Heir

Chapter 4, Scene 5

Jorn sat in an isolated cell in the dungeon of Darkmoor Castle. The room was dank and dark. There were no windows in the cell. The only light that crept into this small chamber was some meager torchlight that seeped through the crack underneath the door. The stone wall Jorn leaned against was slick with mildew. There was nothing in the room but a small bed of hay, and even that was damp.

The young man didn’t know how long he had been in there. It seemed like he had gone a week without food, water, or light. His wrists and ankles were sore from the iron manacles that bit into his flesh. He had tried to sleep, but no matter how he lay, he was assaulted by the dampness and the hardness of the stone. The coolness of the room had sent him into a fit of shivers more than once.

He sat up strait when he heard movement beyond the door of his tiny cell. A moment later the door swung open and two men stepped inside. Jorn’s eyes strained to adjust to the torchlight that poured in from the corridor. It took a while for him to see clearly enough to make out his visitors.

The first man had his long, blond hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a gray and silver tunic with fitted black trousers. His clothes were not extravagant, but obviously of fine craftsmanship. He placed a short wooden stool in the middle of the room and then stood straight, perfectly poised.

“Have a seat, Boy.” He instructed. Jorn hesitated a moment, his eyes still adjusting to the light. The man nudged the stool closer to Jorn with the toe of his boot. Jorn grunted from the discomfort as he pulled himself to his feet. He closed the short distance between him and the two men and then sat on the stool as instructed.

“Do you know who I am, Boy?” The first man asked. Jorn shook his head to indicate he didn’t.

“My name is Leuther.” The man introduced himself. “I am the Steward of Darkmoor. I am the most powerful man in this shire. I can let you out of this dungeon right now, or I can keep you in here forever. Do you understand?”

Jorn nodded his head in the affirmative.

“Do you know who he is?” Leuther asked, indicating the other man that had entered the cell. Jorn looked past him to see the albino lurking by the doorway. He stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall, eyeing the young man like a predator eyeing his prey. Jorn gulped audibly before he nodded affirmatively again. Nearly everybody in Darkmoor knew the albino. Hoth was an accomplished hunter and warrior. What’s more, there were dark rumors about the man and his foreign practices. More than once, Jorn had heard grown men tell, in fearful whispers, frightful tales of how the albino could hunt by scent, how he would tear out his quarry’s throat with his teeth, and how he ate the flesh of fallen men.

“Good.” Leuther said coldly. Then, looking to someone beyond the open doorway, he snapped his fingers. A third man came shuffling in on bowed legs. It was Niels, the deformed hunchback that had convinced Jorn to attempt to steal the princess’ necklace. The same man who had helped him sneak into the castle and find her bedchamber. Jorn had wondered if Niels had been caught too when he’d been discovered. For a moment he thought maybe his showing up here now meant that he had, but then he noticed that Niels was not in shackles and that he came bearing a plate of food and a cup of water. Leuther took the cup of water and offered it to Jorn.

“Here,” he said, holding the cup up to Jorn’s mouth, “drink up.”

Jorn drank greedily.

“Do you know how long you’ve been in here?” Leuther asked casually.

“Uh, no Milord.” Jorn answered between long gulps of water.

“About a day and a half.” Leuther told him. “You must be starving.”