The Prisoner (The Dark Elf of Syron, #1) by Laura Lond

Author:Laura Lond [Lond, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 3

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The governor’s arrival to the Dormigan Prison was a sight to see. Fancy carriage, decked out horses, mounted escort of six men, also dressed up as if they were coming to a ball. Captain Torren couldn’t help wondering whom Malgrid was trying to impress. The prisoners? Most of them couldn’t even look out of their tiny barred windows.

He watched Malgrid Jorensen emerge from the carriage. A blue velvet doublet with gold trim, a matching hat, a flowing white cape.

Worthless fop, Torren thought, plastering the expression of respectful attention on his face. Please, Arian, don’t let him tick the Prisoner off.

“Good morning, Governor,” he said with a quick bow. “Where would you like to begin?”

“As if you need to ask, Torren,” Malgrid replied, his tone tired and annoyed. The moment he was appointed the governor, he had adopted this manner of a wise sage frustrated to no end by the stupidity of his subordinates. “I want to see the creature my brother caught.”

The warden had little hope to dissuade him, but he still tried.

“Are you sure you need to spend your valuable time to inspect the cells personally, sir?”

“Yes, I am sure. You’re right, I have no time to check them all, but I will most certainly inspect this one.”

“Very well. Please follow me.”

He led the governor and his six men to the main tower.

“You guard him well,” Malgrid commented as they climbed the stairs, seeing soldiers everywhere.

“I am doing my best.”

“I’ve read your reports. According to them, he causes no trouble?”

“No trouble so far,” Torren confirmed. “No attempts to escape.”

“Good. You know how disappointed the king would be if that ever happened.”

They stopped in front of the door; Torren ordered the guards to unlock it. Malgrid looked confident, but his next question betrayed a degree of discomfort.

“He is, of course, properly restrained, right?”

“Of course,” the warden nodded. “Feet shackled, hands tied.”

And if you had the slightest idea of how useless these restraints are, you’d never dare step through this door, he thought, watching the soldiers remove the iron bar.

They entered the cell. It looked like an ordinary prison cell now, except for being considerably larger than most. Torren had thought of building an extra wall to make it smaller, a wall he would later remove, but there was no time for that.

The Prisoner was sitting on a straw pallet in the corner. Torren cringed: his men overdid his order to tie him. Instead of just tying together the Prisoner’s wrists, they’d looped the thick rope around him several times.

Idiots! I should have supervised it, like I did the shackling!

However, the fact that the Prisoner was still here, and the guards still alive, indicated he was not too insulted and intended to keep his promise, at least for now.

“Well, well, well.” Malgrid stepped closer, looking the Prisoner over. “What do we have here? Isn’t this the great and powerful Dark Elf of Syron?”

The Prisoner said nothing. His eyes were, thankfully, brown.

Please, keep them so, the warden silently prayed.

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