Dragon Clan #2: Raymer's Story

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The oldest of the palace guards assigned to the dungeon was missing his two front teeth. He paused from shuffling his endless rounds at Raymer’s cell and lisped, “Thinkin’ about escapin’ ain’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question, and Raymer didn’t bother answering. A small shaft of sunlight beamed through the iron bars of the only window in the ancient dungeon cell and warmed a square patch on Raymer’s back. As the sun moved on, so would Raymer. In his mind, he still lived free in the Raging Mountains. Drawing in a deep breath, he imagined what mountain air would taste like again while ignoring the pungent aromas of the dungeons.

The guard leaned a shoulder on a stone wall for a moment and watched Raymer performing his daily regimen, which was much like the king’s soldiers did in their training. The guard’s hand lightly rested on the unembellished hilt of the standard issue broadsword hanging from his belt. He chuckled, “If there’s a way to get out of here by squeezing those bars over and over, you’re gonna’ be free by afternoon.”

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