“Who the hell cares?” said one prisoner. “Just shut up and take it.”
“The lordover’ll hear about this,” said another.
“Extra meal rations for a week might keep us quiet about it, though,” said a third.
Such a mixed reaction from his fellow inmates reminded Tyr that he hadn’t made much of an effort to win friends here, but at least the attack was halted. For now. He hated to think he would have to call in his favors to corroborate this assault.
Black-beard got to his feet and yanked his trousers up. “You gotta go to sleep sometime,” he said with a sneer.
The guard picked up his candle. In its flickering light, Tyr could see his eyes were bloody. He smirked, certain he could use this proof to get the warden and guard fired for their attack or at least branded.
He was wrong. He had only the guards to hear his complaint the next morning, and it went unreported, as did his demands to see the lordover. Over the next few weeks, he slept as he could during the day and remained watchful at night.
One afternoon, he was awakened by the bells in the temple tolling. He counted twenty times, though it may have been twenty-one. The other prisoners speculated and bet each other on the reason for it, but Tyr had no guess as to why they would be ringing. Later that day, a new guard with puppy eyes and a boyish smile arrived with the slop bucket and spilled the news: dignitaries across Thendylath, as well as a few visiting from friendly nations, had come to watch Kinshield receive his crown in a huge ceremony.
So it was official, Tyr thought. He wasn’t surprised. The warrant knight had taken the gems from the rune tablet — a feat Tyr had attempted many times over the years — and that was proof enough to the people Gavin Kinshield deserved to rule Thendylath.
It started raining the next day. It rained for one week, then another, then another. Tyr couldn’t help but wonder whether the gods were drowning Thendylath in retribution for putting a ’ranter on the throne. It seemed fitting somehow.
Late one morning, roughly three weeks after the coronation, the clang of the door being unlocked echoed down the narrow corridor, followed by two pairs of boots clomping rhythmically on the stone floor. With every approaching footstep, keys on an iron ring jingled a tune that made Tyr’s grumbling stomach sing in anticipation. The other prisoners began to complain loudly when the guards didn’t stop at their cell doors. Not feeding time. Perhaps someone would be freed. Or put to death.
The warden’s ugly bearded face filled the small window of his cell door and Tyr’s heart with apprehension.
Chapter 3
Water ran down the slopes of the mountains that embraced the capitol city of Tern, streaming from every direction to converge and rush down the main road. It covered the street, gushing downhill and threatening to carry with it anything or anyone not heavy enough or tied down strongly enough to resist its force. Those whose homes sat at higher elevations used bags of sand and gravel to direct the water around their houses instead of through them. Others weren’t so lucky and had to abandon their homes and seek refuge with relatives or friends whose houses had not yet flooded.
The River Athra, swollen to the tops of its banks, roared through the city like an angry beast. The river that provided the citizens of Tern its drinking water now threatened their lives with its crumbling banks and overflow.
Gavin Kinshield called for a halt where the water had started to spill over the eroded bank and form a rivulet that, if left unchecked, would damage the homes and businesses in its path. “Let’s build this bank up here,” he shouted over the roar of the river. He swung down from the back of his warhorse and joined the dozen others with him in unloading sandbags from their wagon. The people working alongside him, men and women who served as battlers and carpenters and cooks and acolytes of the church, formed a line and began passing sandbags from the wagon to where Gavin received and stacked them on the bank. With his great height, every time he bent down to place a bag, the cloak on his back shifted forward and got in the way. It wasn’t keeping him dry anyway, and so he pulled it off and tossed it