“One of the Duke’s ancestors built it,” said the Captain. “Then it was called Fortress Sentinel. When the City of the Guardian was built up, this place sort of fell into disuse, until one of the old dukes decided to make a prison out of it.”
A longboat was lowered, and Tal was forced to climb down a ladder to be yanked into the longboat by a couple of rough-handed seamen. As the boat was rowed toward the dock, the captain waved and cheerfully said, “Enjoy your stay, Squire!”
Tal sat in the boat, the winter sky as foreboding and dark as his mood. The salt spray that struck him in the face was frigid as it whipped off the spindrift. The boat rocked as the four rowers pulled to reach the docks as quickly as possible. The sooner they were done, the sooner they could be back on board the ship, back to a slightly warmer and drier berth.
Three men stood waiting on the docks, wearing heavy cloaks. The boat drew up, and the sailors steadied it. They didn’t even bother to tie off: two of them stood up and gripped the pilings, while another motioned for Tal to climb a short ladder. He did so, with one sailor following him, and when they both stood on the docks, the sailor said, “Here’s the writ, Governor.”
Without thanks, the man took the paper, and without another word, the sailor was back down the ladder and the boat pushed off. The man who had been handed the paper looked at Tal and said, “Come.”
The other two men were armed guards, both looking little more than street thugs. Neither wore a uniform, and they carried large cudgels rather than swords. Tal had no doubt either man could and would quickly break his arm or leg with the clubs if he tried to escape. As he walked toward the fortress, he looked around and thought, Where would I escape to?
As if reading his thoughts, the Governor said, “You can try to run; you look like a fast lad, so you might outrun Kyle and Anatoli here, but with them chains on, maybe not. If you did, you’d maybe find your way down to the beach up there on the north side of the island, but then where’d you go? Looks close, don’t it? The mainland, I mean. Three miles, a bit more or less. But there’s a current there wants to take you north, and there’s sharks and other things. That’s if the chains don’t pull you down and you drown. But maybe you’re a strong swimmer. If you made it to the beach, you’re miles from food.”
They reached an old drawbridge that looked to have been down for years. As they crossed over it, Tal looked down and saw a twenty-five-foot ravine filled with broken rocks at the bottom. “So, maybe you’re a hunter,” said the Governor. “Maybe you get by, even though it’s winter. You build a fire and somehow don’t freeze to death.
“Guess what?” he said and turned, and for the first time Tal got a look at his face. The Governor of the prison had no left eye, just a closed lid, and a notch in the bridge of his nose, as if someone had cut him across it with a blade. His own teeth had been knocked out, and he wore some sort of contraption made of wood and teeth—perhaps human or animal—that would serve him for eating. He grinned, and said, “The only civilization for hundreds of miles is the City of the Guardian, and it’s a border city, so the guards look close at everyone coming in.”
They reached the entrance to the old fortress, and the Governor stopped. “Take a look around, lad. Look up.”
Tal did so.
“It’s the last time you’ll be seeing the open sky, I’m thinking.” He motioned, and the two guards escorted Tal up the steps into the old fortress.
What had been the entrance hall was now bare, a huge room with a set of doors in each wall. They marched across the stone floor, worn featureless and smooth by centuries of feet trudging across it, and passed through another door. “This used to be the great hall,” said the Governor. “Now we only use it for banquets.”
The two guards laughed. “Come along,” said the Governor.
They led Tal to what must once have been the private apartment of the commander of the fortress. Now it was an office, containing a large table littered with food and empty wine cups as well as papers. A rat scurried off the table as the Governor waved his hand at it.
Taking off his heavy cloak, the Governor tossed it across a chair. “Let’s see, now, what we have here,” he said, unrolling the writ.
“Squire Talwin Hawkins, is it?”
Tal said nothing.