Chapter 3 Part 1

THE HOUSE OF BLACKHEART

Tyson gazed gently upon the still body of the boy he had betrayed. Sam lay on stone slab wrapped in a cocoon of webbing from the neck down. The Doyr priestess who had admitted him told him that the garment was to protect him from harm. Tyson, though repulsed by the web, accepted that explanation. As soon as he got Sam out of there, though it would come off.

Tyson caressed the boy's face. Even in the short time that had elapsed since Tyson had fled, the boy had grown visibly. If there had been any doubt as to whether Tyson still possessed a heart, it was admonished by the pain he felt seeing Sam laying helpless before him. "I’m so sorry," he whispered to the still form. "I was forced into this. I hope you’ll understand."

Tyson stepped back and called his escort. "Take me to the druid that was captured," he commanded. The guard departed and Tyson followed closely. His mind wandered as he was led through the corridors of the Doyr stronghold. With a little work, he could convince Morteous and Miguel that Sam would make a useful operative. The belt buckle could be replaced and a series of indoctrination and reeducation lessons could realign Sam's morals to match his own. If he could sell this point to the Blackhearts, he might convince them to release Sam.

That of course depended on how things fared with Armegon, Avery, and Ultrecht. Their last reported location was in the far west. What they were doing there was anyone's guess. Most probably they were trying to undo the entrapment, but unless Tyson knew what they were doing, he could not counter it. That may make a strong argument for freeing Sam. He would have to remember it.

The others undoubtedly still believed Sam safely in the care of the druid who had destroyed eight out of every ten troops used in his capture. He certainly made the Doyr pay for their success. Tyson was anxious to meet him.

The architecture of the corridor they had entered was the classic design of a prison or dungeon. The place was designed to bring about an oppressive atmosphere and induce a feeling of helplessness in its unlucky residents.

The guard led down several side passages before approaching an archway flanked by yet another set of guards. "The maximum security wing," the guard explained. "This druid fought valiantly and we are taking valiant measures to prevent an escape." The guard approached an iron door and produced a key. "It is well that your employer commissioned us for this task. We are ruled by a matriarchy and so did not underestimate her power."

Tyson started. Her?

The door swung open and the guard, with short sword drawn and a torch in his other hand entered. Tyson followed.

"Bastard!" The shout preceded the blow only by a fraction of a second.

Years of study in hand to hand combat saved Tyson from a blow that would have certainly done him serious damage. Even then, the attack was still sudden enough to catch him with a glancing blow. His shoulder, where a split second before his heart had been, was gashed by splinter of jagged mortar. The small figure that had lain hidden under the straw until he had entered, then had erupted, ducking under the weak, surprised sword parry of the guard, slashed the monk's shoulder open before bouncing off the wall. She spun about for a second attack, but the snake like reflexes of the monk placed a gentle, but firm blow to the base of her neck instantly stunning her immobile. She fell to the floor in a heap.

"I am sorry my lord," the guard offered feebly. "I should have been more alert. My blood will be spilled for this."

"Don’t worry," Tyson assured him. "It’s not a serious wound, and if you say nothing of it, then neither will I." He was not usually so forgiving, but the girl on the floor totally occupied his thoughts. "This is the druid?"

"It is."

Tyson knelt and jerked Nikki to her feet by the front of her ragged and dirty tunic. He could tell that she was not a girl, but an elven woman. The torch light revealed her dirty and badly treated condition. "Prepare a bath for her," he ordered. "Bring fresh clothes and food and drink as well. Set it up in my chambers. I’ll be there within an hour. I want her unharmed, cleaned and fed when I get there."

"Yes, lord," the guard answered. "I will see to it personally. Will you be returning to the main building?"

"Yes," Tyson admitted. "I need to have this wound seen to." He smiled. "It was careless of me to not watch where I was going. Tripping and falling onto the corner of a metal bound table is inexcusable. I should be ashamed."

The guard returned the smile. "I will see to it that she is presentable."