Lead Logic: The Downfall Saga, #3

Chapter 1

The sun stained the rock face red in its waning light, framing Donovan’s shadow in blood. A cool breeze blew in from the foothills behind him, a welcome relief from the day’s activities.

The sweat burned as it ran down Donovan’s cracked lips. He clung to the rock face while he decided his next move. His grip was tenuous and weakening by the moment. He hung by his arms fifteen feet up a sheer granite rock face underneath an overhang. His legs dangled freely in the air and his fingers strained to maintain their grip as his arms started to twitch.

He’d always enjoyed climbing. Testing his limits as he solved a dangerous puzzle high above the ground. Osmont seemed intent on sucking all the fun out of it.

The heat from the bed of burning coals on the ground beneath him had seemed pleasant when he’d attempted his first climb up the rock face early that morning. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d tried to make the climb. Each new attempt was slower than the last, each fall harder on his battered body. Never allowed a moment's rest before starting the climb anew. Now the heat only meant a parched throat and slick fingers as he pulled his sweat soaked body upwards.

The last week had been the most difficult of his life and his shirtless torso told the tale. His back might as well have been one giant scab after the many cuts and burns he’d received. The injuries on the rest of his body weren’t much better. Osmont had allowed him a single night’s sleep, spread over the past seven days. He hadn’t eaten in three days.

Osmont had woke Donovan before the sun had made an appearance. They sparred with wooden poles until Donovan’s breathing was ragged, and his arms felt like they were made of lead, before insisting he climb up the side of the mountain. Donovan was only a few feet off the ground when Osmont started to build a fire beneath his feet. Donovan’s back had tasted those flames each time he’d fallen, and each time Osmont had sent him back up the wall while adding more fuel to the fire.

You accomplish nothing by hanging there, came a firm voice from below him. Embrace the pain and keep climbing, or embrace the pain waiting for you down here.

Donovan exhaled, before slowly inhaling to the count of four.

He let go with his right hand and stretched it above his head, fumbling around until his fingers found the narrow crack. Twice before it didn’t support his grip, but there were no other options within reach. He jammed his fingertips into the crack and paused to find his next hold.

Hurry up, said Osmont. We've got work to get done before the sun sets.

Why don't you come up here and say that? snapped Donovan, resting his forehead against the sun-soaked rock.

Finish climbing or start falling, I don't care which. Just do it quickly.

It had been the same thing every day since Osmont had started his training. Up before the sun, pushed to his limits until Osmont allowed him to rest. Each day harder than the last, until he questioned if he could go on. Osmont kept reminding him that this was the easy part of his training.

Donovan’s magic differed from every wizard alive. The two of them were fumbling in the dark, trying to find a way to unlock his magic so he could learn to control it. So far it had only resulted in misery for Donovan, and amusement for Osmont.

Donovan's first recollection of his magic manifesting itself was when he was climbing a mountain during his first year at Haven. Climbing up a difficult section, so fixated on the climb he had lost focus of everything around him, it was just him and the mountain. The world seemed to shift around him and he found himself crawling up the cliff face as if it was level ground. Donovan didn't know how he had done it. He hadn’t been able to replicate it since.

Osmont thought it was Donovan’s self-doubt which prevented him from tapping into his Gift. He was attempting to push Donovan passed his breaking point until his brain shut off and his instincts took over.

So far, as exhaustion set in, Donovan’s brain fired up and he couldn’t control the torrent of thoughts bouncing around in his head. The outcome hadn’t been pleasant.

Now Donovan clung underneath an overhang, unable to climb any higher, with no way to return to the ground without adding to the burns on his body.

He took a moment to regain his focus before he reached for another hold.

His left leg slipped. His stomach lurched, and he found himself falling through the air.

He landed on his back with a dull thud. Osmont must have used his magic to remove the heat from the coals because Donovan didn’t hear the customary sizzle when he hit the ground. The pain was, nonetheless, unrelenting.

Donovan laid there, too drained to care about the pain. Osmont strolled over to stand over him. He reached down to take Donovan by the hand and pulled him to his feet. The movement nearly made Donovan retch. He stood hunched over with his eyes closed as he regained control of his stomach.

So how do we know if we're making any progress? asked Donovan, trying to force a smile onto his face.

We'll know when you quit falling, said Osmont, with a wry smile.

That’ll be the day, said Donovan.

Stop thinking so much. Your body knows what to do. Relax and let it happen. Osmont wrapped his arm around Donovan’s shoulders and they strolled towards their camp.

How am I supposed to do that? Donovan stared down at his feet as they walked.

No idea.

What would I do without you? Donovan looked over at Osmont. We’d both be better off if you were a better teacher.

Better men than you have tried and failed.

Shove off.

There's no need to be testy.

They walked the rest of the way to their small camp set amongst a thicket of pine trees in silence. The weather had been nice, so they’d done little more than dig a fire pit and clear away the rocks from where they slept.

Osmont knelt down beside the remnants of their previous fire and began stacking fresh wood. Donovan tugged on a wool shirt from his pack to protect himself from the mountain breeze as the sun dropped towards the horizon and the temperature plunged. He picked up the empty pot and wandered over to a small stream to fill it.

Donovan’s life had changed forever barely a month ago, and he was still trying to decide if it had changed for the better. The venom from the manticore’s sting had prevented him from returning to Haven in time to take his exams. Headmaster Marrok was prepared to expel him when, with Osmont’s assistance, he’d exploited an ancient provision in Haven’s codex to be tested to become a Zerenist.

The Zerenists had existed since before the founding of Haven, but had all disappeared from the world after the last Breaking, a cataclysmic event which had wreaked havoc on the world a thousand years ago.

No one expected him to pass the test. The shock had been palpable when he did. It wasn’t long until they’d realized that no one knew how to train a Zerenist. As punishment for encouraging him, Donovan’s training had become Osmont’s responsibility. They were no closer to unlocking his magic than when they’d started.

Donovan bent down to fill the pot. He gazed longingly at a small pool near a bend in the stream. He wished he could try his hand at fishing for a few hours, or even just lay in cold water and let it numb his pain. Donovan shook his head. They didn’t have time for that.

A fire was burning by the time he returned to camp. Osmont leaned against a tree, whittling a stick. Osmont hadn’t changed since the day Donovan had met him. His weather-beaten face might be lined and his hair had only an inkling of black among the gray, but there was a solidness about him, like the ancient oak which laughed in the face of the storm that uprooted his smaller brethren. Lean and sleek, he had a body that men in their prime wished they had, and moved with a measured grace that could explode into action at a moment’s notice. He wore a traveling cloak draped over his shoulders and fur-lined boots to keep him warm in the cool mountain air.

Osmont trained nearly as hard as Donovan, slept when Donovan slept, and ate what Donovan ate, yet he looked no worse for wear. Donovan wished he possessed Osmont’s reserve of energy, let alone still having it when he was Osmont’s age.

Donovan moved the wooden stand they’d built the previous night so it stood over top of the fire, and hung the pot from it to heat. He wandered over to their packs to retrieve the bag of dried beans. Donovan met Osmont’s gaze when he paused his whittling.

Osmont held it for an uncomfortably long time before nodding a single time. We’re back on the road again in the morning. We need to be in Druze in two days.

Donovan stared at his lute case sitting beside the packs, yearning to take out his lute and play. It was frivolous to carry around with him while they traveled, but the music helped to sooth him when times were dark. He picked up the bag of beans and headed back to the fire.

Not beans again, said Osmont.

When it’s your turn to cook, you can make whatever you want, said Donovan.

You know I’m too busy to help with the chores.

That’s the problem.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Donovan set down the bag of beans beside the fire and stared at the pot of water while he answered. I’m the one taking the abuse while you spend your time thinking up new ways to torture me.

That’s not true.

Really?

I spend a good chunk of my time administering the torture.

That makes me feel a whole lot better, deadpanned Donovan.

Osmont set down his knife and the stick he’d been carving. He walked over to sit across the fire from Donovan. I didn’t ask for this duty any more than you asked for your magic to be different.

You can walk away whenever you want, but I’m stuck like this for life.

You may come to appreciate it in time.

Let’s see now. My body can withstand a beating which would leave others crippled, but I can’t do even the simplest task that a first-year kid could do with their Gift. I’ll appreciate this blessing until the day I die.

I don’t know what I’m doing any more than you do. We’ve barely scratched the surface of your potential, and you can already do things no other wizard can do. He gave Donovan a grave stare. That manticore should have killed you.

Donovan picked up a handful of beans and threw them into the still cold water in the pot. Water splashed out of the pot and let out a hiss when it hit the fire.

We already know you are naturally resistant to other people’s magic. Your body rapidly heals itself, and can fight off poisons which would kill anyone else. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

I’m glad getting stung by the manticore was a good teaching tool for you.

You’re the one with the selfish Gift, said Osmont. A wizard manipulates the world around them, but can’t affect themselves with their magic. Everything is backwards for you. Osmont raised his hand to forestall Donovan’s protest and continued talking. Once we learn how to unlock your power, you’ll be able to enhance your physical attributes in ways most people can only dream about. You’ll be able to become stronger than a bear, faster than a deer, and agiler than a bird. Many people would gladly trade places with you.

If only I wasn’t such a slow learner. Donovan stood and turned his back to Osmont as he headed back to their packs to grab the spoon he’d forgotten. Returning to the fire, he knelt down and stirred the beans.

Osmont tossed a few more sticks on the fire. They both sat there staring at the fire, waiting for the water to boil.

I appreciate what you’re trying to do, said Donovan, sincerely. It’s just ... I don’t think the constant abuse, depriving me of food and sleep, and the like, is accomplishing anything.

If you limit yourself while learning, you will always hold yourself within those limits, replied Osmont. If you strive to do the impossible, while you might fail, you’ll still accomplish more than you would have otherwise.

So my back is one giant scab because you care about me and want me to be able to deal with pain?

Something like that.

Is the plan to keep testing my limits until you finally manage to kill me?

You weren’t supposed to figure that out until it was too late to do anything about it. There was a trace of a smile on Osmont’s face.

Donovan maintained his straight face for several seconds before breaking into a grin.

Point taken, said Osmont. I’ll ease off on the training until we’re done here. You’re welcome to head back to Haven whenever you want, but I’ve got to see what Tuff found before I can join you.

The two of them hadn’t remained at Haven for long after Donovan had passed the test to become a Zerenist. Headmaster Marrok was furious for being forced to—as he put it—reinstate an ancient cult because of a technicality in an archaic document. They’d left Professor Cleary in charge of scouring the libraries for any new information about the Zerenists and their training methods, before leaving Haven.

They’d met up with Tuff—a dwarf who Osmont had known for many years—and headed back to the island of Galpus. Months earlier, Donovan had competed in the Paragon Prize Tournament on the island against teams of student wizards from the dwarven nation of Kern and the elven realm of Strom, but that wasn’t why they had returned to the island.

Donovan had encountered a group of people, one of which looked exactly like him and another who he thought might be his father, searching for something on the island. He’d been alone at the time and hadn’t risked confronting them, so they had returned to search for them.

Tuff searched from the skies on the back of a griffon while Donovan and Osmont examined the location where Donovan had discovered an ancient dagger with the symbol of Zeren on its pommel.

It had been a sad experience for Donovan. Although Brighid and Finian had turned on him, he still thought of them as friends and regretted having to kill them. They’d paid their respects as they buried the bodies. He didn’t understand how the two of them were connected to the other strangers on the island, but it made him wonder if they were merely a small part of a much larger conspiracy.

They’d found no signs of anyone still on the island and eventually returned to the mainland where Tuff received word that there was trouble in his homeland. He’d convinced Osmont to help him before he took the griffons home to their roost deep in the mountains. Donovan and Osmont made their way to Druze on foot, stopping on the way to continue Donovan’s training.

I’m happy for any excuse which keeps me away from Headmaster Marrok for longer, said Donovan.

He’s not someone to trifle with when he’s angry, said Osmont. All right, we’ll go easy on the training until we find out what’s happening in Druze.

Tuff seemed pretty animated when he left.

No one takes the desecration of a holy site lightly.

Chapter 2

Donovan rolled over and pulled the covers tightly around him. He lay there staring at the wall for several minutes before he sat up to flip over his pillow, punch a depression into it, and lay his head back down.

A pale patch of light from the setting sun crawled across the ceiling. It had made its way halfway across the room before he finally gave up any pretense of falling asleep and got out of bed.

They’d spent two punishing days climbing through the mountains, arriving in Druze early one evening. After spending weeks in the wilderness, they’d enjoyed a hearty meal at the inn before the call of sleeping in a proper bed drew them to their rooms for a well-deserved rest.

Donovan had woken up after a couple hours and hadn’t been able to fall asleep since.

Donovan got dressed and ran his fingers through his hair until it was in some semblance of order. He picked up his lute case and headed downstairs to the common room.

The common room was similar to most he’d seen in his travels—rows of tables; a large fireplace; the smell of stale beer; and the stench of many unwashed bodies.

Donovan headed over to where Tic, the innkeeper, stood behind the bar.

You still look like you had a run-in with a crestwel, said Tic. Something wrong with the room.

Room’s fine, replied Donovan, having no idea what a crestwel was, nor did he want to find out. Just got to clear my head.

Fancy yourself a musician, eh? asked Tic, eyeing the case in Donovan’s hand.

Been told I’m not half bad, said Donovan with a shrug. Is there anywhere around here where I can play?

You can play right here if you want. The boys love a spot of music to keep them entertained.

I was thinking of somewhere more private, said Donovan hesitantly. I don’t know if they’ll like my music.

Play whatever you like. They’ll let you know if they enjoy it.

All right, he said nervously.

Donovan walked over to the end of the bar. He set the down the case and pulled out his lute. He sat down on a stool with the lute across his lap. Turning to face the room, he quietly tuned his instrument.

He played a ballad called Ever Forgotten. The gentle music was high pitched with a steady beat. He played softly, not wanting to disturb the patrons, while he warmed up his fingers. He was halfway through the song when he looked up to survey the room. A smattering of patrons watched him play, but no one seemed to be enjoying the music.

Donovan finished the song and waited expectantly for the applause that never came. He looked over at a grizzled dwarf at a nearby table who was watching him. He had a friendly smile which showed off the few teeth he had left, a bald head, and more than enough hair coming out of his nose and ears to make up for the absence on top of his head.

Anything you’d like to hear, sir? asked Donovan.

The old dwarf picked up his mug, drained its contents, and brought the edge of his mug down onto the table with a clank. He picked it up again and repeated the motion.

Donovan listened as the noise continued to repeat, like a pickaxe striking stone.

A second dwarf joined in, but at a different tempo than the first. A barrel-chested dwarf at the back of the room let out a deep hum. Several other dwarves joined in, adding to the cacophony of sounds.

Donovan tried to join in several times, but each time he sounded like an interloper crashing their revelry with his foreign sounds.

He closed his eyes and listened. He could pick out the individual contributions but he didn’t understand the song as a whole.

It took him a while to realize his mistake. He was trying to bring everything into harmony with his music, rather than just adding his own unique voice to the song.

Once he released his control over the music, his fingers danced over the strings as they performed their own brand of magic.

As the song continued, more people joined in, while others faded away, but the song remained, alive and evolving as it danced around the room.

Donovan let his own music fade away and sat there listening. He closed his eyes and imagined himself standing in a mine, listening to the music of daily life all around him.

I love the music of the mines, said Tic, from behind Donovan. I miss little else from down there, but the camaraderie it creates can’t be replicated.

***

You make me nervous when you do that, said Donovan.

Then you need to learn to relax, replied Osmont.

Osmont continued to pace across the room, alert for any sounds coming from the open door.

Why can’t you sit down at a table like a normal person? asked Donovan.

If you have to ask the question, you won’t understand the answer.

Donovan kept his response to himself as he heard footsteps approaching.

The two of them waited in a small meeting room for Tuff and the Chief Warden to arrive. The room was built for function, with no extraneous clutter. Donovan had quickly grown tired of examining the candle holders on a side table and resigned himself to sitting at the round stone table as he waited.

Osmont altered his path and casually walked around the table to where Donovan sat, before Tuff and another dwarf entered the room.

Good. You’re here, said Tuff, with no preamble. This is Chief Warden Everet.

Tuff wore a white linen smock, sleeveless and open to the middle of his chest—to show off his muscular build. A week’s worth of fuzz was growing on his usually shaved head, and today he wore his narrow black beard in two braids hanging from his chin.

Everet wore the unadorned gray and brown leather garb that the wardens wore as uniforms, with several knives strapped to various parts of his body. His had short black hair, and just enough stubble on his chin to call it a beard.

When he crossed the room to shake everybody’s hand, Donovan noticed he was missing the tips of two fingers on his right hand.

Right, said Everet, sitting down at the table beside Tuff. What’s Tuff told you?

Enough to get us here, but not much more, said Osmont evasively.

I’m assuming you’re both aware of Druze’s significance, said Everet. He must have seen the confused look on Donovan’s face, as he continued. Druze was built at the head of the valley to accommodate the pilgrims heading to the Crystal Cave. Every dwarf makes a pilgrimage to the cave where they are sanctified, signifying they’ve reached adulthood. You’ve been granted permission to enter the cave. Don’t do anything to make me regret it.

Tuff mentioned blood being spilled in the cave, said Osmont, steepling his fingers together as he appraised Everet. What’s going—

Wasn’t here when it happened. I was in the mountains, investigating reports of groups of humans in our borders, more than usual. Thought little of it at first. Many people come to hunt and fish, and return home without causing problems. We tracked them deep into the mountains. When my people tried to talk to them, they fled. When we contacted them again, they attacked without provocation, fought to the last man. Those we tried to capture, committed suicide before we could pacify them.

Are you saying th— started Osmont, before the door opened, interrupting him.

An attendant entered the room carrying a tray holding a pitcher and four glasses. He set the tray on the table and poured two glasses of water which he slid over to Tuff and Everet. He looked at Donovan, who nodded, before pouring a glass and handing it over. Osmont waved him away, so he withdrew from the room with the empty tray, leaving the pitcher and empty glass on the table.

Donovan took a deep drink from his glass. The water was colder than he’d expected and made his teeth hurt. It had a heavy mineral taste, which was strange but not unpleasant.

Once the attendant had closed the door, Osmont continued. You specifically said that these people were human. All of them?

Everet nodded his head once.

Bah, it’s worse than that, said Tuff. Most of them are wizards. The first group of wardens was burned alive and left to bake in the sun as a warning. We’ve few enough wizards willing to be wardens, that’s making it bloody difficult to deter these intruders.

Wizards? said Donovan. Surely no wizard woul—

Osmont silenced him by raising his hand. I agree with Donovan. There are so few of us that it can’t be by accident.

No one’s saying it’s an accident, muttered Everet, his cold gray eyes glared at Osmont from beneath half-lowered lids.

If you give me their descriptions, we’ll begin an investigation of our own. If they were trained at Haven, someone should be able to identify at least a few of them.

Where else would they be trained? Everet crossed his arms over his chest.

You’ll get your list, interjected Tuff. We expect a copy of everything you find.

Osmont leaned back in his chair to relax, his eyes fixed on Everet.

The two of them sat there, waiting for the other to break the silence until Donovan did it for them.

This is the part where you tell us that one of these groups snuck into the Crystal Cave, right? asked Donovan.

You say that casually, like it’s no big deal, spat Tuff. They entered the cave, desecrated the Pool of Prudence, and killed more than a dozen people as they tried to fight their way out.

Silence hung in the air.

Donovan looked down at his lap. He tried to hide his embarrassment by distracting himself with thoughts of the music from the night before while he waited for somebody to speak.

That was two weeks ago, said Everet. They were searching for something that hasn’t been in the cave for a long time.

That’s a leap, said Osmont. Were there tracks leading inside?

There’s a hidden chamber near the back of the cave. The tracks were concentrated in the area. We’re pretty sure they got inside. We’ve watched these people enter other caves. They are searching for something, but we won’t know why they are here until we get one of them to talk.

Is that why we’re here? asked Donovan. You think they’ll mistake us for one of them, so we can get close enough to capture one?

Don’t be daft, said Everet. No one would ever mistake that ugly heap you call a face. You’re here as a curtesy to Headmaster Marrok. He should know what his former students are doing. We’ll be expecting a response from him when you get back to Haven.

You could have said all of this in a letter, said Osmont. Why are we really here?

We captured one of them. We haven’t made him talk yet, it’s only a matter of time. Tuff recommended we give Osmont a chance to use his expertise before we escalate things and start causing permanent damage.

You brought us here to help torture a prisoner? asked Donovan. You’re wasting your time. We can leave right now. Donovan glanced over at Osmont who had an unreadable expression on his face.

Osmont leaned towards Everet. Take me to the prisoner.

The meeting broke up without another word. Everet led them from the room with Tuff trailing behind. They followed him outside into the dull morning sun. A fog hung over the city, softening everything in its gray haze.

The people they passed scowled when they saw Donovan and Osmont before they hurried on their way.

Druze was built in a narrow valley high in the mountains. A thick wall with a sturdy spruce gate, reinforced with steel bands, blocked the narrow notch on the north end of the valley. The gate provided the only access to Druze without scaling the daunting mountainsides. The entrance to the Crystal Cave lay to the south.

Tuff had told Donovan that the city was originally built to be gray and drab to reflect the solemnity of the place. What started as a monastery guarding the entrance to the cave had grown into a full-fledged city which serviced the pilgrims coming to see the holy site. To accommodate the rapid growth, the newer sections of the city were built out of spruce logs. Over the years, a patchwork of colorful decorations had been hung on the sides of buildings and painted on the stone surfaces around the city to add some much-needed color to the city.

Isolated from the major trade routes on the northern coast of Kern, Druze tried its best to be self-sufficient. Donovan had passed several herds of cattle and sheep when they’d made their way into Druze the previous day. Terraces carved into the mountainside leading up to the valley accommodated small plots of land growing wheat, barley, and oats.

They headed from the mayor’s house, where they had met, to the small guardhouse near the gates to the city. They walked passed many buildings built out of spruce logs with small slits for windows. A symbol hung above most of the doors, made of woven pine boughs. A ring with a triangle in its center with a series of smaller triangles inside the large one and a pale blue stone hung in the very center.

The guardhouse was located near the outskirts of Druze, erected beside the city’s main wall. It was one of the few stone buildings on this side of the city. Single story, with pale gray walls and rows of narrow windows which allowed puffs of smoke to escape the building. It had the solid look of something that would outlast all the people living in Druze.

Everet pounded on the wooden door and waited until a female dwarf opened it. She wore a gray wool tunic, belted at the waist, over a pair of slacks, and a short-brimmed black felt hat. The smell of burning torches and smoke escaped through the open door.

Lyn, said Everet with a nod. We’re here to see him. He tried to push his way passed her, but she refused to move out of the doorway.

Who are they? asked Lyn.

Just let us in.

She gave him a look which said that she wasn’t budging until he answered her question.

They’re wizards from Haven, here to help us question the prisoner.

Her eyes narrowed, not in fear, but in determination as she sized them up.

Weapons stay here. The prisoner’s safety is on your head. She pulled open the door and let them inside.

Soot stained walls and two cluttered work areas greeted them in the central room. Donovan let Lyn check him for weapons while Tuff and Everet piled theirs on a small table against the wall. Satisfied with Donovan, she checked each of them in turn, before leading them through the side door to the cells.

There were only two cells in the guardhouse. They either received little use or were cleaned regularly. Donovan glanced through the barred window set in the middle of the door to the first cell as they walked passed. Torches hanging across the hallway cast a pool of flickering light in the center of the room, leaving the corners shrouded in shadows. The floor was clean, the cot looked comfortable, and Donovan couldn’t smell the bucket in the corner over the stench of smoke from the torches. If he had to spend any more time in a cell, Donovan thought this wouldn’t be the worst place to spend it.

Donovan hung back as Everet walked up to the second door.

On your feet, said Everet. We’ve brought you some company.

Go piss in the wind, came the voice from inside the cell.

Everet moved aside so Osmont could peer into the cell.

What ditch did they drag you out of? asked the prisoner.

I’ll show you, once you’ve answered my questions, said Osmont.

You’re more hopeless than I thought if this is the best you got.

Osmont shuffled aside as Donovan made his way to the door.

The prisoner lay on the cot, staring up at the ceiling. He had a slight build, a receding hairline, and a hooked nose.

They caught you, didn’t they, said Donovan. You should show them some respect.

The prisoner looked over at Donovan.

They locked eyes.

The prisoner’s jaw dropped as a shocked look spread across his face.

Lucas, what are you doing here?

Chapter 3

Lucas? My name isn’t Lucas.

Oh ... of course not. I mistook you for someone else, said the prisoner, his tone doing a poor job of covering his attempted lie.

Donovan looked at Osmont who was motioning for him to keep talking.

What’s your name, stranger? asked Donovan, glancing over his shoulder at Tuff, hoping for advice.

Guebar ... but you had no way of knowing that.

Osmont shook his head in amazement at the prisoner’s idiocy.

Right ... Guebar, I’ll try to remember that, said Donovan, slowly. Why are you here, Guebar?

Because your friends out there caught me by surprise.

We must ... rectify that, said Donovan, a touch of menace in his tone.

Do it now. Guebar rolled off the cot and threw himself at the door. He tried to grab Donovan through the bars, but Donovan stepped back out of his reach. Guebar pressed his face against the bars, eyes wide and spittle flying from his mouth. I’ve told them nothing. I will never talk. End it now.

Enough, snapped Everet. You just confessed to having information we want. Move him to a more suitable place for questioning.

Yes, sir, said Lyn. She disappeared through the door where they’d entered.

Guebar returned to the cot, and pretended to ignore them while they waited for Lyn to return.

She returned several minutes later with a set of manacles in her hand. A second dwarf, noticeably older with the large paunch of someone who spent their time sitting behind a desk, followed at her side. Everyone squeezed passed them till they stood alone in front of the cell door.

On your feet. Face the rear wall, barked Lyn.

Why don’t you bend over and show me your rear wall? quipped Guebar.

You insolent little—

Calm down, Lyn, said the second guard in a patronizing tone. Don’t let him get a rise out of you.

She gave her partner an icy stare before shoving him aside. She unclipped a ring of keys from her belt and unlocked the cell door.

You want any help? asked the older dwarf.

She clipped the keys back onto her belt and opened the door. Guebar sat up on the bed as she crossed the room. A blow to his sternum with the heel of her palm knocked him back down onto the bed. She grabbed one of his wrists and wrenched him out of bed. He landed with a thud on the stone floor.

Give me an excuse so I can break your wrist, she said.

Guebar meekly lifted his other arm into the air so she could clamp the manacles around his wrists.

Donovan gave Guebar a wink as Lyn led him out of the room. Guebar tried to twist around to get another look at Donovan, but with a tug on the chain connecting the manacles, Lyn kept him moving down the hall. She led them to a cluttered break room. She shoved Guebar into an oak chair, while Tuff cleared the remnants of someone’s meal off the table.

It’s crowded in here, said Osmont. Can we have privacy?

Just make sure there’s enough left for me to identify the body when you’re done, said Lyn.

You have nothing to worry about.

The two guards and Tuff filed out of the room. Everet shut the door and sat down beside Guebar. Donovan leaned