* * * * *
He awoke to a painful throbbing in his head and something cold and hard against his cheek. The slow drip of water and the flickering of flames slowly came to his ears as he came to, but his hearing was not the first thing that concerned him. His entire body ached and his shoulder felt as though a blacksmith had taken a hammer to it. He tried to move his head and arms but every movement, however small, sent needles of agony up his spine and into his brain. Even his eyelids hurt as he attempted to open them, but open them he did. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, but as they did, a dark stone floor slowly took form. If not for the glow of a nearby torch, he would have seen nothing but darkness. Instead, the flames allowed him to make out an almost black, rough stone floor and a few pieces of hay. He looked past the strands, which made his eyeballs ache, and his gaze came to thick iron bars sitting not three feet away.
Druzeel’s eyes remained locked on the solid poles in front of him as he pushed himself up. As his head came off the floor, it felt like someone had suddenly thrust a dagger into his brain and shoulder. He let out a groan and paused, waiting for the intense pain to subside. It faded only a little, but it was enough where he managed to sit up.
He thought it was a dream, a terrible nightmare that he was going to soon wake up from. Piyus was certainly still alive, he was in his bed at some inn, and what he had seen had been some vision brought on by stress and worry. Xavdak had not arrested him and hadn't him knocked unconscious. But feeling the pain and seeing the very real bars in front of him told Druzeel that those things had happened. Piyus was dead and he had been arrested, accused of killing his mentor’s friend. Someone had hit him in the head to silence his protests and...and what? What happened to him? How had he become so sore? Did one of them beat him? Did they run over him with a horse? It sure felt like it. And where was he anyway? Grimacing against the pain, Druzeel scanned the area in front of him.
The bars were built into the ground and they rose about ten feet to a ceiling made of the same colored stone as the floor. They looked strong and solid, too solid for even the mightiest warrior to break. A small door, also made of iron bars, set with a thick lock, was framed into the columns of metal. The wall of his cage was only six feet wide, with a stone wall on each side, which looked just as hard and strong as the floor.
Druzeel leaned forward and looked past the bars. He saw what looked like a long hallway, decorated with walls made of iron bars. A torch was placed every six feet, sitting in a sconce on the two-foot section of wall that divided each section of bars. The flames illuminated little and he saw more darkness than anything else, but he did hear shuffling and a few moans of agony, coming from somewhere down the walkway. A cold sense of fear shot through him as he suddenly realized where he was. He was in a room full of prison cells. He was in the dungeons of Pelartis.
The sound of shifting hay came from somewhere close behind him. Druzeel spun around, a new sense of dread filling him, and saw that he was not alone in his cell. Two other forms sat against the back wall. One was the size of a man and looked vaguely familiar. The other was tiny, almost childlike and also stood out in his mind.
“Jannda?” he asked. He looked at the other figure. “Dex?”
“Well who else would it be?” the halfling said in a voice filled with bitterness and anger.
She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest and Druzeel could see that all of her weapons and traveling gear was gone. The only thing she wore was a plain brown shirt and simple gray pants. Both looked to be a size too large on her diminutive frame. Druzeel’s gaze moved to Dex then, who was also dressed in a similar fashion, though his cloths fit better. His eyes quickly fell to his own body and he found that everything he owned was gone, just like the others. Drab clothing was all that remained.
Suddenly, the ring that Graeak have given to him sprung to his mind. Druzeel quickly went to search his pockets but found that he didn’t have any. He looked to the floor, his eyes wide in fear, but all he found was stone.
“They took everything,” Dex said, his voice drawing Druzeel’s gaze. “Our swords, daggers, rings, even your staff. They have it all.”
“How...” Druzeel began, but his words suddenly failed him.
“You’ve been out for about five hours,” Dex said, guessing Druzeel’s question. “The guards knocked you unconscious when you started to struggle and weren’t exactly gentle when we were transported here.”
That explains the soreness, Druzeel told himself. “Where are we?” he asked, looking back to the hallway.
“In the same building we were taken to when we first came to the city, only many floors higher. They keep the prison cells up here to prevent escape. Anyone managing to break free would have a long way to go before reaching the outside.”
“How do you know that?” Druzeel asked, looking back to Dex.
“Overheard the guards talking on the way here,” he replied. “Many of them don’t know when to shut up.”
“How far up are we?”
“No telling,” Dex said, stretching his legs. “Lost count of the steps and didn’t see any windows. My guess is at least ten floors, probably more.”
“Might as well be a hundred,” Jannda said in frustration.
“What? Why?” Druzeel said, confused.
“This place is locked down tight,” Dex replied. “And the lock is solid. Vistalas would even have a hard time opening it. Magic runs thick through this place. It’s in the walls, the iron, and even in the air.”
Now that Druzeel thought about it, he could feel a slight tingle all over his skin, in his head, and running down his spine. He first thought that it was from the pain from the way the guards had handled him, but now he recognized it for what it really was: magic emanations. With hardly any concentration, he could feel the power and mystical energies in the floor beneath him. It was even in the air he breathed. It was all around him. Whoever had built this place used a lot of magic in the process.
“Have you heard...from the others?” Druzeel asked. Dex’s comment made him think of the others for some reason. Since they had not made the meeting, he assumed the worst. As far as anyone knew, they had been arrested as well and were sitting in a cell not far from them.
“No,” Dex answered, shaking his head. “Based on what I heard, they are still somewhere in the city, but Xavdak is looking for them. Seems they were caught in a confrontation of their own.”
“Are they all right?” Druzeel asked, concerned. He never would have thought he could care about the well-being of someone like Brask, but the man was one of his companions and based on what had happened to him, he needed to know that at least some of them had escaped harm.
“As far as I know,” Dex responded. “I overheard some of the guards speaking of a small massacre in the slums. A bunch of thieves were killed, one had almost been chopped in half. I’ll bet that was Thorstar’s doing. They mentioned that a wanted bandit by the name of Drisk had also been killed. He was their leader. I’m guessing that he was the one Vistalas knew. It’s too much of a coincidence.”
“So,” Druzeel said, suddenly seeing the pieces of a puzzle coming together. Even though they had figured this out before going to see Piyus, he had to say it out loud. “They were attacked by thieves, you two were attacked by stalkers, and Piyus was...”
His voice trailed off. He felt sorrow and sadness suddenly over taking him at the thought of Piyus and the vision that had suddenly come to his mind, a vision of the archmage’s body, lying in a pool of blood. He thought of the pain and agony the man must have felt before he died. Then Graeak appeared before him and Druzeel almost broke into tears, but he steadied himself, took a deep breath, and forced his mind to clear. Though the pain he was feeling at Piyus’s death was still fresh, still extremely real, right now was not the time to wallow in such emotions. He had to remain calm and figure out exactly what was going on if he were to prove their innocence. He could not let his emotions or sense of guilt control him. Once they
were free, only then would he grieve. He just could not spare the time right now. His life, Dex and Jannda’s lives, depended on it.
“And Piyus was killed by an assassin,” Druzeel continued, his voice steady, “most likely the same assassin we’ve been tracking.”
“We already figured that out,” Jannda said, a sharp edge to her voice.
“I know,” Druzeel said, too lost in his thoughts to take notice of Jannda’s tone. His mind was spinning, trying to put everything together. “But you two were attacked directly, as were Brask and the others.”
“So?”
“So,” Druzeel said, “why wasn’t I? Why didn’t the assassin come after me? I was alone and on my own. Why not kill me when I was by myself? Why go after Piyus instead, a powerful archmage and well-respected man of Pelartis? It had to have been more than just talking to me.”
“We were set up,” Dex said, his eyes wide. Druzeel and Jannda looked at the man, their faces pleading for an explanation.
“That damn assassin set us up. He knew the Pillars’ eye would be searching for him after we told Xavdak about what we were doing in Pelartis. The dwarf is too cautious to let even a rumor like that go without checking in on it, so he watched us and waited for the perfect moment. And we walked right into it.”
“What do you mean?” Druzeel asked.
“The thieves that Brask had killed would cause no big uproar for they were all probably wanted by the Pillars anyway. Even Brend’s death would hardly bring the city down upon us for the man had his own shady dealings and less than civil behaviors. True, his death made Xavdak concentrate more on us then finding our assassin. But the death of a prominent figure like Piyus? That would make the dwarf forget all about a dangerous murderer running loose among the citizens. It would solidify his gaze on the supposed true killers and real threat to the city: the Knights of the Chipped Blade.”
Druzeel’s mouth dropped open and Jannda’s face went slack. Dex just took on a disgusted look, shook his head, and turned his eyes toward the cold, hard ground. The assassin had been playing them since the moment they arrived, and in a single, masterful stroke, implicated them all in various murders around the city. None of them saw it coming because they had all split up, going their separate ways to find the man that had somehow been watching them the entire time. Worst of all, the man had managed to make Druzeel, the seemingly most innocent of them all, seem like one of the most ruthless, dangerous killers to walk the streets, the one personally responsible for the death of Piyus the Magnificent.
“Well it’s not like it was difficult!” came Jannda’s angry voice a few moments later, after the revelation. The loose look on her face had disappeared, replaced with one of rage. She jumped to her feet and stormed over to Druzeel, pointing an accusing finger right at his face. “He practically gave the Pillars everything they needed!”
“What?!” Druzeel said, surprise jumping to his face.
“Jannda,” Dex said in a calm voice, rising to his feet. “You can’t blame him. It could have been anyone of us.”
“The hells I can’t!” she spat. “It was so blindingly obvious I don’t know how we missed it. The assassin knew exactly how he would react when finding out the archmage was in danger. He knew he would come running back to warn him, to protect him against potential attackers.”
“I would have done the same thing,” Dex said, trying to defend Druzeel’s actions. “And would hope you would have as well.”
“Yes,” Jannda said, her voice lowering. “I would have, but I wouldn’t have been so stupid as to remove my own damn stolen dagger from the body!” She was shouting now, her voice filling the hallway. “But then again, I wouldn’t have let it been taken in the first place. I certainly would have noticed.”
Druzeel was on his feet now and he almost said something in his defense, but her last two statements brought a fresh flow of guilt and shame coursing through him and his comment fell back down his throat. He had been holding the dagger, his own dagger, when the Pillars happened upon them. Even he had to admit the scene looked damning.
“You can’t blame him for that,” Dex said, still trying to defend their young traveling companion. “He’s never been in a situation like that. He could not have known.”
“But he should have!” Jannda said, throwing up her hands. “He basically handed his head to Xavdak himself! What the hells did he learn while in that tower of his? I would think common sense would be a requirement just to start learning under Graeak.”
“Jannda!” Dex said, trying to calm her down, but before he could continue, she cut him off.
“No, Dex,” she said, her voicing lowering. “You can’t keep defending him like this. Last time he did something less than intelligent, I backed you, thinking he would learn, but he hasn’t. Now look where his actions have landed us? Maybe Brask was right,” she said, bringing a shocked look from Dex. Druzeel just kept his head hung. Her words stung him, but he could not bring himself to repudiate what she was saying.
“Maybe–” she started to say, but the sound of keys and a door opening down the hallway silenced her. They heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Someone, presumingly a guard, was coming towards them, so they separated and faced the bars of their cell.
Xavdak suddenly appeared before them. He was dressed just as he was the night before, in full armor. The large hammer they had seen strapped to his back when he had them arrested was gone, be he looked like he still carried a heavy weight on his shoulders. His beard was dirty, his eyes dark, and his face worn. The dwarf looked like he had not slept in many days.
“Keep it down or I’ll have you gagged,” he said, his rough voice echoing throughout the room.
“Did you come all the way up here just to tell us that?” Jannda asked, her anger at the situation still fueling her words. Her better judgment told her to watch what she said but she was still angry and wanted to vent. The dwarf seemed a good target.
“No,” he said flatly and without emotion. It appeared he had overcome his anger from the other night. “I came to inform you that you will be held until your trial, two days from now.”
“Two days!” Druzeel exclaimed. That left virtually no time for them to prepare their defense or even for an investigation to be done, at least a proper investigation. They would surely be talking to witnesses and calling on wizards to use magic and spells to find out the truth. How could they put them on trial in just two days?
“Justice moves swiftly in Pelartis,” Xavdak said, as if hearing his thoughts. “Trials usually commence a week or two after an arrest, but given the strong evidence and the nature of your crimes, the Colonnade feels it is in the best interest of the city to bring you before them as soon as possible.”
“But two days?!” Druzeel said in distress. “That leaves hardly any time for us to–”
“It is time enough,” Xavdak said strongly, showing them that he thought they were guilty. “You will be able to question witnesses and explain your side of the story to clear yourselves of crimes at that time, so I suggest you take what time you have to think about what you are going to say. I also warn you that showing disrespect or unruly behavior will not be tolerated while before the Colonnade. Behaving yourselves before the justices will only benefit you. Doing anything else may cast you in a more unfavorable light, more than you already are in any case.”
“Wait,” Jannda said, her face cracking a smile. “You’re giving us advice?” she asked incredulously.
“I am informing you of your rights,” Xavdak said, once again without emotion. “Pelartis is a city of law and even accused criminals are provided a certain amount of rights until they are found guilty.”
“How high and mighty of you,” she replied with sarcasm.
“Jannda!” Dex exclaimed. Xavdak’s nostrils flared.
“Please,” Druzeel said. He took a step towards the bar but stopped, not wanting Xavdak to think he was threatening him. He doubted the dwarf held any fear of him whatsoever, but he
gave the High Captain room anyway. “We didn’t do this. We are being set up by the assassin that–”
Xavdak held up a hand. “You will have your day before the Colonnade. Save your words for them.”
“But you can’t think that we are responsible for those murders?” Druzeel pleaded.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Xavdak said. “I am not in charge of dispensing judgment. Your guilt or innocence is not my decision to make. My job is to arrest those who may have committed a crime. I have done that. Now my job is to make sure you reach your trial. The Colonnade will decide your fate based on the evidence presented.”
“But–” Druzeel said, but the High Captain once again raised his hand.
“Save your words,” he said. This time his tone was hard, indicating that Druzeel had best listen to his advice. After that, he turned and started walking away from their cell.
“Wait!” Druzeel said, running to the bars. The quick movement made him grimace in pain, but he was able to ignore most of it. He wrapped his hands around the bars and pushed his face against the barrier, finding the back of the High Captain. “What happens if we are found guilty?”
Druzeel didn’t know why he asked the question. Perhaps it was his inquisitive personality or his need to know his possible fate. Whatever the reason, his heart beat rapidly in anticipation, but it slowed, almost to a stop, as Xavdak turned. His hard, unforgiving eyes fell upon him.
“If you are found guilty of the crimes you are accused,” the dwarf said in that level, dispassionate tone, “then you will be executed.”
With that, the dwarf turned and left. The sound of a door shutting echoed throughout the room, but Druzeel did not hear it. He only heard those final, punishing words.
He slowly backed away from the bars with an intense cold feeling flowing through him. His flesh paled, beads of sweat rose to his skin, and his heart rumbled in his chest, threatening to burst. He tried to get a grip on what Xavdak had said, but his mind no longer worked. There was nothing in his head but tangled, horrible thoughts. Soon, he feared, if they were found guilty, there may not even be that.
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Christopher Lapides started writing in 2004. The first draft of his first novel, Dragons Plight, was finished in less than a year. After many, many revisions, he finally decided to self-publish in 2009. Since then, he has finished his first trilogy, the Slayer Series, and continues to work on many others, bringing to life characters that do only what many of us wish we could–go adventuring in a world filled with magic, wonder and mystical creatures.
Chris works as a graphic designer and during those precious moments of free time, when his two daughters allow it, he likes to draw, sketch and write. Though he writes for himself more than anyone, he hopes to one day make a living spending his time locked in a basement, bringing his characters to life. Until then, he continues to write for fun. He currently lives in Georgia with his wife Jenna and two daughters, Kaylee and Anna, where they spend the days as all families should, playing and laughing as if nothing else in all the world matters.
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