Never would he see Ganwin again.
On the top floor, he was crammed into a small chamber. His hands and feet were shackled--his hands fastened to cuffs attached to the ceiling and his feet rendered immobile by braces attached to the floor. Alma, General Soren and the cloaked figure left, shutting the wooden door behind them. Despair filled Ing. He tried to wiggle his way out of the shackles, but it was no use. He was rewarded with nothing but soreness in his efforts. He decided to give up. He tried to calm down. There had to be some way out of the dreadful tower; he just had to think, but it was hard to be patient. Something could happen at any minute. He wasn’t exactly sure what their purpose was for keeping him in there, but he knew he had to break free.
In spite of trying to remain calm in his predicament a wave of anger rushed over him. “I won’t die here!” he shouted to the empty cell. After several more minutes of severe struggling he was in a worse condition than before. He found himself wracked with a horrible headache. In addition to that he could feel his face burning and sweat dripped down his brow. Then to his horror the situation became worse. An itch began to develop on the worst place he could imagine: right on his nose. Even though he felt like a fool, Ing could not help himself. Tears began to fall down his face and burned his eyes in his frustration. What kind of monster does this to someone?
Ing remembered feeling frustrated and tired after working hard in Borad’s forge. That was nothing to what he felt now. I never should have come on this quest, he thought to himself. It was over my head and that was clear from the start. Or at least it would have been if I hadn’t been half crazy from the heat, the death of my mother and the lack of food. Not to mention the lack of human contact. Maybe I’m still in the desert in some sort of hallucination. A fever dream induced by the heat. If this is in fact what a fever dream is like. He had never exactly had one before, but he had certainly heard of them. That would explain his destination never having been reached.
Not thirty minutes later Ing did in fact fall asleep and enter into a dream. At first everything was dark as if he were blind. Then his vision slowly came to him. He was in his cell, but was no longer shackled. Ing moved around, feeling bored. The cloaked figure came into the cell. It removed its hood and revealed was the face of Alma. Slowly her face began to change into what Ing imagined Slithzalien looked like. The image terrified him. He tried to scream at the figure to get away, but his mouth wouldn’t move as if it were jammed shut.
Just then Ing was awoken by some sort of sound. To his surprise, the wooden door started creaking open suddenly. Who could it be? The cloaked figure was back. He came over and unshackled Ing. Where was Ing to be taken now?
The cloak was pulled back to reveal a familiar face.
“Uncle Erste!” cried Ing with a sense of joyous relief.
“Shhh,” whispered Erste. “We must get out of here. Slip inside my cloak.”
Ing made his way out of the tower in the secrecy granted by Erste’s cloak. He might as well have been invisible. The guards had thought it to be their master. Once they were out, they slipped into the shadows behind the tall tower to talk.
Ing didn’t quite know how to say it, so he just came out and said it. “Alma is in league with these people,” he said grimly to his uncle.
“Impossible,” was Erste’s reply. “I raised her. It must be an act she’s putting on...wait a second, who is that?”
“Is that Alma?” muttered a distraught Ing.
A girl off in the distance looked like she was searching for someone. It was hard to make out her features, but Ing was almost positive it was her. Her red hair was rather eye catching.
“Yeah, that’s her,” confirmed Erste.
Erste started running, but Ing took hold of him. “Wait, Uncle. What if she’s bad? Don’t be so hasty.”
“Ing, I told you she’s fine,” said Erste. He ran off and Ing followed behind, in frustration at his uncle’s disregard for his warning.
“Erste, I knew you would come,” said Alma.
“See, everything is alright, Ing,” said his uncle.
“Are you crazy?” said Ing furiously to Alma. “You just leave me to get thrown in that tower? How did you know for sure that Erste would come?”
“It was a chance I had to take,” replied Alma. “I had no choice. I met up with the tavern owner in Garlie and got my way into Slithzalien’s group. It was the only way to get through the gate and on to the Lady of the Lake. I don’t have time to go into all that now, though. Here’s your sword.” Alma seemed to be looking at something out of the corner of her eye. “There you are,” she said, her teeth bared in a vicious snarl like one of the feral snow lions that inhabited the Mountains of Promises.
Before Ing could turn around to see who or what she was looking at, her bow was held firmly in the air, an arrow already strung. Following the direction of her gaze, he spotted one of the Illusionists. At that moment, he felt absolutely confident that she was not in league with them; he had seen pure hatred fill her eyes.
“Alma,
