Love Is Always Write Volume 4

Accepting the cloak held out to him, he swung it over his shoulders and secured it with a cast iron pin shaped like a gryphon with ruby eyes.
    Ready, he led the way from his rooms and through the palace to the courtyard where everyone else was already gathered. "Supplies will follow behind us," Lesto said.
    Sarrica nodded and swung up into the saddle of his favorite warhorse. Fortunately, it was also the best one for the mountains, until the way grew too difficult for horses. When all seemed ready, he gave the signal and rode off, headed with all possible speed for the Cartha Mountains.
    PART THREE
    Allen grit his teeth against a cry of pain as he was unchained from the whipping post. He passed out as they dragged him away, but roused again while their poor excuse of a healer looked over his shredded back. "You would cease to suffer if you would just tell us what you were doing in the mountains."
    "I don't know, as I have told you countless times," Allen replied, not bothering to open his eyes. Just the thought of looking into the bastard's oily face churned his stomach. He shuddered as fingers slid over his scalp, stupidly missing the hair he had cut to better blend in with the mercenaries. "I am new to the Dragons. They hired me the very day they set out. The Captain did not yet trust me enough to divulge the mission to me. I knew only that we were to barter for passage through the Shadow Pass. Beating me will not grant me new knowledge."
    "We shall see. Treat him and return him to his cell. When will he be fit for more questioning?"
    The healer replied, "I would let him rest at least three days, your grace. Anything sooner and the injuries may be too much. He's no soldier, to handle such abuse."
    "And yet, his body bears the scars of many lashings. Two days." Not waiting for a reply, he left, leaving Allen and the healer alone.
    Sighing softly, the healer began to treat the wounds. Allen grit his teeth again through the ordeal, fading in and out of consciousness. He wasn't sure how much more he could take, but if they gave up on him they would turn to the others. The only thing sparing them was the fact they could not speak Tricemore, and Cartha had no translators of their own up to the task.
    He hoped fervently that his message had gotten through, that the exhausting efforts he and Rene had made had not been in vain. It was only by the grace of the Pantheon that Benta had chosen to send one of the Dragons as a messenger, rather than one of their own people.
    The messenger had left two days ago, and if nothing impeded him he should have arrived at the palace already. Allen wondered what Sarrica would choose to do; wiser to leave them to rot, or attempt to send soldiers on the sly. He was not looking forward to the conversation he would be having with Sarrica if he survived and made it back to the palace, but he'd rather have the conversation than be dead.
    Unfortunately, he could not really see the man who had so meanly thrown him out of court risking himself and his precious soldiers for mercs and a consort he did not want. His death would anger his parents, but kings had smoothed over greater problems.
    At least he'd die knowing he'd done his best to pass on vital information.
    He passed out again, overcome by the pain caused by the healer's none-too-gentle touch. When he stirred again, it was to the sound of someone saying his name. The voice wasn't familiar, but he definitely knew the accent: the speaker was from the palace.
    Disbelief and hope made it suddenly hard to breathe, and Allen dragged his eyes open dreading he was just hallucinating. But the soldiers, dressed in the dark blue uniform of the High King's personal guard, were very real. They spoke tersely with the healer, who rambled back, and it was clear they were only barely understanding each other.
    Allen tried to speak up, translate, but even trying to sit up was too much for him. He slumped back down and closed his eyes, longing for a day when he need no longer fear a lash. He had thought, when he was summoned to the court of the High King, that the day had finally come.
    Of course, he reminded himself, he would be just fine if he had not broken every rule he'd ever been taught simply to prove a point. He had acted selfishly, and against the well-being of the kingdom. He should not have risked so much just to soothe his hurt feelings.
    Seeing he was awake, one of the soldiers looked at him and asked, "You are Allen, the silver tongue assigned to