The Broken Heir by Jasper Alden & D.K. Holmberg

Author:Jasper Alden & D.K. Holmberg
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: ASH Publishing
Published: 2023-01-08T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Captain Agren escorted Jorash and Talen through the tunnels beneath the stadium. They took a spiral staircase that curled into a tower seemingly protruding from the back portion of the fighting pits.

A door shuddered and swung outward, revealing a dingy space within. The odor of incense and honeyed mead extended from the interior of the tower, stopping the guards and young men where they stood. In the entry hall of the tower, ornate, gilded banisters curled into higher levels. Magnificent golden, jewel-encrusted weaponry of various sorts dangled from the wall. There were torture devices made of silver and opal, daggers made of gold and ivory, longswords and crossbows seemingly crafted from pearl and emerald.

Additionally, sitting behind a regal, oaken desk with curving patterns carved into the dark surface, there sat a thin, long-nosed man. The man appeared ordinary, save his ensemble. His clothing would have matched a good number of the items decorating the curvature of the walls around him—all golden thread and crusted with jewels.

The man peered out from behind silver spectacles studded with diamonds along the arms.

The guards ushered Talen and Jorash roughly into the chamber, prodding at them from behind with the hafts of their spears.

“What is this place?” Jorash squeaked out, receiving a swift kick to the leg.

“Quiet,” snapped Captain Agren. “Speak to the overseers only when spoken to.”

At that moment, a woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She was old but had the beauty of someone who had aged well. Her eyes, though, were narrowed beneath a severe brow as she took the stairs slowly, one at a time, walking barefoot to the main level.

Talen knew them based on descriptions he’d heard.

These were the overseers.

Talen twitched his nose, trying to keep his knees steady.

The man with the diamond-encrusted spectacles leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the oak desk. “Which of you,” he said in a creaking, aged voice, like the hinges of an ancient chest, “started the fire?” He glanced between the two with a supercilious look and an upturned—and very large—nose.

Talen hesitated, clearing his throat before shuffling his feet slightly. In a firm tone, he said, “I did.”

Before the words had fully left his lips, though, Jorash stepped forward. “I did,” he said, louder than Talen had. He refused to look in Talen’s direction, keeping his gaze fixed on the overseer behind the desk and the one still walking slowly down the stairs.

Talen tried to drag Jorash back, but the overseer behind the desk pointed to Talen’s arm and one of the guards gripped him from behind, yanking him away.

“You did?” asked the wizened overseer, tilting an eyebrow.

“I killed the ogre. I did,” said Jorash. “It’s true; I’m not lying. Here, this is the proof.” He pulled the small flint out of his pocket and angled it to catch the light from the torches. “See,” he said, “I used this. I killed the ogre. That means I should go free.”

Talen’s mind was whirring a mile a minute. He hadn’t expected this betrayal.

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