Blood of the Ancient - The Helix Rebellion saga #1

Chapter 35

Logan lay uncomfortably, on the wet moulding floor, counting every breath in a bid to remain half-sane. It could have been days, or even weeks since he had last seen any light. The only contact he had received, was when the tray-man slid in a freshly-baked tray of rotting slop through some sort of a slot in the wall or door. It was impossible to tell the direction of where it came from as it was completely pitch-black inside the small room. He had no idea if the tray-man came once daily, or perhaps even less than that. But he was grateful that he came at all, sporadically as it was, for it gave his weakened mind something to concentrate on. It was also a twisted attempt to establish some sort of grasp on the continuance of time. Was it day, or was it night? He had no idea.

Every now and again, when the headaches from his recent head trauma subsided, he thought of Rhea. It pained him deeply to think of how they had parted. But he had no other choice, he told himself. Protecting Rhea was the only job he could fulfil at that moment in time. They had failed their revolution. He had failed. And he so almost had his foot in the castle door, he knew he had come so close to making President Malik pay for his crimes. But for now, his sinful reign goes on.

"Ezra..."

Logan's sad voice was gruff and hoarse sounding, probably due to the lack of fluids passing along and lubricating his oesophagus. The big man had died with honour, giving his life for something that he had strongly believed in. He wanted to make this world a better place for everyone to live in, not just for the greed of a select few. His memory of Ezra, lying on the sodden grass was suddenly torn from his mind. The sound of a huge metal crossbar bolt was scraped noisily along its cleats, soon followed by another two. Logan backed away from the sound, pushing himself along the dirty floor and into the corner of the room. A bunch of keys rattled as the jailer inserted the correct one into the door lock, twisting the groaning handle at the same time. The door slowly creaked open, and a bright light shone through the oubliette, illuminating a tired and withered looking Logan. He twisted his face and held his hands up in an attempt to block out some of the light, as the brightness was unbearable. His headache returned. A tall man ducked low under the door frame and entered.

"Logan, Logan, Logan." The man sighed. He placed the lantern he carried onto the floor in front of him, then lowered himself onto a small stool that the jailer had unfolded for him. "How are you feeling son? Are they feeding you well?" The man grinned as he looked at Logan's scrawny body slithering for protection against the far wall, clearly in need of a meal. He wore only a loin-cloth, as per Malikan Law. Any prisoner facing the gallows was stripped of any personal possessions and clothing, and left to rot in the stinking oubliette, breaking apart their minds in the process and making the hanging ceremony that little bit easier for the guards.

"Who are you...?" Logan asked with a frightened voice.

The man lifted his head so his face could be seen in the light from the burning oil. "My name is Rutger, but you can call me Lance's bitch if you'd like," A wide smile covered his scarred face. Logan wondered if the colour in each of the man's eyes were different, or if it was only an illusion from the dazzling beacon in the centre of the room, emitting fresh light into his deteriorated retinas. He was wearing a very relaxed looking form of armoured garb, perhaps an attire that was worn when off-duty, however, it still produced a token gesture of protection, reminding those lesser ranked of his authority. Rutger twisted his face, as if in pain. "You can blame me, for that lump on your head." He rubbed the back of his head frantically, mocking Logan.

"You're a Paladin?" Logan asked.

Rutger lowered his head in a salute. "That's correct son," He raised his head and focused his attention on Logan once again. "Second only to Lance Malik himself." He saw the bitter reaction from the cowering man when he mentioned the name. "You made a big mistake son, trying to take the life of the President."