The Divine Sword
Katie slowly opened her eyes. They itched like crazy. She went to turn over on her bed and fell off it.
Grunting, she slowly rose to her feet. It took a moment to realize where she was. She was still in the prison and just now coming back awake. How long had she been unconscious? The sky outside was still light, but it appeared to be that the sun was starting to go down.
Footsteps grabbed her attention. She sat back down, too dizzy to even want to look up to see who was there. The steps stopped in front of her cell and she heard the usual sound of a key being inserted into the door. The door was flung open, and it crashed against the wall. Feet came up to her bed and a hand roughly grabbed her arm.
“Get up, girl!” the man shouted into her ear.
She looked up into his eyes. It was the man who had come in before, who had come with Nicholas and Zarha when they had come to visit her. He gripped her arm and haled her to her feet. He pushed her to the door and shoved her against it. Her arms were pulled behind her back and she felt him binding them together.
She was too confused and lost to care that they were moving her to another cell. The thought of Richard was the only thing on her mind. She kept a clear vision of him in her mind.
He leaned past her and pulled open the door. He pushed her through the barred door and she lost her footing and fell, face first to the dirty floor. She didn’t bother trying to get up from the ground.
“Get up!” he screamed at her. There was a hint of panic with the way he shouted. The hands grasped her arms and pulled her to her feet. He shook her for a moment, then yanked her towards the left of the hall. Her legs wouldn’t move fast enough for her, and she fell again.
Her head connected to the ground and she thought she heard a ring. Strangely enough, she was reminded of Richard. She heard fast footsteps and thought that another guard has come to push her around.
She waited on the ground, knowing that he would yank her to her feet again. She heard a thump right next to her. Maybe he was going to stuff her in a large bag and carry her that way.
The hands came again. She feared the grip would bruise her this time, but the grasp wasn’t hard or rough, as it had been. The hands didn’t yank her to her feet, as she thought they would, but instead cut the rope from her wrists. The hands gently turned her around and she looked up at two faces and a bright torch light.
“Richard,” she breathed.
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