Chapter 13

Endless Nights

It had been the same every day for weeks. Ever since the day he'd arrived.

Eric had been pulled from his ramshackle bed, and a deep sleep, hours before dawn and dragged out into the cold. He'd dressed, and been give in tiny lump of bread, then they'd taken him down to the Dungeons, and he'd been put to work. Digging, building, moving, whatever needed done; and it was usually the hardest and nastiest work around. The Dungeons of the Fortress were vast already, and he wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to be doing, but fear of the whip, and the desperate need for food and fresh water curbed his natural desire to argue.

Ranyar was there each day, and a few rough-looking men that he didn't recognise and never talked to. He had only seen the Seer three times since that first day, all of them in passing. She hadn't even acknowledged his presence, and for some totally inexplicable reason, that had hurt Eric's feelings very deeply.

Often, he worked all day until he was dropping from exhaustion, only to be taken back to the cell and left to sleep the few hours until dawn. But occasionally, he was taken to another part of the Fortress to help repair the fortifications. Those days had only been better because he cold breathe in the fresher air of the mountains, rather than the decayed, dead air below.

Every day, it was the same: Laborious, painful, often nauseating work, almost no food; almost no sleep.

And so it had been every day for weeks.

Except today.

Today, they had left him to sleep.

Eric slept well into the morning. And when he did wake, he woke with a fearful start. Nothing was happening. He couldn't hear any noises, or any voices anywhere; and instead of darkness, there was a thin shaft of grey light coming in from the window.

He struggled out of bed, pulled his clothes on, and waited. It was almost as if the whole place was dead and empty. He paced the cell like a hungry animal, searching it again and again to try and find a way out, pausing to listen at the door. His room had only one, tiny, narrow window, and it looked out onto the courtyard, and though he could only see a small fraction of what was below, he watched for long enough to be sure no one was there.

Eric hated this, more so than working in the Dungeons. At least he had the promise of food, of some sort. At least he knew they hadn't forgotten about him, or decided he was too much trouble and left him to starve.

Panic came and went. Over the weeks since he'd lost the others, the bouts of panic became less and less frequent. Since he'd been imprisoned by the Seer, he had taken a small comfort from the fact that she had put a lot of effort into ensuring his capture. He had to have some sort of value. She wasn't going to let that all that go to waste. At least, he hoped not.

For nearly six hours, the Cavalier waited.

At last, he heard the distinctive creak of the gate being pulled open, and he moving to the window, craning his neck to try and see what was happening. And the first thing he saw was Sheila.

The Thief had never made his heart lurch like that before, and he cried out her name as loudly as he could. She was so beautiful, he'd never seen anything like it. Nothing ever before or after made his feel so joyful, or so hopeful. But the exquisite high from the thought of rescue was short lived.

The Thief paid no attention to his cries, and he realised she couldn't hear him. The others appeared, one by one, Hank, Bobby, Presto. But no Diana. And no Uni.

He called out their names, again and again, confused and plagued with questions.

What were they doing here? Where was Diana? Had they found Uni? Why didn't they HELP HIM!!

None of his friends reacted to his voice, or any of the noise he made. Frustrated and with a growing fear, Eric cried out desperately, trying anything he could think of to attract their attention. But his voice was growing hoarse and quieter.

As the group stood in the courtyard, and Eric only had a clear view of Presto. The Magician looked terrible, almost as grey as the Fortress Walls. Though he hadn't seen the Mirror since that day, he could remember the images clearly. The last thing he's see was Presto at the edge of despair. And seeing him now in person, it was obvious that something was very wrong with the Magician. He looked injured, or ill. Or worse.

Presto turned to look up blankly towards the tower. Eric waved and cried out frantically. Hope flooded through the Cavalier once again, but only for a sweet second.

Presto didn't see him.

C'mon guys! I'm here I'm in here! For God's sake I'm HERE!!

But they stayed in the courtyard. Nothing worked; shouting, screaming, banging on the window. They were oblivious to his presence.

They're going to leave without me.

The realisation made him cry. They were so very close, and they weren't gonna help him. For all the screaming and scratching, nothing worked.

Sure enough, after only a very few, precious and optimistic minutes, the Magician and the others turned back towards the gate.

Choked with tears, Eric shouted out their names one more time. He caught a final glance of Presto and, at that moment, seeing the look on his face, he didn't know who he felt sorrier for; the Magician or himself.

Then they were gone.

He sank to the floor, covering his eyes with his hand as he cried. Hours passed, perhaps, and the pain was incomparable. They had gone without him. Nothing had prepared him for that level of loss. They left without him…they had been within a few feet…they left without him…they left without him…

'Cavalier,' said a voice. It was Ranyar. The man was standing in the doorway, looking impassively down him. Eric hadn't even heard the door open.

'They were here,' Eric found himself saying between sobs. 'They were here and they left without me. Oh God, they left me here.'

There was movement behind Ranyar, and another man came in carrying a tray of food. Smoked salmon and caviar had never looked as good as that plate of salted meat, dried fruit and a small lump of bread. It was a feast!

He stared at it, open-mouthed, as it was placed on his bed. It was more food than he'd been given at all in this place. More food than he'd had for weeks. He was starving. But not even the food could make him forget: they'd been so close and ...

'I'll watch him,' said Ranyar told the man. 'You may leave.'

Sniffing, Eric moved to the bed, and the food. Not caring what Ranyar thought, he started to eat, not bothering to savour the taste, but just suddenly and desperately hungry. He would have eaten almost anything he was given, and he concentrated on the food, trying in vain to block out the memories of the day.

Ranyar didn't speak for a long while, just watched him.

Eric didn't mind. Though the circumstances of their first meeting were unpleasant, Ranyar was a fair-minded man. He had always kept a close eye on the Cavalier, and occasionally they had talked, mostly about small, insignificant things, but still, it was a companionship that Eric had come to value. Odd, how the man who'd captured him for the Seer had become the closest thing to a friend.

The pain at the thought of the word friends made him choke slightly. He reached out for the jug of water, only to find it was fortified wine.

The Cavalier didn't hesitate. He had to block out the images of the others. Wine would do well enough.

Ranyar said nothing while Eric ate and drank. After a short while, he moved to the window to look out at the view, his back half-turned to the Cavalier. But Eric knew better than to try and get out. Ranyar had showed him some small mercy, but he was still a servant of the Seer. he wouldn't cross her; no one dared.

After licking the crumbs off the plate and finishing the wine, Eric sat back, feeling woozy. His body didn't know what to do with all that food, and he was starting to feel more than a little ill. And downing the wine hadn't helped matters. But he was beyond caring at that point. Hopefully, within a few minutes he would just pass out, and he could forget everything for a few hours. But before that, he wanted some answers, and the wine had made him bolder.

'What's goin' on?' he said with a distinct slur.

Ranyar looked at him, a heavy frown on his face.

'At dawn, you will be leaving,' he told him.

'Leaving?' Eric wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

Ranyar nodded.

'You and my Mistress are to leave. You must be ready.'

A suite of possibilities passed through Eric's mind, most of them concerned with escape. The others were still near. It was the best opportunity he'd have; if he could hold himself together for long enough.

'Where're we going?' he asked eventually.

Ranyar shrugged in reply. Either he didn't know or didn't want to say. Eric suspected the former; the Seer would not give out any information unless it was vital. But though he had no joy in his heart, Eric smiled.

'I suppose anywhere is better than here.'

For the first time in the conversation, Ranyar looked him in the eye for a second, and Eric felt a wave of fear from the other man. Then Ranyar turned, collected the tray, and walked towards the door.

'I wouldn't be sure of that, Cavalier.'

Venger sat before his Mirror, head bowed, waiting.

He had watched them as they walked away from the Fortress, heading north to the hill. The Ranger was in front once again, and had no intention of slowing, or turning back. The Thief and the Barbarian following silently behind. Last of all came the Magician, bowed down with guilt.

For a few moments, as he'd watched them, the Mirror was alive with life and colour and malice. Everything was in place. He would only need to wait a few more days until they arrived. Just a few more days, then his revenge on the Old Man would be complete.

A quiet noise from his side roused him for the stupor, and he turned sluggishly away from the Mirror, black anger building in his chest. But it evaporated in an instant.

Before him knelt the Drow Priestess. And in her hands, on a soft satin pillow, was the Goblet.

It had been over ten centuries since he'd seen it and used it; the goblet was as perfect and unblemished now as it had been then almost a thousand years ago. The ornate handles and cup, the tapered base and thick rim. It was a beautiful artefact.

A cruel, curved smirk spread over his face. How the Elves must have fought for this, to keep it safe in their hallowed halls under ground. How they must have died! Perhaps the Drow had slaughtered thousands of their mortal enemies to get it for him.

But that was of no consequence.

The pieces were converging. All his schemes were bearing fruit.

Only a few more days, and they would be here: and with them, his revenge.