Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 43: A Real Mess of Things

The rebels tied Libro to a cross shaped rack suspended along a wall, and were making a real mess of things. Moss and Cent were easily secured, but the trouble soon started once they discovered the Captain's missing arm.

"Tie it 'round his neck then," one of the rebels said. "That'll do 'em just fine, I reckon."

"And let him make a noose out of it?" Another one balked. "I'd sooner be kicked in the fruits then let the prisoner kill himself before the Jarla gets her hands on them."

Libro cocked an eyebrow at the name. A Jarla instead of a Jarl ran this particular part of the rebellion. He filed this information away for later.

"Tie it 'round his waist then!"

"I say we make a sling," another suggested. "Like my dah did for me that one time."

"Fark your dah! Let him hang for all I care! He's a royalist spy and we all know it!" An older looking man glared at Libro with one milky eye, spitting goddess knew what onto the cobblestone floor.

"There's actually a better way to hold him up if you tie it round his armpit," Cent offered

"Quiet," a rebel snapped back at him. "Or I'll gag the lot of ya!"

"I was just trying to help!"

"I said shut it!"

The room erupted with loud, angry voices as rebel shouted at rebel, Cent shouted at everyone, and Libro's head pounded worse than hammers on an anvil, veins throbbing with each passing heartbeat.

"Enough!" Libro roared, his voice booming within the cloistered, stone room. The crowd grew silent, rebels and guardsmen alike staring at him expectantly.

"Stop wasting the Jarla's time and tie me up by my armpit already! We have work to do here!"

And as if by magick, they obeyed. Without a word the rebels secured him in the appropriate place, relief flooding through the growing ache in his stump. He shook his head in disbelief as the Lightbringers hastily stepped back and watched him uncertainly. Nido's pearly white tits, but these people could do with a lesson on interrogation etiquette.

A heavy door creaked open as a new figure stepped into view, a woman in the early middles of her life, dressed in a well worn miner's smock, an old coat thrown over with various insignias and totems stitched into the leather. She jingled and rattled as she walked, reminding Libro greatly of the late Ohban, the old, snake mercenary he'd faced back in Middengard.

The woman's features bled into view as she drew closer, a tough leather patch draped over one eye, red bandana covering nose and mouth, the corners of a scar peeking out at an odd angle.

"My Jarla! We weren't expecting your arrival so soon," one of the rebels said, quickly bowing low before her presence.

The woman said nothing as she turned one copper eye on Libro, studying him, dissecting him, as if he was more an insect than a man. It reminded him uneasily of the Empress and her equally cruel stare. Without a word she waved the men away and they hastily retreated from view.

A hard silence fell over the room as the Jarla continued to glare, staring between Libro, Cent and Moss, as if unsure of where to start, or who to kill first.

Libro licked his lips. "My lady, if I may—,"

The rest of his words fell out in a dribbling wheeze as the Jarla shot an arm out and sank her fist into his guts, the wretched sound of flesh striking flesh echoing off the cramped, stone walls.

Libro gasped, gagged, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes as he fought to catch his breath.

"What the fark was that for?" Cent protested. "You have no right!"