A man,
carefully, yet simply dressed, strode with purpose down the stone steps. The
heart of the mountain was cold and the instruments of torture strewed around
made the passage colder. The man did not seem to notice the cold. He was around
seventy but he descended the stairs with the vigor of a much younger man. The
guard at the entrance to the dungeons only saluted him and stepped aside. The
rows of cells had a single occupant, a girl, no more than 18, shivering
convulsively. Her golden hair fell down past her waist and covered her face. He
took a handful of her hair and methodically began cropping it with a knife he
had pulled from his belt.
Her hand
snaked out of the blanket that covered her and took a hold of his wrist. “It is
my right.” Her voice had gone raspy.
He
nodded and handed her the knife. She set to work and when she finished it
seemed as though the ground was covered in gold. He covered her in a cloak then and handed her
a pouch that clinked.
“Go, go now. Open the letter tomorrow
at sunset.”
“Alone,
down the mountain, in the dark?”
“If you
are worthy of the child you bear the gods will watch over you.”
She
looked at him with her brilliant blue eyes then pulled her cloak over her face
and followed him, followed him out of the darkness into the brilliant, harsh
light of day.
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