CHAPTER 16
Kovrim would have liked nothing better than to reach out and wrap the chains connecting his wrists together around Junce Roundface's neck, but the two guards flanking him never would have allowed it. The pair practically carried him as they walked, for he could not keep up, moving on his own, the way his feet were also restrained. Still, the old priest enjoyed the thought of strangling the hated assassin strolling along in front of him.
When Kovrim had realized who was watching him through the barred window set in the door of the cell, his first thought was that Junce had come on his own, secretly, to dispatch the priest and be done with him. But he soon realized that Roundface was not alone. The door had been unlocked, and guards had moved toward where Kovrim lay, grabbing him and hauling him bodily out of the cell.
The priest and his two escorts followed Junce down the corridor and out into the main chamber of the prison area. From there, they followed a new passage, different from the route by which all of the Crescents had arrived earlier. The corridor Junce selected led deeper into the bowels of the keep, through a doorway and down a set of narrow, spiraling steps that went on for several turns. When they emerged from the staircase, Kovrim saw that they had brought him to some sort of ill-lit torture chamber, replete with hideous devices. His heart skipped a beat at the prospect of what his captors intended, and he dug in his heels, albeit ineffectually.
'Lock him in there,' Junce said, pointing toward a barred alcove set in one wall. 'He can watch.'
The two guards hauled Kovrim to the tiny cell, shoved him inside, and shut the door behind him. The priest could hear the heavy latch click shut, and he turned just as one of the guards threaded a large padlock through the latch and snapped it closed. He stood there watching as the pair of guards strode off, heading back the way they had come.
Junce paced for a few moments, a half smile on his face. Then he turned to where Kovrim was imprisoned. 'It's unfortunate I don't have both you and your nephew,' he said, 'because it would be so thoroughly enjoyable letting you watch him. But since I don't have the luxury of killing him before your eyes, your other companions will have to do.'
Kovrim furrowed his brow, angry at how helpless he felt. He wanted to utter a few obscenities in the assassin's direction, but the wedge of leather and iron in his mouth prevented it. Instead, he just turned away, unwilling to give the man the satisfaction of seeing his distress. That's when he noticed the small window on the back side of the little alcove. Like the main opening, it was warded with bars, but it was of a height that he could look through it without haying to stand too high.
In fact, the window afforded a view into a larger chamber beyond. The ceiling of that room was the same height as that of the torture chamber, but the floor was well below that under his feet, so the priest was looking down from a second floor. It was square and empty. On one wall of that chamber, on the opposite side of Kovrim's position, he could see a portcullis, down at the moment, blocking a darkened tunnel. On the wall to the priest's left, there was a solid door, also apparently raised and lowered from some remote source. Along the right wall, well off the floor of the room and at the same level as his own window, a balcony looked down into the chamber, or the pit, as Kovrim was coming to think of it. The illumination for the pit came from torches set into sconces along that balcony.
'You see,' Junce said from behind Kovrim, 'we're fighting a war, as you already surmised back in Arrabar, when you started nosing around in Lavant's affairs. But this war is costly, and we need all the help we can get. That's why we're accepting volunteers to join up and fight the good fight. You and some of your men will be new recruits.'
Kovrim turned back and looked at the assassin with the coldest, most baleful stare he could muster, though the other man's words sent an ominous chill down the priest's spine. He wasn't certain what Junce was suggesting, but he knew it did not bode well for him and the other Crescents.
'Go ahead,' Junce said, gesturing, 'take a look. I know
He turned, walked to the far side of the torture chamber, and pulled open another door, disappearing through it and pulling it shut behind himself.
Kovrim shook his head in mute frustration and turned back to the window.
The portcullis began to rise, and a moment later, the two guards who had manhandled him into the torture chamber appeared again, dragging Hort along with them, still in his chains. He was being led along willingly, if sullenly, but when he saw the room, his body stiffened, as though he had gotten a sudden, uneasy feeling. The guards shoved him to the floor and turned back to the exit, where the portcullis was already dropping again. The pair sprinted through the narrowing gap and vanished.
Hort climbed to his feet with a muttered curse and looked around, examining the surroundings. Kovrim made a loud grunting noise, willing Hort to look up, and after a moment, the grizzled soldier spotted the priest looking down at him.
'Well, this is a fine mess we're in, eh, sir?' Hort called up, trying to sound cheerful.
Before Kovrim could grunt a response, there was the sound of a heavy door opening and closing. Hort looked up toward the near side of the balcony, just out of Kovrim's sight, and scowled. Then Junce strolled into view, looking down at his captive.
'Watch carefully' the assassin said, and chuckled. 'This is going to be interesting.'
The heavy door on the left side of the pit began to rise. Kovrim, panic welling up in him, willed Hort to find a way out, to climb up to the balcony, out of harm's way. But the old soldier turned and eyed the opening portal warily.
No! Kovrim tried to shout, but all that came out was a muffled, nasally whine. Don't do this!
As the heavy barricade reach its zenith, Hort's expression changed from concern to horror. He began to back away, turning toward the portcullis and running to it as fast as his chains would allow. 'No!' he cried out, yelling down the blackened hallway. 'Raise the gate! Raise the gate!'
Kovrim stood, transfixed in a state of helpless horror, as something began to emerge from the interior beyond the barricade. A man shuffled out, or what once must have been a man. Its movements were awkward and jerky, and Kovrim could see that it was undead.
The thing's skin was discolored, like one continuous bruise, all purplish yellow with tinges of blue at the joints. Pustules of yellowish ichor also covered its sagging, lifeless flesh. Muscles moved beneath the surface like burrowing grubs, and its clothing, that of the guard there inside the Palace of the Seven, hung filthy and loose, torn and deteriorating.
A zombie.
As soon as the nasty thing was fully into the room, a second and a third followed it out of the tunnel. They shuffled without pause directly toward Hort, who was bellowing and banging his manacles on the bars of the portcullis, pleading to be let out of the deathtrap in a voice that rose ever higher in panic-induced pitch.
Kovrim screamed, too, or tried to. He pounded his steel fists against the bars of the window, trying desperately to distract the zombies, all the while furiously but futilely attempting to dislodge the thick wad of leather so firmly clamped between his teeth. If he could only speak, he could help, cast a spell or drive the undead things back, away from Old Bloagy, or he could-but it was useless.
The priest watched in horror as the zombies closed in on his companion, watched as Hort turned, screaming, and began to pummel the walking dead things his fists. The soldier used the length of chain stretched between his wrists to good effect, like a garrote, wrapping it around the neck of one of the zombies as though he were trying to strangle it. Being undead, it did not need to breathe, but Hort held it firmly there anyway, shifting it back and forth, using the creature as a shield against the slow, witless attacks from the other two. For a moment, Kovrim thought that perhaps the man would survive the horrible assault, that Hort might destroy the zombies before they rent him to pieces.
But eventually, the chain sawed clear through the held zombie's neck, and its head went bouncing away while its body slumped to the floor in front of Hort, twitching uselessly. The other two ignored the downed corpse and pursued the man. Hort backed away, waiting for an opening while licking his lips in desperation, but he looked strange to Kovrim, slow and ill at ease.
What's the matter with him? the priest wondered. He looks… unwell.
Truly, Hort's complexion had paled considerably, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. Kovrim could see no wounds, no marks upon the man, but all the same, the soldier acted as though he had been mortally
