Free Samual by Greg Curtis

the pixies. Sam had no way of knowing who would be attacked or when.
     
    All he did know as he kicked his mare in the sides to hurry her up, was that there would be a next time. Conquering Shavarra had never been their enemy's entire dream. Every fibre in his being knew that. He was merely getting started.
     
    And Sam knew that wherever the enemy next struck, he had to be there.
     
     

Chapter Three.
     
     
    Ryshal lay on her tiny mattress in her dark cell, crying.
     
    It wasn't for the pain, though that was cruel. This new guard who'd turned up – she didn't know his name, and hadn't even seen his face as he always wore a black studded leather mask – was a monster, and the beatings were becoming worse by the day. He hit her as no one should hit another, and not just with his fists. That had only been for the first month or so. Now he used whips and sticks, and some days the blood poured down her back. But she was an elf and a dancer both – she could withstand pain.
     
    The terrible conditions she was held in weren't the reason for her tears either. For five long years she'd been locked away in her dark underground cell, the only light coming from a tiny barred window high above that showed her the sun for only a few precious moments every day. Yet she could bear that too. A few moments of sunlight were enough to drive away the cold from her bones for a while. And though the damp and fungus ate at her lungs, just as the fleas and lice bit at her skin, she had the strength to withstand that too. Even the starvation was tolerable. A few scraps of mouldy bread and water were enough to keep her going. For a while.
     
    What hurt her so was none of those things. It wasn't even the fear of what was coming. It was the horror of why it could finally be allowed. She had listened to the raucous laughter of this new gaoler day after day while she lay bleeding on the rack, heard his plans to continue to beat her until there was nothing left, and she knew that time was running out for her.
     
    It hadn't been. Until recently she'd known that this nightmare would one day end. She'd known that Samual would come for her, and her life would return to how it had been previously. She would recover in the arms of her husband and family. She would learn to dance again. She would teach again. She would raise her own children. That was her gift – faith. She prayed constantly and the Goddess spoke to her some days. She whispered in her ears that everything would be all right. That this, her suffering was all a part of her divine plan. And that she would be rewarded tenfold for her torment. It was her faith that kept her strong in this hellish place and she clung to it with a determination stronger than steel.
     
    But suddenly things were different. This new guard had arrived and had started beating her, and she knew that meant that something had changed up above in the keep. Heri had not dared to beat her so badly before. In fact he had for the most part left her completely alone. For all his evil he'd known better than to harm her. He knew how terrible Samual's vengeance would be when he found out, and he knew enough to fear it.
     
    So she had been given if not good food, then at least enough simple gruel to keep her going. She had been allowed to bathe, and to wash away the insect pests that assailed her. She had been given some thin blankets to keep her warm at night. If she became ill the healers or the priests of Phil the White were sent to her. And she had not been beaten. In truth the gaolers had been almost respectful, knowing why she was there, and knowing that they never wanted to face the wrath of her husband if she died at their hands. She was Ryshal Hanor after all. They did not want to face her husband. Ever.
     
    But something had changed, and all she could think was that either Heri was no longer in control of the realm, or for some reason he no longer feared his half-brother. And there was only one reason he would not