Book 3 Chapter 55: He Could Make Them Suffer
Gavain sat in his cell, meditating with his arms shackled above him. The whippings had ceased for nearly a week as nearly every able bodied man in Frasheid became otherwise occupied. He’d heard whispers in the halls. The slave revolt that was supposed to be quashed had won an upset battle. The soldiers they’d sent to Rendhold…
He gritted his teeth. He’d sacrificed so much to prevent that from happening. He knew he’d needed to take responsibility for the animosity he’d created. He’d even done a good thing in the midst of it, making sure that the criminal Dantes, who Pacha had told him of, was arrested. But even that…
He tried to bring his attention back to his breathing, and failed. Dantes had apparently been the one who’d scattered the Frasheid forces, which meant he’d been released, which meant that his sacrifice had been doubly for nothing.
Gavain was suffering. Suffering for doing the right thing. He’d always done the right thing, it had been easy for him. He was strong, born strong, and attained greater strength. As a child he’d strangled a wild coyote that had attacked him while he was outside with his mother. There had been mumblings that he was blessed, but the priests found no signs of that in him. He was just different. He’d taken that difference as a responsibility, that he needed to be a hero. He’d loved that, reveling in his strength, the smiles he saw on people’s faces when he saved them.
He’d devoted his victories to the god of Justice, but he’d never heard his voice. Where was Justice now? He hadn’t been fed a full meal in months. He was beaten daily. He hadn’t resisted, thinking he was doing the right thing. Thinking his suffering was nothing compared to the good he was doing. Certain of it. He strained against the manacles, hearing them groan a bit from his effort. He could still get out, but at this point he couldn’t manage to take out more than ten, fifteen guards before he was killed.
What would the point be anyway? The Adventurer’s Guild had disavowed him, no one had come to save him as he had saved so many others.
There was one reason he could think of. One that put a bit of fire back into his belly. He could make them suffer too. Those who should’ve been the ones to be tormented as he had. He could make them pay.
He strained against the chains again, and the manacles bent, and broke from the stone wall. He looked up, and saw a large form clad in blood-red armor, holding out a gauntleted hand to him. He could feel that taking that hand would be a choice. One that would mark him forever. He reached out and took it.
…