Gedresial wrapped his fingers around the bars. Rusk only saw it out of the corner of his eye, because he was focusing his attention on King Ehrryn, who had taken it upon his royal self to personally deliver to them the message of their execution.

“You have time to rot in here of course,” continued King Ehrryn. “To consider my other offer.”

“Other offer,” said Rusk in a deadpan manner.

“But of course.” King Ehrryn snapped his fingers, and behind him out of the portal that appeared there appeared the necromancer. “I am not without mercy. Become part of my employ.”

Rusk spit on him. A real hawking loogie.

King Ehrryn laughed. He’d dodged, and the little puddle of spit on the floor apparently gave him great amusement.

Rusk was not amused in the least. His mind was swimming with all the possibilities he could get out of here. Of getting his friends out of here too, if they were still alive. Of doing the heroic thing and sacrificing himself to get them out. A million old texts scrolled through his mind’s eye as he frantically tried to both keep up his poker face for the King and cultivate a plan that wouldn’t get everyone he loved murdered.

Gedresial had other ideas. “My King, what are the details of your proposition?”

“You do not have the option of taking me up on them, betrayer.”

Gedresial had the grace to wince.

Luckily Rusk didn’t see that. He was busy reaching far far far into the Elva, trying to pull something, anything, to use to get himself out of this cell and the King dead. Or the necromancer detained at least, if the necromancer couldn’t die. But surely the necromancer could die. If Rusk only had the Dragons Knock. But it was nowhere. They’d stripped him nearly bare when he was unconscious. Which made him feel more than a little violated, but his modesty was the least of his worries. More concerning was no matter how he reached, pulled, yanked, tried, the Elva would not answer him. It was like being back on Sanctuary Island.

That was when he realized the walls of this prison were in fact made of the same material as the Sanctuary Stronghold.

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How deep did the conspiracy go? Part of Rusk didn’t want to know. But the other part of him, the Hero, the glistening eyed child from deep within him, knew he had to ask.

Gedresial asked for him. “How many others have you proposed this to? Surely the necromancer behind you was just as terrible as me, once upon a time. Surely. Make an exception. Or perhaps you’d be cruel enough to tell me what I’m missing, since Rusk is still here to hear what you have to say.”

Then necromancer came forward and with his rod of evil magic poked Gedresial right in the chest, where his heart beat underneath the skin.

He screamed, succumb to some terrible magic, and fell backward.

“Hey!” Rusk tried to squeeze his head through the bars to check his neighbors condition. All he heard was thrashing. And a sizzle sounded and smelled in the room, as if flesh had burnt. Was burning. Rusk glared daggers at the king and his stupid little wormy employ. “What did you do?”

The necromancer’s smile was as sadistic as they come.

Rusk clenched his teeth.

“I suggest if you don’t want to end up like him you take me up on my offer,” said King Ehrryn in this terrible, smug, self-satisfied manner that made Rusk want to reach through the bars and strangle him.

So Rusk tried to reach through the bars and strangle him.

King Ehrryn jumped back, and then the necromancer caught Rusk’s wrist.

The necromancer yanked Rusk by the arm, forcing him to smash his face into the bars, and then the necromancer eyeballed the scars swirling up and down Rusk’s biceps. “Curious. Very curious. It seems you’ve had run-ins with the deadly folk of other realms.”

“You’ll be a deadly folk of other realm if you don’t gimme my arm back.”

The necromancer laughed. “Empty threats from a soon to be empty prisoner. I suggest you get comfortable in here, boy. The King likes his subjects both living and dead.”

With a twist of his wrist Rusk flipped the momentum and brought the necromancer’s arm careening into the bars knuckle-first, happy for the crunch he heard when the bony hand met the metal, delirious with satisfaction at the fact he’d injured one of his captors.

The necromancer did not yelp. He simply pulled his hand back, snapped a few bones back in place with a bored expression, and made a swift exit with an even more dissatisfied swish of his robes.

Not even a yelp, thought Rusk. Not even a yelp!

“Think on what my necromancer has said,” said King Ehryyn. “Your execution approaches. I will have you either way, whether you agree or not. The dead have no will of their own. But if you come to my command willingly, I may feel inclined to spare your life. It’s your choice, young Hero.”

“Never,” said Rusk.

“How unwise.” King Ehrryn made his exit.

The guard stood back by the entrance, resuming his post with a hard gulp that echoed in the wet solid space.

“You alright over there?” asked Rusk.

Gedresial groaned. Alive, at least.

But maybe not for long.

They had to find a way out of here.