The Savage

Part 3: Chapter Four: Llewellyn

 'This is going to leave scars.' Llewellyn thought to himself as he hung from his wrists.

It was his own fault really. Davyth had gone to visit some whore and he had been feeling sick since the parley and wandered to the top of the tower for fresh air. 

From the top of the tower, Llewellyn gazed out over the battlements at the harbor; over crowded with Kallistosi ships. With their ocere sails and sweeping bowes. The salty air smelled of rotting fish and some other form of death.

"Impressive view, isn't it?" Said a low, gravelly voice.

Llewellyn jumped, spinning to see the Khaan standing behind him.

He chuckled, his white teeth flashing in the sunlight. "Forgive the intrusion, your grace."

"It is, Khaan." Llewellyn agreed.

"You look nothing like what I expected." Mehdoc commented, coming to stand next to Llewellyn at the battlements.

Llewellyn turned to look at the Khaan in confusion. "What did you expect?"

The Khaan shrugged and went on without looking at Llewellyn. "It's strange. You reject the most powerful tool you have."

"Which is?" Llewellyn asked growing uneasy.

"Your birthright as a prince. It protects you but you ran from it." He smiled coyly again.

Llewellyn darkened at the threat, "Protects me from what?"

The Khaan stepped closer, too close. Llewellyn could feel the other man's hot, minty breath on his face. "Me." He whispered.

Instinctively Llewellyn's hand went to his dagger at his side, but his fingers found the belt of his breeches. He had left his dagger with his clothes and Fia.

A soldier grabbed Llewellyn from behind and now here he was, chained and slowly bleeding to death.

When the Khaan came to question him he was flogged and cut as they demanded to know where Brenn and her army were.

"I know you ran with her." The Khaan had sneered.

This took its toll on Llewellyn but it was nothing to Colvin. Colvin came often using various spells and chants desperately trying to break the bond or use the bond? Llewellyn wasn't sure, but it ravaged his mind and body each time. Stole his strength, made him feel hungry and cold; sad and lonely. This magic was nothing like that of the Mathair. This was cruel and brutal.

Llewellyn wished he could tell if the bond had broken. Despite the beatings and abuse he had told them nothing. They had cut his face, his body and his ears. He felt broken and alone.

He shifted in his chains, the shackles rubbing his wrists raw. He could feel the blood trickling down his arms as he relaxed against the binds.

'It would be better if I could just die.' He thought mournfully.

From down the hall he heard the familiar shuffle of Colvin. The man walked with a slight limp making his approach unmistakable.

Llewellyn stiffened bracing himself for what was to come. He peered through the swollen slits of his eyes as the door creaked open.

Colvin scuttled over, keys jingling in his hand and floor length jacket over his arm. Leaning against Llewellyn's gaunt abused body, Colvin unlocked the shackles around his wrists. Llewellyn fell to the stone floor in an exhausted thud.

Colvin bent over him, "Can you walk?"

Llewellyn gathered his strength and grabbed Colvin by the throat.