Assassin's Rise by CJ Whrite Page B

woollen cloaks and sheepskin moccasins, but as they
drew closer, the guards flanking the prisoners saluted sharply.
    The man in the centre
lazily returned the salute. He was at least two heads taller than
the average man, a thick, black beard covering his face. His eyes
were small and dark, reminding Roland of tunnels burrowed into the
earth.
    “Six new bodies – and
just in time,” he said, his voice sounding oddly high coming from
such a large frame. “We are running behind schedule. Well done,
Captain,” he greeted the guard who had stepped forward upon his
approach.
    “Thank you, Lord,” said
the Captain and smartly about turned, facing the prisoners. “This
is Lord Alsoner. He will be your new master for as long as you draw
breath,” he told the bedraggled men. “You have been removed from
society. You are deemed unworthy to live among Calvanians. You
should be hanged and quartered, but the Duke of Darma in his
infinite wisdom has seen it fit to put your lives to use for the
greater good.”
    Jeklor snorted and said
dryly, “You mean he uses us to make himself richer still.”
    The Captain’s face
turned purple but Alsoner placed a restraining hand on his
shoulder. He nodded to a man at his side who wore a woollen cloak
similar to his. The man reversed his spear and slammed the but-end
into Jeklor’s stomach. Jeklor fell to his knees, dry-heaving, sweat
running down his face despite the chill.
    Roland stood his
ground; only his narrowed eyes and his clenched jaw showed his
anger. Jeklor was stupid. He was drawing attention. He was also
angry that Jeklor had insisted on accompanying him – he now felt
responsible for the fair-haired man’s life.
    “As the Captain said,”
continued Alsoner in a smooth voice, ignoring the kneeling Jeklor,
“your miserable lives are finally put to good use. Trust is put
into your unworthy selves to provide Calvana with her silver. This
is an honour and should I deem you ungrateful – I will simply kill
you.” He kept his voice conversational, but his eyes were cold as
he swept his gaze across the prisoners.
    “Take them to their new
quarters,” he said with a smirk.
    *
    At spear point, the
prisoners shuffled through the fort. Roland peered through his dark
hair, keeping his shoulders slumped to seem meek, trying to
memorise the layout of the fort. Directly through the entrance was
a large, open room, staircases at the sides leading to the upper
levels. The fort seemed eerily quiet – as if devoid of human
presence. Very few guards patrolled the fort and it struck Roland
as odd.
    They walked through
winding hallways, burning torches flickering against the walls,
shadows dancing alongside the shuffling prisoners. The fort seemed
far larger from the outside; it felt cramped on the inside. Roland
had time to wonder why the fort was build in the first place,
before a small iron gate blocked his way.
    Two guards flanked the
gate, spears in hand and swords hanging from their belts. Each
guard grabbed a wooden lever on either side of the gate and started
rotating the levers with wide, sweeping motions. Chains rattled and
the gate lifted with a screech.
    Spear points prodded
the prisoners from behind and they stepped through the gate. The
gate immediately fell down behind them with a clang, and Roland
noted that there were no levers on this side of the gate.
    “Hands out,” said a
guard and removed the wooden shackles from the prisoners’
hands.
    Roland rubbed his
wrists, eyeing the small room they found themselves in. The grey
stone walls ended abruptly against the mountain side, vertical rock
walls stretching up and past the ceiling. A tunnel (broad enough to
accommodate two men walking abreast) disappeared into the mountain,
the end out of sight.
    Roland now understood
why there were so few guards. To escape you had to go through the
gate, and it could only be opened from the other side. You would be
stuck in this room with no way out, awaiting Lord Alsoner’s
mercy.
    The