Charms of the Feykin (Legends of Windemere Book 11) by Charles E. Yallowitz

Author:Charles E. Yallowitz [Yallowitz, Charles E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-09-12T23:00:00+00:00

10

“Disagree with me one more time and I’m knocking you out,” Delvin threatens while impatiently tapping his shield. The other Feykin stand behind him, their eyes filled with blind loyalty to the champion. “You’re outnumbered here and haven’t suggested anything better. Once night falls, Nyx and I will disguises ourselves as cultists and sneak in with half of you pretending to be new prisoners. Timoran will take the others around the back and bust through the wall to get the guards’ attention. Once his group is inside, the rest of us can attack and free the real prisoners. Nyx and I will handle the warden. How is this a bad plan?”

“It’s complicated,” Phelan points out, hoping to get a few nods of agreement. The lack of support causes him to curse and cautiously step out of the human’s reach. “What if you can’t get inside? They could recognize you and Nyx or they may even execute your fake prisoners at the doorstep. It isn’t like you’ll have proof that they’re being moved from the smaller jails, which might not be in operation anymore. Let’s also remember that this is their best prison and Dariana said that only dangerous transfers are made to this place. All others are here because it was the closest place to where they were caught. Nobody here looks like they would count as a real threat except for the barbarian. No offense.”

“That is actually a compliment,” Timoran replies with a smile. Putting a firm hand on the Feykin’s shoulder, he subtly moves himself between Phelan and Delvin. “I understand your concern, but there is risk with every plan. Take a look through the trees and tell us what you see.”

Humoring the polite warrior, Phelan walks to the edge of the barrier that Nyx has constructed to hide them from view. Making sure not to disturb the channeler, who is in a relaxing trance, the Feykin takes in the sight of their target. A large area of jungle has been cut down and burned to leave a circle of desolation around the dark red building. Built over the river without interrupting its flow, the prison is a distant hive of activity. Armed guards can be seen on the spike-topped walls while archers stand motionless in the corner towers. Gargoyles adorn several sections of the structure, some of them nothing more than grotesque faces looming out of the stone. Phelan assumes that the offices and cells have been built lower than the wall to prevent invaders from choosing an easy target. A series of high dirt piles sit near the western side of the prison, several shovels left impaled in the moist soil. The sight makes the Feykin’s blood boil as he realizes that the covered holes are mass graves for his executed brethren.

“I see a heavily fortified structure that is protected by monsters,” Phelan replies while returning to the others. Needing to keep his hands busy, he takes a seat on a rotting log and draws his dagger to check the edge.

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