“Who the hell are you?” I shout. “Where’s Guildmaster Wharoth? Did he order this? Where are you taking me?”

“Shut up, traitor,” says the dwarf with a knife at my neck. The runes on it are humming slightly—I don’t doubt that the merest touch could slice right through me, unarmored as I am.

“What’s going on?” I cry desperately. "Who the hell are you?"

“I said shut up!”

“Maybe he wants an early execution,” comes another voice. “I’ll give it to him if you won’t.”

“No execution,” warns someone at the front of the carriage. “Not a cut on him.”

Cold sweat prickles on my skin and I begin to feel faint. These aren't just thugs out for revenge. They want me unharmed for a reason—and I don't think Guildmaster Wharoth would ever stoop this low. Could Vanerak be behind this? Maybe. Probably. Who else would remember what guild I belonged to fifteen years ago?

The two holding me down shut up. The journey continues, jarringly fast. The carriage shivers as it runs along rough roads. We're swung left then right as it makes mad turns. Down we go, then up so far I fret that we’ve gone right out of Allabrast, then we start going down again.

“Shit!” shouts the dwarf at the front. The carriage grinds to a halt; I hear the blindboar squealing. “Road’s blocked!”

“By what?” shouts the one with the knife to me.

“Another carriage—someone’s getting out. Shit!”

I’m thrown sideways as the driver executes a tight turn. I nearly roll over but one of the dwarves leans hard on my back to hold me firmly in place—they won’t give me even the slightest chance to escape. The blindboar squeals again and we accelerate violently.

“Look back!” the driver shouts. “Are they chasing us?”

“Yes!”

Who is it? Has Halmak somehow sent someone out to rescue me? That doesn’t make any sense. How would they have got here so fast? Maybe Guildmaster Wharoth? I don’t even know if he’s alive though. It’s clear they just used his name to trick me into coming out.

The carriage makes another sharp turn, and I feel us skid sideways. The floor tips nearly ninety degrees, then we slam back down. The knife nicks my cheek and I feel blood run down into my beard.

“Still after us!” shouts the dwarf pinning me down.

“Who the hell are they?” yells the driver.

“No idea, but it’s a good carriage. And the driver looks to be third degree at least.”

“Shit.”

“Can we lose them before we get into Obsidian?”

The driver doesn’t answer, but screams:

“Fucking hell!”

We slam to a stop. I and the two others in the carriage are thrown forward. I smash into hard wood. My skull feels like it's just cracked. It’s so painful I can no longer think. I lie there groaning while the others climb to their feet.

“What’s going on?” one shouts.

“Another carriage!”

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"A second one?"

"Yes!"

The driver tries to turn, then the blindboar squeals and gurgles—sounds like on its own blood. The driver yells and his yell is cut short.

“Get them!” cries one of my captors, and I hear a weapon being drawn.

There comes the sound of metal on metal, then a scream, then the voice of the remaining captor begging for his life.

“Shut it!” comes a new voice. “Drag him away! And get the one in the carriage!”

The carriage doors are wrenched open and I’m pulled out into the cold. There’s no knife at my throat this time, but the steel grip on my upper arm is strong as a vise. There’s no escaping from whoever this lot are either.

Almost immediately I’m being pushed into another carriage. This time, at least, I’m not thrown to the floor but instead forced onto a bench.

“Hold up your hands!” someone barks.

I obey, and cold cuffs are tightened around my wrists. Two more are tightened around my ankles. They seem to be fixed to the wall by short chains—I’m helpless now.

“Please, no, I was only doing what I was told!”

One of my original captors is now being pulled into the carriage. I hear clicks between his sobs as he’s chained up next to me.

“Shut up!” shouts the dwarf chaining him. “You’re under arrest for kidnapping.”

“I was only doing what my guild told me to!”

“Runeking Ulrike rules Allabrast, not your guild. Shut it!”

The dwarf shuts up. Cold steel fingers reach behind my neck and the bag is lifted from my head. In front of me is a runeknight, helmeted, with grim eyes and a bloody axe at his belt. He examines my face and beard, but makes no remark before sitting on the bench opposite me.

“He’s uninjured,” he calls to the front. “Let’s go.”

“What about the mess?”

“Squad two can clean it up. I didn't make so much.”

There’s a slight jolt as this new carriage takes off. Once again, we’re rumbling through the city, though at a slower pace this time. I look sideways at the dwarf chained behind me. He glares at me.

“Traitor!” he hisses.

I bow my head. “I know. I was going to hand myself in, you know.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I was.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing Vanerak execute you.”

“Silence!” snaps the runeknight opposite us. His hand is resting on the top of his bloody axe—it’s small and aluminum, very light looking. It gleams sharply. “Prisoners aren’t to talk.”

“He’s the prisoner!” cries the dwarf beside me. “We captured him—he’s a traitor. It’s his fault the Runethane is dead! His fault the dragon—”

“I said silence!”

He slumps and shuts up. I look at the floor and wait. An hour later and I’m still waiting; this journey is a long one. There are no windows in the carriage, so I have no way to tell where we are going. Though, I suppose that even if there were windows I wouldn’t know.

After what might be several hours we finally stop. Our guard stands up and opens the doors. He says something to some others standing outside, in a low voice, then walks back in and sits back down. He shuts the doors. The carriage rumbles on for a few more minutes, then it stops again.

He produces a key from a compartment in his armor, and unlocks the steel rings around my ankles.

“I’m going to unlock your wrists now,” he says. “Try to fight and you’ll regret it.”

“I won’t fight.”

He unlocks my wrists and leads me out. I look around. I’m in a stone dome. The walls are plain, and the light, from a brazier of smokeless coals set in the room’s center, is dim. The air is very cold and smells of stagnant water.

Two other guards grasp me firmly by the arms and lead me to a small doorway at the other end of the room. I hear the carriage depart; the other dwarf must be being taken to a different section of this place, whatever it is.

Probably a prison. Probably Allabrast Civil Prison, the greatest in the underworld.

I’m led through stone corridors. The walls are smooth and polished; this place was carved directly from the rock. We spiral down, and I am reminded of my ten or more year journey to the dwarves of the deep, except this time there is some light, as one of the guards carries a lantern with a white flame bright enough to bring tears to my eyes.

A couple of miles down and the tunnels become straight and narrow. Now we are walking in single file, with the guard bearing the lamp ahead of me and the other behind me. We pass doors of tungsten bars, enruned and angular. Within each cell is a figure—all of them are slumped on the ground and do not bother to look up at us. Maybe they're dead, left here to rot for their crimes.

“Here,” says the guard in front.

We stop and he begins to unlock the door to an empty cell. This process takes more than a minute—there are several locks and after each key-turn there’s a series of clicks as internal mechanisms twist and readjust.

After the last click he pulls on the door. It swings open smoothly; it does not creak.

“In you go,” says the guard behind me.

I walk in. I have no choice—there is no escape and I do not want to either. I am sorry that I didn't get a chance to turn myself in on my own initiative—but I suppose that's just how things have panned out. At least Vanerak's dwarves don't have me.

“How long until my trial?” I ask as the guard with the light shuts the door and locks it.

“Prisoners aren’t to talk,” he warns.

They depart, leaving me in the cold darkness.