Chapter 23 #2
Baron let his fist fly into Dorian’s face.
The right-handed punch didn’t even travel a foot to where it connected with Dorian’s jaw, but it had all of Baron’s immense strength and body weight behind it.
My eyes widened in shock as Dorian was lifted into the air by the force of the blow and sailed backwards.
Men jumped out of the way so he fell back to the ground with a sickening crunch, then whimpered and covered his pointy face with his hands.
Baron’s voice thundered powerfully around the clearing. “Dorian Ezrason, I sentence you to twenty lashes or banishment from this camp for the endangerment of a senior officer. Choose.”
Banishment was a death sentence. No one would be able to survive a long journey in this cold by themselves. There was only one option for Dorian to select.
Baron’s voice rose. “Bring me a whip!”
Dorian trembled as a man brought a heavy whip from which hung multiple stripes.
Baron took the whip and cracked it experimentally.
Dorian let out an involuntary yelp of terror as the whip whistled through the air.
I could barely breathe; my chest was as constricted and tight as it had been when I’d been plunged into that icy lake.
This very easily could have been my fate at any point since being chained to Baron, and seeing the cruelty that Baron was capable of was frightening.
The chain attaching me to him pulled me in close, and I saw the terror in Dorian’s face.
I tried to turn away, but my eyes wouldn’t obey.
As much as I hated Dorian, I didn’t want to watch whatever happened next.
Baron glowered down at Dorian cowering on the ground, disgust etched into every inch of his face.
He reached down with his free left hand, pulling me closer as the chain moved again, and grabbed Dorian by the collar, lifting him fully off the ground so the smaller man’s feet dangled in the air.
Baron regarded the wiry mercenary contemptuously as he hung suspended from the clutches of Baron’s fist. Dorian’s eyes bulged and his hands pawed helplessly at Baron’s wrist in a fruitless attempt to alleviate the pressure on his neck.
“He won’t survive if I’m the one to do it,” Baron said scornfully, and thrust Dorian back to the ground. He threw the whip to the sheriff before addressing Dorian a final time. “Live to suffer another day, scum.”
Judgment was swift and uncompromising as the sheriff stepped up to carry out the lashings.
I finally managed to turn away and cover my ears as the screams began.
I knew it didn’t make sense. I had no qualms about injuring him when I was trying to escape, but this brutal beating was beyond cruel.
It was inhumane. It defied my understanding that anyone would ever put up with it and choose to stay in such a barbaric setting.
I began to shake, not from the cold but from the rolling waves of nausea taking over my body.
I wretched and heaved up what little drink I had in my stomach to the side of the circle of observers.
At first, I thought no one had noticed my actions, so consumed were they in watching Dorian’s whipping.
But I felt Baron put his arm around my shoulders, and he guided me away from the screams echoing in the night.
Baron led me away from the fresh air at the mouth of the Crags, deep into the tunnels that burrowed into the face of the gorge, grabbing an armful of firewood from a meager stack as he did.
It felt like I was descending into an endless pit.
We passed multiple tents just noticeable in the depths of caves that branched off the main tunnel.
Fire pits were set up closer to the mouth of each cave and smoke trailed up to the sliver of sky barely visible above us.
The cave campsites became less frequent, but still, Baron and I continued to walk. Finally, he stopped at the mouth of one of the largest caves I had yet seen. We set up camp quickly, pitched our tent, and built a large fire.
“You see, having the tents inside the caves will help the men stay warmer. It provides triple protection from the weather. There is the first barrier of the tunnel, which gets us out of the wind. Then the caves are the second barrier. They provide a place to build the fires to warm the cave. And finally, we have the men pitch their tents inside the caves. That traps their body heat,” Baron explained as we warmed our hands. “Clever, isn’t it?”
He seemed completely at ease. I nodded but kept throwing surreptitious glances at Baron’s fingers hovering over the flames. I kept picturing the violence that those hands were capable of and was unsettled by it.
A man showed up with hot drinks Baron must have ordered while I was…
distracted. I drank mine as quickly as I could, desperate to rid myself of the rancid taste leftover from vomiting, and stayed as far away from Baron as possible, the chain stretched tight between us.
The image of him looming over Dorian spooked me.
I’d come to view Baron as a large but docile man since he was always so tender with me.
But the sight of him ready to beat Dorian into a pulp sent shivers down my spine. Baron was dangerous.
I could tell that Baron was beyond exhausted and wanted to lie down, but we had to wait for new bedrolls as our own were at the bottom of the lake. When the sheriff sent a man with supplies, we saw that there was only one bedroll.
“Where’s the other one?” Baron asked.
“The sheriff only sent one for you. He says the prisoner doesn’t get one,” the man said, shooting me a dark look. “We’re short on supplies as it is, but there are a few blankets for her.”
Of course I wouldn’t get a bedroll. The only reason I had one before was because Baron had bought one for me. There were no nearby villages now.
When the man left and Baron stood, I stayed seated on the log by our fire.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when he saw I wasn’t following him.
I shuddered. “It is just cold, that’s all.”
“You’re lying again. You can have the bedroll if you’re worried about that.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
I couldn’t deceive him, so I opted for the truth. “You scared me.”
Baron looked genuinely surprised. “When? Why?”
“Just now! I thought you were about to kill Dorian!”
“He deserved it for what he did to you,” he said bitterly, then hastily amended, “what he did to both of us.”
“Still.”
Baron shook his head at me. “You don’t hesitate to kill innocent animals by burning them to death and you throw knives at people every chance you get, but when a man who made an open attempt on your life gets a few lashes, you feel bad for him? You’re the one who makes no sense.”
I couldn’t explain it. I’d thought before that I would enjoy seeing Dorian punished. I certainly had enjoyed tying him up and throwing his boots into the river and I’d relished setting his tent on fire. But somehow, this felt different.
Baron continued, his hands shaking slightly, “No one will ever hurt you as long as I’m around. I promise.”
I wanted to believe him. But I didn’t.
Baron went into the tent. I would have stayed the whole night by the fire, but the chain’s short length prevented it.
I was pulled inside after Baron and moved as far away from him as I could, my shoulders hunched and arms folded tightly across my chest as if that would help protect me. Baron noticed.
His voice became much gentler. “I am not going to hurt you, Laurel.” He nudged the bedroll toward me. “Here, you can have it.”
“I’m fine with just blankets,” I told him, trying valiantly to keep my voice calm and casual to mask my fear. “You keep the bedroll. I don’t want it.”
It took several repetitions before he believed me.
Baron sat on his bedroll, pulled blankets over himself, then tossed me a few as well. I accepted them and wrapped myself tightly. I curled into a ball on the cave floor, staring into the dark.
Baron’s steady breathing filled the tent. I listened to it, a constant reminder that the man who saved my life was also possible of horrific cruelty, and I wasn’t sure I could trust him.