Soul Weaver: A Fantasy Novel Read Free Page B

cloying despair that crept under her skin. Shivering in the darkness, Shel shook off these dark thoughts. She had to do something about her situation.
    Her eyes had adjusted as much as they were going to. Shel could now make out some of the details of her cell. Solid stone walls surrounded her on three sides. Thick iron bars blocked the doorway. She tugged at one of them, making a face in the dark as her fingers slipped over the slimy, corroded iron. She wiped her hand on her breeches and sat back down on the floor, fighting a rising tide of despair.
    “Okay,” she said to herself. “Okay. Oh, Dunmir. Oh, no.”
    The Suncloaks had taken the gold and tossed her in the dungeon. She didn’t know what would happen next. Maybe they simply threw prisoners in a cell and forgot about them. Or perhaps they’d return for her any moment to lead her off to a summary execution. Neither possibility – nor any of the others that flitted through her mind – were appealing.
    A blood curdling scream drifted into her cell from some distance. The terrible sound froze the blood in Shel’s veins. Her mouth fell open in shock and then the man screamed again. It was a long, drawn out scream of unbearable agony. Somewhere nearby, a man was being tortured.
    Shel’s hands clenched in white-knuckled fright at her sides. She was trembling all over. She didn’t even notice when she began mumbling to herself, whispering the same words over and over. “No, oh no, oh please, oh please no, oh no, oh please…”
    “Shh!”
    Startled, Shel jumped to her feet and spun around in the center of her cell searching for the source of the hissed warning.
    “Who’s there?”
    “I said hush,” whispered the voice. It was directly outside her cell. Cautiously approaching the iron bars, Shel peered through them into the hallway. An indistinct, man-shaped shadow moved against the darkness beyond her cell. “Well, well,” he said, looking her over. “What have we here?”
    “Who are you?”
    “Name’s Rez,” was the whispered reply. “Enjoying your stay?”
    “You're joking.” Shel stared at the shadowy figure, straining to make out details. She didn’t think he was a guardsman. But who was he?
    “Not at all,” Rez said with a quiet chuckle. “At least we're out of the heat, yeah? The intolerable, endlessly sweltering heat of the Great and Glorious Golden Empire of the Long Summer. Faugh! I, for one, could do with a bit of winter. What about you?”
    “What are you talking about?” Shel demanded. “Who are you?”
    “I told you, I'm called Rez.” The shadow moved, crossing arms over its chest. Shel heard a faint tapping, and realized the man was tapping one foot as he studied her.
    “You're no Suncloak,” she said. None of the guards would speak that way about the empire. She didn’t think she’d ever heard anyone say something bad about the Long Summer. “Who are you?”
    “You keep asking me the same question,” said Rez, sounding curious. “Are you broken?”
    “Do I look like some mechanical contraption?” snapped Shel, irritated by the man’s curious manner of speaking. He chuckled again, and Shel’s irritation rose another notch. “I am not broken, ” she insisted.
    “Trouble with your memory?” She heard him snap his fingers. “Of course! They hit you over the head, didn’t they?”
    “Maybe,” said Shel irritably. “Is that what happened to you? I've never met someone so addle-brained as you, Rez.”
    Rez chuckled again. “So you do remember. That’s good, but what about manners? You've forgotten those, I think.”
    “What?”
    “I told you my name,” said the man, shrugging. “It’s only fair and proper to tell me yours.”
    “Shel,” she said, some of her irritation ebbing. Not by much, but a little. “Can you get me out of here? You're no Suncloak, that’s for sure.”
    “You want to get out?”
    “Of course I want to get out!”
    “Hmm.” Rez tapped his foot some more. “I suppose I could get