“I’m Governor Zirga. Used to be a sergeant in the Duke’s father’s Household Guard. Got this,” he said, pointing to his face, “at the Battle of Karesh’kaar, when I was not much older than you. So as a reward, they give me this job. I get a week off a year to go to City of the Guardian and spend gold on whores and getting drunk. The rest of the time I care for you prisoners.
“So we understands one another. You don’t cause trouble, and we’ll get along fine. You’ve come here to die, more or less, and it’s up to you how you fare between now and when we toss your ashes off the cliffs.” He waved the papers at Tal and said, “Says here you’re to be treated well, which means a little more food and we’ll put you up in the keep, instead of the dungeon below. Them down there dies right fast. Most go in less than two years. Up above, well, you’ve got a bit of sunlight and some better air—though it do get bitter cold in the winter—but in the summer you’ll be glad for the breezes. But I’ve got a couple o’ lads up there been with us fifteen, twenty years.
“So, we’ll get you upstairs straightaway…as soon as we cut off your right arm.”
The Governor motioned for the two guards, who seized Tal by either arm, lifting him slightly off his feet so he couldn’t get purchase on the stones. They frog-marched him out of the door and across to another door, then down a long flight of stairs, half-carrying, half-dragging him along a narrow corridor.
“We don’t have a proper chirurgery here, so we have to make do with the dungeon when it comes to cutting and the like,” said the Governor. “Occasionally one of the lads gets a cut or scrape that turns putrid, and I’ve got to do some cutting.”
They passed a third guard, who was sitting on a stool next to a table, and the Governor said, “Fetch some brandy.”
The two guards who held Tal pulled him into a chamber that had obviously been used for torture in the past. “From time to time the Duke sends us someone he wants really punished, so we bring them down here. Used to be we could do a lot with what was left over from the old days, but as you can see”—he pointed to a pile of rusty implements left on the filthy straw strewn on the floor—“we’ve fallen on harder times. Don’t have that many good tools anymore. Just some pincers and knives and the like.” He pointed to an iron ring in the ceiling. “Used to have a dandy hook hanging there. I could hang a man on it just right and he’d be screaming for a couple of days. Last time I used it, damn thing broke off. I sent a request in for another one, but no one’s bothered to do anything about it back in Opardum.”
The guard with the brandy appeared, and the Governor said, “Start a fire.”
There was a large brazier that at one time must have been used for heating torture devices, and the guard quickly got a fire started with some dry straw and kindling. He fed wood into it until it started blazing brightly. “Heat an iron,” said the Governor. “Can’t have you bleeding to death, now, can we?” he said to Tal.
Tal was motionless. He felt as if he wanted to lash out and fight, to run, but he knew the situation was hopeless. He knew that if he was to have any chance at all for survival, he must not fight. He must just endure.
The Governor took off his jacket, revealing a dirty white shirt underneath. He went to the wall and found what looked to be a large cleaver. He put it in the fire. “We used to have coal. I could get the sword so hot I could ruin the temper of the steel if I wasn’t careful. Just the thing. The trick is to sear the wound. Used to be, when I had coal, I could slice right though your arm and the metal would be so hot your stump would hardly bleed. Now, I make do with wood. If the hot blade doesn’t do it, then we’ll poke at where it’s bleedin’ with the iron.”
The blade grew red after a few minutes in the flame, and the Governor nodded to the guard who wasn’t holding Tal. He picked up a pair of bellows, like those a smith would use, and began pumping it, causing the wood to flare up and send a fountain of sparks spiraling upward.
Tal’s mind was in turmoil. He was thinking up to this moment that somehow he could devise a way to escape. As the Governor said, he could outrun these two and make it to the north beach, swim to the coast…
Suddenly his chain was yanked hard, tugging him off-balance, and he felt powerful arms wrapped around his waist. One guard held him while the other used the manacle to pull his arm straight, across a wooden table. With a swift motion, the Governor grabbed the sword out of the fire and in a single sweeping blow, severed Tal’s right arm between the elbow and wrist.