Before Kevlin could react, the makrasha seized him with hands and hengaruk and smashed him into the heavy door. The first impact rattled him with pain. The second drove his mind into welcome darkness.

Some time later his thoughts slowly coalesced out of the fog. The first thing he became aware of was that his feet were cold. Kevlin struggled to focus while his senses returned. Why would his feet be cold?

With a start he came fully awake and lurched up, his arms and legs thrashing. Something struck him in the side of the head so hard it rattled his teeth.

He sagged back, groaning as existing bruises joined together in a sadistic chorus, reminding him how much his head already hurt. Only when that clamor faded to a constant throbbing ache did it register how much his arms hurt. He was being dragged backward along the floor by the arms.

He glanced to one side, then the other, and his heart fell. Two makrasha were dragging him backward along a dark hallway with their hengaruk. The stubby-fingered appendages dug into his muscles and he had no doubt they could rip his arms off if they chose.

He looked back and his heart fell further, taking up permanent residence in his chilled toes. He could just make out an ironbound door. They were taking him back to the cell block.

The foul taste of defeat choked him, tasting like bile. After everything he’d achieved, he had failed. His head pounded and a slow trickle of wetness ran down his face. Hopefully he wasn’t bleeding too much, although he’d be dead soon anyway, so it probably didn’t matter.

He was such an idiot. Sure, he’d had a lot on his mind, but that was no excuse for getting sloppy.

Antigonus gave me Tia Khoa and told me to keep it safe. I lasted about thirty seconds.

They’d kill him and break Antigonus’ mind soon. Once the old man named one of them steward, they’d vanish with the mighty talisman, leaving the empire defenseless. For several seconds, Kevlin wallowed in misery. It didn't help, but he was finding it hard to scrape up any optimism.

They reached the small circular room. The makrasha slammed him into one of the chairs but did not release their iron-like grip on his arms. A third creature deposited Kevlin's sword belt and gear on the table in front of him.

The sword was so close, that had to be the first torture. Dying fighting would be the best possible outcome for him now but he couldn't imagine how to get his hands on the weapon.

Haraz, holding a torch high, turned from where he had been peering into Antigonus’ cell. “The beast posted by the door was supposed to keep intruders from entering. I had not expected someone to be leaving.”

"Well, with how you treat visitors, are you surprised?"

Haraz glared and the look burned out Kevlin's false bravado. Up close, the shadeleech looked cruel, with a haughty stare and no sense of humor. Kevlin could smell evil on him, clinging to his nostrils like burned toast.

The door at the far end of the hall opened and footsteps approached. The newcomer bore no light, so he remained invisible until he entered the room. The palpable chill of evil emanating from him left no doubt as to his identity.

Tanathos.

The shadeleech studied Kevlin silently. Kevlin met his gaze for just a second but had to look away from the roiling darkness that cloaked those eyes. He’d thought the effect was scary enough back in the inn. Now that evil aura nearly overwhelmed him.

This shadeleech could never appear unremarkable. Indeed, he had to struggle to look human, for he clearly had surrendered his soul to EnKur, Lord of Darkness.

“You.” Tanathos sounded surprised. “Impressive.”

"You, not so much," Kevlin said. He couldn't hurt anything but the man's pride, so why not?

Tanathos gave a low chuckle. “You haven't lost your spirit yet. This will prove more interesting than I had feared.” Then he commanded, “Shackle him.”

The makrasha dragged Kevlin out of the chair and hauled him into a cell constructed of rough-cut lumber, with loose straw scattered on the floor. The creatures pushed Kevlin onto the low bunk and clasped a set of shackles around his wrists. The shackles were attached to chains that ran up the wall, through a set of iron rings, then back to the far corner of the room, ending in a series of gears attached to a large wheel.

That can’t be good.

Haraz entered the cell and placed the torch in a bracket near the door.

Tanathos entered last and said to Haraz. “See if the other prisoner has been disturbed.” Haraz left immediately and the leader stepped closer to Kevlin. “It is good to have your company. We have some time on our hands, so we will talk.”

“I’d rather not.”

"You will," Tanathos said with a fake smile. “You will talk, you will scream, you will tell me everything I wish to know.” He continued in a whisper, “And then you will die and I will feed on your soul.”

Kevlin shuddered as every horror story he’d ever heard about what shadeleeches did to people ran through his mind. Killing someone was only the beginning. He had no doubt that in real life they could do far worse.

Sitting in that dungeon, shackled and facing a shadeleech, his sense of helpless terror unearthed memories he’d fought for years to suppress. They now burst from the dam that held them prisoner in a dark corner of his soul. In that second, he was again a boy of seven who’d made the mistake of sneaking into the cabin of a sentinel who’d booked passage on his father’s ship.

He hadn’t known the sentinel was there and couldn’t remember what he’d seen the man doing. That memory had been burned from his mind. He’d just wanted to see a sentinel, see a little magic. He’d gotten more than he’d ever wanted.

His body screamed with remembered pain that his throat couldn’t vent. His mind reeled with shame and terror as a sentinel stood over him in that tiny cabin. Kevlin had tried to call out for help, to scream in pain, to run, but the sentinel’s magic held him there, a silent captive.

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Then the sentinel had used Truth to rip knowledge from him despite everything he did to hold his tongue. “What did you see, boy?”

He’d told the man everything, knowing it would only lead to more pain.

He’d been right.

The memory of what he’d seen was gone, but the memory of that torture remained, as bright and undimmed by the passage of years as if it had happened only yesterday.

After what seemed an eternity, the man had asked, “What did you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Will you speak of this to anyone, boy?”

“Yes.”

Magic burned through his soul, torturing him to the brink of insanity. He could not scream, could not move, could not cry his mother’s name.

After another eternity, the pain eased and the sentinel asked again, “Will you speak of this to anyone, boy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man smiled. “You will stop crying. You will remain silent about our visit. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Kevlin had sobbed, his tiny frame shuddering with the effort to suppress the screams of pain and terror that threatened to burst forth.

“Leave me,” the sentinel had commanded.

Kevlin had staggered to his feet and stumbled from the cabin. He’d hidden from the sentinel for the rest of the voyage, but it had been months before he could sleep soundly again and years before he’d managed to bury the pain and terror.

Kevlin now struggled to calm his breathing under the flood of those memories. Sweat broke out across his forehead and turned his hands clammy against the chill of the iron shackles.

“Tell me your name,” Tanathos commanded.

Kevlin remained silent. Even he knew giving up that information was a bad idea.

“My name is Tanathos. I will know yours.”

"How about giving me the tour first?"

Surprise flickered across Tanathos' inhuman face. He leaned close and extended an arm, his clenched fingers less than a foot from Kevlin’s chest.

“You disappoint me.” He spread his fingers wide and a bolt of pure darkness, so deep it burned the eyes, leapt out to strike Kevlin’s breastplate, just above his heart.

Kevlin barely registered what was happening before the bolt winked out as fast as it had appeared.

By the seven gods, how can I not be dead?

It couldn’t be Antigonus protecting him. The man barely had enough power to stay alive.

Tanathos frowned, reflecting Kevlin's confusion. Then the shadeleech lashed out toward Kevlin’s throat.

He’s going to throttle me?

The thought seemed ridiculous. Kevlin had envisioned many horrible tortures. Common strangulation seemed insulting.

Instead of choking him, Tanathos grabbed the heavy steel chain around his neck and yanked it, slicing it into the back of Kevlin’s neck until the clasp snapped and it came free. Tanathos stepped back, holding up the large, dark amulet Antigonus had made Kevlin take from Bajaran.

Kevlin stared at it in surprise. He’d forgotten he was even wearing it. That stone looked more like he had imagined Tia Khoa should. Tanathos seemed to think it was important.

For a moment he savored the idea of Tanathos taking it instead of the real talisman. They’d kill him without realizing where the real talisman was. He'd get the last laugh after all.

Holding the amulet high, Tanathos spun it in the torchlight and laughed when no light reflected off its faceted edges.

“I wondered where this ended up.” He made a mock bow to Kevlin. “Thank you for bringing it to me.”

“Since you like it so much,” Kevlin said, “consider it a gift.”

“You intrigue me. I’m surprised you didn’t try to murder us tonight. With the amulet nullifying our magic, you might have succeeded.”

Realization struck Kevlin like a sledgehammer between the eyes. The amulet? All along it had been the amulet protecting him? It will offer some protection, Antigonus had said. If only the old man had stayed conscious long enough to explain.

The bitter disappointment must have reflected on his face because Tanathos smiled, a snakelike ripple of his lips. “You didn’t know?"

This conversation was getting embarrassing, so Kevlin sulked and said nothing.

“Let’s start with those devilish little crystals you used at the inn," Tanathos said. "Tell me about them.”

“Sorry.” Kevlin forced the words past the lump of dread in his throat. “It’s a trade secret. If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”

He’d love nothing better than to kill Tanathos, but he wasn't fooling anyone. The first thing to remember when being interrogated was to never give them what they wanted. Of course, that led to the second thing which was that things were about to get ugly.

One of the hovering makrasha slammed a fist into Kevlin’s stomach. Pain exploded where Dhanjal’s blade had sliced him two days before and he spewed out the pathetic remains of the little he’d eaten.

He aimed for Tanathos, but the makrasha stood in the way. It ignored the bile dripping down its torso and looked to Tanathos for permission to strike again.

Kevlin closed his eyes and tried to calm his screaming midsection. His padded tunic felt damp and he had no doubt the blow had torn the stitches open. He tried to spit the vile-tasting residue of vomit out of his mouth, but it only dribbled down his chin, filling his nostrils with the stench of his own guts.

He hadn't screamed. It was a small triumph, one that would be taken away all too soon.

Haraz entered the cell, “He has taken it.”

Tanathos nodded. “As I expected.” He then spoke a word in a harsh, guttural dialect.

The second makrasha started cranking the geared wheel. The chains tightened, lifting Kevlin off the bunk by the wrists, pulling him so high his toes barely touched the top of the bunk. The weight on his injured shoulder sent searing waves of pain all the way down his arm.

Definitely ugly. He hated being right so often.

Tanathos eyed him like a butcher examining a hog he was about to slaughter. “He named you steward, didn’t he?”

Even as Kevlin struggled to think of an appropriate reply, Haraz said, “He wears the old man’s ring.”

Tanathos glanced at Antigonus’ ring on Kevlin’s right hand. Then he did a double-take and stepped closer, peering intently. His smile faded.

“It’s not the old man’s ring.” He sucked in a quick breath. “The Flaming Sword.”

Haraz leaned closer. “How is that possible?”

Tanathos rounded on Kevlin. “That’s what you’re going to explain right now.”

“I’m the last person you want to ask.”

Kevlin instantly regretted saying that for two reasons. First, it was the truth and the cardinal rule when being interrogated was to always lie. Second, that answer really triggered Tanathos’ temper. Another rule was to not get them too angry too fast.

Too late.

“Enough,” Tanathos shouted, his veneer of cordiality burned away. “I know the symbols of the Six and of Tia Khoa, but none have proclaimed the Flaming Sword. Who is your master? Who dares carry this symbol?”

He screamed the last words. Fire burned in the depths of the darkness cloaking his eyes and he reached out to snatch the ring from Kevlin’s finger.

It exploded.

Or rather, a blue-white sphere of power exploded out of the ring. It hurled Tanathos across the cell and sent the others tumbling to the floor.

The incandescent blast stabbed into Kevlin’s eyes and the concussion deafened him. The shockwave from the explosion wrenched his shoulders and he ground his teeth against the agony.

Despite the chaos, he refused to close his eyes and miss the sight of Tanathos slamming into the wall before collapsing into an unmoving heap on the floor.

The chain holding the shackle around his right wrist snapped, freeing his arm. The blast had driven the chain into the wall in the middle of a charred spot, roughly the size of his hand. Thinking fast, Kevlin raised his hand again, placing the shackle over the end of the chain. If no one looked closely, they would not notice it had broken.

No one noticed. Haraz rushed to the unmoving Tanathos. The two makrasha drew their weapons and positioned themselves between Kevlin and the shadeleeches, as if expecting him to burst his bands and attack them.

Haraz grasped Tanathos' temples and, after a moment, the man slowly opened his eyes and groaned. He tried to sit up but slumped sideways. With help from a couple of the guards, they dragged Tanathos to his feet. His eyes remained unfocused and his head lolled around as they moved him. His entire right side sagged, as if nothing worked properly.

Tanathos muttered something Kevlin could not hear and the makrasha carried him from the room. Haraz followed and the thick oak door slammed shut behind him.

Kevlin had no idea what had just happened, but loved it. His whisper echoed through the now-empty room.

"That was awesome."