Arctic Prison: King's Convicts I by Gail Z. Martin

Author:Gail Z. Martin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages), Epic, A Blaine McFadden Adventure, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: DreamSpinner Communications
Published: 2015-10-29T00:00:00+00:00

PART FOUR: Down in the Mines

Blaine’s dreams were dark. He was back at Glenreith, his family’s manor. The night was dark, and the wind was cool. Blaine heard his boots crunch on the gravel path as the wind tugged at his cloak and hair. The old formal garden hadn’t been properly tended for years, but the bones of its structure still remained: overgrown boxwood hedges that had once formed a neat maze and pathways that still wove in and out to make a complex pattern.

The flowers were dry husks, and overhead in the trees, dead leaves rustled with the cold wind. But Blaine was listening for just one sound—footsteps, behind him and growing closer.

He picked up his pace, moving deeper into the garden. A broken statue stood beside a stagnant reflecting pool dark with algae and fallen leaves. Blaine pressed on, shivering as the wind made the hanging bells of a garden decoration shimmer and ring. This night, they sounded like a dirge.

The steps behind him were not far away. Ahead of him was the old garden gazebo where he had often taken shelter as a child and hidden from his father’s tempers along with Carr and Mari.

Just as Blaine reached the shadows of the gazebo, the footsteps caught up to him. Strong arms seized him, spinning him around to face his attacker. The features were nearly obscured in darkness and fog, but Blaine knew his father’s eyes and recognized the malice in them as a hand tightened around his throat.

Old reflexes took over. Blaine swung hard with his right hand, landing a solid blow to his attacker’s chin. His left hand slammed palm-out against his father’s face, breaking the nose and gouging at the eyes. The man’s hand loosened its grip on Blaine’s neck, and Blaine bucked and twisted, throwing his attacker off-balance and then tackling him and wrestling his assailant to the ground.

He woke in Velant’s barracks on the floor, with his hand around Coan’s throat. His blanket and cloak had been kicked clear in the struggle, and the rest of the men were awake. Verran and Garrick tried to pull Blaine off of Coan, while Dawe and Piran warned for the men to stay quiet and disperse.

“What in Raka is going on?” Piran demanded. “Do you want to get us all thrown in the Hole?”

“If I were you, mate, I’d ask what Coan is doing out of bed,” Verran retorted. “No good reason for him to be over here, anywhere near Blaine.”

“Well?” Piran demanded as they pulled the two combatants apart.

Somewhere in the tussle, Blaine had gained a split lip, but Coan had definitely taken the worst of the fight. Coan’s nose was bloody and in worse shape than before, and a bruise on one cheek looked like it might blacken his eye. Moonlight streaming through the barracks window cast the room in shades of gray and deepened the shadows.

“He tried to throttle me while I was sleeping,” Blaine said, glaring at Coan.

“He had it coming!” Coan protested.

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