The Dorston Fall [Book I in the Dorston Legacy]

Chapter 45 - Only Human

"Come on, think man think!” grunted Sammy, as he kicked and punched at the wall in frustration. He’d hoped the adrenaline would get his mind working, but all it did was make him angrier. His body had started to ache but he ignored it. He just couldn’t think of himself, knowing Katelyn and her father were in greater peril than he. Thinking about it logically, he was safe. He was in an underground cell, under key and guarded as if he was in the danger, not the danger. “Come on Sammy. Just one thought, that’s all you need!”

He punched at the wall again. This time, his skin broke and the blood quickly ran down his arm. Now, the pain registered and he cradled it against him; pressing his shirt in the wound and wincing as it stung. It was a stupid move, but what else could he do? Pace until his legs collapsed underneath him? Sit down and wait for his fate and death to come knocking?

No.

He couldn’t do that, and he wouldn’t do that. The King may have been content with doing nothing for eight days, but he wasn’t. There had never been a time in his life when he wasn’t doing something. Even as a child, his mother and father had sent him out on random errands; gathering coals for the shop or collecting herbs and game for their evening meal. He was always going something; making himself useful, changing and bettering lives. He had found great relief and pride in it, knowing he had contributed to the working world.

But now, starting to pace the cell, Sammy felt pathetic and useless. The girl he loved was upstairs, alone and surrounded by enemies. His King – his reason for being in this wretched place – was up there too. Gods knew where he was, and what the Justice and Drake were doing to him.

He stopped, cupping his hands over his mouth. “Please be okay,” he pleaded, trying to ignore the dark thoughts that came rushing in. He couldn’t think of it. It made him sick; envisioning Katelyn helpless against the men’s advances, thinking of the King unarmed and beaten down in front of her. He could see her now, hear her screams and cries for mercy. He could see Drake’s cold, smug little face. He could see Snare enjoying every moment, laughing as if at a fool.

“Please be okay,” he begged again, looking up to the ceiling. “Be strong, just for a little while longer.”

Sammy sighed loudly, wishing he was able to see how bad his right hand looked. It was sticky and cold with his blood. How violent could he have been to cause so much damage? It hurt to exercise it, but he was useless without it. It was his working hand, his sword hand. How could he hope to defend himself and his Dorston companions without it? If he was to accomplish anything, he needed to move pass the hurt and make believe it was fine. If Katelyn could carry on with her own wounds, so could he.

He had to.

Awkwardly with his left hand, Sammy tugged at the helm of his shirt and ripped off a thick strand. Then, blindly, he wrapped it as best he could around his knuckles; gnawing on his lip as his sore skin protested. He would definitely pay for this later, but later could wait. Katelyn could not. His fingers twitched and started to beat their own pulse, but he brushed it aside. He’d had worse. Making his way back to the door, he stretched out the growing numbness in his hand and looked at his very limited options.

He needed to be on the opposite side of that door. That much was certain. He couldn’t do anything from within his cell. But how would he get from here to there in one piece, and without the bandits discovering him? He chuckled with his hands on his hips. Knowing his luck, whatever he did would draw attention and the very last thing he wanted was to be in another fight with those bandit brutes. He’d learned that the hard way, and he certainly did not want to relive it.

He needed to think of something and quick. He was wasting precious time, and only the gods knew how much longer the King and Katelyn had. He had to think of something. The future of Belran, as well as his own, was depending of this very moment; reliant entirely on him and his own smarts. The very idea should have made him tremble with dread. After all, he already had so much on his shoulders; so many promises. He’d promised his brothers that he would return. He’d promised his mother he’d protect them. He’d promised the King-