Page 47 of An Unlikely Knight

He turned back just in time to block another blow.

Once again Padriag was hit from behind, this time so hard his knees buckled. Before he could catch himself, another strike to the back of his head barely registered as everything went black.

* * *

“Find out where the rip in the realm’s wall is. I must know how he was able to leave and re-enter from the other side,” a deep, familiar voice penetrated the fog in Padriag’s head.

He had sunk to his knees, his arms outstretched, shackles that hung from a beam overhead around his wrists. The discomfort of his shoulders practically coming out of their sockets was nothing compared to the burning pain on his entire back and the pulsing of his fingertips now devoid of nails.

He’d lost count of the different methods of torture he’d been subjected to. Many times he’d slipped on his own pool of blood as the sting of a whip across his back had continued until he’d lost consciousness. Was it two or three times now that he’d passed out? He couldn’t be sure.

Pretending to remain unconscious, he opened his eyes just enough to see who Meliot spoke to. It was the same warrior he’d fought back at the cabin.

“If he has not spoken by now, he will not be forthcoming no matter what we do to him,” the warrior replied. Padriag couldn’t place the accent, German perhaps.

Meliot growled. “I do not want the opinion of a traitorous slug like you.” The wizard whirled to face Padriag, and he met his gaze.

“Don’t let me interrupt your family squabble. But the slug is right, I will not tell you anything. Mainly because I have no fucking idea what the hell you’re talking about.” Voice barely audible, Padriag began coughing, his throat raw from screaming.

Meliot closed the distance between them, the bottomless black eyes digging into his. No matter how many times he’d had the misfortune of being confronted by the wizard, the malevolence emanating from him made Padriag’s skin crawl. He could live another three hundred years and never forget what being in the presence of pure evil felt like.

“You are keeping secrets. Perhaps about the others, or it could be you are hiding something. What is it?” Meliot leaned forward grabbed Padriag’s hair and yanked him forward. Padriag couldn’t keep from moaning at the stretching of his shoulders and open wounds on his back.

“Tell me what you know, and I will let you go free.” Meliot’s voice echoed in his ears, swirling around his head like smoke.

Padriag tried to pull back, but it was in vain. Not only did Meliot have a good grip on his hair, but he was weak from being tortured. “Even if I knew anything, I wouldn’t tell you,” he rasped.

The wizard’s eyes narrowed. “Soon you will be too weak to guard your thoughts. Then you will gladly share everything to stop the pain. The beautiful pain that you should be embracing.”

Before Meliot could delve into his mind, Padriag warded himself. His magic couldn’t compete against Meliot’s, especially now that the evil wizard’s powers had strengthened. But thankfully he could still ward his mind.

Letting out a long hiss of annoyance, the wizard slapped him hard across the face with so much force Padriag was surprised his head remained attached. “You are a fool! You will die here in my dungeons.”

Meliot whirled around and motioned to the guard who’d stood by the door. The man looked familiar. With blond hair and bright blue eyes, he stood tall, at least six foot four.

“Put him in the cage. No food or water.” The wizard looked at Padriag. “I suggest salt water to clean his wounds.” With that he swept from the room leaving the two men alone.

“You should tell him what you know. He will not stop until you do,” the guard said in a flat voice.

Padriag managed to stand, his shoulders still pained him, but not as much. “Is that what you did. Gave in? Betrayed others?” He couldn’t keep the accusatory tone from his statement.

Ignoring him, the guard walked to a long table where various implements of torture were kept and grabbed a sack of what Padriag assumed was salt.

Padriag entire body quaked, anticipating the pain he was about to endure. When the warrior walked toward him, he closed his eyes and braced himself.

“This should help with the healing,” the guard said and slowly poured liquid down Padriag’s back and smoothed something across it with fast precise moves. It smarted and he gritted his teeth, but it wasn’t anywhere as intolerable as he’d expected. He let out a long breath in relief.

First one shackle and then the next was unlocked and his arms hung limply at his sides.

“Can you walk?” The guard pushed him forward.

Padriag stumbled, barely able to stay upright. “I will walk,” he said and took a wobbly step forward, then another. His parched, aching throat made it painful to swallow. He longed for a swallow of water. It would be useless to ask.

The guard took his arm and pulled him forward, out of the room and down steeps stairs. Several times, Padriag lost his footing and would have fallen if not for the guard’s strong hold.

Once reaching the bottom of the second set of stairs, they emerged into the darkness outside the castle.

By this time, Padriag would have been hard pressed to keep moving, and the guard was practically carrying him.

“Where are you taking me?” he panted the words, terrified that the cage was outside, and he’d be left naked and injured in the freezing cold.

The guard pushed him forward and he collapsed on all fours, the surroundings became blurry, he was losing consciousness. A mixture of emotions surged, and he prayed not to wake up. Death was a hundred times better than going through the torture again.

“I cannot do more for you.” The guard’s voice permeated through the edges of his mind. “Go to the cottage, you will be safe there.”

Padriag used the very last of his reserve to dematerialize.

He landed in a heap in the log cabin, crawled to lay in front of the fire as darkness enveloped him.