to the wall. You’ll get used to it.”
“Dunk?” Deathmask said, feeling his patience waning thin.
“Dunk the Drunk,” the old man said, and he giggled as if it were the funniest thing in the world.
“Well then, Dunk,” Deathmask said, his voice turning icy cold. “Shut…up…now.”
“Shut it,” said the man chained to Deathmask’s right. “Your jabbering’s worse than the chains.”
There were five of them attached to the wall, and the other two chimed in their displeasure at Dunk’s talking.
“You’ll learn to appreciate me,” Dunk said. “I don’t recognize a one of you. Just wait. Third, fourth time you get tossed here, you’ll love to see a friendly face. Wish I was seeing one now.”
Deathmask smacked his head repeatedly against the stone wall behind him. They were bathed in dim light. Most of the torches in the windowless room were hanging beside the doors, with a few more surrounding the tables where the guards killed their time. One glanced back, distracted by all the chatter.
“Shut up, all of you,” the guard said, rubbing his bent nose, “or I’ll take a club and wail until my arms get tired.”
“He’s serious about that too,” Dunk said.
“Quiet!”
Dunk laughed as the guard stood, reaching for a club, but the old man said no more, and for that, Deathmask was eternally grateful. He decided when they made their escape, he would do his best to spare that guard’s life.
The thought of escape brought him back to the matter at hand. So far, he wasn’t being closely watched, and that was good. What was bad, though, was how restricted his hands and feet were. He twisted his wrists, testing their give. Very, very little. One by one he listed off the spells he could cast with such a limited motion. They were not many, and even worse, there was still the matter of the guards less than ten feet away. If he started whispering verbal components to a spell, all it would take was one to know what they were and mash a fist into his mouth to end all possibility of escape.
That left Veliana. He looked about, realizing that of the five chained by the entrance, all were men.
“Where do they put women who are brought in drunk?” Deathmask asked. The others ignored him, but Dunk just smiled. Deathmask asked a second time, and as the guards glared over, Dunk just winked and made kissing motions with his lips.
“Damn it,” Deathmask muttered. “Fine, Dunk, I’m sorry. Now, please, can you tell me?”
In answer, Dunk looked left and nodded his head toward a second set of stairs leading further into the prison.
“In chains like this?” Deathmask asked.
Dunk shook his head.
“Then like what?”
The old man shrugged his shoulders.
A roar rose from the tables as two men tossed down a week’s wages, each convinced of victory over the other. Deathmask used that chance to cast a simple spell. A flicker of fire shot from his fingers, just enough for him to get a better glimpse at the chains around his wrists.
Dunk’s eyes grew real big at the sight of the fire.
Another roar, coupled with laughter. The two guards had thrown down their cards, only to discover they each held the exact same hand. Deathmask tried a trickier spell, hoping he could manage the intricate movements of his fingers. Shadows curled down from the ceiling, swirling into his fingers and then pulsing into his veins.
“Dunk,” he said. “Can you lean toward me?”
“What for, devil man?” Dunk asked.
“Just do it,” Deathmask hissed. The rest of the guards were laughing and clapping the men on the back, congratulating both for the guts to bet such an amount, while both sighed with relief at knowing that, though they had not won, they
“Don’t bother struggling,” Dunk said. “Not even a bit of chain on your feet, just locks attached to the wall. You’ll get used to it.”
“Dunk?” Deathmask said, feeling his patience waning thin.
“Dunk the Drunk,” the old man said, and he giggled as if it were the funniest thing in the world.
“Well then, Dunk,” Deathmask said, his voice turning icy cold. “Shut…up…now.”
“Shut it,” said the man chained to Deathmask’s right. “Your jabbering’s worse than the chains.”
There were five of them attached to the wall, and the other two chimed in their displeasure at Dunk’s talking.
“You’ll learn to appreciate me,” Dunk said. “I don’t recognize a one of you. Just wait. Third, fourth time you get tossed here, you’ll love to see a friendly face. Wish I was seeing one now.”
Deathmask smacked his head repeatedly against the stone wall behind him. They were bathed in dim light. Most of the torches in the windowless room were hanging beside the doors, with a few more surrounding the tables where the guards killed their time. One glanced back, distracted by all the chatter.
“Shut up, all of you,” the guard said, rubbing his bent nose, “or I’ll take a club and wail until my arms get tired.”
“He’s serious about that too,” Dunk said.
“Quiet!”
Dunk laughed as the guard stood, reaching for a club, but the old man said no more, and for that, Deathmask was eternally grateful. He decided when they made their escape, he would do his best to spare that guard’s life.
The thought of escape brought him back to the matter at hand. So far, he wasn’t being closely watched, and that was good. What was bad, though, was how restricted his hands and feet were. He twisted his wrists, testing their give. Very, very little. One by one he listed off the spells he could cast with such a limited motion. They were not many, and even worse, there was still the matter of the guards less than ten feet away. If he started whispering verbal components to a spell, all it would take was one to know what they were and mash a fist into his mouth to end all possibility of escape.
That left Veliana. He looked about, realizing that of the five chained by the entrance, all were men.
“Where do they put women who are brought in drunk?” Deathmask asked. The others ignored him, but Dunk just smiled. Deathmask asked a second time, and as the guards glared over, Dunk just winked and made kissing motions with his lips.
“Damn it,” Deathmask muttered. “Fine, Dunk, I’m sorry. Now, please, can you tell me?”
In answer, Dunk looked left and nodded his head toward a second set of stairs leading further into the prison.
“In chains like this?” Deathmask asked.
Dunk shook his head.
“Then like what?”
The old man shrugged his shoulders.
A roar rose from the tables as two men tossed down a week’s wages, each convinced of victory over the other. Deathmask used that chance to cast a simple spell. A flicker of fire shot from his fingers, just enough for him to get a better glimpse at the chains around his wrists.
Dunk’s eyes grew real big at the sight of the fire.
Another roar, coupled with laughter. The two guards had thrown down their cards, only to discover they each held the exact same hand. Deathmask tried a trickier spell, hoping he could manage the intricate movements of his fingers. Shadows curled down from the ceiling, swirling into his fingers and then pulsing into his veins.
“Dunk,” he said. “Can you lean toward me?”
“What for, devil man?” Dunk asked.
“Just do it,” Deathmask hissed. The rest of the guards were laughing and clapping the men on the back, congratulating both for the guts to bet such an amount, while both sighed with relief at knowing that, though they had not won, they
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