Fires of Prophecy_ Book Two of the Morcyth Saga - Brian Pratt [45]
This one looks to be another residence, the room he finds himself in has two tables, four chairs and a one long couch. It was probably where the lady of the house would greet guests and have tea. He moves to a window and keeps a lookout on what the soldiers are doing.
They appear to be searching for something, maybe he and the others. The riders seem to be combing the streets while the officer stays within the jail with several of the others. He hopes they’ll just up and leave so he can retrieve his horse. He’ll never make it back to the others without it.
The entrance to the jail is barely discernable through the thick smoke that envelopes the town, but he’s able to see the officer come out, obviously upset and angry. He barks out more orders and several of the men on foot climb back into their saddles, racing off to the south. The officer stands there a moment as he looks at the fire and the people trying to halt its course.
Jiron continues to watch as two of his men appear out of the smoke with a man held between them. They bring him over to the leader and when they’re five feet from him, force the man to his knees.
The officer asks the kneeling man in the northern tongue, “Where are the men that were stationed here?”
The man on his knees just shakes his head.
The officer signals and one of the men twists one of the man’s arms, making him cry out. “I said, where are my men?”
“I don’t know!” the man cries out.
“Something happened here,” the officer says and then comes forward. Grabbing the man’s hair, he yanks his head back and stares into his eyes. “What!” he demands.
Gasping through the pain in his arm, the man exclaims, “I don’t know! They brought some people in and had them imprisoned in the jail.”
“Who were they?” the officer snaps.
“We never found out!” the man cries, tears rolling down his face from the pain he’s experiencing.
The officer lets go of the man’s hair and then nods his head to his man who releases his grip on the man’s arm. “Then what?” he asks.
Holding his arm tight across his chest, the man keeps his head down while he answers. Jiron has to really strain to hear what was being said. “Then that night, all hell broke loose. We heard shouting and fighting and when it was calm again, there was a hole in the wall of the jail and several of the soldiers were dead.”
“How could people in cells have caused all that?” he looks intently at the man. When the officer pauses for an answer, the man looks up but just shakes his head. The officer continues, “Did the townsfolk help them?”
“Oh, no!” the man cries. “We did not! We didn’t even realize they had anyone there until after it was over.” He looks to the officer, hoping to be believed.
“Then what?”
“You’re men gave chase as the prisoners fled up into the mountains,” the man replies, bowing his head once more. “Some time later the soldiers returned, several of them having been killed I heard. The next morning, the officer in charge took his whole garrison up after them, but none came back. Shortly after that, the fire swept down the mountainside, almost like magic, engulfing tree after tree.”
“Magic, you say?” the officer asks intently.
The man looks up at the officer’s eyes boring into his, “It seemed like it, as fast as the fire spread.”
“Hmmm,” the officer mumbles as he thinks to himself. “Let him go,” he says to his men who then release the man. To the man he says, “If you and your folk had a hand in the killing of my men, I will cut the throat of every man, woman and child here and raze this town to the ground!”
Fear in his eyes, the man exclaims, “We didn’t!”
“We’ll see,” and then waves his hand, dismissing him. The man turns and flees down the street as fast as his legs will carry him, never once looking back.
The officer and his men confer for a few minutes and then return inside the jail.
“Damn!” Jiron quietly exclaims. Why did he have to say ‘magic?’ Hopefully they won’t put, as James says, two and two together. He continues