Kick Drum Heart

“Yeah, kid, ready to name a few names?” Another , scrawnier guard successfully aimed a kick at his ribs. He grunted in pain, anger keeping him from making what he considered pathetic whimpering sounds. He couldn’t even retaliate. Damn ropes. Damn cowards.

Filius Griffinsword focused on keeping his breathing steady, focused on not panicking, even though he was pretty positive that last kick had cracked a few ribs. Maybe punctured a lung. He couldn’t tell for sure, not being a healer, but hell. It sure felt like something wasn’t right. Maybe it was his spleen. He’d heard somewhere that a ruptured spleen could kill you– where was his spleen, anyway? And when it came right down to ruptures, maybe his appendix had burst: he was positive that a burst appendix was deadly. What if–-

A third guard reached over and gripped his collar, then pulled Filius into a standing position. The ropes that bound his arms behind his back and his feet together were too tight, and lack of proper circulation had Filius swaying. The guard released him, sneered at him, then punched him in the nose again. Filius fell, vision spotting erratically, and landed hard flat on his back. Head reeling in agony, Filius mouthed a curse. He might have spoken it aloud, if he’d had air left in his lungs right then.

“Let’s have some names! Now!” A new voice roared, echoing through the large stone cell. Three guards’ heads turned to look toward the entryway. A giant of a man filled the door frame.

“Seargent Ti’dom,” one guard said reverently. “Thank you for coming to assist us.”

“My pleasure,” Ti’dom replied more quietly.

“No, it’s ours. Feel free to take over interrogations. Our guest doesn’t seem willing to assist us.”

Oh, sure. The guards were well-spoken and refined now that their leader was here. The three guardsmen stood a little straighter, and looked as though they were trying to ignore the blood staining their hands and clothes.

My blood, Filius thought bitterly, his mind blurred with pain. He could see it more clearly from his position on the floor, glistening darkly against their shirts, trousers, knuckles. But looking cost him too much strength, and his lifted head fell back onto brutally hard stone with a thud. He moaned softly as the cell around him spun some more.

He was dimly aware of loud, thudding footsteps booming in his direction. He was conscious enough to recognize the frenzy of fear and anxiety rising again as Ti’dom lifted him not-so-gently into a sitting position, then dragged him backward so he leaned against a thick, rock-solid wall.

Ti’dom crouched so he was face-to-face with the bruised and battered Filius. He spoke softly, but his voice held a threatening edge. “You know that if you do not give us names, you will never be released.” The information was a statement, not a question.

Filius made a small noise and attempted futilely to open his eyes. For some reason, they didn’t seem to be working correctly.

Ti’dom ignored him and continued, his deep, commanding bass capturing Filius’s full attention, not just his subconscious. Filius tried opening his eyes again and received a blurry image of inky skin, pale hair, and large, dark, ice-hard eyes.

“If you give me names of everyone involved, I will let you go. You will leave the country, never to come back. But you will be alive. Your life must be somewhat important to you.”

Filius forced his lips to work, made himself speak, even though the pressure on his lungs and the ache bearing down on his chest was nearly unbearable.

“Is your life more important than your country?” he whispered hoarsely

“Of course not,” Ti’dom snapped impatiently. “But you are not giving yours up for your country, instead you would die for traitors! Hell-raisers, anarchists! The very harbingers of disorder and destruction.” Ti’dom’s frustrated, passionate response made Filius’s lips curve in a tiny, weak smile.

“I would die to give the people of this nation the freedom they deserve. Not the horrors the new government sets upon them.” He breathed shallowly, air rattling through his battered lungs. He opened bruised and bloody eyes to stare into Ti’dom’s accusatory glare. “Kill me. I won’t tell you anything.”