Beneath the Forsaken City by C. E. Laureano Read Free Book Online Page A

was for her.
    Without her, there had been no point to any of it.
    Was that what this was all about? Was Comdiu punishing him? He’d been so sure he was meant to rescue Aine, but accompanying her to Forrais   —marrying her   —had been pure selfishness. Perhaps now he was paying for his disobedience with his life, and hers as well. If that was the case, why should he resist? He should just break for the entrance and die cleanly by one of the guards’ swords.
    A too-deep breath banished that fantasy. He almost laughed, but the pain reduced it to a grimace. No. He lacked the strength even to die properly. That would have to wait, unless the Sofarende leader did it for him. Instead, Conor watched the goats come and go, counting them, naming them in his head, looking for patterns in their behavior as a way to pass the time and distract himself from his aching body.
    The thud of footsteps came shortly after sundown. He turned his head, expecting Talfryn. Instead, a guard entered, scanning the dim space until his eyes lit on Conor.
    “You. Eat.” He tossed him a heel of bread, but Conor couldn’t move quickly enough to catch it. It thudded to the ground several feet away. He didn’t consider what had been on the floor before he snatched it up. His stomach tossed as the first bite of bread hit it, but he still forced the food down, piece by tiny piece until he was sure his body would retain it. The stale crumbs stuck in his throat, and his eyes settled on a trough filled with murky water.
    He inched across the dirt pen until he could kneel beside the trough. A slimy film lay over the top of the water, but he dipped his hands in anyway and lifted them to his mouth. The taste nearly gagged him, but at least his mouth no longer felt as if it were stuffed with dust. Then he crept back to his bed of hay and stretched out to relieve the pressure of his swollen midsection on his lungs.
    Only then did he recognize the truth: for all his brave thoughts about dying a clean, honorable death, of accepting Comdiu’s punishment for his sins, he wanted to live. As long as there was the slimmest chance Aine could still be alive, he owed it to her to endure.
    Which meant he had to convince this Haldor to keep him alive, no matter the cost.

    Conor awoke the next morning to a nudge in the ribs that felt more like a kick. His breath hissed from between his teeth as his eyes snapped open. The light from the doorway outlined a man’s form beside him.
    “Get up.” The guard pitched Conor his confiscated trousers. “Put these on. Haldor wants to see you.”
    Conor struggled to his feet, sucking in a sharp breath at the stab in his side, and swayed for a moment. It took him seconds more to pick up the trousers and what felt like a year to put them on. The warrior took out a length of rope, slipped the loop over Conor’s head, and nudged him toward the doorway.
    Conor squinted in the bright light, sensing more than seeing a second guard join them. The point of a weapon prodded him forward. Amusement surfaced through his pain. He was so weak from injuries and lack of food that he could barely put one foot in front of another, and they somehow thought he was dangerous enough to require two guards?
    “Where are we going?” he asked in Norin. They didn’t answer.
    As Conor’s eyes adjusted to the light, he took in the details of his surroundings he had neglected earlier. It was not a warrior camp but a village, the main boulevard lined with timber and crowded with long, rectangular cottages. Metal clanged   —a blacksmith. The putrid smells of salt, sulfur, and animal skin drifted to him   —a tannery. A woman gave him a curious look as she passed with a large basket in her arms, but she moved on without comment.
    These were not raiders come to strip the land bare and return back home. These were settlers with women and children. In time, these foreigners would come to regard Gwydden as home,and then they would be impossible to beat