Caged

Walls. Gray. Silence. Doesn't resemble the sanctuary. Dear Sithis, what happened?

Drayden sat up and reached behind to a raw spot on the back of his head. It hurt to touch even with the slightest of pressure. And such a headache followed. He tried to pull his hands free.

Shackled.

His feet, too.

He opened his eyes fully. He was in a cell. A prison.

A flood of images crashed back into his mind, elevating his headache to an inconceivable degree. But… yes, he remembered. His mission. The target.

The trap.

Drayden crashed back down on his mattress pad with a huff. A stray spring dug into his thigh, but he cared little for any other pain than his massing headache. His muscles throbbed profusely and his head swam with nostalgia as he soaked in his surroundings.

It was a cell much like this that Lucien had rescued him from all those years ago.

For five years he served directly under Lucien. And after his training was complete, not six months following his arrival at the Cheydinhal Sanctuary did Lucien come back and say a spy somehow wormed his way within the northeastern chapter.

It had only been a week, Drayden remembered, since Lucien first assigned him the mission. How did the spy figure out so quickly that his mission was really to ferret out the lies? Or were they all in it together? Most likely. That must have been what Lucien said when he told Drayden of the purification. Lucien suspected they all had a part in the compromise of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary.

Drayden sat up on his mattress, avoiding the loose spring, and leaned back up against the wall. He inhaled but found the air disgusting, and instead took in shorter breaths so as to minimalize the smell intake. It helped some, but still the air was absolutely putrid. He could handle intense smells for a little while, but eventually it would get too overwhelming. Even for his murdering self, he never acquired a taste for the smell of death. And this dungeon reeked of it.

But perhaps it wasn't the smell so much as having to actually endure it for the gods know how long. He looked around the cell, observing anything and everything possible that just might give him some sort of leverage, or spring some sort of plan into mind for a future escape. A pair of chains dangled from the wall to his right, but otherwise, the cell was devoid of anything useful.

A small, unobstructed window sat high in the eastern wall allowing a direct beam of sunlight to stream into the otherwise dimly lit dungeon. It was daytime. Early morning, he figured, by way of the cold glow the light gave off. No plans could be hatched now, not during the day. He'd need the full cover of night to perform any escape.

Many boots sounded outside his cell, down the hall he deduced by the distorted sound of the distant echoing thud. But steadily it grew nearer, and somehow Drayden knew the Arch Mage was among them. Several of the sounds were hard, like a legionnaire's boots, but one sound stuck out from the rest. He knew the mage had come to see him.

Drayden leaned back against the wall and let his ashen hair fall over his eyes. His mind wandered for a moment before the guards walked in, two on either side of the Arch Mage, the other six guards and three other mages waiting dutifully outside. They really did not want to take any chances, what with an assassin locked tightly away. Drayden chuckled darkly, evaluating his chances of escape right now. The Arch Mage pushed aside a lock of his dark hair and lifted an eyebrow in confusion.

"What do you find so funny, assassin?" the Arch Mage inquired. He snapped his fingers. Another mage, garbed in a similar but far less ornate robe than his leader's, brought in two stools, placing them before Drayden. Their eyes locked for a second. The mage was young. He put on a tough façade, but Drayden clearly saw the fear in his eyes. How fun would it be to torture him?

Drayden chuckled again, watching as the young mage backed away from him, front forwards, until he passed the Arch Mage.

"It's nothing," Drayden replied, locking eyes with the Arch Mage. "Just some interesting thoughts."

"Of course," the man replied, finding his seat. "Please, join me."

Why the cause for courtesy? Surely this man despised Drayden as much, if not more so, than Drayden despised him.

"I'm fine right where I am," Drayden said harshly.

"Suit yourself." The Arch Mage looked at the small table to his right. A clay pitcher that Drayden hadn't noticed before rested on the table and alongside it a plate with a fresh slice of bread. The Arch Mage produced from the folds of his robe two glasses, offering one to Drayden. When Drayden refused, he shrugged and took a small chunk and poured himself a glass of water.

"So, assassin, how does it feel to have been duped?"

Drayden glared at him, but replied with malice not aimed directly at him. Though, he fully intended the Arch Mage to feel his anger. "It was not you that duped me, mage." He looked away. "I was betrayed."

The Arch Mage lifted both eyebrows now. "Oh? And how have you come to this conclusion?"

Drayden focused on a small stone at the base of his feet. He picked it up and looked forward. A guard went to unsheathe his sword, but the Arch Mage stopped him.

"We'll have no violence here," he said, looking sternly at the guard as much as he was at Drayden. More so, maybe.

The mage turned back to Drayden. "Forgive him, but we know you can cast spells. I sense your magicka, and I can tell you've been trained well. But trust me; you'll never escape this prison, not with my men here. You may intimidate them, but they have seen plenty enough to know how to react in a dangerous situation. Now if you don't mind, let's continue."

"With what?" Drayden asked, tossing the stone aside.

"With our conversation, of course," the Arch Mage replied.

"So, you call taunting me a conversation?"

"Taunting you?" The Arch Mage asked, puzzled by Drayden's words. "I am merely trying to carry on a conversation with an assassin. Why would you think I am taunting you?"

Drayden shrugged. "I don't know. Waving my failure around in my face isn't exactly what I would constitute as friendly chatter."

The Arch Mage squared his shoulders. "Might I remind you, assassin, that your so called failure was only possible because of Adamus's planned assassination."

Drayden looked at him, puzzled.

"We were confident we would stop you before you executed Faelian. A success, if I might say so."

"No, the only reason my failure made your trap a success is due to a betrayal." Drayden leaned back against the wall and tilted his head, exposing half of his face from beneath his hair.

"You keep saying that." The Arch Mage ripped off another piece of bread. "Would you care to elaborate?" He offered the piece to Drayden. Drayden still refused, though he found his rising hunger painstakingly difficult to resist.

The mage sighed, then lightly chuckled. "Your stubbornness is most intriguing," he said. "But I suppose it befits the life of an assassin."

"What do you want with me?" Drayden growled.

The Arch Mage stopped his actions and looked up to the window. He seemed to be calculating something. He smiled then stood.
"In due time. For now, I bid you farewell, assassin." He bowed his head, before turning about.

Drayden followed the mage's movements as he exited the cell, leaving behind two mages and four guards. One of the guards mumbled, but otherwise they all remind silent. Drayden cursed and laid back down, confused by his meeting. He knew the mage was searching for something, but he couldn't piece together what it was. Though, Drayden found himself interested in his discussion. There was something about that man that Drayden found enticing.

It confused him to no end, to be on the side where he was the one searching for answers. Drayden resolved to display patience.

"Until our next meeting," Drayden whispered before allowing his mind to wander into the realm of dreams.