Blood Sword Legacy 02 - Master of Torment Read Online Free PDF

upon.”
    “Pray she is still alive, Lord Rangor. William does not take kindly to his royal subjects being executed without his approval.” And Wulfson wondered why he uttered the words. For if the wench was not dead when he found her, she would be shortly thereafter.
    “Gareth, show me the way.”
    Leaving three of his men and most of Gareth’s to keep order in the hall, Wulfson and several of his men followed the hulking Dane, each grabbing a torch from the sconces along the walls. Once past the great hall and the larders, they progressed down a narrow passageway, then made a sharp right turn, and were met with a thick, metal-strapped door. “’Tis down there,” Gareth said, pointing to the door.
    Wulfson inserted one key, then another, until the lock ground free. The door opened, and Wulfson preceded them down the slick, narrow steps. The stench that hit him as they descended into the bowels of the fortress would have had a lesser man emptying his guts then and there. He heard several men retch behind him, and knew with a certainty they were Gareth’s. Despite the stench, he and his brother Blood Swords had smelled worse. The stink of death still permeated their dreams, and the mark of the devil branded each and every one of them. Compared to the Saracen prison in which they had spent nearly a year of their lives, this was minor.
    Wulfson still had a marked limp, and scars above and below his skin—no thanks to his captors. He held the torch higher, and focused on finding the lady so that he could quickly dispose of her. He had decided he would do the deed swiftly and without witness, once she was discovered. Here within the bowels of the fortress, under cover of darkness, it would be easy enough. Even with Gareth behind him, Wulfson had no compunction. If he had to slay the Dane as well, so be it.
    As they assembled in the well of the chamber, Wulfson scanned the stone walls, noting the many sets of manacles that hung from them.
    “Malcor found amusement at the expense of pages and squires here,” Gareth said, contempt heavy on every word.
    Wulfson snorted in disgust. He knew of men who preferred men, but boys? He could not fathom the notion. Death was too good for the likes of the earl. The lady had done the entire country a service by slicing him ear to ear.
    Except for the scurrying rats, the chamber appeared to be empty. Ducking low, torches raised, they spread out and searched each cell, each corner, each crevice, ultimately coming up with no being living or dead. Yet the fresh scent of feces, mingled with the acrid stench of urine, was prevalent.
    Filtering back into the center of the chamber, surrounded by the men, Wulfson stood for a long moment, his hand held up for complete silence. And listened.
    Heavy silence ensued, broken only by the heavy breathing of the mail-clad knights. Wulfson raised his arm higher. They held their breath, not one of them breathing. A rat squeaked and scurried across Wulfson’s boot. He stood still and listened.
    There, from ahead, a small muffled sound. He strode back into the cell directly in front of him and held the torch high. As it was a moment ago, it remained empty now. His eyes scanned the floor, closer this time, and there he saw it. The swath of something heavy and wide had been recently marked across the dirt floor, darker in color than the rest of the dirt. He squatted before a large hewn block of stone, while Ioan peered over his shoulder.
    “’Twill take two of us,” Ioan said, then took Wulfson’s torch and handed it to Rhys, along with his own. Rhys moved in, with Gareth pressing closer and holding his torch high. Eerie light flickered in a give-and-take dance along the damp stone. Wulfson grasped the right corner, and Ioan the left. With a mighty heave, they pulled back onthe stone. In a slow ragged scrape, it came toward them. As Wulfson turned it away from him and the torches rose, he stopped all movement.
    He grabbed the torch above his head and