Damiynn
Fantasy Author
If you have been here for a while you know I have finished my first book, and have used the crits to finish my second book, the prolouges from both have told a different story than the actuall books, and some of you have been helping me with that. Well this is the third prolouge to go with the other two.
Prologue
The dank rank smell of old sweat and blood clung to everything in the lower levels of the holding pits. Lord Richard couldn’t keep the smell from permeating his nostrils, it was everywhere, but it was a small price to pay. If I am right. The worried thought cut through him like a worm through an apple.
The fighting slave’s owner carried a long pole. It was pointed on one end and he jabbed it in between the bars of a cell. “Get ye up! Go on get off your lazy ass, behave yourself, someone is here to see you.”
Through the bars of the cell door, Lord Richard saw a tall figure stand, bald headed, scarred and bloody. Although his wrists were manacled and all he wore was a burlap shift that could only barely be called clothes, the smell of death still surrounded him. He looked like a death shadow moving, a killer with no conscious and no morals other than to survive.
Dried blood covered his face, neck and chest and to Richard’s eyes at first he looked nothing like the man Richard remembered him being, but it was him.
“Raise your damn head so that the good lord can see you.” The stick shot out but just before it caught the bald headed man in the chin, his voice rasped out in a snarl, “If you touch me with that thing again, you will never touch anyone again.”
The long stick stopped inches from the slave’s chin. It hung in the air for a few moments, then it began quavering and fell to the floor.
Lord Richard watched the exchange, he still had the air of command he remembered, for that he was grateful, it spoke a lot about his spirit. You might be able to take the man out of a leader’s role, but you would find it hard to take the leader out of a man.
“Please raise your head,” Lord Richard asked, his voice also carrying the tone of command but not enough to offend.”
A haunted mask of a face lifted to meet his eyes. It was a haggard shattered remnant of the one that he knew it to be. One thing was still the same, the eyes that met his. In spite of their haunted look, that made them appear as if they had seen every specter in a graveyard, it was still him.
“How long will you fight for, no matter how long it is you can never atone for what happened, and if you haven’t by now, I’m sure the gods don’t want you to.”
“What are you talking about?” growled the man behind the cell door. “You couldn’t understand!”
“I know why you are fighting.” Stated Lord Richard gently, his voice even and calm, “If you agree and stop doing it here, I promise I will give you a reason to live again someday. A reason you will need to fight for.”
“All I fight for is dead,” stated the fighting slave behind the cell door.
“Yes I know, they all died that night, of that almost all are certain,” returned Lord Richard.
Suddenly bloody hands shot out and grasped the bars on the cell door, turning white knuckled hot, they squeezed. “Almost all are certain, what do you mean,” a harsh voice growled. “None lived, except me!”
“And you can’t die here.” Lord Richard solemnly said. The eyes behind the cell door met his, dark brown ones that stared into his steel grey.
“I know you have tried. It won’t happen. Come with me, live with me, swear oaths to me and I promise you with all my heart that someday I will give you a reason to want to live again. A reason I am certain of.” Lord Richard allowed his voice to trail off and there was a noticeable silence in the holding pits, a quiet sort of tension that seemed to grip the room in a tight fist.
Finally the hands holding the bars released them, and slip slowly back inside of the cell. Richard saw the head lower and heard a voice say, “You have my oath I will follow you till you give me a reason to want to live again.”
Lord Richard turned and eyed the holding slave’s keeper. “Free him, get him out of those rags, give him a sword, and tell him to meet me out front.”
The holding cells keeper, bowed his head quickly, saying, “As you wish my lord, so shall it be immediately.”
Lord Richard turned away from the beaten battered fighting slave who had once been protector to the king and queen and walked outside, hoping that he could keep all this and everything else secret until the proper time came.
Prologue
The dank rank smell of old sweat and blood clung to everything in the lower levels of the holding pits. Lord Richard couldn’t keep the smell from permeating his nostrils, it was everywhere, but it was a small price to pay. If I am right. The worried thought cut through him like a worm through an apple.
The fighting slave’s owner carried a long pole. It was pointed on one end and he jabbed it in between the bars of a cell. “Get ye up! Go on get off your lazy ass, behave yourself, someone is here to see you.”
Through the bars of the cell door, Lord Richard saw a tall figure stand, bald headed, scarred and bloody. Although his wrists were manacled and all he wore was a burlap shift that could only barely be called clothes, the smell of death still surrounded him. He looked like a death shadow moving, a killer with no conscious and no morals other than to survive.
Dried blood covered his face, neck and chest and to Richard’s eyes at first he looked nothing like the man Richard remembered him being, but it was him.
“Raise your damn head so that the good lord can see you.” The stick shot out but just before it caught the bald headed man in the chin, his voice rasped out in a snarl, “If you touch me with that thing again, you will never touch anyone again.”
The long stick stopped inches from the slave’s chin. It hung in the air for a few moments, then it began quavering and fell to the floor.
Lord Richard watched the exchange, he still had the air of command he remembered, for that he was grateful, it spoke a lot about his spirit. You might be able to take the man out of a leader’s role, but you would find it hard to take the leader out of a man.
“Please raise your head,” Lord Richard asked, his voice also carrying the tone of command but not enough to offend.”
A haunted mask of a face lifted to meet his eyes. It was a haggard shattered remnant of the one that he knew it to be. One thing was still the same, the eyes that met his. In spite of their haunted look, that made them appear as if they had seen every specter in a graveyard, it was still him.
“How long will you fight for, no matter how long it is you can never atone for what happened, and if you haven’t by now, I’m sure the gods don’t want you to.”
“What are you talking about?” growled the man behind the cell door. “You couldn’t understand!”
“I know why you are fighting.” Stated Lord Richard gently, his voice even and calm, “If you agree and stop doing it here, I promise I will give you a reason to live again someday. A reason you will need to fight for.”
“All I fight for is dead,” stated the fighting slave behind the cell door.
“Yes I know, they all died that night, of that almost all are certain,” returned Lord Richard.
Suddenly bloody hands shot out and grasped the bars on the cell door, turning white knuckled hot, they squeezed. “Almost all are certain, what do you mean,” a harsh voice growled. “None lived, except me!”
“And you can’t die here.” Lord Richard solemnly said. The eyes behind the cell door met his, dark brown ones that stared into his steel grey.
“I know you have tried. It won’t happen. Come with me, live with me, swear oaths to me and I promise you with all my heart that someday I will give you a reason to want to live again. A reason I am certain of.” Lord Richard allowed his voice to trail off and there was a noticeable silence in the holding pits, a quiet sort of tension that seemed to grip the room in a tight fist.
Finally the hands holding the bars released them, and slip slowly back inside of the cell. Richard saw the head lower and heard a voice say, “You have my oath I will follow you till you give me a reason to want to live again.”
Lord Richard turned and eyed the holding slave’s keeper. “Free him, get him out of those rags, give him a sword, and tell him to meet me out front.”
The holding cells keeper, bowed his head quickly, saying, “As you wish my lord, so shall it be immediately.”
Lord Richard turned away from the beaten battered fighting slave who had once been protector to the king and queen and walked outside, hoping that he could keep all this and everything else secret until the proper time came.
