Storm Warrior

good food, not leavings—had been brought to him. Strange that such luxury was given to prisoners. He’d been given clothes too. Although he didn’t care for the garish orange color, they were clean and smelled of strong soap.

But a cell was still a cell. He was a man again yet once more a prisoner. Surely the Fair Ones had planned it thus, tantalizing him with freedom, then yanking it away just as he allowed himself to rejoice. He could almost hear their cold, crystalline laughter, devoid of true mirth. Yet the long night brought no other worldly visitors to mock him.

Strangely, his captors didn’t mock him either. They’d spoken briefly but politely when they brought him clothes and each time they brought him food, and he had thanked them for their great kindness. They looked at him oddly then, and he didn’t know what he had said wrong. He knew the language fluently—had come to know many languages over the centuries—but of course he hadn’t interacted with anyone as a dog. And this country was new to him. Perhaps he had missed something, some custom or nuance of behavior.

Rhys snorted. Obviously he’d missed more than that or he wouldn’t be in a cage again. He had committed no crime that he knew of, yet Morgan had clearly expected him to go with the man she had summoned. The blond man had the bearing of a soldier, but Rhys was far larger and more powerful. He could have stood his ground and simply refused to go. Yet to please Morgan, he had automatically done what she wanted as if he truly was her obedient pet.

The longer he was in human form, the less that subservient role appealed to him…Rhys was certain of his vow to protect her, however. He just couldn’t figure out how to fulfill it. He’d sworn to stay with Morgan—yet she didn’t want him with her. A day and a half had passed, but he didn’t bother questioning how long his sentence was.

After all, in his experience, once a prisoner, always a prisoner.

But other prisoners came and went. He listened carefully to what few words were spoken between the men and their captors but gained no clues. Where were they going? Only the elderly man in the closest cell remained. The officer had called him Mr. Waterson and treated him like an old friend rather than a prisoner. He’d been drunk when he was led into the cell, but the officer simply helped him to lie down and covered him gently with a blanket. He’d snored all night, but Rhys had heard far worse sounds.

There was a morning meal, everything wrapped in white paper again. Even the cup was paper. Tastes. Textures. Colors. Rhys reveled in every detail until the last crumb was finished. He was startled by a deep, gravelly voice.

“I got an extra hash brown here. You want it, son?

Reverting to old habits, Rhys hadn’t yet spoken to his neighbor. He had never talked to other prisoners, not because it was forbidden but because it was better not to know them. It was all too likely he’d meet them in the arena. “You offer your food?” he asked, wondering if it was a joke.

“Food and I aren’t real good friends in the morning. You get old like me, your stomach gets testy. I’ve had more than enough.”

Rhys took the proffered potato patty through the bars. “My thanks.”

“Name’s Leo. Haven’t seen you around here before. First arrest?”

“Rhys. I have not been in this prison before.”

Leo laughed. “This here’s just the local jail, son. Prison’s the Big House, and it’s for nastier fish than us. Although I see you’re in peels, so maybe you’re a bit badder than I think.”

“Peels?”

“You are wet behind the ears. Peels. Oranges. You’re wearing prison gear. Where’s your clothes?”

“I have none.”

Leo’s shaggy, white eyebrows went up. “Well, that explains what you’re in for. Me, I drink a little too much now and then. Can’t get my old gray ass home sometimes. Drunk in public. But not disorderly, not since I was a marine at least. Used to be a bit of a hothead in my younger years. Funny how age cools you down, makes you think things through.” He laughed again. “Can’t remember stuff worth a shit though.”

Rhys considered that. His newly restored body was still strong, but was he any wiser than he had been the last time he walked upright? He remembered all the centuries in between, however, and for a moment he envied Leo and his forgetfulness. Rhys could recall every single face that had recoiled from the sight of the black dog, every hapless mortal over the endless years whose misfortune it had been to witness the grim’s appearance.

Finally Officer Richards, the man who had taken him from Morgan’s house (in a car, a fine conveyance although Rhys didn’t care for the enclosed feeling), came and stood in front of his cell. The blond man was nearly as tall as Rhys, but his frame was narrow and wiry. His eyes conveyed a great deal of intelligence, however, and Rhys had no doubt that they took in every detail.

“Mr. Reese, I can’t keep you here any longer. You have no record, and you’re not being charged with any crime at this time, although I would advise you to keep your clothes on in the future. I’m concerned that you may have a health problem, however, and I’d like a doctor to have a look at you. It would have to be voluntary, however. I can’t compel you to see him when I release you.”

Rhys blinked. “You are…letting me go?”

“Have you committed a crime I don’t know about?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Good. Will you allow me to take you to a doctor?”

“I have no injuries, no need of a physician,” he said carefully. Rhys didn’t want to offend the man, but he could see no reason to go to a healer.

“I had a feeling you’d say something like that. All right, then. You’ll need to change your clothes.” Officer Richards opened the door and handed Rhys a green sack. “We can’t have you running around looking like an escaped prisoner. Dr. Edwards called, had some things put aside for you at Ellison’s Hardware on her own dime, so I picked them up. You’ll have some extra socks and briefs to take with you because they don’t sell those separately, of course. There’s a comb and a toothbrush too.

“You’re very lucky that Doc Edwards has been concerned enough about you not to press charges, never mind make sure you’re dressed. She’s a kind woman, perhaps too kind. My wife probably would have shot you if you’d showed up buck naked in our backyard. I figure when you get on your feet, you can pay the woman back for the clothes—but I’m going to suggest that you bring the money to me to pass on. I can’t enforce it, but I think it would be wise if you didn’t bother Dr. Edwards again.”

Kindness again. “My thanks,” Rhys managed. “I will repay her for these.”

“I’ll be back to get you in about twenty minutes. You too, Mr. Waterson. I’ve got some paperwork to fill out and then you’ll both be out of here.”

Richards left and Rhys considered the green bag. It was strange material, almost thin enough to see through and slick to the touch even though it was dry. Plastic. He pulled the clothing from the bag and set it out on the bed. It was so very different from what he had once known. Sure, he was aware of what each item was and how it was worn, but seeing and doing were sometimes different things. The orange shirt and pants were closer in design to the pullover tunic and simple braecci he was accustomed to wearing in his previous life.

Luckily the plastic packet of three small white things had a drawing on it. The idea was vaguely similar to a Roman loincloth but was all made of one piece. He chose one and knew enough to put it on first, but it took a couple of tries—and Leo clearing his throat meaningfully—to decide which way it should face. The braecci— pants, he corrected himself—were a fine dark blue that reminded him of woad, a dye his mother and sisters had made of fermented leaves, but the garments weren’t woven out of wool. In fact, none of the items were made from wool. The fabrics were strangely soft, except for the pants, which felt more like stiff linen.

“Are there no sheep here?” he asked Leo as he rubbed the material between his fingers. “This cloth is strange to me.”

“Cotton. Comes from a plant, you know? They make everything out of it.”

Like linen then, Rhys decided. But finer. Softer.

Finally he was dressed. Leo had informed him that the little white square in the collar of the black