A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,35
just find you some work underground. There are many cobblestones there for you to clean."
He released her, and Treale gasped with the pain, and her legs shook.
Think of King Elethor, she told herself. Think of how you lay by his side, kissed his cheek, and flew with him. Think of the courage he gave you.
"Th-thank you, my lord!" she said to the guard. "I… I will serve Tiranor as best I can."
He snorted. "Yes, we'll make sure that you do. Quite often and quite well."
He grabbed her arm, digging his fingers so deep Treale gasped and thought he'd tear her skin. He began dragging her across the square, moving closer to the palace. Treale struggled to match his wide strides; when once she fell, he dragged her until she could walk again.
Think of King Elethor. Think of how you kissed his cheek. Think of the stars of Requiem; they shine here too.
Soon the palace loomed above them. The staircase rose hundreds of steps, ending with towering doors of ivory flanked by faceless statues, each larger than a dragon. Above this gateway rose walls and towers of limestone; the steeples clawed the sky. Treale was expecting a long climb, but the guards dragged her past this staircase toward a pathway alongside the palace. They walked along walls lined with archers. Fig and carob trees rose to her left; to her right rose the stone of Tiranor's center of power.
Finally they reached a small archway filled with a wooden door; a back entrance. More guardsmen waited here, spears crossed. The leathery-faced guard dragged Treale through the doorway and into the palace.
They moved through chambers and halls. The tiles gleamed white, and golden filigrees covered granite columns. Treale was hoping to see more of the palace; if any in Requiem still lived and hoped to fight, they would need the layout of this place. The guard, however, soon dragged her onto a staircase that plunged underground.
They descended for what seemed like miles, coiling deeper and deeper into darkness. Candles lit the rough walls. The steps were so narrow and craggy Treale nearly fell. Outside the palace, the sun had pounded her, and the heat had coiled around her like serpents. Here, as they descended, the air grew so cold that Treale shivered. Stairs led to tunnels, then stairs again, then doorways and more tunnels. This place reminded her of the labyrinth beneath Nova Vita where she and Mori would read books; these halls were just as dark and twisting. But Requiem's tunnels had also been warm and dry and safe. This place reeked of mold and echoed with distant screams.
Finally, after what seemed an hour of plunging, they reached a hall lined with cells, and those distant screams exploded like demons of sound.
Solina's dungeon, Treale thought and shivered.
"Sharik!" shouted the guard who held her arm. "Sharik, damn you. Come, boy. I have a treat for you."
At first Treale was sure the guard was calling his dog. When a burly, bald man came trundling up the tunnel, Treale realized: This was Sharik, and she was the treat.
"Sharik here, Sharik want treat," rumbled the man. "Give to Sharik!"
He had but three teeth, and moles covered his pasty lump of a head. He was wide and fierce-looking as a bull; a golden ring even pierced his flat nose. He wore a tattered canvas tunic, and a ring of keys jangled on his belt. His flesh was lumpy and pale like old turnips; Treale doubted the man had seen sunlight in a year.
The guard shoved Treale toward him, and Sharik caught her. The brute dug yellow, cracked fingernails into her arm. His breath assailed her, scented of rot. His nose sniffed at her cheek, and his tongue thrust out. Treale pulled back an inch, narrowly dodging the wet appendage.
"Give this one a job, Sharik," said the guard and laughed. "Have her empty your chamber pot, mop the blood off the floors, or even warm your bed at night if you please. I'll come for her some nights; on those nights she's mine. Do you understand, Sharik?"
The bullish man drooled and huffed. "Sharik likes treats."
He reached into Treale's cloak and tried to grope her. She struggled in his grasp, and he shoved her, then backhanded her. Pain exploded. White light flashed. She hit a wall, and Sharik raised his fist again.
"Sharik, no!" said the guard. "I want her beautiful. Do not scar this one. She is my gift to you; keep her pretty."