The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara
1206 – 1215 A.D.
Gerard had putGuy in the deepest depths of the Tower vault, down into the rooms that seeped of water and rot that permeated the ground from the Thames. It was a hellish place and the lower levels were a maze of horror and darkness. These paths of despair were used only for the very lowliest offenders, those to be locked away and forgotten by time. Men came down here to be swallowed up as if they had never existed.
Sean had some difficulty maneuvering his massive body down the narrow, slippery stone steps of the lower level, made more difficult by the fact that his head was still swimming slightly from the blow to his head. By the time he reached the bottom level, it was nearly pitch black and smelling heavily of decay. He knew from memory there were four cells in this block, small rooms with no ventilation. He lit a larger torch on the wall from the small one he was carrying, giving him just enough light to locate de Braose’s compartment. Lifting the splintering plank that slid across the door to lock it, he pushed it aside and shoved open the panel. The oak and iron door jammed and he was forced to thrust hard, twice, to unstick it.
The chamber smelled of death. It was a horrible scent. Sean didn’t see Guy right away until he looked over into the corner and saw a body half collapsed, half propped against the stone.He was frankly surprised to see de Braose’s dark eyes gazing back at him, wincing with the introduction of the light. He took a step into the cell, lifting the torch for a better look.
“How badly are you injured?” he asked.
Guy blinked rapidly in the weak light. He could see de Lara, larger than life, dressed in full armor. “If you have come to finish what your comrade started, then know that I am no match for you. You can kill me if you have a mind to.”
“I have no mind to. How badly are you hurt?”
Guy wasn’t sure how to answer. He could barely move, but that wasn’t what de Lara was asking. “My right arm is useless.”
“Broken?”
“Aye.”
“Can you stand?”
“I have not tried.”
Sean reached down and pulled de Braose to his feet as if the man weighed no more than a child. But Guy was gravely injured and groaned at the movement. Sean could see that Gerard had done his work very well, for Guy was a mess. His face was battered, his right arm broken, and there was no telling what other injuries lay beneath the torn and stained clothing.
“What are you doing?” Guy demanded, pain in his voice. “Put me down, de Lara.”
Sean didn’t reply. He hoisted Guy from the cell, listening to his grunts of pain. When they hit the slippery steps, Guy began to weakly struggle.
“Put me down,” he groaned. “Where are you taking me? If you are thinking to.…”
Sean cut him off then. “Keep silent,” he snapped lowly. “If you value your life, you’ll do as I say. You must play dead.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I said play dead,” Sean’s clear blue eyes blazed into Guy’s youthful features. “And shut your mouth. If you want to live, you’ll keep it shut.”
“I still do not understand.”
“You do not have to. But I ask that you trust me.”
Guy’s eyebrows flew up. “Trustyou?” he repeated, outraged. “After everything that has happened, you are asking me to trust you? You must be mad.”
“Indeed, I very well may be. But your only other choice is to rot away in that cell. Is that what you wish?”
Guy opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He was cornered. “What are you going to do?”
“You must play dead, no matter what you hear and no matter what happens. You must play the lifeless, limp corpse. Your life depends on convincing others that you have met your end. Can you do this?”
Guy lifted his one good shoulder, a weak gesture. “It appears that I have no choice.” His dark eyes cooled, grew shaded. His mind was thinking many things, not merely of de Lara’s strange request. He was especially thinking on the last time he and the Shadow Lord had met. “Where is Lady Sheridan? Is she all right?”
Sean had been collected and professional up until that moment. But hearing her name was like a dagger through his heart. He dare not allow himself to falter in front of de Braose. Yet knowing that the young knight felt for the lady as he did, knowing that somehow he may have a kindred spirit in the man in their mutual concern for the lady’s welfare, he told the truth. Besides, it was the very reason he was releasing Guy from his imprisonment.
“She is missing,” he said frankly.
Guy’s eyes widened. “But… the last I saw, she was under your escort. You had her, de Lara. What happened?”
