A Chronicle of Ice, Luck and Honour
Chapter 12: …And into the Fire
"I've been waiting for this"
The circle of guards constricted. Thalin felt a bolt catch against his robe and he spun to face the guard. Droplets of ice dripped from the mage’s hand as he snarled in anger. Both Dariel and Isplit darted away. Dariel shot into the sky and Isplit quickly lost himself amid the throng of ankles and feet.
“The damn fool Torious! Look where your woman has landed us now,” spat Thalin, “if that whore steps near me again I’ll…”
A spear butt snaked from within the cluster of guards and cracked into Thalin’s mouth, hard. Thalin reeled backwards, the crossbowmen fanning back to let the mage fall to his knees. Torious went to unlatch
Freedom’s Edge, but the sights of every crossbow bristled in his direction. Over the pained gasps of Thalin, Torious slowly unbuckled his scabbard and let it fall.
Freedom’s Edge fell heavily into the frosted mud. Thalin raised his eyes to the blade, then hung his head in defeat.
Milo cast all his weapons to the ground, which took some time. The halfling seemed in a daze, though his eyes flitted wildly about like a trapped animal. With each drop, the guards kicked the various contraptions into the mass of soldiers and well out of reach. Thalin eventually followed suit, though his eyes bore into the ground and at one point he violently shoved Torious’ hand aside when the Aasimar went to help him.
Erifeci was torn from the mage's grasp and handed towards Robar.
As the companions did this, the villagers were guided through the town gates. Robar strutted about, gloating in the climax of his plans. His voice had acquired a jackal laugh that bounced over the collected masses. Torious stared at the sickly red plate and felt his scars boil with energy.
Robar was gesturing laconically with a tall man in black robes, whose sharp face remained stoic and distant. Milo swivelled to get a better look and caught his breath as he recognised the man from his dream. The one who had caught the comet.
Robar placed
Erifeci in the man's pale hands. The gaunt man smiled thinly then said something more. The man seemed to be looking for someone in the throng of villagers. Milo thought quick. He hadn’t seen Mikka or Errilinth since he had dropped his weapons.
He only had a moment to contemplate this as what sounded like a whining choir tuned up in his head, though the sound suddenly vaulted into a celestial cacophony.
“Torious!” hissed Milo.
But Milo couldn’t stop the light spilling forth from the Aasimar’s scars. A furious screaming filled the minds of those about him as Torious fought to control the roiling energies. Robar saw his shadow dancing madly against the walls of Ilinvur and turned to face Torious. Robar stalked forwards without a word. People fell silent.
Robar had often talked of his desire to kill this ‘scarboy’, his voice slurring over too much wine as he detailed each way he would take the boy apart. Tales were told of screams from the bowels of Ilinvur fort, where torture was a trade, well rewarded by the masters of the place. No one doubted that the dungeons were his destination.
“Murderer,” hissed Torious through clenched teeth, “I have come to judge you by the hand of Tyr.”
Robar barked with laughter. The crossbowmen took the cue and joined in. Robar seemed to double up, clutching his stomach. In a flash, Robar sprang up and crushed his fist into Torious’s face. The guard’s laughter abruptly died, but violent cackles bubbled from Robar’s throat as the Aasimar folded heavily at Milo’s feet. Robar spat onto Torious’s chestplate and turned away.
Milo had timed it well. In one quick motion he drew
Sliverspike from the harness on his back and windmilled his hand towards Robar. The Halfling took a pace forwards to complete the arc. His sight bulged then was crushed into darkness.
Sliverspike flew uselessly into the air. Milo thought of when he was young and had slipped down a well, the rush of darkness and the cool, real fear.
As Milo fell forwards he saw Thalin and Torious on the floor, then finally the tall gaunt man framed between the forest of guards, a bone thin hand pointed straight at him.
- - - - - - - - -
Thalin stared hard at the floor, the pain in his wrists had long since numbed to a constant throb. He rolled his head to the left and saw Milo stirring. The Halfling had a worse deal than either of the humans. The chains on the wall barely stretched to his wrists, and his arms were strung tight apart. Milo moaned then started to squirm as he began to wake. Torious was hung a little further along the circular wall, his blonde hair hung limp and dirty over his face. Thalin thought he could be asleep or awake, he couldn’t tell.
“Milo,” called Thalin quietly.
Milo shook again, his miniature form writing in the dank light of the cell. He stopped suddenly, falling limp. Milo strained his head towards Thalin. His eyes were already alert and searching. He’s already trying to think of a way out, thought Thalin with a rush of appreciation for his companion.
Milo swung his head back and tried to ignore the bursting pains in his shoulders. He was pretty sure his arms had been pulled out of the sockets so that he would squeeze into the chains. Fighting off another wave of pain, Milo took in his surroundings. Thalin and Torious were hung on either side of him, their arms slung above them and their feet a few hand spans from the cobbled floor.
The only light came from a sputtering brazier that stood in a small passageway directly across from him. It was the only exit, aside from a large pit that dominated the middle of the room. A thick, fetid smell rose from it and Milo could only imagine what lay at the bottom.
“Hey Thalin,” grimaced Milo, “where’s the pendulum?”
Thalin couldn’t help but crack a smile. The small rush of humour was crushed immediately. A stomp of feet echoed from the corridor and brazier erupted shadows as Robar stalked into the chamber with two guards at his heel. Torious’s head snapped up.
Robar motioned at Thalin as he moved around the pit till he was level with Torious. Milo didn’t think the Aasimar had enough reach to kick Robar into the pit, but knew Torious was thinking the very same thing. The two guards marched around the other way and began to unlatch Thalin, securing him into a set of chains. As soon as his hand was free, Thalin went to summon the Art, but his mind was suppressed somehow. He grunted as he dropped the distance to the ground and was led away.
Robar stared intently at Torious. Torious stared back.
“First things first,” smiled Robar, “time to seal those scars shut.”
- - - - - - - - - -
Thalin was marched through a rush of different corridors. Each new turn seemed to herald a different architect’s plan, as brick gave way to a rough hewn stone then to a flaking plaster, then back to the stone. He thought he had been led two levels deeper, but he couldn’t be sure.
The braziers spread along the sides hurt his head and half the time his eyes were clamped shut. He knew it was unlikely, but even given the chance of escape, he wouldn’t find his way back to Torious and Milo, let alone to the upper levels. Assuming they were underground, thought Thalin.
Eventually a dank wooden door was opened and Thalin was strung up in the centre of the room. His feet once again trailed a few hand spans above the ground. The pain quickly returned to his arms. The door closed and his eyes searched about the dim room.
- - - - - - - - - -
Torious didn’t blink as three guards entered the cell and rushed to set up a small table against a wall.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” said Robar as one of the guards pulled a thick black thread from his pocket with one hand and a stiletto knife from the other.
Milo turned his head away as Robar took the thread and two guards clamped against Torious’s legs, whilst the third guard lowered the Aasimar’s chains.
- - - - - - - - - -
Thalin’s eyes began to adjust. The room was of similar size to the last cell, but all about him were steps and mounds of rock. They glistened with a dull blue shine. There was no other light in the room. Thalin remembered something his father had taught him once, but he was sure those lichen were native to the Underdark, not the planes of the North.
His mind began to race away, but soft footsteps flared his senses to attention. The shadows condensed and a young boy stepped smoothly from the darkness. Thalin was immediately unnerved. The child couldn’t be more than ten years old, but his movements were liquid and lithe. Thalin stared as the child stepped into the light. He cradled a small bundle of spider silk in his arms. One small grey hand idly stroked the bulbous sack, small shapes in the bag reacted to the touch and clustered against the fingers of the drow.
“I am here on behalf of a friend,” said the child in a voice like a nightmare wrapped in velvet, “Lyle Blackrock sends his late regards.”
Spidey would do it if he were around...since he's not, its my job to (and thereby bump his story for even more new readers).
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
bring it on 
