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The Last Philosopher
The secret jail

The secret jail

Sulenthvorenth smirked in the inscrutable depths of his beard. The geriatric Dalmicir headmaster looked heart-warmingly pathetic as he groaned and grunted his way back to his feet. The Trolls had followed his exact orders and let the man go right after they stepped inside. Unprepared for the fall, the purple robe collapsed like there was nothing in it.

"What is wrong with you, you dunderheads!"

The skin and bones robe holder was swiping at the Trolls with his pointy hat. As if he could have done anything to them even with a sledgehammer.

I hope that hurt, the Xefef head thought. The truest joy is the misery of others, and there's nothing like a literal fall to get someone off their high horse!

"What is this place?" Lyeasrakardsul asked after calming down.

"That is none of your concern, is it?" A flippant answer. Among all these giant Trolls under his control, the Xefef head felt none of his short stature.

"Well, what is going on with all these glowing corridors?"

"They have permission for that!"

Each school was almost free to do as they pleased in their own tower. Pedran had long ago received permission to perform the magick that enchanted their rooms to glow. However, the diminutive Dwarf wasn't the least interested in if it was allowed. Instead, he was gauging the codger's reaction to the secret jail. He was sure if the antique man realised the truth, it would show on his face like a ton of shocked indignance had dropped on his toes.

"Ah yes, I remember. 'A glowing rock will not hurt more than a regular rock if thrown at someone.' That was the reasoning behind the decision. Macbiar even tested the theory... diligently."

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Sulenthvorenth growled, the Dalmicir head never missed an opportunity to rub his knowledge of history in everyone's face. Letting his anger do his decision making he fell into an explanation.

"This place is for particularly dangerous prisoners..."

Stop! Do not let him turn things around on you... again, his Xefef voice shouted in his head.

Even so, his anger wanted the stone of comprehension to fall on the bookworms' toes. Sulenthvorenth had promised himself that at any trace of understanding, the doddering fool would never leave this place. But the coffin dodger was more interested in the barred doors past him and the Trolls. Back there three adjoining cells held the blindfolded and gagged free sorcerers.

"I see Drik's patrols took a more figurative approach to the order of gentleness. You really should try to keep him under control you know."

The Dalmicir head's dimness was entertaining. Even so, it was a dim second to the joy Sulenthvorenth would have felt if he could make the man disappear into the depths of the secret jail.

"I will make sure the Trolls follow their instructions, if you feel inclined to spend some time inspecting one of the empty rooms."

He kicked the bars with one of his steel-capped boots. It made a clanking noise that reverberated around the stone-walls.

The old sorcerer ignored the implied threat with a sceptical look. "Have you spoken to them yet?"

"No, they have been rather uncooperative. Which is the reason they look the way they do. Two of the Trolls had to be sent to the institute."

"Really? To the institute?"

They were all surprised by that one, as leader of the council, he had heard rumours that the brothers were strong. Still, damaging a Troll enough to put it in the institute was no easy feat. Even less two Trolls.

"I could try speaking to them alone?"

No! Don't let him! Sulenthvorenth's rage shouted.

The tobacco impregnated figure had been brought here for precisely that purpose. Still, he would have felt more comfortable making it a command. Which of course was the only reason Lyeasrakardsul had suggested it, to preempt his authority. But it would take more than a simple double bluff to trick him.

"I will allow it, but keep it short!" A slight fizz in his helmet lamp betrayed his annoyance.

The fact that the secret jail had ways of listening in on the most whispered conversations, only slightly placated his need to control every situation.