(Book 1 in the Jahaerys series)
The land of Lysandre is at war with their former colonies in the islands of Demetria. A widowed father, a childless mother, a cursed prisoner, and a kingdom concubine must band together from the cells of Nophis prison...
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The courtyard was a flat square of earth enclosed by large, barbed fences. The fences served no purpose due to the frozen wasteland the prison was located in, anybody foolish enough to attempt an escape would surely die from the cold and hunger, that or be torn apart by mountain mutts. Most of the northwest of Lysandre fell into the sector of Nophis, a land of ice and snow. It was far away from civilisation, apart from the few native towns that could face the freezing temperatures and food shortages.
Jahaerys knew Lycill would be here somewhere, he had a reputation of forcing the 'weaker' inmates into surrendering their courtyard time to him, guards didn't care as long as they met the quota of individuals outside. Free time outside was required, said to be for the welfare for the prisoners but more likely it was to act as a reminder there is no where for them to go. The harsh winter wind battered against the fences as they loomed inward, curving like barred teeth in a snarl. The sun was hidden by grey clouds, yet the threat of rain was non-existent, only snow and wind thrived in Nophis. Lycill would be with his goons somewhere on the yard, most likely by the weights, perhaps the frost glazed benches, either way he'd be surrounded by his fellow grunts. Jahaerys would have no trouble finding him, just follow the aura of stupidity and violence, or the smell of testosterone and toxic masculine prowess.
Lycill Lorcan was a rather short man for the audience he had gathered, considering a majority of prisoners stood over six feet (and that's just the human ones), instead Lycill was 5'9 at most, built with muscle but not stocky. He had shoulder length thick black hair and a matching beard, which most prisoners sported including Jahaerys. With no razors to groom facial hair, most male inmates had beards growing in various lengths, same went with their untreated locks. Where Lycill had intricately braided his longer hair out of his face, Jahaerys had left his unruly, brushing against his eyes as it tickled the space beneath his ears. Lycill was younger than Jahaerys by a substantial amount, barely over his 23rd name day and yet he had integrated himself in the group of the largest, meanest looking inmates. Him and his group occupied the far corner of the courtyard, directly out of the guard tower's sight and often the area the courtyard guards held their backs towards, most likely bribed to turn their eyes the other way.
The cold bit at Jahaerys fingers as he wrapped the prison issued cloak tighter around his shoulders, tucking his hands underneath his armpits. He stood by the entryway like a shadow, sensing his surroundings. Each breath burnt with frost, as the wind continued to batter his body. The howl of the gales deafening the courtyard chatter, but Jahaerys could still faintly make out the position of the group on the yard. He headed in that direction cautiously, prepared for any confrontation he may face when he approached the group of meatheads.
"It's the blind guy" he heard muttered as he got closer.
Lycill was lounged against a single bench, lifting up the prison weights in a bench press. He was surrounded by fellow weightlifters which included a large orc dead lifting a frozen rock as well as several other human men flexing or doing push ups to stay warm, as their bony human hands turn a dark shade of blue.
