by C. M. Lind
At first he was left to the interrogators. In masks, they were faceless nightmares to him. They prodded, sliced, and stabbed, asking him questions he would never answer. For the only thing that Cole Dorson loved more than himself, was his goddess.
After the interrogators gave up, they talked about throwing him into the pit, but they decided not to. He was “too valuable” they had said, and they shoved him into his very own cell, surrounded by no one. If they thought that isolation would break him, they were fools. Cole had gone through all the training to become a Disciple of Nox—and then some. His lonely captivity was nothing compared to what he had endured for his goddess.
The only visitor he had was the same thick, frightening man that captured him months ago. He would bring him food and water twice daily, but only after inflicting on Cole the worst torture of all that The Cliffs had to offer him—his dull and witless banter. In his mind, he referred to him as Nitwit.
Cole would always ignore him. Responding to the idiot only earned him spit infused water or half-eaten breakfast. No, he decided, better to just pray through the man’s verbal dysentery.
He had prayed again that evening. He begged Nox for salvation. He promised her his soul ten times over—and his body too, if she was interested in that. He pledged himself to her however she wished—that he would follow whoever she wanted wherever they wanted to take him. That he would pay her back however she wanted, no matter the cost.
All he needed was some sign.
He opened his eyes, and his cell was as it always was: empty and cold. He rolled onto his back, buzzed his lips in defeat, and closed his eyes.
He laid like that until he heard steps down the hall, but instead of one set, it was two. The men walking his way were talking.
He recognized the first man. It was Nitwit. The other man, he had never heard before.
“I can’t believe they let you in,” said Nitwit.
“It’s my right to visit with the condemned.”
“But at this hour?” asked Nitwit.
“Feel free to ask your commander—if you wish to bother him at such an hour.”
“Yeah,” said Nitwit. “If I don’t mind a beating too.”
“At the very least.”
Cole sat up as they approached, hugging his knees to his chest.
Nitwit, keys in hand, clanked the bars. “Priest to see you.”
The priest was scowling. His hands were in the pockets of his ashen robes, giving him away as a faithful of Anker. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and his long, blonde hair was half in a ponytail, half free around his face. “Are you the assassin they captured a while back?”
“I’m no assassin,” Cole lied.
“Are you him or not?” The priest tapped his toes and rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me ask again.”
“It’s him all right,” said Nitwit.
The priest brought his hand to Nitwit, extending one scolding wag of his finger. “I’m talking to him.”
Nitwit ground his teeth as his brow wrinkled.
Cole smiled. That display was worth something, he figured. “That is what they tell me.”
“Good,” said the priest. His outstretched hand grabbed Nitwit by his hair, snapping his face into the bars.
Cole’s mouth dropped open as he heard the smacking of bone against metal, the ripping of hairs, and the quickly silenced yelps of Nitwit as he slammed into the bars several more times.
After his brow was caved in, the priest dropped him. He slammed onto the ground, and blood and brain plopped out like spilled, chunky porridge onto the floor.
Cole backed up in his cell, pushing his back against the stone wall. He took a long rasping breath.
The priest picked the fallen keys up, and, trying the keys one at a time, he opened the cell on the third try. He hummed to himself as he flung the door open.
“Come along then,” said the priest. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Cole nodded. “Sure.” He was still pressed against the wall.
The priest sighed. “I am very tired, so could we get a move on it?”
Cole nodded again. “Of course!” He scrambled to his feet. Approaching the door, he felt as if his eyes were bolting out of his skull—that any moment they might simply fall out.
The priest made no sudden movements. All he did was roll his eyes at Cole.
“Why are you…here?” asked Cole, staring at the hole in Nitwit’s head.
“You must be one of the feebleminded ones,” sighed the priest. “Perhaps I should speak slower so you’ll understand: I am here to free you.”
Cole brought his hand up. “I understand fine. It’s just,” he breathed, “quite surprising is all.”
“Unfortunately, I am under strict directions to see you safely out. Staying isn’t an option.”
“Fine with me,” mumbled Cole under his breath. It figured, thought Cole, that the first person he had contact with in months thought him pinheaded. He sighed. “Where to?”
“Get dressed.” The priest kicked Nitwit.
“But,” said Cole, “won’t the blood give me away?” He looked down at the red splatters on the tabard of Nitwit.
“It’s very poorly lit.” The priest chuckled. “As in all things, just pretend you belong there.”
“Right,” said Cole with a grimace. “Sounds like a great plan.”
“This will be a walk in the park compared to the last one who escaped from this place.”
“Wait,” said Cole, snapping his head back to the priest, “someone escaped from here?”
“She is the one who sent me to save you.” The priest nodded, and a proud smile overcame his face. “Get dressed, and I will tell you all about my master.”
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Epilogue:
iberation