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Days passed. Jaret remained in his bleak cell with nary a visitor. The only indication that he had not been forgotten was the plate of bread and water that was shoved through the slot in the bottom of his door twice a day. Nabim had not come to taunt him, no guards came to check on him, and none of his men had arrived to free him. He was alone with his thoughts and the small grey mouse that shared his cell. He had put countless hours into reconciling what he had seen in the throne room with what he had been told his entire life but was no closer to answering those questions than he was to securing his revenge – the Order was silent on both counts.
He could not know how long he waited, clutching his knife, desperate to absolve his unintended betrayal. He spent the time recovering from his injuries and forcing himself through awkward exercises to maintain his strength – it would do no good for the Order to present him with an opportunity if he did not have the strength to act upon it. Still, his arms and legs never recovered – they still tingled as if lacking blood – and his ribs wailed at even the slightest strain. Those, however, were not annoyances that could stop him when his time came, so he did not concern himself with them – he had accepted his death long ago; pain was trivial.
Then one morning – at least it felt like morning – Jaret was roused by a new sound issuing from his door, the sound of a bolt being pushed back from its housing. It was followed by the screech of rusty hinges as the door swung open. He woke instantly but pretended to be asleep as he slipped his hand to the slit in the side of his mattress where his knife was hidden. His muscles tensed in anticipation of what had to be done.
“Ee’s banged up purdy good.” The voice was a slow rumble; the speaker sounded like his mouth was full of marbles. “Lil’ rat shouldn’t give us much truble.”
Jaret’s heart sank. It was only guards. Nabim was not with them – they would not talk like that if they had the Emperor in their midst. His hand moved away from the knife, but he considered his options and decided that this opportunity might be as important as if Nabim had arrived alone. The guards were already underestimating him. If he could get past them, he might have a chance to escape.
He waited. The guards were taking their time. He heard the rattle of chains. They had not bothered to untangle them before they stepped into the cell. It was all the distraction Jaret needed.
He lunged from his bed, forcing himself to ignore the screaming from his ribs. His blanket came up with him, spinning through the air into the faces of the guards. Jaret followed. He aimed his shoulder at the nearest guard hoping to knock him into his companion and immobilize them both.
His shoulder struck the stomach of the guard, but the big man did not even quiver. It was as if he had hit a tree. Jaret’s ribs were not nearly so strong. They wailed. Spots danced before his eyes. The big man just grunted, wrapped his hands around Jaret’s torso, and brought his thick knee into his stomach and chest. The blow ravaged Jaret’s tender ribs, and he went limp. The guard held him while he brought his knee up time and time again. Finally, when Jaret stopped moving, the guard tossed him casually across the room.
Jaret was already only half-conscious when his head crashed into the side of the bed and darkness overtook him.