Dragon Tamer - Book 1

Chapter 77

They threw her in a hole in the ground.

In The Hall through a small doorway at the end of the corridor that held Roor's rooms, down some damp and narrow steps that twisted down into the earth that held a single wooden door at the end. Made of a heavy sturdy oak and covered in metal rivulets with a small metal grate at eye level, the base was mouldy and rotted, a testament to its lack of upkeep that spoke of its disuse. 

The two men heaved the door open with a scream of stressed wood in a warped frame and Roar steered her through it.

She stopped in the middle of a small, damp windowless room, the walls made of packed earth, the floor covered in wooden planks and new straw, placed, she assumed, before she came.

She turned and watched the two men struggle to close the huge door, and when it finally fell closed upon her she felt a chill seep into her bones. Roor stared at her through the grate, naked regret shining within his eyes, then he turned a key in a lock and walked away.

As soon as he left, Marcie began to panic. Her breathing hitched and she sucked in deep breaths to calm herself, her hands wringing. She began to pace around the tiny room. 

It was three strides wide and four long, her head skimmed the ceiling.

She kicked all the hay into a corner and marched from wall to wall. At least there did not seem to be any rats.

Her only light source was the faint light the came through the metal grate in the door, she drank in its weak sustenance gratefully, using it to calm herself.

Dara had perked up at her distress but now she quietly shut down her thoughts until he was a but a whisper on the edges of her mind and he would know nothing of her predicament and would not try anything untoward.

The light from her little grate slowly disappeared and she was left in a strange darkness that not even her enhanced eyes could penetrate.

With nothing better to do, she shuffled around, blindly piling all the straw into a makeshift bed. Then she curled up onto of it, pulled off her shirt and lay the thin material over her self and slept fitfully. Dreams of angry faces bearing down on her, watching her with undisguised rage and contempt.

She was jolted awake in the morning, by the scream of the door closing on her again. She scrambled to her feet and threw herself at the grate, just in time to see Roors tiny son Armin scurry back up the stairs, she shouted to him but he did not respond. Too scared of The Witch she thought, her lip curling in anger. It was not so long ago that Armin would gaze at her unembarrassed on the rare occasions she would sing in the Tavern. She vaguely remembered him being born for Goddess sake!  Had sung at the party that had followed (Roor having two much older daughters and lost hope of having a son). She had watched Roor's face split into one of his rare smiles, heard his booming laugh as Armin made his first steps through the village square, had played with him any number of times around the lake, she had even danced with him  last Passing. Had she shown him any reason to be afraid of her then? She stamped her foot angrily in a childish manner then sighed aggrieved when she saw she had put her boot in a small bowl of porridge on a tray with a pitcher of water, a bread roll and some preserve. She slumped down on the floor, cleaned her boot with some hay, salvaged the porridge and ate it slowly and carefully, licking the bowl clean. She drank a little from the jug, just enough to sate her thirst but left the roll  and preserve and remaining water, unsure if she would get any more food. 

Her anger subsided after she had eaten and all she was left with was sadness. Or, more accurately, hollowness. Emptiness. She was aware she might feel better if she let Dara back into her thoughts, but she was afraid of what he might glean and, she had no doubt, that if he knew where she was currently, he would rip the ground apart to get her out and all would be lost.