My head hurt.

That was the first thing that I realized as I woke up, followed quickly by the throbbing pain in my leg. My eyes fluttered open, but the place I was in was almost as dark as the darkness I had been submerged in.

“And then when I got to the docks,he was already captured, and he was unconscious” Rico said. I lay down and strained my eyes, trying to see something in the dark.

“He'll be alright.” Another voice said, “I've done my best with the wound.”

“I hope so.” Christen said.

I grunted, and tried to lift myself up. My head was dizzy, and I felt hot and feverish. I coughed, clearing my voice. I was very thirsty. I reached for my flask only to realize it wasn't there.

“Damnation” I said.

“Stiri?” Christen was off somewhere in the darkness. After a moment, there was light. Christen held the bottle of flames around her neck before her.

A terrifying thought reached my skull. As the flickering light from her pendant washed over me, I checked for my dagger, I reached up to my neck for my pendant.

“Damn, damn, damn.” I said.

“What? What is it?” Christen said. She crawled over to me. Rico was right behind her, hunched over so that his head didn't hit the low ceiling. I looked into the shadows and saw the form of some old man sitting down. There were another person in the shadows that I could scarcely see.

“My dagger is gone... And the pendant.” I said.

Christen sighed and set her hand to my forehead. “You're not well” she said. I brushed her hand away. Behind her I saw Rico slump to the ground.

“You lost the pendant.” Rico said.

“Rico...” Christen said, “He... It's not important right now.” She held her pendant up to my face. I cringed at the bright flaming light, but after a moment, she moved the light away.

“You at least look better.” She said, “You were really pale earlier, but he said that it was because of the wound.” She pointed to the old man.

The old man shrugged, “I think it might have been poisoned, but I knew that even if it was, you would be fine.” He looked at Christen, “Alex is tough.”

I pulled myself up properly and lay against the wall. I ran a finger over the wound on my leg. The fabric of my trousers had been torn, but the arrowhead was still inside. Course fabric was now wrapped around the wound, but I could still feel wet blood.

“I'm not Alex.” I said, “I'm Stiri.”

The old man looked at me for a few moments, then he turned to Christen. “My dear,” he said, “could you please hold up your glowing pendant there?”

Christen nodded and held the pendant back up to me. Again, I cringed as the light stabbed at my eyes. “Why didn't they take your pendant?”

“They didn't seem to care about it.” Christen said. “They took my dagger though.”

“Take off your right glove.” the old man said. I looked at him for a moment, but then slid my leather glove off my hand. My skin glowed red in the firelight, save for the silver of the pattern of scars around my hand.

“I knew it.” he said. “I was sure I saw those scars as I was helping Christen with your wound. Your glove slipped off, you see.” He tiled his head at me, “Tell me how you got the scars?”

I pulled my glove back onto my hand. “I remember,” I said, “Though it was a long time ago. I got my hand caught in some kind of trap or something.”

“A rabbit snare.” He said, “I was a blacksmith in Rawlin. When you were very young, I was repairing the snare, and you got too close. I don't know what happened exactly, but all of a sudden, I heard this terrible scream. I ran from the house and when I came outside, you were covered in your own blood, with he snare caught around your hand. It took me a good while to calm you down enough to get the trap off you.”

Christen and Rico stared at me. I tried to ignore them, and leaned back against the wall as casually as I could. “Alex, you say? I let the name roll over my tongue, like a foreign taste.

“Alexander, so I've been told.”

“Interesting,” I muttered “So, if you were, as you claim, a blacksmith, why are you here?”

The man shrugged, “The name of Joss the blacksmith was once known well throughout Rawlin. Then the friend of some overstuffed turd of nobility let one of his friends set up his own shop there. I went out of business because all the nobility went there, and who else can afford a blacksmith? I lost everything, so I ran off and became a thief.”

“You're not a very good one if you're here.” I muttered.

Well, Stiri, you're not a very good assassin if you're here.”

“I got caught doing something other than assassinating. I was saving: not something I know much about.” I lay my head against the wall, and listened. When we were not speaking, I could hear the screams of the tortured in the hallways.

“We need to get out of here.” I said.

“We need to but we can't.” Rico snapped. “There are guards everywhere... well less guards than we saw when we sneaked in the first time. I wonder why...”

I sighed. I was injured, and I didn't think I could go far with my leg like this, not to mention dizzy with fever from poison. I had no weapon, and no pendant. The pendant could at least have been used as a bartering chip. The salves that could have healed me were in my wagon. outside the city. Christen also had no weapon, and Rico refused to use his powers. Fool.

“Rico.” I said, “If you had been willing to use your powers, we would be out of here.” I snapped.

“He has powers?” Another, very strange voice said. Christen held her pendant up against the darkness. Laying on the stone floor near Joss was a kid, younger then Christen even. His hair was very short, as though he shaved his head often.

“That's Mic.” Joss said, “He's a friend.”

“What kind of powers do you have?” He asked sitting up. As he turned to us, I saw that he had a long, disfiguring scar on his left cheek.

He noticed my glance. “I got it when I escaped.” He said, “ I used to be a slave, first in Rawlin, then here. I was sent here after I tried to escape from Rawlin. I escaped here just fine though.”

“Slave?” I asked. He nodded. Slavery was supposedly abolished. However, every now and then, someone went to the furthest islands south, or some foolish elf wandered into the kingdom. I guessed that if I could have seen the rest of his face, I could have seen the pointed ears. “You're elven then?” I asked. Perhaps he could help us. Elves had a power all to themselves, though it was said that they acquired this power through learning, and any human who desired to could learn as well. The power to speak to the trees and the earth, and work with it.

“I am.” He said. He turned back to Rico, “So, what's your power?”

Rico hesitated before answering. “I'm a mage.” He said, “I speak to the flames.”

In the flickering light, I could see the elf smile. “That must be nice.” he said.

“What about you?” I asked. “Couldn't you have used your own powers to escape.”

“If I had any power.” he said. “Of course, if any captured elf had any power, there wouldn't be slaves, would there be? No, I'm powerless. I was never taught the language of the earth.”

“Is there any water?” I asked. Christen let her pendant drop, and I was surrounded in darkness until she came back with a small bowl of water. I drank serveal long drinks, then set the bowl down next to me.

“They don't bring us water, but when it rains, the place leaks, so we catch water in the bowl. They sometimes bring us food once a day.” Mic said.

“Wonderful.” I said.

“It doesn't matter.” Mic said. He looked back at Rico, “If you can use your power over the flames to keep us safe from the guards for a while, I know a way out!” He sat forward eagerly. “I know of a passage in the castle that would take us from the prisons to Lord Emmerson's rooms. From there, we can flee out the window, too the rooftops, and get out of the city. That's how I left the first time.

Rico shook his head. “I am bound by my words not to use my power in the city.” he said.

Mic bowed his head, hiding his face from the firelight. I suppose his dreams of escaping had fled him. I rubbed my leg, feeling the pain burning though me.

“Rico,” I said, “You're going to die if you don't use your powers!”

“We won't die. My brother won't let us.”

“He was willing enough to let Christen perish!” I snapped. “Or what, do you think he actually cares about you?”

“Yes.” Rico hissed, “Why, would you say differently?”

“I would!” I sat forward, ignoring the throbbing pain in my leg, “I would say that he only uses you because he doesn't want to kill you: he doesn't want to have his family's blood on his hands. I think that while he thinks you have your power, he can use you to help himself, but doesn't really care about you at all. He wishes you were his weapon, and nothing else... No, not even that.” The words fell out of me, sharp and fiery, “He doesn't even want to have anything to do with your power, does he? He's just like the people in Artis. They hate your power, and he hates you.”

Rico leaned forward, and for a brief moment, I thought he would burn me, just to stop my talking. However, his promise to his brother was stronger than that. “And what would you know.” he hissed, “about family? The relationship I have with my brother is tense, but you wouldn't understand that, would you? You don't know or care about anything that.. that..” He growled. “You only care about killing people, you only care about gold, about money! Filthy assassin, you don't even care about-”

“That's enough.” Christen said. She held her pendant up high, making both Rico and I cringe. “Stop fighting like wild dogs. It won't help us. Rico, Stiri tried to save me, didn't he? And Stiri, leave Rico alone about his brother.”

I snorted and leaned back against the cold wall. Rico didn't say anything either, and there was silence for a long time.

Finally, I spoke up. “Where's my dagger?” I asked. “Where's my stuff?”

“The Executioner took your dagger.” Christen said. “He tortures people for information. Joss told us so. As for your pendant... Lord Emmerson has that.”

I cursed under my breath. “I need to get a weapon before we can get out of here. I need to heal my leg.”

“...Good luck.” Joss said. “ The only place in here you'll find a weapon is in the torture chamber. Potions there too! Shame they only use them to keep people with information from dying.”

I rubbed my head gently. What a mess this was.

“Justin will help us!” Rico said, “I know he will... If not for me, then for you, Stiri. You're his assassin now. He'll get you out... He has to if he want's Kos killed.

Joss glanced over at me. “You intend to kill Kos?” He asked. I nodded.

“As soon as I can.”

To my surprise, Joss started clapping. “Good for you, Alex! I do hope you get out of here and get to plant a sword in him.” He gave a little chuckle. “I'll tell you, there's going to be a lot of people in Rawlin, glad to hear that little Alex Arma is getting his revenge on that fiend!”

“Revenge?” I said, “It's not revenge” Though even as I said it, I wondered if a small part of me didn't want revenge for the death of Foster, and the action of Tenlon. “Why would I want revenge?

Joss looked at me blankly, shaking his head, “For your mother, of course! As her only son, it's your duty to avenge her death, so that she can rest in the underworld after all that's happened to her! Don't tell me you've forgotten about her! Don't tell me you intend to let her writhe in the bowels of the underworld.

Christen was staring at me, her brows knit in... What, concern? Why would it be concern? Most likely, it was worry about not having known so much. “What happened to your mother, Stiri?”

I growled deep in my throat. “Nothing happened to her. Nothing that Kos had anything to do with. She was insane, and took her own life.”

“Yes, but Kos drove her to madness!”

“Ridiculous!” I snapped. But even so, I was led to remember what Foster had told me about the magics of the Magi. Of magic that could rend someone's mind, not their body. “How could he have done that, anyway?”

The old man looked at me very sadly for a few very long moments. “You don't know then.”

“Ignorance is bliss, old man.” Mic said, “Leave him be.”

“Know what?” I hissed.

“...Kos... Alexander Kos Arma as we knew his full name to be, married Rosa, your mother. And then, he left her only days later. The experience drover her crazy, and when she seemed to be getting better-”

“You lie.” I snapped, “Likely you've been sent here by Kos to trick me. He wants me to work for him and that damned halfling of his! I know that!”

“I'm not lying!” He pleaded, “I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this-

“Not if it drives him against Kos, you're not.” Mic said.

“- But... Rosa was recovering, or so it seemed. Then it became clear that she was with child. His child. It's from him that you have your name: We didn't know what else to call you!”

“Lies”

The prison was silent, the very last word echoing silently off the walls. Christen was looking at me, I was glaring at the old man who stared impassively back. Rico looked off into the darkness.

“Stiri.” Rico said, his voice more like an unsure whisper in the wind, “Where did you get your dagger?”

“I've always had it.” I said, not breaking my staring contest with Joss.

“Since you were very small?”

“Yes, so wha-” I remembered suddenly the initials on the hilt. The scribbles that I, as an illiterate child had pondered over, and ignored as an adult.

“A.K.A” Rico said, “Alexander Kos Arma.” The dagger belonged to Kos'”

A moment passed in silence. I glared at Christen. “Get that light out of my face.” I snapped. Christen hesitated, and then hid her necklace away once more. Darkness came out from the corners, and hid us all.

Kos.

I stroked the blood-soaked bandage around my wound. Alexander. Kos. Rosa. It made no sense... Did it? Why would Kos have done that to her? Not that I cared. Well, of course I cared, but not for the reasons that Joss must have thought of. The insane don't make the best of mothers. I thought back to images of my childhood that I had ignored for many many years. My mother, Rosa, as Joss said her name was. The little shack we lived in. One room, one bed, one chair. Rosa was no more than a piece of furniture there for all she did. A piece of furniture that spoke to thin air, who ripped her skin off her arms and face. A piece of furniture howling in torment for no apparent reason. A piece of furniture that didn't recognize me, or at least it didn't seem like it.

Alex. I had never heard that name before.

'Maybe he's lying' I said to myself. 'He could be lying. Why trust him at all?'

Ah, but the dagger. It could be coincidence, but it seemed like an odd one. A dagger I had since before I could remember, with Kos' initials on it. For a moment, I wondered what my middle name was. Had I been given that as well? Perhaps. If the parents of a child perish or disappear before the child can be named, he or she normally takes on the name of the mother or father. It was very likely that my full name was Alexander Kos Arma.

The thought made my stomach churn. Of course, that was only if Joss was telling the truth. And then, what if the truth that he knew wasn't the real truth?

Truth was a fickle thing.

I took a moment to assume it was true. To assume that Kos really was my father, and that things did happen as Joss said they did. Then what? Did Kos know who I was? Was that why he didn't want me killed in Artis? Is that why he wanted me to work for him. Or was there another reason. Was that coincidence as well? Was it just that I was a skilled assassin, and nothing more?

I thought on these things for a long time. My head was so noisy with thought that I didn't notice the endless silence around me, at least not until Rico broke it.

“So what now?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What now? What do we do now?”

I shrugged, though I knew that he couldn't see me in the darkness. “Same as we were planning before.” I said. “We find a way to get out of here, sneak out of the castle, and go to Rawlin. There, we find a way to get into Rawlin's keep, and find what we need in there, and kill Kos.”

“...But he's your-”

“He might be.” I said, “That's only what that old man says. We don't know for sure, not yet. But even if it is true, then it makes the task all the more important, doesn't it? If that is the way of it, I have to... Ah, avenge Rosa's death, wouldn't I?”

“...So, you're going to avenge her?”

“No.” I snapped, “I was hired to kill Kos anyway, wasn't I? All I'm saying is that even if this did change anything, it wouldn't change what I was intending to do.”

“If you can get us out of the dungeons,” Mic said, “Then I can get you out of the castle.”

I heard Christen moving in the darkness. “We have no weapons. Though, I suppose since your caravan should still be outside, We can get some weapons”

I let my fingertips trace the wound on my leg. Was it well enough to walk on? Could I climb out of a castle window on it? I didn't think so.

“Give me time.” I said, “I'll think of a way out of here.”

***

Darkness leads to silence. Every once in a while, someone would speak up, asking me if I had an idea, wondering what was happening outside, though no one really cared. We didn't feel like talking inside the prison, not just yet anyway. Generally, no one escapes here. You either die from starvation or beatings from the guards, or you're taken out, and executed. We weren't there that long, I didn't think. No one came with food, though according to Joss, sometimes they went a few days without bringing food. Time was immeasurable. I slept, but I didn't know if I had just dozed for a moment, or a few hours. Sometimes, Christen took out her pendant so that we would have light to see by, but that seldom helped. It showed us the wet, walls, the husks of insects, and at one point, a rat came under the door, and snooped around. Christen screamed, and scared it off by beating it with her shoe. After that she decided she would rather be ignorant of rats and other horrors in the dark, than stand vigilant against them by the light of her pendant. She hid the pendant under her tunic, and darkness came again.

Then the executioner came. The door swung open, and two guards stood on either side of the executioner. He was unmasked now, but he still wore the long, black tunic of an executioner. At first I couldn't see him well, but it was me who was dragged out of the cell and into the hallway. I had been rubbing my throbbing leg, trying not to move to much lest a fresh wave of pain travel up my leg. When the guard grabbed me by the hair and pulled me out of the cell, I didn't notice Christen's yelp of horror as a scream of agony escaped from my lips, nor did I notice Rico getting hit by the guards while trying to help me. No, these things I was told later. For the long trip down the stone corridor, I was aware of the pain in my leg, the tearing of my hair from my scalp, and the stone floor I was dragged across.

I passed out from the pain. When I came to, I was in a dark, cold room, There were a few torches hanging from the walls, giving only enough light to see the various implements hanging from the walls. Chains, knives, daggers and maces. There was a rack in the corner, a bed of nails on the floor. I myself was tied into a stone chain in the middle of the room.

“Good to see you awake.” The executioner growled, “I was hoping you wouldn't die... Not yet.”

I took a closer look at the daggers on the wall. I could see my dagger, and Christen's. Perfect.

“Look at me!” The executioner said. He grabbed my hair and turned my face back towards him. He had a thick, square head, and a nose that seemed to have been carved into his face, which had across it a terrible welt that resembled a chain.

It couldn't have been that long; he still bore the marks of my little attack.

I tried to lift my hand, intending to poke his eyes out. Perhaps then he would fall onto one of the very dangerous weapons that were in the room. My hand wouldn't rise. My hands were kept down by leather straps that seemed to have been run into the armrests. I tried to move my feet and found them to be similarly held. My torso was free though, for all the good that did me.

“You see what you did, you little slime-bug?” He snapped, bearing his perfect teeth at me. “You've marred my face.”

“Improvement-” Before I could finish my insult, the executioner landed his fist into my stomach. The air was knocked out of me. I double over, gasping and coughing for only a moment, then the executioner pulled me back up by my hair.

“Do you feel that?” He hissed, “The pain in your stomach?” He let go of my hair and punched me again. “That's what it feels like when I don't do my job. That's what it feels like-” He pulled me upright again, only to let his massive fist land itself in my stomach once more. “-When I disappoint Lord Emmerson.”

I heaved, throwing up mostly spit and blood. I hadn't eaten in days. The guard laughed.

“How's your leg?” He asked. He turned his back on me, and walked over to the wall. “A good friend of mine, Luke, got that shot. You're very lucky he didn't make it fatal.. of course, so am I. He sometimes uses a special kind of arrow. The arrowhead detaches as soon as it enters flesh. It stays in there until it's dug out. Not pleasant.” He waited a moment. “Well, how is your leg?”

I didn't say anything. After a few moments, He turned around, stormed over to me, and struck me in the side of the head with his fist. I don't know if I yelled or anything. My skull seemed hallow for a moment, and my vision swam before me. My ears rang, and I felt a trickle of blood running from my hair.

“I'll ask again.” He said,” How is your leg?”

“...It's been better.” I said softly.

The executioner grinned, his perfect teeth gleaming at me. “Well, don't worry. This pain will seem like nothing soon.” He brandished in one hand a small, blood-stained corkscrew. “I'll put you in so much pain, you'll forget all about that nasty little arrowhead.”

I eyed the corkscrew, glimmering like a ruby from the torchlight, from the blood that covered it.

“I want to have a little more fun before I start the real work.”

“... To what purpose.” I gasped. Blood and sweat ran down my face, blurring my vision. “You haven't told me what you want from me yet.”

“Of course I haven't. I don't know if I do want anything from you, save for screams.” He smirked, and lay the corkscrew down on a wooden table near him. “You see, if I wanted something from you, say, information, then Lord Emmerson would be here. Of course, it's not quite so much fun working with him over my shoulder. 'That's too much', he says, or 'he won't be able to speak if you cut out his tongue.' or even, 'you'll dull the blade if you keep slicing to the bone.' Really, the man is very limiting.”

I took long, deep breaths. Was he trying to worry me? Likely, that was what it was.

“No,”The executioner said, “I don't want anything from you just yet. Though when I do, when Lord Emmerson is here, I'm sure that you will tell us anything we want to know very quickly. I'm very persuasive. No, this is just my little revenge. You messed up my job, and I will not allow you to go unpunished for that. And I don't want you to think you might be tortured for other reasons either... No, this is just because you interfered with me. Remember that.”

He picked up the corkscrew. “I was thinking of scarring your face first. Or perhaps taking off a few fingers. Even if Lord Emmerson does need you, I doubt that he will require you to have all your fingers.”

I had to stop myself from clenching my fists. If I did, he may have taken off at least one or two fingers.

“I even considered a poison.” He said, “Something to make your blood turn to fire. Ah, but that takes too long, and it's more fun to give a prisoner that, than throw them back in their cells. I might just do that yet though.”

He walked up to the wall, and put the metal of the corkscrew into the fire of one of the torches. “No, I think I'll just mess around with the corkscrew for now. Beating on you isn't all that much fun really. Oh sure, the first few hits to the stomach can be fun, but after that, it's very very boring.” He pulled the now glowing corkscrew out of the fire, and walked over to me. “Tell me, is this hot enough?” He held the corkscrew to my cheek.

A wail of agony escaped my lips, then I clenched my jaw down as I smelled my own burning flesh. I moved my head out of the way, only to have the corkscrew pushed deeper into my skin. When he finally removed the corkscrew, I could feel it on my scarred cheek, I could still smell my flesh.

“Well, is it?”

“Yes.” I hissed. It was hard to keep my voice calm when I wanted to scream out in pain.

“Good,” the executioner said. He bent over and rammed the point of the corkscrew into my leg.

I screamed. I needed to get him away from me. I pulled my head back, and smacked my forehead against his skull. He stumbled backwards, pulling the corkscrew out of my leg. The corkscrew went flying, and landed on the floor. the executioner fell to the floor. There was a mighty crack, and he lay limp.

For a long time, I sat in the stone chair, breathing. The blood soaked through my pants and ran down the already stained chair. I wiggled my toes, and was glad to find that they still worked. My leg was inured, but not permanently.

I took a few more breaths. The pain in my leg was terrible, like my entire leg was made of flames. I had to ignore it for now. The pain would get worse, that was for sure, but right now, I had to ignore it, and get myself out of the chair.

The leather straps holding my wrists down were tied at the top. With an executioner nearby, it was enough to keep me bound. However, being alone, for an undetermined amount of time, I might just be able to escape. I bent over, stretched my spine so that I could reach the knot with my teeth. The movement made my leg wail in pain. I gasped, just as I reached the knot because the pain was so terrible. I sat, double over for a few long moments to get accustomed to the pain before I started to pull at the leather know with my teeth. It wasn't well tied, the Executioner didn't think I would be able to get out in the short time he had his back turned. Or maybe he was too anxious to start beating me. Whatever the case may have been, the knot was soon untied, though my mouth was throbbing from the effort. With my now free hand, I untied the other hand, and then, very carefully so as to avoid making my leg hurt any more than I had to, I untied my legs.

I sat still in the chair for only a few more moments. I couldn't waste too much time. I pulled myself up, grunting in pain. I stumbled over to the daggers, and pulled mine from the shelf. I slumped down to the floor, and dug the tip of the dagger into the arrow wound in my leg. I kept myself from crying out, but a whimper escaped my lips. Several, agonizing minutes later, I managed to get the arrowhead out of my leg. It was indeed poisonous, because half the arrowhead was gone, flowing through my blood. I stood up, sheathed my dagger, and grabbed Christen's from the wall, hiding that in my belt. On the other side of the wall was a long shelf with many bottles of potions and concoctions laying on it. I limped over, pulling my leg with me. I fell against the wall, and held myself up. I took a moment to breath, then I fumbled through the bottles, smelling the contests for something I might know. A green salve was there, that was good for the wound, and for some of the toxin. I grabbed it and cradled it in my arms. On the far side of the shelf was a bottle of liquid. It wouldn't heal my wounds, but it would make my limbs numb for a time.

I moved to reach for the bottle. I heard a moaning behind me. I turned, and the Executioner was getting up. I grabbed a nearby bottle and threw it at him. The clear bottle shattered on his head, and the red liquid inside poured over his face.

He screamed.

I did not know what the potion inside was. He stood to his feet, reeled, and turned towards me. The mark on his face from where I had hit him with the chain was sizzling, and burning. The skin on his face was beginning to blister and shrivel. The whites of his eyes were red, his pupils a pale grey. It must have been a potion for torture, rather than healing. It burned his skin like liquid fire.

The oversized blinded brute charged at me, his arms out, groping the air before him. I moved out of the way as he went crashing into the shelf of potions, but I was knocked to the floor, crying out as I fell on my injured leg Various colors of liquids seeped over him. He gave a rattling cry, and stumbled backwards, clutching at his face. He took several steps backwards, trying to wipe all the gunk off his face as he did so.

Suddenly he gave a great howl of pain. I cringed as he stepped on the corkscrew that had falled out of his hand, it's point drove through the thin soul of his leather boots, and dug into the arch of his foor, He leapt backwards, reaching out to catch himself on a wall that wasn't there.

Then he fell onto the bed of spikes.

The torture chamber was filled with silence for several moments until I realized that I was shaking. I took a deep breath as I lay against the wall and rubbed the concoction over my wound. Of course my leg still hurt, and it would for a while yet. I tied the wrappings around my leg again, and crawled over to the pile of broken bottles. Some were unbroken, but absent from that small pile was the pain relieving potion I had been eyeing.

No matter. I had one in my wagon.

I looked around the room, In the corner was a pile of sticks with bloodstained ends. I grabbed one and used it as a crutch. I pulled myself to the door, which was thankfully unlocked. I looked down the hallway, and listened carefully. There was no noise: The hallway was silent. On the floor, I saw the small line of blood that had come out of me as I was pulled to the torture chamber. I slipped out of the death-filled room and leaned against the wall of the hallway. My leg still throbbed, and my beaten body ached. I wouldn't be able to fight my way through guards. I could only survive if there were no guards. If I could stand the pain in my leg, if I could walk just a little further without collapsing, if there were no guards, then I might just make it back to the cell. And then, if the elf knew a way out, and if we could make it, if I didn't have to fight much, and if we could make it out of Teans.

If all these things happened, I might just be able to survive the day.