Beneath the Forsaken City by C. E. Laureano

it. Is that why you want to know? To instill the respect that your men lack?”
    Haldor merely cocked his head. “What makes you say that?”
    “They disobeyed your orders by trying to kill me.”
    The Sofarende leader let out a booming laugh. “Do not think because you understand our language that you understand our ways. I was not telling them to unhand you. You killed two of my best men. I needed to know if your life was worth two of theirs.”
    “Is it?”
    The amusement left Haldor’s expression, and his eyes turned hard. “We will see.” He stood and called to the guards, “Eluf, Ove!” The door opened immediately, and the guards stepped inside. “Take him back now. We’re finished.”
    The guards untied the rope from the bench and jerked Conor to his feet, but they kept his hands bound behind his back. He complied, his face impassive.
    “I will give you until this time tomorrow to consider my offer. If you still refuse, you will be executed.”
    Conor struggled not to show the thrill of fear the words sent through him. If the choice was between betraying his homelandor his own death, he knew which one he should choose. But it was not only his life at stake here. Eluf shoved him toward the door. Before he could step through it, Haldor called after him, “Not all Sofarende are as enlightened as I am, Conor. Before you make your decision, you might ask Eluf what the others would do with a female captive.”
    Conor jerked his eyes to his guard, who grinned suggestively. Haldor nodded, his point made. “Tomorrow. I hope for the sake of your woman you make the right decision.”
    The walk back to Conor’s prison went more easily, perhaps because his mind was fixed on Haldor’s ultimatum and not the trembling in his legs. He barely noticed the shoves Eluf aimed at his back to unbalance him as he calculated the likelihood of Aine’s survival. If she were alive and in Sofarende custody, he would do anything to spare her. After all, it wasn’t as if there were much left of Seare to save. Would it be so bad if Fergus had to focus his attention on a Sofarende invasion?
    He didn’t immediately notice that Eluf was not taking him back to the goat pen but instead toward the opposite side of the village. Conor slowed. “Where are you taking me?”
    Eluf responded with a shove. Conor resisted for a brief moment before he gave in to his guard’s prodding.
    Eluf stopped before a smaller hut, its roof thatched but its walls poorly insulated. The guard yanked open the door and shoved Conor inside. He stumbled and caught himself on his hands and knees. Thin straw pallets covered in stained linen lined the hard ground, and a bucket stood in the corner. From the smell, he assumed it to be a makeshift chamber pot. He suddenly wished for the goat pen.
    “You will stay here until you are called again. If you try to escape, you die. Haldor’s orders.”
    Before Conor could respond, Eluf stepped out and shut thedoor. Conor found a spot away from the bucket and lowered his aching body to the ground, the squalor around him a stark reminder that should he live, he would be a slave.
    Warriors are of no use to me. I give you a tool, you try to kill your guards.
    Haldor was no fool.
    Right now, though, Conor could barely walk, let alone fight, which meant that Haldor’s offer was the only way out.
    That evening, a guard came in with another scrap of bread and a bowl of thin soup. Conor ate slowly, his stomach still uneasy after days of mostly liquid. There had to be other men quartered here, but they must eat someplace else. Someone had ordered the guard to make the extra effort of bringing him food.
    Why? Was Haldor that sure Conor would accept his offer? Why waste food on a prisoner who would be executed?
    He finished the meal and inched himself back against the wall, where he sat, breathing carefully lest he disturb his injuries, until the door opened again. A line of men filed in, each one just this side of malnourished and