Hell to Pay
an excerpt

The bird was chained.

Its struggles had ceased some time ago, its body sagging in the bonds. Chains; the cold, hard steel was clamped firmly around its ankles and bit cruelly into the exposed skin. Rope; the raw hemp was bound tight and rough around its lithe body. Its throat was dry, its stomach clenched. They’d offered it no nutrients since its capture two days ago. It twitched a little against the restraints, testing for some release from its discomfort. There was none.

Poor bird, caged and confined against its will.

The Thief King was silent as he was led down the halfway, his shoulders slumped forward and his feet shuffling on the dusty ground. He walked slowly, hunger cramping in his gut and making it painful to move. It felt as though every step he took tightened this writhing mass of knots in his belly, rendering even the thought of going on excruciating. His chains rattled then jerked forward, and he was permitted no moment of rest. He was forced to continue.

The bird was no type of songbird, never mind that it was going to be placed before the king as a great prize. Nor was the animal particularly beautiful; it was coarse and disheveled, accustomed to battling hard for its unscrupulous life. The only brightness to it was a glory of crimson feathers covering its back and a pretty ring of gold around its throat. The rest of its form was a dull, desert brown, spattered with mud and dirt and dust and sand.

It did not sing, either, when its rough voice was coaxed forth. It cawed and barked insults, as a crow, and mocked with laughter, as a raven. This voice was not lovely either, and grated on the ears after prolonged exposure. But the bird was also rarely-heard, quiet; this was another reason that led to its voice being so unpleasant.

It was a well-known fact that many wished to have the bird silenced forever.