Leídan Aznawar of Khand

Leídan awoke slowly from the dark world he had dwelt for hours. His world was foggy, as he could not yet see where he was. One thing he knew that was he lay no longer between the soft sheets he had fallen asleep between, but lay on a hard underground. He felt very cold upon his torso as if he wore no clothes and in his mind came signals that his back hurt as hell, if some wound had been torn open. While the fog lifted slowly in his mind and so revealing the word of four bare walls around him, he tried to sit up and discovered that he could not lean on his right elbow. Instead a soaring pain shot through his arm and moaning he felt back on the floor. He bit his teeth together as the pain slowly subdued and he opened his eyes again. It was nearly dark in his cell safe for the light from a torch coming through the window into his cell. With his good arm he tried to sit up again and felt around him, if there was something he could draw around his shoulders to block out the cold, but except rotten hay there was nothing. All he had still on were his pants, his feet were bare. The sharp dull pain in his left underarm was a bone that was broken. Whatever it had caused it; the guards had not set it, and just thrown him into here. How he had ended up here, he didn’t remember. All he remembered was that he had crawled into bed and felt asleep soon.

Tired he sat against the wall and waited. Sooner or later a guard would come to check on him. Leídan knew from the wounds – there were quite many on his back and his arms – which they had not been caused during the hours he had been taken and brought to this place. It had happened here somewhere, in prison. While the fog further lifted in his mind, questions began to form into his mind, how he had come here and why. Where was he exactly? Leídan didn’t understand it. His host had been kind, but had he been betrayed? And what had happened to Neida? He wanted to rush to the door, scream that he was innocent, and ask what they had done with his sister. However, in the back of his mind he knew he could not, even as he could not say who he was. He knew he had been tortured. Why had he been tortured in unconscious state? Had he been unconscious? Leídan tried to remember something, but nothing came to his mind. The last thing he remembered that a beautiful dream had erupted into pain and then just a deep black world. He could nothing do but wait, and hope that Neida had not fallen into the hands of these monsters. He hoped she had left these lands and was travelling home.
What perhaps had to be the end of the night – nothing was certain down here in the dark – a guard came to check on him. Leídan had fallen on the ground again, and had tried to sleep to gain strength again. Now he tried to stay unconscious, but a hard foot into his knees derived the reaction from him the guard intended. With a hoarse laugh, the guard said something, but Leídan could not understand it. He could only guess. He hissed of pain when the guard gave him another blow into his knees. He gritted his teeth against the pain. The guard locked the door. He had brought neither food nor water. Leídan was thirsty as hungry, but as he had watched the vicious guard doubt began to gnaw in the back of his mind, that if there would be brought refreshment at all. Probably not. If it came not, it meant he could be only at one place... the old prison of Oud Ilaz were according stories nobody ever escaped from. Who ended there, simply died. And Leídan was sure now how that went.

The cold went as longer the hours crept by. At a point Leídan didn’t feel it anymore, as he had finally withdrawn back to dreams, where he was warmly clothed in the mountains of Ered Harmal. A guard, who now brought him some draught, roughly awaked him again. Groggy Leídan tried to sit up again, taking care of his broken underarm. The guard had also brought some coverings what were not more than rags, but it was better than remaining bare. With one arm it was difficult to put something on. When the guard was gone, Leídan tried to eat the bowl with draught, but it was tasteless. He had not eaten for forty-eight hours or longer. And neither he had had something to drink. So he took it all, to survive. He wondered not what it could be. After his meal he felt his underarm and where the bone was broken. The world almost exploded when he put all his mind and power behind the setting of the bone to get it back into place. Gasping of pain, he slumped back against the wall, taking deep breaths. One of the rags he tore with his teeth and good hand into the long strips and so provisory he bandaged of the lower under arm. He hoped the inner bone would heal without many troubles. So he fell asleep again.

After three days, the guards got him out of his cell and allowed him to go up toward the inner court of prison. Leídan wanted desperate to see the sun again, but on the other side he had no idea what kind of other prisoners here were, and who all would be aired, as the guards put it. His legs protested as he was forced up the stairs and was pushed to go to a courtyard. The light pained in his eyes, and Leídan sought support against the wall as his eyes adjusted to the light. The courtyard was a square surrounded by high walls, impossible to climb over. Guards patrolled over them, keeping an eye on the prisoners below. He had put one of the rags over his head, as he wore a shagur, but none of the men had it here. So he took it off his head, not to draw attention to himself. But all had spotted him as newcomer. Everyone new, was registered here in face and a nickname. An old man approached him slowly trying to pass him by without drawing the attention of the guards to himself. While he slumped by he whispered quick in the language of the Azumenúkhad: “We are brothers, use your power to survive...” Leídan knew to hide his surprise and looked down to the stones. The old man slumped on, seeking his way along the wall and then sudden sat down on the ground. Leídan wanted to follow the old man and help him, but instead he remained where he was. The other prisoners watched him like hawks. He was glad when the signal sounded and all had to return to their cells. As long he was there alone and locked, nothing happened to him.

The words of the old man lingered in his mind. His memories at the inn in Tir Ethraid about a man named Celegur who had asked him about his name. Was the old man also a member of his tribe? He had spoken his language. There were a few outside the Azumenúkhad tribe who understood or spoke the language. And what power would he mean? Leídan knew nothing other than his own strength, and he felt weak. Was he about to fall ill and then just die? What power to survive meant the old man? Leídan tried to understand, to wrap his mind around, but he could not. Yet he kept trying to work it out. The hours seemed to grow into days and weeks, but at the moment Leídan was not aware of that. As Celegur had mentioned that he listened to an ancient name, now this man had mentioned a power. Was it a coincidence two strangers had said this to him? Or just luck, nothing particular? Or was there perhaps a secret Leídan knew nothing about. A secret that was related to the tribe he belonged to... was it the culture, or the habits? Was it something inside the people self? Meant the old man to keep hope? Leídan felt as he thought about the old man’s words not so desperate anymore.