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For my part, though, I don’t even entertain the notion of redemption. It’s too late for me. My life will be lived out in this cell, and then given to whoever decides to cut it short. Whether it be a trolvor, a soz’garoth, or one of those gilaks they mentioned.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to get some rest.
After a time, one of the jackal headed demons clangs on the bars to wake me. “Dinner,” he growls, dropping a heaping plate of slop just outside the bars.
I’m starving.
I don’t even think about it when I reach, the chain halting my motion with a sudden jerk. My fingers barely scrape the stone next to it. I tug against the restraints anyhow, pain lancing up my arms at the effort.
The guard’s upper lip curls as if in amusement. He could push the plate an inch forward, and I’d be able to reach it. He could show mercy, but I’m not sure they’re capable of such a thing. “Please,” I beg him, my voice ragged and parched. “I’m so hungry.”
“Pity,” he says, chuckling at my predicament.
Fresh tears come, as if I have any water left in my body.
My eyes are blinded as the shadow leans over me. “Is it true, what they say?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before speaking again. “That humans will do anything for their masters?”
I nod my head vigorously.
I don’t care that he’s leering. Starvation and survival have gotten the better of me, and maybe I would do anything to live another day, even though there’s little to look forward to in my circumstance. “Yes,” I whisper, catching the bars and trying to lever up. “Yes, I’ll do anything. Just don’t leave me like this. Please…”
“Good,” he murmurs, kicking the plate over so that its contents hit the ground between the bars. “Eat up. You have a big day tomorrow.”
I hardly hear him as I shovel the food into my mouth with bare hands.
It’s strange and foreign, hardly more than unflavored meal that’s been soaked too long to create a gray paste. But it’s something. I can feel him staring at me, disgusted at how I’m eating, but they’ve given me little choice. I can’t afford to consider what I must look like, scraping the slop from between the grooves of the stone so to lick my fingers clean.
He issues a grunt before leaving, slamming the door behind him.
In the quiet of my cell, I slow, reflecting on what I’ve become since the King of Demons called out to me. It was through visions that he first contacted me, when I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. His words were a soothing presence, one that promised a better life for me and my family, if only I did exactly as he said.
At least in the camp, I had dignity.
If I minded my own, and kept my head down, I could live another day without being targeted by our dark elf masters. We could grow food and eat at a table like civilized slaves. Here, all I’ve seen is strife and suffering.
Much of it caused by me.
My fingers are still sticky with the meager meal, and I haven’t seen a bath in over a week. My hair is matted and dull, and my skin itches from the ever present filth of the cells. When they finally let me out into the daylight, I will be a stranger to the sun. And when the fullness of the food subsides, I’ll grow cold again.
I curl up tighter to keep the warmth in and close my eyes.
Maybe I’ll dream of someplace better.
32
REJ’THOREK
The gates into Ti’lith are closed.
I roll my eyes as we come upon the reinforcements. “Do you see this?” I ask of my numerous companions, all volvath servants and eager little zonak that waddle underfoot. Two trolvor carry my kill—a ten foot long razorfiend from tailfeathers to breast—between them, lashed to a hearty stick. “We are on a floating island, leagues above the continents of this wretched planet, and they still insist on closing the gates!”
Several laugh at my observation. “They did not forget you, my Prince.”
“They better not have,” I say, annoyed at how amicable the volvath are. Thonir would have clapped me on the back and told me to get my head out of my ass. Instead, I am surrounded by creatures who fawn and grovel, then scowl when my back is turned.
Do they think I don’t know?
I do miss Thonir. Next time, I will insist he joins me on the hunt, though the sport leaves much to be desired. The island of Galmoleth is running out of wild game.
