Krieth's joy, however, was short-lived. After spending several minutes testing the first three walls of his prison, his frantic probing had discovered no means of egress. He moved on to the fourth and final wall.
However, no sooner had his hand touched the wall than it was greeted by the screech of tearing metal. The walls of his cell were being ripped apart. He backed away, listening intently since nothing was visible to him. The screeching stopped, and for a second he heard the labored breath of someone – no, something – before, with a grunt of effort, the tearing of metal resumed. Clearly, this thing coming through the wall was not human. Whatever it was, the metal of his cell was proving no obstacle. He instinctively backed into a corner, wishing for anything to use as a weapon. The creature, whatever it was, growled fiercely, spewing hot breath and saliva in Krieth's direction.
"Back, darkling," came a stern and commanding voice.
The creature growled once more and, by Krieth's estimation, continued trying to get into the cell.
"I said, back!" Suddenly the air was electric and a crack like thunder filled Krieth's cell. The darkling howled and the pungent odor of singed flesh assaulted Krieth's nose.
A warlock, he thought.
He stood absolutely still. In the fullness of his strength a warlock would have been little more than a nuisance, but in his weakened state he could take no chances.
"Take him," the warlock said, at which point Krieth heard the shuffling of feet coming near him.
Guards, he presumed.
There came the hiss of a weapon leaving its sheath and then the prick of a swordtip at his throat. No one had to tell him not to move; it was plainly understood what the end result would be if he attempted something foolish or rash. Moreover, he still could not see anything. Krieth assumed some charm to be in place which allowed the guards to see in the dark.
"By the Ten!" came a new voice at Krieth's right. "What was his crime, stinking up a room to the heavens?" Krieth had a mental image of the guard covering his nose.
"I do not know his crime," said the warlock. "I was not even aware that this part of Bleakblood even housed anything living, but great charms and wards were imposed upon this chamber. He cannot remain here while they are undone, lest he work some mischief. Bind him and take him to the Room of Howls."
"But he smells like maggoty meat! I'm not touching-"
The guard stopped in midsentence as the air again became electric with the warlock's anger. The hair on Krieth's neck began to rise and did not settle again until, seconds later, his hands were forcibly thrust behind him and stout cord wrapped around his wrists. Only then was the sword removed from his throat, only to be used to prod him in the back.
"Move along," said a gruff voice.
"How strange," said the warlock, seemingly to himself. "Something about this tickles at the back of my mind, like an itch I cannot scratch." Suddenly he turned his attention back to his prisoner. "Remember, straight to the Room of Howls, and see that you don't use him for any of your sport along the way. Strange events are afoot, and Lord Darkchilde will want to speak with him, I'm sure. I would hate for him to find his "guest" in no condition to communicate when that time comes."
One of the guards gulped audibly as they led Krieth away, one on either side of him, but slightly to the rear. Krieth merely stayed silent and plodded along.
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