Читать книгу A Forge of Valor - Морган Райс, Morgan Rice - Страница 14

Duncan tried to blot out the pain as he drifted in and out of sleep, lying back against the stone wall, the shackles cutting into his wrists and ankles and keeping him awake. More than anything, he craved water. His throat was so parched, he couldn’t swallow, so raw that each breath hurt. He could not remember how many days it had been since he’d had a sip, and he felt so weak from hunger he could barely move. He knew he was wasting away down here, and that if the executioner didn’t come for him soon, then hunger would take him.

Duncan drifted in and out of consciousness, as he had for days, the pain overwhelming him, becoming a part of who he was. He had flashes of his youth, of times spent in open fields, on training grounds, in battlefields. He had memories of his first battles, of days gone by, when Escalon was free and flourishing. These were always interrupted, though, by the faces of his two dead boys, rising up before him, haunting him. He was torn apart by agony, and he shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to make it all go away.

Duncan thought of his last remaining son, Aidan, and he desperately hoped he was safe back in Volis, that the Pandesians had not reached it yet. His mind then turned to thoughts of Kyra. He remembered her as a young girl, recalled the pride he had always taken in raising her. He thought of her journey across Escalon and he wondered if she had reached Ur, if she had met her uncle, if she was safe now. She was a part of him, the only part of him that mattered now, and her safety mattered more to him than being alive. Would he ever see her again? he wondered. He craved to see her, yet he also wanted her to remain far from here, and safe from all of this.

The cell door slammed open, and Duncan looked up, startled, as he peered into the darkness. Boots marched in the blackness, and as he listened to the gait, Duncan could tell they were not Enis’s boots. In the darkness, his hearing had grown more acute.

As the soldier approached, Duncan figured he was coming to torture or kill him. Duncan was ready. They could do with him as they pleased—he had already died inside.

Duncan opened his eyes, heavy as they were, and looked up with whatever dignity he could muster to see who was coming. There, he was shocked to see, was the face of the man he despised the most: Bant of Barris. The traitor. The man who had killed his two sons.

Duncan glowered back as Bant stepped forward, a satisfied smirk on his face, and knelt before him. He wondered what this creature could possibly be doing here.

“Not so powerful now, are you, Duncan?” Bant asked, just feet away. He stood there, hands on hips, short, stocky, with narrow lips, beady eyes and a pockmarked face.

Duncan tried to lunge forward, wanting to tear him apart—but his chains held him back.

“You shall pay for my boys,” Duncan said, choking up, his throat so dry he couldn’t get out the words with the venom he wished.

Bant laughed, a short, crude sound.

“Shall I?” he mocked. “You’ll be breathing your last dying breath down here. I killed your sons, and I can kill you, too, if I choose. I have the backing of Pandesia now, after my display of loyalty. But I shall not kill you. That would be too kind. Better to let you waste away.”

Duncan felt a cold rage bubbling up within him.

“Then why you have come?”

Bant darkened.

“I can come for any reason I wish,” he scowled, “or for no reason at all. I can come just to look at you. To gape at you. To see the fruits of my victory.”

He sighed.

“And yet it so happens, I have a reason to visit you. There is something I wish from you. And there is one thing I am going to give you.”

Duncan looked back skeptically.

“Your freedom,” Bant added.

Duncan watched him, wondering.

“And why would you do that?” he asked.

Bant sighed.

“You see, Duncan,” he said, “you and I are not so different. We are both warriors. In fact, you are a man I’ve always respected. Your sons deserved to be killed—they were reckless blowhards. But you,” he said, “I’ve always respected. You should not be down here.”

He paused, examining him.

“So this is what I will do,” he continued. “You will publicly confess your crimes against our nation, and you shall exhort all citizens of Andros to concede to Pandesian rule. If you do this, then I shall see that Pandesia sets you free.”

Duncan sat there, so furious he didn’t know what to say.

“Are you a puppet for the Pandesians now?” Duncan finally asked, seething. “Are you trying to impress them? To show them that you can deliver me?”

Bant sneered.

“Do it, Duncan,” he replied. “You are no good to anyone down here, least of all yourself. Tell the Supreme Ra what he wants to hear, confess what you’ve done, and make peace for this city. Our capital needs peace now, and you are the only who can make it.”

Duncan took several deep breaths, until he finally summoned the strength to speak.

“Never,” he replied.

Bant glowered.

“Not for my freedom,” Duncan continued, “not for my life, and not for any price.”

Duncan stared at him, smiling in satisfaction as he watched Bant redden, then finally he added: “But be sure of one thing: if I ever escape from here, my sword will find a spot in your heart.”

After a long, stunned silence, Bant stood, scowling, stared down at Duncan, and shook his head.

“Live a few more days for me,” he said, “so that I can be here to watch your execution.”