Stoc (A New Druids Series Book 3) by Donald D. Allan

Author:Donald D. Allan [Allan, Donald D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Copper Penny Publishing
Published: 2017-08-30T18:30:00+00:00

Brent awoke an indeterminate time later. Every part of his body was in agony. Kevin had tortured him for hours. He was sure it had been hours. That little knife... Brent shuddered and wept a little in fear. It had cut and left no pain at first. He watched it part his flesh and wondered at the lack of feeling and thought maybe God was protecting him again. Then a cold burn started along the cut and then excruciating pain followed. His throat was still raw from screaming. Cut after cut followed. He had lost count.

He lay on his back on the pallet and could feel that his back had bled long into the straw and was stuck fast to him. He could feel it tearing at his back with his breathing. Tears streamed from the corner of his eyes and filled his ears. He lifted his left hand to the light and stared at the single finger and thumb that remained. The blackened burned stubs along his knuckles showed where his three smaller fingers had been.

"Tomorrow will be the right hand," Kevin had said as he wrapped up his tools. "Be thankful your ears, nose and eyes remain. Include that in your prayers."

They had only asked one question over and over. Where was the gold? Where was the gold? Where was the gold?

Brent choked back a laugh that threatened to escape him. He knew if he let that laugh out he wouldn't be able to stop. Not ever. He forced the wrist of his maimed hand into his mouth and bit down to stop the laughter that bubbled up inside him.

He told them he didn't know where the gold was. He had hung on to the thread of that truth. It was true—he didn't know where the gold was.

But he was pretty sure he could guess. Oh yes, I'm sure I could guess.

He heard the lock of his cell door unlock quietly and he rolled his eyes toward the door.

It opened a crack, and he heard a soft whisper. "Brent? Brent is that you?"

Fear struck Brent when he recognised the voice. No, it can't be. Not here. Not now.

"Brent, damn you. Answer me!" said the voice.

There was no mistaking the voice and Brent whimpered. He kept his eyes on the crack of the door as it widened and he saw his brother's face peering in from the hallway.

"Go away!" he hissed. "Run!"

Frederick open the door further and crept into the cell until he was crouched over Brent's lying form. "Run? I'm here to get you out, you daft fool! What's the matter with you?"

Frederick was dressed in common garb. A simple shirt and rough spun pants. On his feet he wore cheap sandals, and he wore fingerless knit gloves. His face was smeared with dirt to hide his face from the light but it was an unmistakable face. Frederick gasped a deep breath when he saw the injuries to his brother. "By the Word! What have they done to you?"

"Nothing.

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