After she was shackled, Asarah crawled under the table and lay down. She did not cry. She did not give up. But, when the rage and the adrenaline shivered out of her, she grew tired.

She struggled to stay awake, to observe her surroundings and her captor carefully, to find a weak link in her chain, a soft spot in the wood of the table, or any flicker of distraction that she could use against the Wizard. But there was none. After Samga had left, Dimsbury had turned his back on her and devoted his full attention to the out-of-focus flame on the other side of the chamber.

She had watched him for about 15 minutes before the chanting started. It was low and guttural, and sounded like the Wizard was speaking with more than one voice. The sound of it seemed to come from behind her. But when she whirled around, there was only the curving stone wall of the spherical chamber, catching the echoes and playing tricks on her.

The effect of the strange humming/singing noise coming from the Wizard’s throat, the stench of a smoldering brazier in the corner, and the hypnotic flickering of the in-focus/out-of-focus flame/non-flame trapped under a cylinder of blown glass all conspired to put her to sleep.

When Asarah awoke, she could not have said if minutes had passed, or days. She heard voices. When she opened her eyes, she saw that the strange flame under glass was brighter now, and in better focus. The fingers of eerie light it cast throughout the room were more substantial, carved deeper shadows. On the far side of the room, two of the shadows were talking.

Dimsbury towered over a cowled figure standing in the deepest shadows. The two of them spoke in whispers. She couldn’t make out any of what they said, until the Wizard stood up straight and exclaimed, “What? Come to rescue… the cook? You must be joking.”

The smaller figure shook his head and murmured more intently. When he paused, the Wizard said, “Ho, ho, ho, no. Really? That is rich. Yes, yes. No, wait: bring them here. Making an example of them will be a pleasant diversion.”

“Yes,” continued the Wizard, after another pause, “of course there will be a reward. I presume someone like you does nothing out of the goodness of your heart.”

The shadow turned and left the room. Try as she might, Asarah could not see the cloaked figure’s face, but his walk was familiar. Strangely familiar. Her curiosity and her natural impudence overcame her self-preservation.

“Who was that?”

“What, oh? I forgot you were there. I find your question tiresome, so you should sleep,” said the Wizard. With a wave of his hand, he rendered Asarah unconscious again.