“Careful with him. I can’t read any of his interface, that means he’s a strong one.” A man’s voice. One of the ones from the alley?

“Strong enough to break the shackles?” A woman’s voice.

“I don’t know. Best to be careful and double them up.” The first voice again. He sounded nervous, these didn’t sound like hardened rebels.

“Maybe we should just kill this one and find another to question.” The woman again. I just barely stopped myself before I could react to her statement.

“No cold feet now. We spent days waiting for one of them to show up alone. Who knows how long it will take to find another.” The man again.

“If you can’t handle it, leave. We don’t need a crowd for this part anyway.” The man said with finality. He sounded middle aged, his voice was a deep baritone.

I heard more voices as if they were dozens of feet away. I felt myself being dragged across an uneven surface. I didn’t dare open my eyes and reveal that I was awake. The back of my head was on fire but my health bar had only dropped a small amount. I’d bet there was a skill behind that blow that helped take me out so fast, the damage alone didn’t feel like it should have been enough.

There was no way to know how outnumbered I was so I stayed silent and let them keep dragging me. I had to believe these people were connected to the rebellion. Who else would be acting so brashingly against the Kingsworn? After another minute of desperately trying to play unconscious, I was roughly slammed against a wall.

Two sets of shackles were placed keeping my arms together and then chained upright. Two more sets were placed around my ankles and calves and my legs were stretched uncomfortably far apart. I was left being held in a triangle position and heard the men backing away. I heard a door slam shut and a key placed into a lock.

I waited a few more moments before risking opening my eyes and looking around. I was in a makeshift cell that looked to be built into the back of a horse stall. I could see through the slats in the wall next to me that there were horses in them. It was still daylight out which thankfully meant I hadn’t lost another day yet.

Struggling against the shackles and chains was fruitless. Even with my increased strength I wasn’t close to being strong enough to rip them off or out of the wall. I tried to yell out and found that my voice was still being silenced somehow. I had never heard of a skill like this but it didn’t surprise me that they existed in this mad world.

My next bout of disappointment came when I couldn’t contact Van or Marci. Whether the distance was too great for my bonded companions or if it was related to the silencing skill, I didn’t know. My anxiety was through the roof as I considered my options. I still had a simple bomb in my bandoleer, I could make it appear in my hand and detonate it. It would probably destroy my hand with only a chance of breaking the shackles. I left that as my ultimate desperation move.

After a few minutes of struggle there was the sound of a door opening and closing followed by footsteps. A short man and a medium height woman wearing normal clothes came into view in front of the cell. They spent a minute studying me in silence before opening the cell and entering. I tried in vain to tell them who I was, my mouth continued to move with no sound coming out.

“He is persistent isn’t he?” The woman said with a chuckle.

“They said he was peaceful when they surprised him. He tried to speak first and laid his weapons down immediately. Not like the rest of them.” The man said. Was that doubt creeping into his voice?

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“My name is Malia. You bastards murdered my sister and her entire family. I have no idea if you personally had anything to do with it but you're going to pay for it anyway. We have learned a few new tricks since you raided our base in the slums. Some are even inspired by the Kingsworn, I personally can’t wait to show you.” The woman said with a sadistic smile.

This was getting worse quickly. There was no way for me to break the silence and speak. One of them clearly had an Identification spell and knew I was strong but either didn’t recognize my name or couldn’t see it. I struggled against the shackles again and elicited a laugh from the woman.

“That’s enough Malia. Why don’t you go check on our other guests while I talk to this one first.” The man said and dismissed her.

The woman grunted in frustration and stared at the man before turning and walking away. She left the door to the makeshift cell open and the man walked out with her. He returned with a chair and a cup. He placed the chair down in front of me and held the cup up to my lips.

“Here. It’s just water. Even with revenge on our minds we are more human than you dogs. My name is Rhet and I used to be on the town council of Etes. I was lucky enough to be at home when you and your friends slaughtered the council. You thought you killed all of us, the King thought we would be cowed and silenced. You were both wrong.”

“The King’s days are numbered, the rebellion is growing all over Eter. Even if we all die to the damned from Norx the last thing we will do is tear down his palace brick by brick and feed it to him. There is no way that you survive this, I won’t lie to you. You were dead the moment you stepped into that alley. But you can spare yourself a lot of pain.” He finished. His eyes and demeanor didn’t match his words.

He got up from the chair and walked over to the wall. I hadn’t noticed before that there was a collection of old and rusty tools lining the wall. He picked up an old knife and twirled it in his fingers. He seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say before turning back to me.

“If you are wondering why you can’t speak, it's one of my skills. Silence. As long as I am alive and have mana you will be unable to speak or use any skills. If you think you can just ignore and outlast the pain I have even more bad news. See my class is called Inquisitor, it was offered to me when I leveled to 30. I leveled to 30 by killing a very dear friend of mine who was about to betray us to the Kingsworn. He died believing he was just doing his duty to his King. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“My other skill enhances the pain of my attacks. It starts small and builds until it becomes unbearable. Malia has a complimentary set of skills that can tell when someone is lying. If you tell us the truth and answer our questions, you will get to die a painless death. You have my promise on that. If I drop my skill and you speak any lies, or try to yell for help, I will cast it again and the pain will begin. Nod if you understand me.” He finished.

I nodded as fast and emphatically as I could. This was crazy, I couldn’t believe this was happening.

He called Malia back in, the woman returning with the same sadistic smile. Rhet walked over with the old knife and placed the point of it against my ribs. He put just enough pressure on it to draw blood. He nodded to Malia and she nodded back.

“Where are you taking all the prisoners and what are you planning to do with them?” She asked.

I felt the odd sensation leave and rushed out “I’m not a Kingsworn!” I felt a blinding pain in my side as Rhet had stabbed deep with the knife. The sensation of the Silence skill was back and I shouted wordlessly through the pain.

“Wait!” Malia yelled, staring at me with her mouth open.

“What!” Rhet snapped.

“He wasn’t lying,” Malia replied in a small voice, still staring at me.

“He what?” Rhet asked the stunned Malia.

“He isn’t lying. He isn’t a Kingsworn....” Her face had gone white. She backed away towards the wall.

“Or he has a skill that can fool yours.” Rhet said, sounding less confident.

“I don’t think he is...I didn’t agree to torture innnocents. If he’s not Kingsworn we have to let him go! We would be no better than them!” Malia said again, desperation clear in her voice.

They stared at each other for precious moments as the pain raced up and down my body. I couldn’t focus on anything else in the room other than the pain. It was all consuming, like my insides boiling, waiting for relief that wouldn’t come.