Sunrise

Chapter Three: Misconceptions

The other prisoner's cell was bigger, and the stone in its floor, devoid of any feckless individuals sitting on it, slid open easily. Eilonwy climbed through the hole into the silence, holding her bauble up before her.

The man within was sprawled on the floor against one wall, as if he'd fallen asleep sitting up and slid down to the stones without awakening. She wondered for a moment if he were already dead, but as she crept closer, the light from her bauble fell upon his closed eyes and he emitted a rumbling snort. Mumbling something that sounded like "gi'me back...me tunin' key", he threw a long, raggedly-clad arm over his face, turned away from the light, and snored.

She giggled and held the bauble high to examine him. What she saw did not impress her: a long, lean scarecrow of a man, dressed in faded, once-colorful garments that seemed to have more patches than original fabric, his gangly legs wrapped in long strips of hide in place of boots. A swatch of pale hair stuck up in wild spikes above his overthrown arm, which rested on his long nose like a log on an andiron. His prominent cleft chin made her think of a blonde hedgehog's hindquarters.

After all Taran's insistence on his companion's importance, she had expected a more imposing personage. This scraggly fellow did not look like he could have a mission more urgent than a bath and a shave.

She started to kneel next to him and then hesitated, a surge of discomfort at such proximity to a grown man running through her. To be sure, he looked nothing like the sort of men she was accustomed to seeing, and he was a friend of Taran, who seemed trustworthy, but...

Achren had never been specific about what it was that made them dangerous. Vague, dire warnings, like bees, buzzed in her mind. Do not trust them. They are animals. When you are older I will teach you how to control them, but for now, stay away from them.

She frowned and shook her head; but fear welled into her throat and prickled at the back of her neck. The light of her bauble paled and flickered; in a sudden, uncontrollable moment of panic, she dropped it, plunging the cell into darkness.

She fell to all fours in the straw, frantic, clawing for the sphere, torn between the urgency of finding it and the terror of accidentally touching the other occupant of the cell instead. But her fumbling hands finally bumped against something smooth and round, and with a low whimper of relief she clutched it to her chest. Once again the light flared and the shadows fled.

The sleeping man snorted again, stirred, and groaned. The arm over his face slid away, and he rubbed at his forehead with a long-fingered hand. His eyelids fluttered and she held her breath, backing against the opposite wall.

The movement caught his attention and his eyes flew wide; he gaped, then struggled up to a sitting position. "Great Belin," he croaked, in a voice that clearly hadn't been used for a while, "who are you?"

"I..." Her voice was small; she swallowed, trembling, fighting back the poisonous whisper in her head. "I've come to...to get you out."

He stared at her blankly. "You...I'm sorry, what?"

He looked so like a fish, his eyes and mouth formed round as river stones, that the very idea of his being dangerous struck her as absurd. Lies. Just more of Achren's lies. After all, stories were full of men who were not at all like animals. Laughter bubbled up in her throat, pushing the fear out before it, so that what came out of her mouth was an hysterical gasp. He looked alarmed. "Are...are you all right?"

She covered her mouth with one hand, stifling the giggles that wanted to burst out, and gestured toward the hole in the floor. He glanced at it, and back at her. "You came out of there?"

She nodded, gulped, and finally managed to speak. "Your friend in the other cell sent me to get you out. Can you walk?"

"My friend?" he repeated, scratching his head.