Fires of Prophecy_ Book Two of the Morcyth Saga - Brian Pratt [106]
Following the corridor with James right behind, they pass two other closed doors on their way, pausing momentarily to listen at each. Not hearing anything, he continues down to the door at the end, where light can be seen coming through the cracks from the other side.
As they draw near to the door, they’re able to hear voices speaking from the other side. “…tell me!” one voice yells and then they hear the sound of someone being slapped hard.
“Again,” the voice says and then a female can be heard crying out in pain.
“Delia!” Jiron cries as he races for the door. James readies a slug as Jiron hits the door with his shoulder, causing it to open and swing into the room, slamming hard against the wall. With both knives ready, he quickly surveys the room.
It takes but a moment to realize what’s been happening, Roland, Scar and Potbelly are sitting along one wall, hands chained to the wall. Delia lies stretched spread-eagled upon a table, her hands and feet secured with ropes to the corners.
A well dressed man stands next to the table with another whom James can only believe is a dealer in pain. They’ve been torturing Delia! Two guards spring into action and immediately draw their swords as they move to engage Jiron.
“Jiron!” Potbelly cries out from where he sits against the wall when the door bursts open and sees him enter.
The two guards close with Jiron, one falling when a slug strikes him in the face blasting out the back of his head. Jiron parries a thrust from the other with one knife and then strikes out with the other, catching the guard in the neck, severing the jugular. Grabbing his neck, the guard tries to stop the blood spewing forth as he stumbles and falls to the floor. Jiron kicks out his foot on his way down and can hear a snap when the man’s neck breaks.
The well dressed man has his sword out and has the edge lying across Delia’s throat. “Enough!” he cries. “Or she’s dead.”
Jiron stands there, seething with impotent anger. Unable to do aught else, he stops.
James sees a ring of keys on one of the guards and reaches down to pick them up when the well dressed man says, “Don’t, or she dies.”
“It seems we’re in a pickle here,” James tells him as he straightens back up. “We’re not about to leave without them,” he says as he gestures to Delia and the others, “and if you cut her throat you’re a dead man.”
He just stands there with his sword at her throat, considering the situations. The torturer next to him says with authority, “You dare not hurt the High Lord Cytok. He’s the right hand to the Emperor himself!”
“Shut up you fool!” Lord Cytok yells to the man. Turning back to James and Jiron, he says, “You two, get over there next to the others.” He nods his head indicating they should go over to where Scar, Potbelly and Roland are sitting along the wall. He menaces Delia with his sword until they begin to move over there.
Delia watches them with her eyes, fear of the sword at her throat preventing her from doing or saying anything.
“James,” Jiron says quietly as they move closer to where the others sit, “do something.”
“I’m working on it,” he replies.
“Go get Kirtch and Prul,” he says to the torturer who then moves quickly to the door.
James concentrates on Delia’s exposed neck and then releases the magic. “Go ahead,” he says to Jiron, “he can’t hurt her now.”
Trusting in James, Jiron is up in a flash and rushes toward Lord Cytok.
The torturer breaks into a run as he races through the door and begins screaming on his way to the stairs.
Lord Cytok runs his sword across Delia’s throat but it only slides along an invisible barrier encasing her throat. Shocked at seeing the ineffectiveness of his sword, he turns to Jiron and prepares to defend himself.
“We need him alive,” James says. “We’ll never make it out without him.”
With a slight nod, Jiron closes with Lord Cytok. Deflecting a thrust with one knife,