Chapter 1

 

The Emperor’s Prisoners

 

            Linvin could feel he was moving.  Every few moments a bump would jar him sending his body sliding across a smooth floor.  He came to a stop when his face struck a solid surface.  Opening his eyes he saw rust-covered bars wedged against his cheek. Focusing his vision he looked through the gap between the iron rods.  To his amazement, goblin infantry were walking an arm’s reach away.  He jumped up but only reached his knees before hitting his head.  The blow knocked him down again.

            Linvin rubbed his contusion and looked up to see what he had struck.  He was in a prison wagon with his gently stirring relatives close at hand.  Their weapons and armor were gone.  Even the key was missing from around his neck.  In their places were shackles on their arms that connected to ones on their legs.

            The caged wagon traveled along in the middle of a slow procession, which began and ended with a score of Mandrean Soldiers.  Just to their rear was a cart laden with all their possessions save for their tattered clothing. It was clear he and his party had become prisoners of the Mandrean Empire.

            In the distance he could see the Sorrowful Sea to the south.  Vineyards fanning out across the landscape increasingly obscured the view.  They thrived in the sandy soil.  Lush grapes abounded and the soldiers occasionally fell out of rank to help themselves to the nearly ripe fruit.

            The troop sang goblin songs of war and glory as they marched along with their captives.  Though their words sounded brave, their tone was assuredly apprehensive.  The guards jabbed the blunt ends of their spears into the cage to prod and abuse the prisoners.  One struck Anvar and roused him.           

            Linvin checked his uncle.  “Are you all right?”

            Anvar sat up against the cage and put his hand on his head where the blow had fallen.  “What a foul way to awaken,” he cursed.  He looked around and took in situation with which they were confronted.  “I take it you were correct about the swamp-gas?”

            “This is one instance in which I wish I had been wrong,” Linvin said as he looked for a way to escape.  “Can you use your magic to free us?”

            “No,” Anvar told him.  “I channel magic through my hands.  Without full use of them I cannot use my powers.  Even if I could, this is not the place to try an escape.”

            “Perhaps,” Linvin said as he sat by his uncle.  “But I like to know what my options are when the time arises.”

            “We have no options,” Rander added as he entered the conversation and sat next to them.  “I don’t see a way out of this one Linvin.”

            “Perhaps not at the moment.  We will wait until an opportunity arises.  Sooner or later we will get our chance.  Until then we must be patient.”

            At that moment a goblin along the side of the wagon struck Linvin again with his spear handle.  From the front of the column came an order to halt.  “Assembly.” cried the voice.  The escorting soldiers fell into line along the road and stood at attention.

            A human soldier mounted on a horse rode slowly before them.  He wore a fine suit of plate-mail armor and a red tunic, which ran diagonally across his torso before changing into a cloak across his back.  A short sword hung at his side and a long sword was sheathed on his saddle.

            The man handled his horse with such precision that his mastery on the stead was evident.  He addressed the goblins like children.  “Were my orders unclear?”

            The goblins answered in unison, “No Captain.”

            Reaching the end of the formation, the Captain turned his horse about and slowly went back the other way.  “Then either you chose to ignore the orders or you are too dim-witted to comprehend them.”  He dismounted in front of the last goblin to strike Linvin.  Drawing his short sword, the Captain towered over the soldier at such close range he could see the goblin quiver.  “So which is it, soldier?  Did you choose to ignore me or are you just a two legged animal?” 

            The goblin weighed the choices and could not find a response that would exonerate his behavior.  When he did not answer, the Captain’s annoyance increased.  In a fluid movement, he seized the soldier by his filth-laden hair and slit his throat.  The goblin fell to the ground and died moments later.  His murder drew no gaze from the other soldiers.  The rest of the troop remained at attention and did not dare to follow the fall of the body with their eyes.  Such empathy could prove fatal.

            The captain wiped the blood from his sword on the dead man’s shirt.  Then he replaced the weapon and mounted his horse.  “His lack of answer leads me to believe you are all feebleminded and unwilling to follow orders.  Perhaps now you will understand my directions.  You will not converse with the prisoners.  You will not harm the prisoners.  You will not come into contact with their property.  You will not unshackle them for any reason.  These are the standing orders of Lord Necromancer.  If you feel inclined to disobey ANY of these orders, I will kill you where you stand.  Your friend was fortunate.  Had Lord Necromancer been here your comrade would have died a prolonged, agonizing death.  If he is displeased when we arrive, we may all share in such a fate.  He does not have my sense of mercy.  Am I not merciful?”

            “Yes Captain.” yelled the goblins.

            “Then do not disobey me again.  My patience with you has reached its limit.  Future transgressions will be handled in the harshest manner.”

            Returning to the front of the procession, the captain reformed the ranks and resumed the march.  The dead goblin lay on the side of the road, soaking the grass with a generous coating of blood.

            Linvin and his family were horrified by the display.  Such brutal discipline was disturbing even to the former general’s eyes.  They sank back against the bars and were silent for some time.  Finally Rander spoke.  “Are we better off in here than out there?” he asked.

            Linvin looked about and answered, “That display was meant as much for our eyes as theirs.  Trying to escape does not look so appealing anymore, does it?”

            The twins shook their heads furiously.  Linvin quickly shook his finger at them and corrected their decision.  “Actually, their Captain overplayed his hand.  We now are aware we are needed alive.  That precludes our deaths at their hands.  As difficult as that scene was to watch, it may have saved our lives.”

            “More like to prolonged them,” Rander corrected.  “I have a hard time thinking this Lord Necromancer has good things in store for us.”

            “Sometimes staying alive a day longer is the best you can do,” Linvin amended.  “I do not foresee this lot letting down their guard for an escape attempt.  We must bide our time and stay alive until an opportunity presents itself at some point in the future.”

            Much of the Mandrean’s success over the years had been due to the fact they covered their empire with great roads.  Uniform in width, six horses could hide abreast along their surfaces.  A mixture of sand, gravel and lime held large quarried stones together. The recipe made for a strong, fast surface.  It enabled the Mandreans to deploy their forces with greater speed than their opponents.  Messages could also travel the realm more quickly.  Such logistical properties alone swung many a battle in their favor.

            After years of war and little thought or attention being given to the roads, they began to crumble and had become a sorrowful shadow of their past greatness.  Where once disciplined human armies marched like thunder rolling over the land, now goblin armies scurried along like rats. It showed the weakened stature of the empire and the short-term solutions used to bolster its ranks after its decimation in the war with Sartan years before.

            Their ride was most uncomfortable.  Potholes abounded where freezing and thawing loosened and eventually carried away stones from the well-engineered road.  The elves slid back and forth in their prison with every bump along the way.  It was clear from the debris on the roadside that advancing and retreating Mandrean Armies used the route on many occasions.  Merchant wagon-wheels also did their part to loosen the stones as well.

            The only break from the monotony of the trip occurred twice per day when the elves were released from their cage in order to relieve themselves and walk about.  An idea occurred to Linvin to try to escape during that time but it was not to be.  As though the goblins knew their entire story until that point, they watched them closely and never removed the shackles in spite of many persuasive arguments by Linvin and Anvar.  Orders would not be disobeyed again by the troop.

            For meals, the prisoners were given goblin rations.  They proved to be completely inedible to anyone without the iron digestive track of a goblin.  Even the salty biscuits would be welcomed.  Instead, they were given rancid meat that had been improperly cured.  The water they received was stale but would do.  As the days blended into one another, their hunger robbed their strength.

            The montage of days passed with the landscape before their eyes as the caravan followed the road north.  Vineyards eventually gave way to livestock farms and small towns or villages.  The people here were fearful of their own forces, having been overtaxed and treated with brutality by the impudent goblins.  Townspeople peered through their windows at the elves.  Linvin observed their faces as they passed.  Each one wore the expression of someone looking at a person about to die.

            Parents pulled children out of the streets to clear the path for the passing soldiers.  Anything of value was quickly hidden.  Kegs of wine were left in the center of town as an offering so the soldiers might take them and leave their home in peace.  The ploy was successful as the goblins took up the kegs and continued on their way.

            In particular, the goblins were wary of Anvar.  From their statements and actions they revealed they were fully aware of his magical abilities.  If an escape were to occur, Anvar would take no part in its success.

            As the days passed autumn was revealed by slowly dropping temperatures.  The sky only seemed to vary in shades of gray.  Each passing day leached the family of might and hope.  Their spirits were low and the only good thing about being in the cage was it kept the rain off of them as it began a daily ritual of soaking the land.

            Towns became larger and more frequent.  The road became smoother.  Farms that had lain sporadically along the way grew more numerous and close in proximity.  Before long they were right by one another.  The population was becoming denser as they moved further into the empire.

            People would line the road in order to view the prisoners as they passed.  Some heckled and jeered.  Others cried at the sight.  The disheartening scene played out before the captives as they steadily rolled forward.

            Contrasted against the farmers harvesting their crops, the goblins looked alien and out of place.  They felt ill at ease in the environment and quickened their pace.

            After many days and nights the party’s destination came into view.  From a flat plain rose a relatively small castle with a great city surrounding its walls.  As they drew closer it became clear the castle and in particular the walls were not finished being constructed.  Huge gaps had yet to be filled on all sides of the barriers.  The four towers connecting them appeared to be done.  The sight was most odd with the four spires stretching to the sky with little between them.

            Within the walls was the castle itself.  It too was a paradox.  Rather than being built as a fortification, it was made to be a palace.  Undoubtedly, the structure was being constructed to proclaim someone’s glory rather than protect it.

            The city was a hive of congestion and urban sprawl lining a narrow north-south running river.  With no thought having been put into planning, it had grown around the palace and followed no logical path.  As they came closer they saw merchants clogging the streets peddling everything imaginable.  The entire city was one giant marketplace.  Not a single house could be found within the market.  Only shops, stands and tents lined what had to be called streets for lack of a better term.  Shacks which dared to be called homes, encircled the trading zone

            Linvin stuck his face between the bars of their cell and called to a nearby soldier marching alongside.  “Is that where we are going?” 

“Yes,” replied the guard who looked around to make sure no one saw him talking to a prisoner.

            Linvin asked more.  “What is that place?”  Again the goblin looked around and then said, “Marinhalk...It is the capital of the Empire.”

            “Why are we being taken there?” Linvin inquired.  Before the goblin could speak a whip struck him from behind.  “Silence,” ordered his Goblin Sergeant. “You do not speak with the Emperor’s prisoners.”  Linvin found the comment to be strange.  They had become ‘The Emperor’s prisoners’?

Linvin could not help but compare Marinhalk with the other capitals he had known, Sarice and Fraylic.  In the comparison, Marinhalk was the dismal poor cousin. 

Sarice was the finest fortification in the world.  Its inhabitants built a dense, well-organized capital for an endangered kingdom.  Her walls displayed might and her stone interior resisted fire that could be used in a siege.  The complex multi-level buildings made all possible use of the protected area.

Fraylic was an entirely different, though equally impressive capital.  Having no pressing defense worries, the Sartanian Capital took no measures to fortify its exterior.  The founders laboriously planned an infrastructure of wide, straight streets stretching out from the city’s center like the spokes of a wheel.  As the city expanded, so did the roads.  Trade could flow swiftly and efficiently through the economy.  It was the perfect hub for a trade route.

Marinhalk possessed none of the others’ characteristics.  Linvin needed no history lesson to discern the seat of power had been chosen in the empire’s early days due to its central location and proximity to fresh water.  A wooden fort had been built and merchants clustered around.  As the empire grew, engineers spent their energies building roads and distant fortifications to project the empire’s borders.  Clearly the philosophy of the empire was to take the fight to the frontiers and never let it near the base of power.  Such an aggressive and expansionist viewpoint meant the capital was left to grow on its own, without guidance or direction.  In addition to a lack of adequate streets was a total neglect of sanitation and access to drinking water.  With the addition of the autumn rains, the city was a quagmire of refuse and human misery.  In the capital of the mightiest empire in the world crime, poverty and starvation held greater power than any army.

            Just outside the shanties and huts along the perimeter was a great corral of horses.  A sturdy building bore the placard ‘Imperial Message Relay’.  Riders were dispatched and received regularly with news and letters.  The hands in the stables stopped working and watched as the prison wagon rattled by.  Some viewed the elves with contempt while others showed remorse.  Neither expression left the family feeling any safer.

            As the procession entered the city the people paid them no heed.  This sight was not uncommon to the residents.  Many soldiers and prisoners had walked the streets leading to the palace.  The citizens saw them as nothing more than people not able to purchase their wares.

            Never had the elves seen a city filled with so many lives and so little life.  No children played.  No minstrels sang.  No decorations could be seen.  It was as though the people were in a permanent state of melancholy.

            “Cheery group,” Rander noted as he looked through the bars.  “I somehow get the feeling they know something we don’t.”  Their wagon neared the gates of the castle.

            “What I think they know,” Anvar said in regret, “is that we are going to a place from which people do not return.”

            Linvin had always had a fascination with fixed fortifications.  He’d studied them his whole life and felt himself to be an expert on the topic.  Even if the Castle of Marinhalk were completed it was a poorly laid defense.

            The size gave no capacity whatsoever to protect the people of the city.  It was too small to hold the populace, much less withstand a siege of any length.  No ramparts lined the finished sections of the walls.  Therefore, defenders could not fight along them.  Instead only the corners towers could be manned.

            While a large garrison was based there, they were housed outside the walls of the castle.  If they had to defend the palace they would need to abandon their quarters.  Had they been inside of the walls they would have a base from which to work.  The planners of the keep were either ignorant of the principles of defense or unconcerned.  Judging from the thought put into the construction of the roads, clearly the latter was true.

            The garrison consisted only of human cavalry with no goblin infantry.  They wore uniforms and armor identical to the Captain at the head of the prison convoy.  The guards near the barracks saluted him as he passed on his way to the castle gate.  The gesture consisted of flexing their right arm out with a fist at its end, then thumping it over their hearts and holding the pose.  The Captain gave a similar response.

            Linvin pressed his luck and whispered to the goblin at the rear of their group.  “Who are they?”

            In spite of the warnings and punishments, the goblin looked carefully about for anyone paying attention.  When he determined no one was watching him, he responded.  “They are the sickles to the wheat.  They are the cleavers to the meat.  They are the wolves that drive our feet.  Those men are the Elite Mandrean Imperial Guard.  They are the finest fighting force in the world.  No cavalry compares to the power and precision of those men.”

“They began years ago as a small unit assigned to personally protect Lord Mandrean.  They were bodyguards.  Over the years they grew into the most devastating force in the army.  In many battles larger forces turned and ran at the mere sight of their polished shields in the distance.

“They are unflinching butchers on a scale that dwarfs even my murderous brethren are.  Entire villages will be burned without a soul left alive if the slightest resistance is shown.  Their atrocities are an equal match for their skill.  My people know that well.

“Their greatest weapon is intimidation.  They give no quarter and have no signal for retreat.  Crimes they commit are absolved.   Their loyalty to the Emperor is total.   It is by their hand that He rules all. They will give their lives for him.  Every man fears them.  Every goblin resents them.  They are the slave drivers. Their cruelty nearly equals the starvation we faced in the Goblin Nations.  Their day will come.”

“Your people have shown themselves to be no different in my experience,” Linvin countered.  “You are receiving the treatment you have given over the centuries.  I have seen my share of burnt villages over the years with Goblin blades lodged in blackened corpses.”

“We kill for what is rightfully ours,” the goblin growled.  “They kill for sport.”

“I suppose you have taken no pleasure in your murders?” Linvin asked.

“Those we kill deserve death.  This world should be ours.  It will be ours when all of you wretched beings are dealt with and we reclaim our birthright.”

“If it is pity you sought form me, you will be disappointed,” Linvin corrected.  “You and the Mandrean Imperial Guard are merely two sides of the same coin.  Call it what you will.  If your positions were reversed the treatment would be no different.  For once, you serve those who mistreat you.  What irony that you feel the brand from the same boot you wear.”

The soldier was infuriated by the remark and impulsively attempted to act on his feelings.  As the goblin reached for his weapon, a high-pitched whine proceeded a swift sword stroke through his neck.  The head fell to the ground as the Captain returned his long sword to its scabbard.

“If one more of you Vermin speak to the prisoners, you will all share his fate,” cried the captain.  Linvin knew the standing order but moved away from the bars all the same.

            The Imperial Guard sent chills through Linvin’s body as they watched the prisoners pass.  He actually felt relieved once they had passed through the ominous gates of the castle.  Before them was Marinhalk itself, the grandest palace ever to be built.

            In contrast to the city, it was elaborately designed with statues, fountains and a lush fragrant garden in the courtyard.  Its walls were the purest white and ivy dared not cover any part.  Two magnificent brass-hinged doors stood at the top of a set of marble steps leading from the courtyard.  Imperial Guards stood on every other stair at attention as humans in fine attire came and went from the palace.  It was a fitting moniker of the world’s largest and most powerful nation.

            The elves saw the sight well as they were led away from the doors and toward one of the towers.  More barracks lined the base of the walls.  A pale comparison to the ones outside, the buildings housed goblin soldiers and slaves used as servants.

            Before them was a corner tower with a black, forbidding exterior.  As they came near, horrible cries and screams crept through vents and barred windows.  It was as if the very rocks were warning them away. 

Arrow slits were visible at all levels of the tower facing out from the walls and in toward the courtyard.  Their placement on the interior was poorly chosen.  It appeared to Linvin they were installed there in case of revolt or some other overrunning of the palace.  If that were the case, they would be of little use.  The narrow portals were placed at the edges of the semicircle where they would not easily be noticed.  Such positioning preserved the powerful presence the builders desired from the tower.  It was clear to Linvin, however, the holes were afterthoughts insisted on at the end of construction.  By placing them for aesthetics, the slits were woefully insufficient.  There were no interlocking fields of fire for archers.  Furthermore, blind spots where no arrows could reach were numerous.  None was as glaring as that around the main double doors.  The area had no protection. 

Having seen such structures before, Linvin was unmoved by the impending doom.   His family, however, shook with fear.  He tried to calm them but even Anvar despaired.

            The wagon stopped with the door to the cell very near to the gates of the tower.  Goblin Soldiers drew their weapons and donned shields as they formed two lines from door to door.  Between was a narrow path.  As if ferocious beasts were behind the bars, the Captain unlocked the door and then stepped back as the cage swung open.

            Slowly the elves crawled from one cell toward another.  There was really no need for the precautions by the goblins. Linvin and his party were weakened and sick from hunger on the long journey.  The goblins had clearly heard of their exploits and took no chances.

            Stumbling forward, as if sleepwalking, they dragged their chains along the path and through the door of the tower.  The goblins in line jeered and taunted them with warnings of punishment they would receive inside.  Hanging their heads, the condemned elves shuffled through the doors. 

Inside, the bare stonewalls were adorned only by a spiral staircase leading both up and down.  Mounts above sections of stairs held lit torches.  Goblin guards walked back and forth and up and down the stairs. Before them was a huge round room furnished with a lone desk and chair.  Behind the desk sat what was perhaps the largest goblin Linvin had ever seen.  He was taller than Linvin and easily weighed as much as the four prisoners combined.  Scars peeked through gaps in his chain link armor.  On his belt was a whip and beside him sat a spiked club.  Even the approaching goblins escorting the prisoners were fearful as they drew near.  The Captain, however, showed no such reverence.

            “Sergeant Hugon...these are the Elves taken prisoner at the river crossing,” the Human Captain stated as he dropped a rolled scroll on the table.  “They are not to be mistreated.”

            Hugon angrily opened the document and struggled to read its contents.  Then he began to laugh.  Moving the parchment over to a lantern on the desk, he set the orders ablaze.  “That’s what I think of your orders.  I do as I please with my prisoners.”

            The Captain drew his sword.  Hugon stood quickly and took hold of his club.  The other goblins in the tower drew their weapons and rallied behind the Sergeant.  In spite of the insurmountable odds against him, the Captain held his position.

            “I want you to acknowledge that you have taken custody of the prisoners,” the Captain said with his blade pointed directly at Hugon’s heart.  “You will be accountable for any deviation of the orders from this point forth.”

            The Goblin Master snorted and answered, “I have them now, Human.  Now be about your business.  I wouldn’t want you to get your pretty uniform dirty.”

            The Captain looked at the jailor with disdain and sheathed his weapon.  “Goblin scum,” he branded as he turned and left.

            After the Captain exited, the gates were closed and Hugon turned his attention to Linvin and his family.  Using one hand for each, he picked up the twins by the chest and examined them.  “So these are the Dangerous Elves that everyone is in fear of?  Ha.”  Hugon threw them aside and looked at the others.  “I presume you are Anvar Greenlith.  The paper said you were not to be unchained under any conditions.  Seems you’re some sort of Magician or somethin’.  You look mighty old for anyone to be scared of you.”  He shoved Anvar to the ground and stepped on him with his foot.  “I could just squash you like a worm.  You’re nothin’ but a feeble old elf.”  He began to slowly press down on Anvar with his foot.

Linvin could not stand the sight.  “Leave him alone, Gutter-Rat,” Linvin cried angrily.

Hugon removed his foot from Anvar and turned his attention to Linvin.  With two fists full of Linvin’s shirt, Hugon lifted him into the air and drew his face close.  The great elf was weak and sick but still stubborn.  He stared straight back at the monstrous creature.

            “So you’re the little half-breed that has everyone so upset.  You look pretty harmless to me.  Kind of like a bug.  I guess maybe them Humans is afraid of bugs?”  The other goblins started laughing. 

            Linvin replied.  “You must be the pathetic Goblin Pet your Human Masters chose to guard the mean, nasty little Elves.  What a sad commentary on you.  So scared of us are you that you need to keep us shackled.  I do not blame you though.  Slaughtering all those goblins in the Territory was quite easy and actually a good deal of fun for us.  I would be scared of us too.”

            Hugon threw Linvin against the wall and turned to the goblins who traveled with the prison wagon.  “They killed goblins?”

            “At least an entire patrol,” the shivering voice of one of them said.

Hugon was furious and quickly showed his displeasure by uncoiling his whip.  Without a thought he began to lash Linvin with vigor.  “You want to play games with me Boy?” Hugon shouted as the thick leather tore through Linvin’s clothes.  The victim curled into a ball to protect his face.  Unrestrained, the leather sliced through his skin with ease and did not stop until it struck bone.

            “How do you like that?” Hugon screamed as the other goblins cheered his torture of Linvin.  “I think I’ll give you one lash for every goblin you’ve killed.  If there’s anything left of you after that, I’ll show you the lower levels where we can really have some fun.”

            Linvin watched his tormentor closely.  When the whip headed his way again Linvin held up his shackles and let it wrap itself around the chain.  Then he grabbed the weapon and pulled it from the goblin’s hand.  “I am Linvin Grithinshield,” he said from his knees.  “No one puts leather to me and lives.”

            The goblins were speechless.  They withdrew to the corners as Hugon howled with fury.  “So you want to die quickly,” Hugon barked.  “I can oblige you with that.  This is my jail.  No one defies me here.”

            Linvin struggled to his feet as blood poured from his wounds and pooled on the floor.  “If you are so confident of your superiority then remove my restraints and I will give you a real fight.”

            “Why would I do that?” yelled Hugon as he drew his club high.  “It is much more enjoyable to fight you as you are.  Now, come and get some, Boy.” 

He struck down with the club.  Linvin blocked the blow again with the chain between his wrists.  This time, however, he twisted and wrapped the chain around the weapon, dislodging it from Hugon’s hand.  In normal circumstances Linvin would have followed up immediately with a blow of his own.  With his injured condition, however, he could do little more than fall to the ground.

            One of the goblins that guarded the elves on the journey stepped over to Hugon.  “Sergeant, I mean no disrespect but we were given strict orders not to mistreat the prisoners.”
            Hugon’s anger turned to him.  He drew the soldier’s sword and ran him through with its blade.  The goblin fell to the ground in a pool of his murky blood.  Hugon turned to the others with the gory weapon in hand and roared, “Does anyone else have a problem with how I run my jail?”

            It was at that moment that the locked double doors flew open and a hurricane force wind swept into the room, extinguishing all the torches and lanterns.  The goblins were knocked to the ground alongside their captives.  A bright white light shone in through the doorway.  Its radiance was blinding and all shielded their eyes.  Through the luminosity the silhouette of an individual grew as it approached.  Once the shadow reached Linvin he could finally see who had entered the room.

            Hovering just off the ground was a diminutive Human man, no bigger than Rander with his arms outstretched to the sides.  He was adorned in a white silken robe with gold embroidery at every edge.  Handcrafted sandals of the finest quality covered his feet.  He lowered his arms and the light and wind dissipated.  His face could be discerned. 

            His skin was white as snow.  It was as though he had never been in the sun.  A gray beard obscured much of his lower face and dipped down to his chest.  As the breeze subsided, his hair fell back around his head.  The short salt and pepper locks fell gracefully around his face.  Even with that, the most notable feature was only just coming into view. 

            The man’s eyes were sunken deep into their sockets.  There were no pupils or irises in the eyes.  They glowed in a combination of red and orange hues.    Their appearance in the darkened cavities of the skull was that of smoldering coals in a blacksmith’s forge.  They gazed about the room as the man set down on the ground.  The goblins shook with fear.  Even the obstinate Hugon cowered on the floor.

            The man spoke with a voice that was both amplified and at a screeching pitch.  “Word has reached me that my prisoners have arrived.  You did not inform me as I had ordered. WHY.”  The walls shook from his voice.

            Hugon crawled forward with his belly impeding his progress.  “Great Necromancer, we received no orders telling us to inform you.”

            Necromancer grew enraged at the statement.  “Do not lie to me, Vile Vermin.”  He held out his palm.  A wind blew through the room and gathered the ashes from the scroll.  Drawing together in a vortex, it deposited the remains in his hand.  With the soot in his possession he closed his fingers.  The ash changed back into the scroll.  Opening the parchment he read it to himself.  “I seem to have found the orders,” he said as he dropped them in front of Hugon.  The Jailor did not move.

            Without notice Necromancer reached out one hand and unleashed a plume of fire the like of which no one but a Lava Giant had ever seen.  The flame poured over the quivering bodies on one side of the room.  The entire area was enveloped in liquid flame.  After a few short moments, he pulled his hand back and the fire withdrew back to his palm.  All the goblins on that side of the room were gone.  No trace was left to show they’d ever existed.  The elves had been in that area as well, but they were unscathed.  Their skin had not even risen in temperature.

            Just by lifting one forefinger, Necromancer surrounded Hugon in a shell of magic, which was nearly invisible.  It lifted him off the ground.  With a shift of his finger Necromancer sent him flying across the room until he collided with the wall of the tower.  Then he soared across to the far side and again struck the wall.  The process was repeated several times before Necromancer deposited the massive goblin where he’d previously lain.  

            Necromancer walked forward and stopped just short of Hugon’s face.  The Great Goblin immediately tried to kiss his feet.  Repulsed by the action, Necromancer stepped back.  Then he spoke.  “Were my orders unclear?”

            “No,” answered Hugon.

            “Then I must assume you chose to ignore them.  Is that right?”

            “Yes,” answered the timid Hugon.

            Necromancer placed his hands behind his back and paced before the goblin.  “Did you know any of the goblins I just eradicated?”

            “Yes”

            “Were you friends with any of them?”

            “Yes,” answered Hugon.

            “Perhaps you wish to join them in the Hereafter?”  Hugon simply shook his head.  Necromancer stopped walking.  “Then consider this your only warning.  If you ever disobey me again there will not be enough dust left from your body to bury.”  Then he turned his attention to the remaining goblins.  “Just to make sure this refuse does not choose to test me, if he disobeys me you will all share in his fate.  If he cannot follow orders for himself, perhaps he will for you.”

            “Now, where are the prisoners’ possessions” he asked in a normal tone of voice.  Several of the goblins ran outside and pulled the cart with the items to the door.  Necromancer approached the cart and sifted through the materials.  His face lit up with a wicked smile as he produced the gold chain and key Linvin had been wearing.  He discarded the chain and placed the key in the folds of his robe.  “Take the rest of this lot to the top floor storage area.”

            “Lord Necromancer,” asked Hugon.  “Should I inform Lord Mandrean of the prisoners’ arrival?  They are his captives after all.”

            “No need to bother him,” Necromancer replied.  “I will tell him when the time his right.  For now they are my prisoners and you would do well to remember that.”

            “As you command,” assured Hugon.  “What level do you want me to take our guests down to for lock-up?”

            Necromancer walked over to Linvin and observed his condition.  “Take them up to the second floor.”

            “But My Lord...” began Hugon.

            Necromancer slowly turned his head toward the goblin and he stopped talking.  “Let me say this one last time.  The prisoners are to be well treated and cared for.  I want them fed as I have instructed and their wounds treated by our physicians.  My patience in this matter has been exhausted.  Now all of you help them to their feet and follow me.”

            Gently the goblins assisted the frail elves to their feet, save for Linvin who required four soldiers to carry his frame.  The goblins formed a line behind Necromancer and ascended the stairs.  Everyone but Hugon came.  He remained on the floor and quivered as he took stock of his injuries.  

            On the second level were cells in good condition with straw on their floors.  Though the stairs continued up they were staying where they were.  The bewildered elves were carried past several cages and halted by one at the end of the hall.  A large cell door was opened and the party was gently laid on the straw.  Necromancer supervised the action.  He ordered the shackles removed from all but Anvar.   Then the door was closed and locked.

            He stepped over to the bars and looked closely.  “Yes,” he said, “You shall do rather nicely I should think.  Guard.  Bring the food I had prepared for them.  Also bring the Imperial Physicians.  Their strength must return.”  The guard paused as if to ask a question and then saw Necromancer’s eyes begin to glow with greater ferocity.

            “Right away Sir,” he said as he hurried down the stairs.

            Linvin rolled over and looked at the strange man at the other side of the gate.  There was something very cold and wrong about Necromancer and yet he saved their lives.  Linvin collected himself and spoke.  “Are you our friend?” he asked.

            “No,” Necromancer answered without hesitation.  “As insignificant as you are, you are a means to an end for me.  Besides, I have no friends.  To be someone’s friend you must see them as being equal to yourself...and no one in this world comes even close”

            Linvin was confused by his host’s actions but tried not to give much away.  “What do you want with my house-key?”

            Necromancer laughed.  “Come now, Grithinshield.  You and I both know it is not your house-key.  Even if it was, I doubt locking your door would have kept them out.”

            “Kept who out?” asked Linvin.

            “Do not play coy with me, Little Flea.  You know about whom I speak and you know why I need this key.”  Then he paused and thought as he looked at Linvin’s inquisitive expression.  “Perhaps you don’t know why the key is important?  Do you know what it opens?”

            Linvin looked at Anvar.  His uncle looked as lost as Linvin.

            Necromancer placed his arms on his knees and asked chidingly, “Would you like me to tell you the answer?”

            “Yes,” replied Linvin.

            “I am sure you would,” Necromancer laughed.  “Perhaps I overestimated you.  No matter.  With any luck I will not need you.  All the same, get some rest.  You may be in need of your strength before all is finished.  We want to be prepared.”  Necromancer turned to leave.

            “Why are you doing this?” pleaded Linvin.

            Necromancer did not break stride and continued to head for the stairs.  “I grow tired of filling in the gaps in your knowledge.  Try putting the pieces together.  Maybe you will surprise me when I see you next.  I doubt it but you might.  After all, I never thought you would get this far.”  He descended the stairs and left the elves alone.

Linvin promptly collapsed.  His blood-loss had become severe and he could no longer remain conscious.  Rander quickly removed his own shirt and held it against Linvin’s wounds to stop the bleeding.  Bander removed his shirt as well and concentrated on the wounds Rander had not yet reached.  Anvar could do little more than watch. 

            When Linvin awoke he was laying on his side.  Before him he saw an unfamiliar human face looking into his eyes from very close range.  The man was visibly gray with wrinkles on his face consistent with ascension in age.  Linvin was shocked and flinched.  Suddenly every injury he’d sustained reminded him of its location. 

            “Moving only makes it worse,” the man said.  “Try not to make any sudden motions for a spell.  You will tear the stitches I just made.”

            Linvin looked down and saw his entire upper body was bandaged.  Though his chest was mostly unharmed, he felt his blood saturating the wrap on his back.  The feeling was not at all pleasant.

            “Some of the wounds on your back need to drain for a while.  I have packed them and bandaged them for now.  In a little while I will return and sew them back together as well.”

            “Who are you?” asked Linvin.

            “I am one of the Imperial Physicians.  Some of the others are seeing to your family.  Even when I served the army in my youth, I rarely came across a person with as many battle scars as you have accumulated.  The injuries from Hugon would have killed most men. You must be a man of resounding quality to have endured so much.”  Linvin did not comment.  The pain of his wounds temporarily distracted his mind.

“Normally we only treat the Emperor or the members of his court,” the doctor continued.  “When Lord Necromancer gives an order, however, one is usually wise to follow it through.  He gets a might testy when he is not obeyed.  That often leads to more work for me.”

            “Who is he?” asked Linvin.  “What is his role in all of this?”

            The doctor began placing his instruments in his bag.  “Yes it is a good idea to follow his orders.  His first order to me was to care for you and your family.  You are to receive my best treatment and to be healed with all due haste.  My second order was to not tell you any more than that under pain of death.  Knowing Necromancer to be a man of his word, I will respect his wishes and give you no further information.

            “There is some soft bread and clean water on a tray over here for you all.  The bread has been cut into four small portions.  Eat it slowly and drink plenty of water.  You are all suffering from malnutrition.  We must slowly re-introduce food to your bodies.  That is the reason for the small rations.  As your systems become more accustomed to eating, we will increase the quantity and types of food.”  He closed his bag and took to his feet.  The others had finished checking on Anvar and the Twins.  They gathered around Linvin’s physician by the door.  With a word to the guard outside, the cage was opened and they left.  As the door slammed closed, the doctor called back as he was leaving, “Remember, no sudden movements.”  Moments later they were descending the spiral staircase and were gone.  

            Rander went to the tray and distributed the bread and water.  Slowly they all ate, save for Linvin.  He slipped back to sleep.  The others considered rousing him to eat but thought better of it in the end.  With his wounds so severe, they decided he would be much better off asleep for the time being. 

            Though time lost all measure in their windowless prison, it was nearly half a day before the healers returned.  Linvin’s doctor was most displeased to see that his patient had taken no nourishment.  He gently woke him and fed Linvin bread in tiny morsels followed by water.  After changing Linvin’s bandages and stitching his remaining cuts, the doctor gave strict orders that Linvin must eat and drink in order to survive.  He charged his kin with the responsibility of carrying out the orders.  Another tray was brought with slightly larger portions.  Again the elves were left alone.  Anvar saw to Linvin’s eating.  The twins mostly rested.

            As the days passed and the process repeated itself again and again, their strength began to return.  Linvin finally was cognizant enough to hold a conversation with the others.

            “How do you feel, My Boy?” asked Anvar as he shifted some straw under Linvin’s head.

            Linvin held his forehead and moved his skull from side to side in an effort to help his orientation.  “I feel like I have been through a sausage grinder.  My aches are compounded by weakness.  Everything seems so fuzzy to me.  What happened after Hugon whipped me?  That is the last thing I remember.”

            Anvar recounted what transpired up to the present time.  Linvin had not recalled speaking with Necromancer or the doctor.  Even after hearing the story, Linvin showed little recognition. 

He was given more food and water from Anvar.  As his body worked to consume the food, his mind felt reinvigorated.  Anvar thought through the succession of events and then addressed his injured nephew.  “I saw what you were trying to do with Hugon.  Inciting him was very brave but foolhardy.  The tactic nearly killed you.”

“It was worth the gamble,” Linvin mumbled in response.  “I figured at that point that we had little chance of survival.  If Hugon removed our restraints we would have at least had a sporting chance to live.”

“Yes,” said Anvar.  “Hugon is a coward.  Such as he rarely will fight fair.  Your miscalculation nearly cost you your life.  As I said before, brave but foolhardy.”

“Well fate has seen to it once again that we survived,” Linvin said.  “We have that reason alone to be grateful.”

“Grateful to Necromancer,” Bander corrected.

“So what do you think about our captor, Necromancer?” Linvin asked in return.

“He has saved our lives,” Bander pointed out meekly.

  “To what end?” Rander implored.  “Clearly he has some greater purpose for us and it doesn’t sound like anything we want to be involved with.  We have traveled all this way only to be prisoners awaiting our deaths.”

In reaction to Rander’s despair Linvin sighed in such a way as to show he’d heard such talk before and was disappointed to hear it again.  “If he wanted us dead, Hugon would have finished us.  Necromancer has gone to great lengths to be certain we were kept alive.  In fact, he wants us to be in fighting shape.”

“Perhaps he heard about what you did in Valia and wants you to serve in their army here?” Anvar asked.  “Our imprisonment could be used as leverage.”

“So we are to be hostages?” Rander asked in fright. 

“Do stop the drama,” Linvin ordered his cousin.  “I am having enough trouble concentrating without you constantly telling me the world is ending.

“To your point, Anvar, it would explain why he wants us but not why he has kept the Emperor uninformed we are here.  If my service were required for the army he would likely have told his master of our arrival straight away.  Until we arrived here we were called the ‘Emperor’s Prisoners’.  That proves he has interest in us as well and yet he is purposefully being kept in the dark about our arrival.  It leads me to believe some sort of intrigue is afoot.”

“Then why is Necromancer being so good to us?” asked Bander.

“One thing is certain,” Rander answered.  “It is not because he likes us so much.”

“You are right,” Linvin agreed.  “He wants something from us.  No.  He needs something from us.”

“Perhaps it had to do with the key,” said Anvar.  “He showed great delight at finding it among our things.” 

            “Wait,” Linvin said in astonishment.  “I remember now.  When we were brought in I tried to convince him that the key opened my tree.  He knew otherwise but would not tell me what it opened.  Necromancer also talked about my door not keeping people out of my tree.  Could it be the murderers we ran from in Sartan were known to him?”

            “Perhaps he knows who sent them?” asked Bander.

            “Perhaps he did send them,” Anvar added.  “What if they were working for Necromancer?  He showed great excitement at finding the key.  He must know it is part of the puzzle of the Red Sapphire.  If our assumptions are correct, the people looking for the key in Sartan killed Linvin’s mother to capture it.  They were the people we ran from in Missandor and Varns.  All arrows point to him being behind this plot in an effort to gain the stone.”

            “That would mean he had my mother killed.” Linvin noted in a grizzly voice.  “He just wanted the key.”

            “There is another possibility,” Rander offered.  “He may know who sent the assassins and wants to save us from their grasp.  Necromancer then helped us so we may fight them and find the Red Sapphire.  Consider this.  He has made it very clear we are to receive excellent care.  If he sent the assassins to kill us before, then why would he protect us now?”

            Linvin shook his head.  “I am not sure, Cousin.  While I see your point, he appeared quite pleased at finding the key.  It was as though that was what he sought all along.  Even if he did not send the murderers, he wants the gem.”

            “Why would he?” Anvar asked.  “The Red Sapphire is truly astounding in its power and scope, but it is only Red Magic.  He already has Colorful Magic.  He would have no use for the Red Sapphire’s power.”

            “Colorful Magic?” Linvin inquired.  “I do not remember you mentioning that when you explained magic to me.”

            “I did not discuss it before because I believed it was extinct,” answered Anvar.  “You see magic is a complicated subject dating back to the dawn of time.  When people were first created, there were very special and rare individuals who were given the gift of magic.  It was meant to safeguard all of The Creator’s works.  The magic was said to look very much like that which Necromancer uses.  It could take any form or color but in its pure state it most resembled sunlight.  According to legend the several chosen Original Magicians did not tire from channeling the power and their strength could grow or decrease based on factors of which I am unaware.

            “As time crept forward, the Magicians grew evil and corrupt with their excessive power.  They used their tremendous gifts to dominate all life in the world.  One by one they fell into darkness.  Each insidious being became more twisted and wicked than the last.  Their bodies contorted with their fall until their forms were unrecognizable and grotesque.   They set their wills and subjects against one another in brutal wars that nearly wiped out life for good.

            “Again, as legend states, The Creator was angered and displeased by the wanton misuse of his greatest gift.  It was clear to him too much power had been concentrated in too few hands.  He created a Grand Prism of the Cosmos.  By passing it across the world he reclaimed the magic from the Original Magicians and diffused it into the colors I recounted to you previously. 

“The gift was dispersed to a larger number of his creations and given limitations.  Though a greater number of people could be born with the power, the numbers were still relatively few.  When they channeled the power it would tax their endurance, making them subject to their own mortality.  In that way The Creator limited the potential for one person to dominate the world.

“To further prevent misuse, He used the Prism to create the Hierarchy of Magic.”  Anvar brushed aside the straw from a section of the floor and drew a triangle in the dirt with his finger.  He made two horizontal lines crossing it at different places, dividing it into three sections.  The first line was drawn two thirds of the way up the triangle.  The second line was drawn just before the tip of the triangle and made a smaller almost undetectable area near the top. 

Anvar pointed to the largest region.  “The Magicians here are the Violet and Green Magicians.  As I said before, they are the most common and possess the least power.  They can only block magical attacks from their opposite color.”  He pointed to the second region.  “Next are the Orange and Yellow Magicians.  They are considerably fewer in number and can channel more power.  They can block any attack from a Green or Violet Magician or their opposite color.  The final area is reserved for the Red and Blue Magicians.  They are so rare I have never come across one in all my years.  Their powers can dominate all but their rival color.  They can channel the most power and unleash it with both amazing and terrifying results.

“Another legend states the Red Sapphire was actually part of the Great Prism the Creator detached and gave to the world to ensure freedom and stability.  Whether that is true or not is a matter of debate.  What is not argued is the breadth of its power.  Even so, Colorful Magic would inherently be stronger.

“Unless I am mistaken, Necromancer already has Colorful Magic.  How he came to possess it is baffling.  If that is the case, he has no need for the Red Sapphire.  Its power is great but Colorful Magic cannot be overcome.”

Anvar’s nephews paid close attention to his lecture.  “So if we assume he knows the use for the key,” Linvin began.  “Then he must want the Red Sapphire for someone else.”

“That may be, or he just does not want you to have it,” Rander offered.

All was quiet for several moments.  Then a soft mumbling voice was heard from Bander.  The words were incoherent.  “What did you say, Cousin?” Linvin asked.

Bander sighed and shrugged his shoulders.  “Oh, nothing.  I didn’t understand all of that but I had a thought, sort of.  It probably wasn’t a real good one though.  So, never mind.”

Anvar dragged his chain over by the boy and patted him on the shoulder.  “None of us knows what is going on here, Good Bander.  No one will scoff at you.  What is your thought?”
            Bander kicked at the straw on the floor and looked down.  Then he spoke softly.  “Well.  I was just thinking…The key has something to do with the Red Sapphire, right?”

“That is what we believe,” Linvin concurred.

“The staff is what’s been leading us to it, right?”  Again Linvin agreed.

“Then if this Necro person knows so much and is so powerful,” Bander said.  “Why didn’t he know about the staff?”

The others looked at one another in shock.  They had not made that connection.  “That’s an excellent question,” Rander said as he nodded at his brother.  “If Necromancer knows about the Red Sapphire and the key, wouldn’t he know about the staff?”

“The key never displayed any telepathy like the staff,” Linvin recounted.  “It could be that the only way to know that you need the staff is to actually come into contact with its surface.  So he would presumably somehow know he needs the key for something.  He simply has no way of knowing how to find the gem.”

“That would explain why he needs us alive” Anvar added.  “He must not know all the pieces to the puzzle.  If he cannot find the Red Sapphire on his own then he would need us to help him find its location.  For that we would need to be in good health.”

The subject had become taxing to the mind and they agreed to let it sit for the time being.  They took rest and ate their rations.

Several days passed and the band felt strong and restless in their cell.  Unexpectedly, half a dozen guards came up the stairs.  They escorted ten female slaves bearing trays, sacks, and a small keg.  The guards thrust their spears into the cage in order to keep the elves back.  Meanwhile the slaves filed in and out, depositing their cargo before they left.  Once it was all in the cell, the door was locked and the group descended the stairs.

            Slowly the prisoners approached the pile.  Boldly Linvin opened a sack.  To his surprise it was full of freshly baked bread.  It was still warm to the touch.  Seeing the bounty the others uncovered the rest of the items.  Their gift was considerable. They had a pork roast, three chickens, and boiled potatoes with seasoning, honey, pie, cakes, cutlery, mugs and even a small keg of Elvin Ale from Sartan.  It had been freshly tapped.

            The group was delighted.  All of their favorite foods were there.  Linvin was particularly happy with the bread and honey.

            “Should we eat it?” Bander asked his uncle.  “If they wanted us dead,” he answered, “We would already be gone.  I suspect the food is of good quality.”

            Enough had been said.  The hungry elves tore into the food.  It was well prepared and better than anything they’d eaten since embarking on their journey.

            Linvin sat with the jar of honey next to him as he dipped chunks of his second loaf of bread in it before eating.  “Something is strange about all this,” he said between bites.           

“Nothing that happens to us seems strange anymore” Rander responded.

            “How is it that they just happen to know all of our favorite foods?” Linvin thought aloud.  “That is either a wild coincidence or they know very intimate details of our lives.”

            Rander was infuriated.  “Can we just enjoy one thing without you analyzing it to death?  So they gave us food we like.  There is no harm in that.”  He turned and drank from the tap of the keg.  When he finished he handed it to Linvin.  His cousin held the keg as though it was tainted and quietly filled a mug from the ones provided on a tray.

            “I do not believe in coincidence,” Linvin said as he set the keg on the floor.  “They know us too well.  This meal has a purpose.  Whatever they need us to do, it will present itself shortly.”    

            Their level of the tower had been vacant and silent other than them.  As jails went it was rather well maintained.  Such cleanliness could not disguise the sound of screams and cries filtering into the chamber from above and below.  It was clear their level was the most desirable in the building.

            The dreadful noise was interrupted by the sound of heavy boots on the stairs.   Two human guards carrying an obscured prisoner thundered down the steps.  Stopping at their floor, the guards could each be seen holding one arm of a young human woman.  Her head hung down with a tangled mass of blond hair hiding her face.  The woman’s feet dragged trenches in the straw on the floor as they carried her down the hall.  Her clothing was tattered and shredded.  Opening the cell next to the elves’ they tossed her in like a bale of hay.

            “You’ll give us answers,” one yelled as he locked the door.  “If you don’t I’m sure Hugon would be happy to interrogate you himself.”  They laughed and then descended the stairs.

            Between the cells were thick stonewalls that prevented prisoners from seeing each other.  They did not, however, deafen sound.  The girl cried as she lay on the floor.  It was a painful, sorrowful sound. Linvin sat on the other side of the wall trying to think of something to say.  His usual greetings seemed wrong at that moment.  At last he managed, “Are you hurt?”  The sobbing continued.  “Miss,” he called out louder, “Are you injured?”

            The crying reduced and was interrupted occasionally by a sniffle.  “It’s nothing that won’t heal,” she said meekly.  “But it doesn’t matter.  I will never leave these walls alive.”

            Linvin moved closer to the bars by the wall.  “My name is Linvin.  What is yours?”

            There was silence for a few moments and then one soft, beautiful word was spoken in return.  “Mirianna,” she replied.

            “You seem a little out of place here,” Linvin said. 

            “Everyone in this tower is out of place,” she answered indignantly.  “I suspect that was their purpose in building it.  You don’t sound like the usual criminals they bring in here.  There must be a different reason you have checked in to this establishment.”

            “I have no idea why we are here.” Linvin answered. 

            “Sure you do,” Mirianna said.  “Everyone knows why they’re here.  Some people just don’t want to admit the answer.”

            Linvin was caught off guard by her banter.  He tried to refocus on her.  “Well then, why are you here?” he asked.

            Her tone immediately changed.  “So that’s your game, is it?  They bring me down here and think I will tell you everything just by asking?  Nice try Spy.  I am wise to you.  You can tell that red-eyed sorcerer you work for I have no knowledge of my country’s defenses.  You can also tell him if I did know anything, I would never tell him or any of his agents.”

            Linvin was stunned by the accusation.  “Mirianna, you are mistaken.  I am no spy.  My kin and I are prisoners just like you.”

            Mirianna snapped back.  “That is just what a spy would say.”

            Linvin sighed.  “If I were a spy then why would they put three other people in here with me?  Would it not be wiser to have a single person here to whom you could confess?”

            Mirianna was silent for a moment and then began to cry once again.  “I don’t know what to believe anymore.  They have tried so many tricks to make me betray my country.  I am just so tired.”

            Linvin sighed and thumped the back of his head against the wall.  “How about this,” he proposed.  “I am not a spy and have no use for any information about whatever country you are from.  Since, however, I cannot say what can be heard by others in this place, perhaps we could talk without either of us revealing anything our jailors do not already know.”

            After more time Mirianna agreed.  “You start,” she told Linvin in a quiet voice from just the other side of the wall.

            “Well,” said Linvin as he thought.  “My uncle, cousins and I were traveling through the Unclaimed Territory and were caught trying to cross the Mystic River into the Mandrean Empire.”

            “Why would you want to come here?” Mirianna asked.  “Do you work for them?”

Linvin grew angry.  “If I worked for them I would not be in this jail, would I?  I thought you were not going to ask me such questions.”

“Do they have any idea why you are here?” Mirianna asked in a softer tone.

Linvin ran his hand through his hair in frustration.  “I have no idea what they know or do not know.  They have asked us no questions.”

Mirianna was surprised.  “Do you mean they have not interrogated you at all?”

“That is correct,” Linvin stated.  “We are clueless about their intentions.  Why are you here?”

            Mirianna put her head on her knees and let her hair cover her face.  “I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I was ignorant and now what days I have left are at the mercy of these beasts and their masters.”

            “Do you have food?” Linvin asked.

            “They give me Goblin Biscuits from time to time.”

            Linvin took a loaf of bread and stretched it through the closest gap in the bars.  “Here,” he said, “Take this.  We have plenty of food.”

            She paused at the sight of the loaf.  “Is this some sort of trick?”

            “Yes,” Linvin said sarcastically but with a smile.  “I am tricking you into eating bread.  Call the guard!”

He changed his voice back to a more pleasing tone.  “Look, my arm is growing tired.  Either take the bread or leave it on the ground.  I was only trying to help.  Remember I do not want to know any secrets from you.  That is unless you would like to tell us a secret way out of here.”

            Mirianna laughed as she wiped her tears.  Linvin grinned and added, “What, no snappy retort?  How disappointing.”

            “I have no answer for that question but will gladly entertain ideas,” she said.  A moment later Linvin saw a soft, smooth, feminine hand reach for the bread.  He was pleased to see he’d gained at least the slightest trust.  As it turned out, perhaps he gained more than that.  Her hand bypassed the bread and touched Linvin’s skin.  The surprised elf dropped the food.  Her fingers caressed his slowly and gently as they ran the length of his hand and then interlocked the digits.

            “Thank you,” she whispered in a soft melodic voice.  He felt like a cool summer breeze had blown across his face.  The hairs on his hand rose as she softly released him and picked up the bread.

            He basked in the glow of the trifling as she nibbled at the food.  After a few moments she spoke.

            “By the way,” she called out softly.

            “Yes Mirianna?” the eager young half-elf answered.

            “Call me Miri,” she said.  “I’m sorry I was rude.  This place can get to you after a bit.  Thank you for the bread.  It is the first real food I’ve had in days.”

            With that she moved over to a pile of straw she used as a bed.  She ate her food and then lay down to rest.

            Linvin did not move from the wall.  He listened to every movement in an effort to figure out what she was doing.  When her sounds lessened to slow breathing he whispered to Rander to hand him a knife.  Using his shirt he made it shine as best he could.  Then maneuvering it though the bars he turned it slowly in order to get a reflection from the next cell.  The image was distorted and elongated but he could see what appeared to be a girl laying on a pile of hay with a face that was smiling.

            Suddenly there was a crack from a whip causing Linvin to drop the knife and grab his hand in order to try to stop the bleeding from the fresh wound.  In a moment, Hugon stood before their cage.

            “Don’t try to grow brains in here, Boy.  There is no escape from my dungeon.  Even a stupid half-breed like you should be able to figure that out.”

            Linvin clenched the bars with his bloody fist and stared Hugon in the eyes.  “Your time is coming, Ogre.  When I find my way out of here you will wish you had killed me.”

            Linvin believed Hugon was ready to respond but apparently noticed something cold and piercing in Linvin’s eyes.  The half-elf’s expression seemed to terrify him.  Linvin could tell in Hugon’s cowardly heart he felt the sincerity of the prisoner’s words and despaired.  In what Linvin viewed as a clear attempt to hide his weakness he punched Linvin in the face with all his strength.  Linvin held onto the bars in order to retain his balance.  It was a crushing blow.  Other than a wince, however, Linvin retained the same expression.

            Stepping back, Hugon readied his whip.  “I’ll teach you not to look at me.”

            Linvin calmly stepped away from the bars and sat in the middle of the cell with his legs crossed.  Hugon cracked the whip but it only caught on the bars.

            “Trouble?” Linvin asked sarcastically.  “You know if you grew a brain out there you might have realized the bars were too narrow for the whip to penetrate.  I guess the joke is on you.”

            Hugon’s fury made his body shake.  “You will die for this,” he said under his breath.  “Magician or no Magician.”

            Linvin stood and laughed at the giant.  “You are incapable of killing me, you pathetic blob of dough.  You and your entire breed are utterly worthless.  Do shuffle back to your little desk like a good slave.”

            The Jailor had heard enough.  Hugon reached for his keys and sifted through them quickly to find the right one.  Meanwhile Bander and Rander caught on to Linvin’s ploy and moved to the two sides of the cage.

            Hugon found the key and headed for the door.  Just as he reached it the loud sound of armor was heard coming up the stairs.  It was the guards returning with the slaves.  Seeing them enter, Hugon put the keys away and said, “The day will come when that pint-sized sorcerer won’t need you any longer.   Then I’ll peel the flesh from your broken bones so slowly that you’ll wish I would just end it, Boy.”

            “Until that day,” Linvin responded.  “Do try to show us a little more courtesy.  I would hate for Necromancer to incinerate you before we meet again.”

            The Great Goblin turned and headed down the stairs.  The ploy had been successful, but only in making Hugon more determined to kill Linvin.

            Again the guards kept the prisoners back with their spears as the slaves removed the crockery.  They were sure to gather the entire set of cutlery and account for each piece.  All of the slaves left except for one who brought fresh clothing.  “Change into these,” she said without emotion of any kind. 

In order for Anvar to change clothing, a knife was held at his throat as he dressed.  With his shackles removed, the guards took no chances of him using his magic.  Once his attire was changed, the shackles were refitted and the slave left with the soiled clothing.  Slowly the guards followed, never turning their backs on the prisoners or averting their eyes.  Locking the cell, the guards and slaves marched back down the stairs.

            Linvin expected the clothing to be some sort of prison uniform.  Instead, they were given clothes of the finest material and new leather handcrafted boots.  The most astonishing part was everything fit as though it had been tailor-made for each of them.  It all served to make the situation more confusing.

            “It would seem our hosts do indeed know us quite well,” Anvar said as he looked over their new wardrobe.

            “A little too well, I would say,” Linvin stated as he took account of his attire.  “Knowing the foods we like is one thing, but knowing our clothing sizes proves they have detailed information about our lives.  Yet another piece of the puzzle has been laid before us.”  After debating the issue and coming up with no viable answers, they decided to try to rest. 

Each of them made a small nest of hay and lay down.  In spite of all their days in the cell, they had not found a way to sleep comfortably on the floor.  After the usual repositioning, they drifted off to sleep.  It could have been day or night when they awoke.  Without sunlight they were completely ignorant of time.

Linvin slowly stood.  His body ached and was stiff.  Walking around the cell he continued to try to figure out the situation.  He thought best when pacing.  In the cell nearby he heard Miri stirring.  He crept over to the bars by the adjacent wall and whispered, “Are you awake Miri?”

            Out of the silence, her voice rode a refreshing wave to Linvin’s ear.  “Yes, I’m awake.  Did you get any sleep?”

            “Not much.  The floor is uneven.  It makes it very difficult to get comfortable.”

            “I think that’s one of their little tricks,” she told him.  “The floor looks even but when you have to rest it is difficult because of the variations.  So you rest poorly and become disoriented.  They like to feed you in the middle of the night for the same reason.  Sometimes they bring a lot, a little, or none at all.  It’s maddening at times.  You’ll learn after a while to sleep in a ball so that the floor won’t bother you so much.  Hunger will just be something that comes and goes.”

            Linvin was astonished at her breadth of knowledge on the subject.  “How long have you been here?”  He could hear her body slide down the other side of the wall until she sat on the floor.

            Miri sighed and said, “Any more I have no idea.  It could be weeks or months for all I can tell.”

            “Well what do they want from you?” Linvin inquired.

            After a pause she answered.  “My father is the King of Romadon.  I foolishly ventured too close to the border with the Mandrean Empire.  An advanced patrol caught my entourage and me.  It would seem I was the only one they wished to spare.”

            Linvin knew of Romadon.  His company traded regularly with their merchants.  It was a large nation compared to even Sartan but her problems were just as large.  To her south was desert.  To the west lay a range of mountains.  North of her border loomed the Goblin Nations and to the east was the Mandrean Empire.

            While mountains made defense against the goblins easier, the same could not said of the Mandrean frontier.  A vast, open plain separated only by the Silver River was heavily disputed and fought over between the two nations.  While Romadon could field one of the largest armies in the world, the Mandreans still had numbers on their side.

            On a map the border looked indefensible for Romadon.  In practice, however, the Mandreans tried no less than ten advances into their lands.  Every single effort ended in disaster for the invaders.  The Mandrean Armies were beaten back time and again.  The victories were so complete no Mandrean Soldier returned to tell the story of their defeat.  A prevailing myth began that Romadon could not be conquered. 

            Miri sighed.  “They think I hold the answers that will gain them entrance into my father’s kingdom.  The sad part is even if I wanted to help this scourge I could not.  I have no idea how the army works or how defenses are laid.  My life has been filled with books, travel and attendants.  Affairs of state were strictly in the hands of my father.”

            “Have you told them you do not have their answers?” asked Linvin.

            “I tell them during every interrogation.  They do not believe me.  It is as though they think I’m this strong willed patriot who won’t crack.  I suspect I will be handed over to Hugon to torture next.”

            “When he finds out you do not have the knowledge he seeks what will happen?” Linvin asked eagerly.

            Miri sighed again.  “If I am still alive they would probably hold me for ransom or use me to somehow gain leverage over my father.”

            The story devastated Linvin.  He thought his situation was dire.  Miri was in an equally difficult position and no hope of rescue.  His heart went out to her.

            “If I can find a way out of here,” he said, “I will free you as well.”

            She gave a slight chuckle.  “I haven’t seen anyone leave here alive yet. I thank you for the offer.  It is the closest thing to hope I have had in some time.”

            “I will escape from here,” he vowed.  Just how he would accomplish the task was still unclear to him.  Still, it sounded like the most uplifting thing he could say.

            “For both our sakes, I hope you do,” Miri added.  “By the way, what is your name?”

            Linvin smiled and said, “My name is Linvin Grithinshield.”

            “Are you from Sartan?” she asked.

            Suddenly Linvin felt panic he’d said too much.  Perhaps she was an agent after all.  “Why would you guess that?” he barked.

            Linvin could tell Miri was taken aback by his sudden change in tone.  “I only wondered,” she answered.  “Because there is a grand company out of Sartan that is a major trading partner of Romadon.  It is called the Grithinshield Trading Company.  I thought perhaps you were affiliated with them.”

            The answer was reasonable to Linvin and he relaxed once again.  “I am actually the owner of the Grithinshield Trading Company,” he responded.

            “Perhaps that is why you are here,” Miri concluded.  “They may want to ransom you.  That would explain why they have not asked you questions.”

            The notion sounded logical to Linvin.  In the back of his mind, however, too many questions remained regarding their trek and its relation to the Red Sapphire for him to accept her solution so readily.  “I suppose that is possible,” Linvin conceded.  “I just do not know what Necromancer wants with my family and me.”

            “Well, be wary of him,” Miri warned.  “He’s a Devil, he is.  Never have I seen a man so cold and calculated him his moves.  He does nothing without a purpose.  When he watches you it feels like he is peering into your soul.  It makes me shudder to think of him.”

            “Whatever he has in store for us,” Linvin began.  “I do not foresee it being to our benefit.”

            “I don’t know about you, Linvin, but I am depressed enough for now.  Let us talk of happier things.”

            They chatted about their likes and dislikes, joked and told stories to each other.  The conversation with the faceless woman was smoother than any he’d experienced before.  She was well educated and well versed in philosophy and history.  Linvin was inside a cell, which was inside a prison, which was inside a castle, which was in the capital of the most oppressive nation in the world.  Yet, he was enjoying himself more than he had in months.