“Then you can try and take it from him after it’s been given. Pass it back.” Robert passed the cup with the food stacked on top of it through the bars and the man sheepishly took it before approaching the man in the back and setting it down at his feet. Once settled, the mountain of a man slowly collected it without looking up.

  “Now that you’ve had your fill, is there anyone else?” asked the witch. There was a pause before one of the other prisoners finally spoke:

  “There’s someone at the end of the hall, someone so nasty they refused to put him with us. A murderer he is.”

  “Murder you say?” asked Hoxley, reaching over to the jailers’ desk where a ledger awaited. She picked it up and read what was written. Once finished she approached the bars and spoke aloud so that everyone could hear her.

  “I’m going to read your offenses. When you hear yours, step to the rear of the cell; drunkenness,” half the prisoners stepped to the rear. “Petty theft,” another. “Pickpocketing.” Two more, “Insulting a kings’ guard”. Another. When she reached the bottom of the list all that was left was the odd-looking man still standing way from the others. “It says here…” she paused trying to figure out the man’s offense. “You hurt someone else’s chicken?”

  “Oh no,” said the man. I would never hurt a chicken. I like them! I like them! I like them very much!”

  “Ah. I see.” She said. “Perhaps it’s a mistake.” She read on. And at the bottom she found the scrawling of a name that made her blood run cold. And while she was able to hide the shiver that raced along her spine, her expression from reading that name was enough to alert Ignatius’ suspicion.

  “Hoxley? Are you well?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” She said, closing the book. “These prisoners need to be released and given a chance to clean themselves. We can’t expect them to be well enough to help others while they’re covered in filth. Please take them to the stream behind the castle. After that, find fitting garb from the town’s clothes lines.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked the witch.

  “There’s a matter I need to tend to.” she said coldly. “Once it’s managed, I’ll find you and we’ll begin our work.”

  “Very well.” Said Ignatius before raising his voice and drawing his sword. “Who here wants a bath and change of clothes?” he asked the cell.

  “Me! Me! I do! Pick me!” the prisoners blurted. Hoxley found the cell keys and opened the door.

  “Follow the witch and you’ll be given fresh clothes and hot food and water! Follow his words to the letter and you’ll earn a reprieve from the king! Deviate and you’ll be punished severely!” she reminded them. Each of the prisoners graciously thanked her and the witch as they were led away, the chicken man groveled and even attempted to kiss her hooves. When all but one of them were out, the man known as Atticus finally stood again. He picked up his cup and food with his mammoth hands, swallowing each like tidbits before approaching the cell door.

  “How long has it been?” the mountain of a man asked

  “Two seasons.” She said. “You and I last traveled together near Sweetwater. You had taken a commission to train the local shepherds on how to fight the wolves who were ravaging their flocks.”

  “I see you’ve abandoned your pugil for a spear.” He said. “I wondered how long it would take you to outgrow it.”

  “I’m afraid dangerous times have forced me to trade up.” She remarked. “Atticus, this kingdom needs your help.”

  “What’s happened that the jailer has missing?” he asked, his voice deep and low. “What’s happened that even the king has changed his mind enough that all of his prisoners should be freed. Your story may have convinced the others eager to be free of a cell, but I have questions.”

  “That’s because you’re not a fool, Atticus. All will be revealed, I promise. But for now, time is of the essence and I need every able-bodied person to assist in aiding a kingdom stricken by dark magic.”

  “Dark magic you say? What kind of dark magic?”

  “The kind that sends green lightning to terrible results.” She said. The man’s eyes grew wide at her words. “Right now I need a strong soldier who can help me right a wrong against innocent people. Can I depend on you to be that soldier?”

  “I am that soldier.” He said. “And if I help you, you’ll speak with the king regarding my release? I would have your word?”

  “I give you my word, Atticus. Hoxley of the plains is always worth her word.”

  “Then we have a bargain. I will help you. But first I’ll need a bath and my accompaniments.”

  “You shall have them.” She waved toward the stairs. “Follow the others.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Hoxley.” He said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I always enjoy our talks.”

  “The feeling is mutual.” She smiled. “And we shall talk again soon. We have much work ahead of us.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Good.” The long moustache gave a bit of an upturn on the ends. “Work is good for the soul.” The huge man then turned and lumbered up the stairs leaving Hoxley alone with her torch and terrible sense of foreboding as she looked down the hall at the last holding cell. The door was different from the others in that it was reinforced iron from top to bottom with massive hinges. It was the kind of door meant to keep the nastiest of law-breaking men confined; or a large aggressive centaur. Slow clopping steps delivered her to stand before the door with but a tiny window and a small space at the bottom to slide a meal tray under it. No light came from within and the light from her torch wasn’t strong enough to pierce the blackness within the cell and give her a view. Her large ears perked to listen for any type of sound or movement within. For a moment there was nothing. And then, after that moment of silence, the sound of massive hooves approaching the other side made their owners’ presence known.

  “Well, well, well.” Said a low familiar voice from the shadows. “If it isn’t Hoxley of the plains.”

  “Hello, Fresian.” She said.

  “So…” the words rolled out of the small window in the heavy door. “You do remember me after all this time.”

  “I could never forget you, brother. You are my blood. You’re as much a part of our parents as I am.”

  “What brings my virtuous sister to this unaccommodating setting?”

  “My will to see the best in others and help them.” She replied. “A virtue that might keep one out of such unaccommodating settings if one were open to living by it. I read the jailer’s journal, Fresian. You got drunk and trampled a man to death in an ale house?”

  “He owed me money. He was trying to cheat me in gambling.”

  “How many coins is an excuse to stomp anyone enough to be killed?”

  “Enough to keep me fed until I reached my next destination, sister. Not all of us have established professions such as yourself.”

  “I took this profession because you didn’t want it, brother. It was offered to you first, but you claimed it was beneath you.”

  “I find walking and delivering messages unexciting and menial.” He said sharply.

  “Whereas I find drunkenness and gambling loathsome and slovenly.” She retorted. “Unexciting and menial it may be, but no one ever ended up charged with murder for delivering messages.”

  “So, you’re better than me, then?”

  “No, I’ve just made better decisions.”

  “Let me out of this cell.” He said “You’ve let the others out.”

  “The others weren’t guilty of murder, Fresian. To kill is a terrible crime no matter the reasoning. Even for war, it is a crime against nature to take life.”

  “If you do not free me, they will hang me in the gallows until I am dead. But like you, I have good ears as well and I was listening to what you said to the soldier. Something has happened. Something terrible has set itself upon this land and you’re desperate for help to undo what’s befallen the kingdom. Let me out and I shall aid you.”

  “Your words have some sense to them, and I know your strong back would make our task easier, but I’m afraid judgement has the better of me.” She said. “I believe the others can be redeemed for their petty crimes. But yours? Murder? Fresian, how could you? What would our father and mother and brothers say if they learned of the atrocity you’ve committed? What of my reputation in this world? Should I bear the indignity of being ‘Hoxley of the plains, sister of Fresian who trampled a man to death over gambling’?”

  “You’re so concerned of what others think of you.” Fresian hissed. “How precious.”

  “I don’t live my life in the shadow of others’ perceptions, brother. But one should have a sense of decency to carry oneself in a manner that others don’t think poorly of them simply by learning their name. People respect me because they know I am decent and just. I didn’t ask for the respect, but it was earned by not being a detriment to others. I learned that from our parents and I can’t imagine our lessons were any different. I’m baffled that you didn’t learn the same.”

  “I tire of your beratement.” He grumbled. “Bring me food and water like you did the others so I don’t starve in this pit.”

  “Is that really all you have to say to me?”

  “Do it quickly, I hunger.” He said

  “Any other person would let you starve for what you’ve done. But I’ll do it, but only out of pity for another living being.”

  “Not because I’m your brother?”

  “You make life harder for me, Fresian. Believe me it would be easier for me if we were strangers.”

  “Bring me my food then I’ll grant your wish.” He said, cutting Hoxley to the bone. She turned away, her cheeks red with anger. “Make it a double portion!” he called after her. She walked with purpose, refusing to look back. To her credit, he made it to the bottom stair before the heart break hit hard enough to make her eyes well with tears.