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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 7405111" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Thanks for the kudos, and to everyone who's been giving me xp for my updates!</p><p></p><p>* * * </p><p></p><p>Chapter 152</p><p></p><p>Bredan was asleep when the rattle of the lock pulled him back into awareness.</p><p></p><p>He tried to drag himself upright as the door to his cell swung upward, but his chains had gotten tangled in his sleep and he could only manage to get to his knees. He blinked against the light that spilled in from the room beyond, trying to see who was there.</p><p></p><p>There were two shadowy forms silhouetted in the entry. In their dark robes and cowls he could not tell if either was his usual jailor, though neither had the look of Pentar. The two men came forward quickly into the cell. Bredan tried to flinch back as they reached for him, but the chains and his own weakness prevented him from making more than a feeble display of resistance before they roughly took hold of his arms and pulled him up.</p><p></p><p>“What…” he tried to say, but the word only came out as a croak from his dry throat. It felt like it had been days since he’d spilled his last ration of water, but neither of his visitors appeared to be carrying his usual meal.</p><p></p><p>“We need to move you,” one of the men whispered in his ear. “You’ll come quietly, or we’ll knock you out and carry you. You understand?”</p><p></p><p>Bredan managed a noise that sounded like assent. One of the men produced a coil of rope. “Bind his arms behind his back,” the other said.</p><p></p><p>“Can’t… these bloody shackles…” the man with the rope said. Bredan could feel the man pulling at him, and he slowly tensed his muscles so there was less give in the chains. He tried to look past them into the area outside his cell, but his eyes still hadn’t fully adjusted to the intensity of the light.</p><p></p><p>“Fine, just tie his wrists together,” the first man said. Even when he wasn’t whispering his voice sounded scratchy, as if something was wrong with his throat. “We’re going to unlink your shackles, but you give us any trouble and you’ll regret it, hear?”</p><p></p><p>“I hear you,” Bredan said. His voice was still rough, but at least the words were comprehensible.</p><p></p><p>The man with the rope pulled his hands together and fastened his wrists with the rope. Again Bredan kept his muscles as tense as he could, but it didn’t help much as his captor pulled the ropes tight enough to be painful. He knew that it would cut off his circulation and could be dangerous with time, but he held his tongue for the moment. He didn’t know what was going on, but he could read the tension that radiated from his two jailors. Something was wrong, and it might present an opportunity.</p><p></p><p>Once his wrists were bound the man with the rope pulled out a heavy key, but before he could start to work the locks on Bredan’s manacles the other man yanked a heavy sack down over Bredan’s head. The canvas was rough and filled his nostrils with an unpleasant and earthy stink.</p><p></p><p>With his senses muffled by the sack he knew what was happening only by feel. His shackles were barely off before his captors seized him again and dragged him toward the door of his cell. His back scraped the wall as they twisted him aside so they could all fit through the narrow doorway.</p><p></p><p>He could feel it when they left the cell; a presence that he hadn’t realized was lacking suddenly returned, almost like the rediscovery of an old memory. He knew at once what it portended, but he resisted the urge to do something reckless. Instead he tilted his head to the side in an attempt to peer down through the open mouth of the sack. His efforts weren’t all that successful, but he could just make out his own bare feet and the boots of his captors peeking out from under their robes.</p><p></p><p>But the motion had also drawn the attention of his escorts. “I warned you,” the one with the scratchy voice said. One of his hands dropped off of Bredan’s arm, and he could almost imagine him reaching for a weapon. The other one’s grip grew taut, perhaps expecting the incoming blow.</p><p></p><p>Bredan didn’t wait for it to come. He drew himself forward, leaning into the one who’d spoken, knocking him off balance. At the same time, he lashed out with his left foot. He had to guess where the other man was based on the grip and the last glimpse he’d gotten of his feet, but he was rewarded with a cry of pain as the heel of his foot connected with the man’s knee. The other one snarled something unpleasant, but before he could attack Bredan summoned his magic.</p><p></p><p>The power, kept away by the wardings that Pentar had mentioned before, came freely now at his call. He felt a surge of energy fill his body, course into his legs as he thrust his shoulder into his captor’s torso and leapt forward. The force of the <em>jump</em> spell carried both him and his enemy across the room. Even as they started to drop they slammed hard into a solid wall. Bredan was stunned by the impact, but the robed man, caught between the unyielding stone and the mass of his prisoner, let out a grunt and collapsed in a heap on the floor.</p><p></p><p>Bredan fell too, but even as his head swam he reached up and yanked the sack off his head.</p><p></p><p>His first sight of his prison was less than impressive. The place was a stone vault, spacious only in contrast to his cell. The ceiling was heavily buttressed and low enough that Bredan realized he had been lucky that he hadn’t bashed his own head in on his magically-enhanced leap. The light he’d seen earlier came from an oil lamp stuck in a niche along one wall. There were two other exits that he could see, a narrow opening in the far wall and a larger, circular passage that extended off to the right. The sight of it, along with the stale odors that hung thick in the air, offered a clue to where he was.</p><p></p><p>“Sewers,” he said. “I must be underneath Severon.”</p><p></p><p>His attention was drawn back to the man he’d knocked down. He had struggled back to his feet, favoring his injured leg but clearly not out of the fight. As he saw Bredan his lips twisted into a snarl, and he drew a dagger with a long, curving blade out from under his robe. He lurched forward, moving awkwardly on his damaged knee.</p><p></p><p>Bredan lifted his hands, still bound tightly with rope. As the robed man came within reach a silvery gleam of light took form in the warrior’s hand, intersecting with his foe’s body as he slashed down. With only a one-handed grip and his hands numb from the constricting ropes the sword was knocked from his hand by the force of the collision, but the robed man was flung to the floor, blood pouring out form the deep tear in his garments to spread upon the dirty stone blocks.</p><p></p><p>The curved dagger bounced and landed almost at Bredan’s feet. He snatched it up and used it to cut at his bonds. It was awkward and he managed to slash his wrists a few times in the process, but the wounds weren’t severe and could be ignored in the face of everything else he’d experienced.</p><p></p><p>Just as the ropes were beginning to part he heard something, a series of noises that came from the open doorway in the far wall. They weren’t that loud, but whatever it was sounded like a significant disturbance. With a grunt of effort he pulled his abused wrists apart, grimacing as blood rushed back into his hands. He bent to reach for his sword but was interrupted as a figure ducked through the doorway and stepped into the room.</p><p></p><p>It was Pentar. The old man was still wearing his robe, but his cowl was back and the front was open enough for Bredan to recognize the sheen of a mail coat underneath. He started as he saw Bredan, but his expression darkened as he took in the rest of the scene in the room before his eyes settled upon the sword an arm’s length from Bredan’s outstretched hand. “Don’t do it,” Pentar warned. “You have to come with us. We’re the only ones who can give you the truth you seek.”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t like your brand of truth,” Bredan said. He flicked his hands and the sword magically appeared in his grasp, the bare steel blazing in the light from the lamp.</p><p></p><p>“So be it,” Pentar said. He did not appear to be armed, but as his right hand came up a weapon materialized in his grasp, a great mace equipped with broad iron flanges. A faint sound like the vibration of metal being struck in the forge reverberated from the head of the weapon as the old man lifted it into a ready position.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 7405111, member: 143"] Thanks for the kudos, and to everyone who's been giving me xp for my updates! * * * Chapter 152 Bredan was asleep when the rattle of the lock pulled him back into awareness. He tried to drag himself upright as the door to his cell swung upward, but his chains had gotten tangled in his sleep and he could only manage to get to his knees. He blinked against the light that spilled in from the room beyond, trying to see who was there. There were two shadowy forms silhouetted in the entry. In their dark robes and cowls he could not tell if either was his usual jailor, though neither had the look of Pentar. The two men came forward quickly into the cell. Bredan tried to flinch back as they reached for him, but the chains and his own weakness prevented him from making more than a feeble display of resistance before they roughly took hold of his arms and pulled him up. “What…” he tried to say, but the word only came out as a croak from his dry throat. It felt like it had been days since he’d spilled his last ration of water, but neither of his visitors appeared to be carrying his usual meal. “We need to move you,” one of the men whispered in his ear. “You’ll come quietly, or we’ll knock you out and carry you. You understand?” Bredan managed a noise that sounded like assent. One of the men produced a coil of rope. “Bind his arms behind his back,” the other said. “Can’t… these bloody shackles…” the man with the rope said. Bredan could feel the man pulling at him, and he slowly tensed his muscles so there was less give in the chains. He tried to look past them into the area outside his cell, but his eyes still hadn’t fully adjusted to the intensity of the light. “Fine, just tie his wrists together,” the first man said. Even when he wasn’t whispering his voice sounded scratchy, as if something was wrong with his throat. “We’re going to unlink your shackles, but you give us any trouble and you’ll regret it, hear?” “I hear you,” Bredan said. His voice was still rough, but at least the words were comprehensible. The man with the rope pulled his hands together and fastened his wrists with the rope. Again Bredan kept his muscles as tense as he could, but it didn’t help much as his captor pulled the ropes tight enough to be painful. He knew that it would cut off his circulation and could be dangerous with time, but he held his tongue for the moment. He didn’t know what was going on, but he could read the tension that radiated from his two jailors. Something was wrong, and it might present an opportunity. Once his wrists were bound the man with the rope pulled out a heavy key, but before he could start to work the locks on Bredan’s manacles the other man yanked a heavy sack down over Bredan’s head. The canvas was rough and filled his nostrils with an unpleasant and earthy stink. With his senses muffled by the sack he knew what was happening only by feel. His shackles were barely off before his captors seized him again and dragged him toward the door of his cell. His back scraped the wall as they twisted him aside so they could all fit through the narrow doorway. He could feel it when they left the cell; a presence that he hadn’t realized was lacking suddenly returned, almost like the rediscovery of an old memory. He knew at once what it portended, but he resisted the urge to do something reckless. Instead he tilted his head to the side in an attempt to peer down through the open mouth of the sack. His efforts weren’t all that successful, but he could just make out his own bare feet and the boots of his captors peeking out from under their robes. But the motion had also drawn the attention of his escorts. “I warned you,” the one with the scratchy voice said. One of his hands dropped off of Bredan’s arm, and he could almost imagine him reaching for a weapon. The other one’s grip grew taut, perhaps expecting the incoming blow. Bredan didn’t wait for it to come. He drew himself forward, leaning into the one who’d spoken, knocking him off balance. At the same time, he lashed out with his left foot. He had to guess where the other man was based on the grip and the last glimpse he’d gotten of his feet, but he was rewarded with a cry of pain as the heel of his foot connected with the man’s knee. The other one snarled something unpleasant, but before he could attack Bredan summoned his magic. The power, kept away by the wardings that Pentar had mentioned before, came freely now at his call. He felt a surge of energy fill his body, course into his legs as he thrust his shoulder into his captor’s torso and leapt forward. The force of the [i]jump[/i] spell carried both him and his enemy across the room. Even as they started to drop they slammed hard into a solid wall. Bredan was stunned by the impact, but the robed man, caught between the unyielding stone and the mass of his prisoner, let out a grunt and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Bredan fell too, but even as his head swam he reached up and yanked the sack off his head. His first sight of his prison was less than impressive. The place was a stone vault, spacious only in contrast to his cell. The ceiling was heavily buttressed and low enough that Bredan realized he had been lucky that he hadn’t bashed his own head in on his magically-enhanced leap. The light he’d seen earlier came from an oil lamp stuck in a niche along one wall. There were two other exits that he could see, a narrow opening in the far wall and a larger, circular passage that extended off to the right. The sight of it, along with the stale odors that hung thick in the air, offered a clue to where he was. “Sewers,” he said. “I must be underneath Severon.” His attention was drawn back to the man he’d knocked down. He had struggled back to his feet, favoring his injured leg but clearly not out of the fight. As he saw Bredan his lips twisted into a snarl, and he drew a dagger with a long, curving blade out from under his robe. He lurched forward, moving awkwardly on his damaged knee. Bredan lifted his hands, still bound tightly with rope. As the robed man came within reach a silvery gleam of light took form in the warrior’s hand, intersecting with his foe’s body as he slashed down. With only a one-handed grip and his hands numb from the constricting ropes the sword was knocked from his hand by the force of the collision, but the robed man was flung to the floor, blood pouring out form the deep tear in his garments to spread upon the dirty stone blocks. The curved dagger bounced and landed almost at Bredan’s feet. He snatched it up and used it to cut at his bonds. It was awkward and he managed to slash his wrists a few times in the process, but the wounds weren’t severe and could be ignored in the face of everything else he’d experienced. Just as the ropes were beginning to part he heard something, a series of noises that came from the open doorway in the far wall. They weren’t that loud, but whatever it was sounded like a significant disturbance. With a grunt of effort he pulled his abused wrists apart, grimacing as blood rushed back into his hands. He bent to reach for his sword but was interrupted as a figure ducked through the doorway and stepped into the room. It was Pentar. The old man was still wearing his robe, but his cowl was back and the front was open enough for Bredan to recognize the sheen of a mail coat underneath. He started as he saw Bredan, but his expression darkened as he took in the rest of the scene in the room before his eyes settled upon the sword an arm’s length from Bredan’s outstretched hand. “Don’t do it,” Pentar warned. “You have to come with us. We’re the only ones who can give you the truth you seek.” “I don’t like your brand of truth,” Bredan said. He flicked his hands and the sword magically appeared in his grasp, the bare steel blazing in the light from the lamp. “So be it,” Pentar said. He did not appear to be armed, but as his right hand came up a weapon materialized in his grasp, a great mace equipped with broad iron flanges. A faint sound like the vibration of metal being struck in the forge reverberated from the head of the weapon as the old man lifted it into a ready position. [/QUOTE]
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