The Mists of Sorrow_ Book Seven of the Morcyth Saga - Brian S. Pratt [217]
Upstairs he finds Brother Willim in deep discussion of one theological idea or another. Off to one side of the room, Aku is asleep on the floor. Miko shrugs when he glances questioningly to him. “He wouldn’t sleep on the bed,” Miko explains. “The look on his face when we tried to get him to was one of distrust.”
“I don’t think he’s ever been on a bed before,” Brother Willim replies. “At least other than with Aleya.”
“As long as he’s comfortable,” James says. “Try to get some rest. We’ll be leaving tomorrow night.” They both nod and as he closes the door, resume their discussion. Too much is on his mind as he makes his way down to his room. What will tomorrow hold? Will they be successful? And what may await them should they manage to reach the teleportation dais here in Zixtyn and make it to the High Temple?
Once within his room he undresses for bed and his eye catches sight of the barest sliver of a moon out his window. Tomorrow night will be when Killian’s Shroud blinds the giant’s eye. A shiver runs through him as he turns away from the window and climbs into bed.
Chapter Thirty Seven
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Since they were first brought here to this dark cold place, the daily routine has been just that, routine. Three meals a day, a new slops bucket twice a day and the continual appearances by those strange little creatures who like so much to stare at them. Only once had the routine ever changed.
A man had grown sick. Tinok didn’t know the man and he was being kept in the cell adjacent to his, but one day the man started coughing. Nothing serious, just a cough every now and then. Perhaps it was due to the cold, the inactivity, or something else, but the cough progressively worsened over the course of two sleep periods. With no way to tell time, Tinok has grown to judge it by the times when he sleeps.
After the second sleep period, one of the cowled figures appeared and moved to the cell containing the sick man. The cowled figure then opened the cell and entered. Moving across to where the man was lying on the cold stone floor, it stopped next to him.
A hand, rather emaciated with the skin tightly stretched around the bones beneath, emerges from the robe’s sleeve. A small flask is gripped by the hand and is brought forward to the man. The poor guy is now trying in vain to scoot away but another hand emerges from the other sleeve and grabs him.
The man panics and his coughing fit increases badly as he struggles against the hand holding him still. Then a word is uttered by the cowled figure and the man suddenly grows quiet and still. Once he’s completely quieted down, the hand holding the flask put it to the man’s mouth and poured its contents between his lips. Unable to do otherwise, the man swallowed the liquid.
Standing up, the cowled figure turned toward the door and left. During this time, not a single prisoner within the cell the cowled figure entered tried to escape or fight. Maybe it was the feel of the place or the uncertainty that escape would even be possible, but they remained where they were.
Shortly after the door shut and the cowled figure departed, the man was able to move again. Several hours later, his cough cleared up and he felt well. Whatever that stuff was that was poured into him, it definitely cured him.
That was many sleep periods ago. And from that time to now, there was only the routine. Today however, things felt different. There was an urgency in the air that wasn’t there before. A feeling that something was going to happen and that it wasn’t going to be good.
Also, the little creatures that had been such constant companions since they first arrived, are absent. After their second meal of the day was brought and consumed, the man in armor again appears. Four of the cowled figures accompany him. They begin to open the cell doors and have those within come out.
“Man I don’t like this,