Author's Note: My deepest apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out. I hit a patch of writer's block and my muse just vanished. I've figured things out, though, and hopefully updates will pick up after this.

Reviews are highly appreciated!

Chapter 4. In Darkness

Terrance slowly regained consciousness only to find himself in unfamiliar surroundings. His first impression was that wherever he was, it was dark, and stank of sweat and waste. He was lying on a floor of cold, hard-packed earth. As he tried to sit up, he found that his wrists were fettered together. When he tried to move his legs out from underneath himself, he could feel a weight attached to one leg - groping in the darkness, he found another manacle on his right leg, with a heavy chain tethering him to a stone wall.

That was when the realization struck him. He was in prison, tossed into some dank and lonesome dungeon for murdering a nobleman. Quite suddenly, all of his limbs felt like lead, and he slumped back to the floor. As he lay there, he expected a wave of emotions to flood over him. Instead, he felt nothing but a cold numbness. There was no satisfaction in his vengeance, yet conversely, there was no guilt. There was only nothingness.

Some time passed - he had no idea how much - and Terry began to grow restless. The emptiness was replaced by boredom, and he hauled himself to his feet and began to pace the cell, testing how far he could move before the chain ended. He was unable to reach the other side of the cell, where the door likely was. This was not surprising. Who would let a prisoner get to the door of their cell, even when they were chained?

He entertained a few ideas of escape, but could not muster up the motivation to really put thought into it. The apathy he felt let him resign himself to whatever fate awaited him. The exploration of his cage was simply a way to pass the time.

He had been pacing when a crack of light suddenly appeared in his vision, and spread to show the outline of the entrance. The heavy door swung open and light filled the room, temporarily blinding him.

The light gradually adjusted, and Terry could see three figures standing in the doorway. The first held a blinding torch, which was quickly fitted into a stand on the wall. With the light now diffusing through the cell, Terry could make out the features of the figures more easily. The first was a hulking man dressed in dark clothing and carrying a heavy metal club at the ready. It was obvious this man was a jailer. The other two were a young man and an older man. The young man had long jet-black hair tied back from his face, and was dressed in rich blue velvet. He had piercing, authoritative eyes. The old man was shorter and less muscular, with reddish hair and mustache that were going white. Though he did not cut as striking a figure as the young man or the jailer, Terry felt the most impressed by him.

The jailer lurched at Terry and grasped him by the back of the neck with an enormous hand. He forced Terry down onto his knees, brandishing his club as if to dare Terry to try anything.

"You know why you are here, boy?" The older man asked.

"For murder?" Terry replied with a hint of sarcasm. The jailer cuffed his ear.

"You will be conducted to court within the fortnight. Do you wish to make a statement on your own behalf?" The older man continued, ignoring Terry's remark.

"Yes."

"You claim innocence?" The younger man interrupted this time, giving Terry a queer look.

"No. I killed Lord Powers and I have no regrets. I only want to tell the court why I did it."

The two men exchanged confused looks. Turning back to Terry, the old man said, "Lord Powers isn't dead. His lordship is alive and well, he accuses you of treason and the murder of his manservant."

Blood began to pound in Terry's ears. The white-hot rage he'd felt towards Powers broke through his feeling of apathy and he strained against the hand forcing him down.

"No!" He screamed, his voice cracking from anger. "No! I killed him! He's dead! He can't be alive! Let go of me! I'll kill him again! He needs to die!"

His face was forced to the ground by the jailer, but still he continued to shout. The younger man put a hand on the older man's shoulder, and began to talk. Terry quieted so that he could hear what was being said.

"I think we've heard all that we need to, Lord Provost."

To this, the older man nodded. "I believe you are correct, Highness." He nodded to the jailer. "We're through here."

At once, the jailer let go of Terry's neck and kicked the side of his face. While the boy was stunned, the three men left the room. Just as the door closed, Terry pushed himself to his knees and began to shout, begging them to listen to them. As he heard the door latch, the begging turned to screams for vengeance. He shouted until he was hoarse, and collapsed from exhaustion.

How much time he spent in the cell, he knew not. The cell had no windows, and no fresh air to let him breathe. The only bit of light that entered was through the crack where the door met the dirt floor. Occasionally, the door would be opened slightly and bits of food tossed in. All of it was rotten. At first, Terry thought only of revenge, and how he would enact it. But as the reality of his situation became clearer to him, he slowly put aside such thoughts. He had no tools, no means of escape, and he was growing weaker by the day. His thoughts turned to Lady Tan, but when that became too painful, he thought of his mother and brother. Even that became painful, and his thoughts grew quiet, focusing only on his next inedible meal.

After some time of this, the door suddenly opened, and this time, stayed open. Terry blinked at the harsh light that filled his little cell, and as he tried to rise to his feet, he was grabbed by strong hands and forced to stand. Heavy stocks were clamped over his wrists in front of the fetters. The fetters and chain around his ankle were removed, and he was shoved forward and made to walk.

He was lead by a group of four jailers out of the cell and up through a winding passageway. They moved past other cells, and he heard screams of mercy and hatred like the ones that had left his lips. His legs ached with the sudden activity of walking, but if he stumbled or slowed, he was jabbed in the back with a club.

They finally left the cells, and climbed up a set of stairs into a stone room. Terry now understood that he had been held somewhere underground. He had little time to think about this, though, as he was pushed out of the room and down a corridor, only to enter another room. Two rough tables sat in the center of it. At the far wall was a podium, behind which sat a sour-faced man, whose dress was fine enough to show he was noble, but shabby enough to indicate he was low-ranking. To the side of the room, on a great chair, sat an older man with greying hair and stormy blue eyes. He was dressed in fine black velvet, a bat emblazoned on his chest. Terry did not have to look twice to know who this man was - but he did have to wonder what the king was doing at this trial.

At the king's side sat the same dark-haired young man that had come into Terry's cell. He now wore a silver circlet on his head, and it was clear that this man was Richard, the oldest of the king's sons.

He scanned the room, taking notice of the older man that had been in his cell, the one the prince had called Provost, seated at one of the tables. When he saw the white-haired man that was sitting next to the Provost, Terry's blood began to pound again. The figure turned, and Terry knew for sure that it was Lord Powers.

A shout left Terry's mouth, wordless at first, then forming into a single word: "Die."

He launched himself towards the table, but the hands of his jailers held him back. He shrieked like a wounded animal and threw them off, running towards his father's killer. He was weak, though, and the jailers caught him and threw him to the ground.

"No!" he yelled. "No! Let go of me! I must kill him, he needs to die!"

The man at the podium began shouting as well, trying to maintain control over the room. One of the jailers kicked Terry in the jaw and he tasted blood, falling silent long enough to hear the man's proclamation.

"Well," the nobleman said, sneering at the boy on the floor in front of him. "I believe we have heard enough. The boy admits guilt. For the crime of murder and attempted treason, I hereby sentence thee to death."

"No!" Terry screamed again, once more pulling away from his jailers. This time, he did not make for Powers, but for the king. "Your majesty!" He threw himself to the floor near the king's feet. "Lord Powers is a murder! You can't trust him! Please, believe me. I am no traitor, the traitor is sitting in front of you." He tried to continue, but was suddenly struck over the head with a club. Lights burst across his vision, and though he remained conscious, his limbs went limp. The jailers grabbed him and began to drag him out of the room. He watched the king, silently pleading for help, but the king's face remained passive.

He was dragged back down to the cell he had inhabited, the stock changed for fetters, and the door closed, leaving him once more in darkness.