Dreisterne

CHAPTER 26

The dying light of the sun slanted through the narrow, barred window of the dungeon cell, painting a thin amber stripe across Nathan's face. He leaned closer to it, seeing the distant towers of Londinium still catching the last light of the day, their silhouettes aglow against a bruised violet sky.

He, Harald, and Keith had stayed in this cell within Evendove Keep for more than a day now, and he could feel the minutes pass by with painful slowness towards their untimely end come next dawn. The air down here was thick, rank with the smells of damp stone, rust, and the lingering stench of mildew. Somewhere in the corridor beyond, a rat scurried, claws scratching faintly against the cold floor.

Behind him, Keith sat slumped against the wall, head bowed, idly tracing a pattern on the floor with his boot. Across from him, Harald paced about, his every step brimming with the remnants of indignation.

"I tell you, Nathan," Harald muttered, his voice still taut from earlier, "it is utterly scandalous! Imprisoning men of honour without so much as a hearing is a farce dressed in the trappings of justice!"

Nathan turned slightly, his expression tired but sympathetic. "Harald, shouting won't make them listen. You've already earned yourself one bloody nose for your troubles."

"Ha! Better a bloody nose than a still tongue in the face of injustice!" Harald proclaimed, puffing out his chest before he deflated, glancing ruefully at the bars. "...Though I admit, my eloquence seems wasted upon men who could not spell the word."

Keith let out a humourless chuckle, still staring at the floor. "Just sit down, guv. The baron's grieving, and they found convenient scapegoats standing in the 'crime scene'. His son dies, and now we're the ones to swing for it. Fair trade, innit?"

"Nein," Harald said, taking his seat at last. "Not remotely."

Nathan sank down beside them, resting his back against the wall. "At least the baron was kind enough to let his Healers treat us before we got into this cell."

Keith tilted his head toward him, a spark of his old defiance flickering back. "Yeah, that's kind of the man and all, but we're still going to the gallows anyway. I'd prefer crashing down that damned door and die on my feet fighting my way out of here." He turned to Harald. "Remember that trick you did at Sherketh, H?"

"What trick?" asked Harald, one of his eyebrows raised.

"Y'know, the one where you've burned through the ropes by heating up your fingers? Maybe you could do something about those door hinges?"

Harald rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing in thought. He hated having to rain on Keith's parade, especially when the redhead looked incredibly hopeful with his query. He spoke, "That would certainly make things easy. Alas, I have not had enough practise with that technique."

"C'mon, guv! Those ropes were thick! Sure, it took some time, but you got us out, yeah?" said Keith.

Harald exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "That trick worked because, thick as it was, the rope was still small and made of hemp. The material facilitated even my crude technique, although I had to be patient in the process," he said.

The pyromancer glanced at his hands, flexing his fingers as though they still remembered the burn. "The Mana circulation is like the body, Herr Nimbus. Ask it to move in ways it does not yet understand, and it will obey. Once, perhaps twice. Then it collapses." A thin, humourless smile touched his lips. "You saw what happened after Sherketh. After I had spent my time and energy burning those ropes, I could not even cast a single fireball without my blood turning to fire in an instant. I need time and training to familiarise myself with that trick before I can rely on it."