CHAPTER TWELVE: KOTIR DUNGEONS

Riverwyte struggled in his bonds, hot anger flooding through him. Nearby, an otter was getting dragged off by Kotir soldiers. Riverwyte watched as the otter thrashed suddenly, knocking the two vermin carrying him sprawling. As they tried to lay paws on him, the otter bared his teeth and bit the first paw to come near.

The bitten weasel swore loudly. Taking off a bandanna he wore tied to his tail, the soldier cinched it tightly around the otter's neck. "Greeneyes said to kill anybeast who resist. Are you resistin'?"

The otter choked as his windpipe was blocked, but he refused to reply. The weasel and his companion watched impassively until the creature went limp. Leaving behind the slain otter, the pair came for Riverwyte.

The gray otter was repulsed by their touch as they seized the ropes near his shoulders and began pulling him to Kotir. Rage coursed through his veins and his pale eyes were tinged scarlet as the warrior in him begged to fight. But Riverwyte had seen what had happened to the otter back on the battlefield. With an effort, he forced his emotions into submission, but anybeast watching would have noticed his teeth grinding and his paws clenching.

Out of the sun and into long, dark hallways the three creatures went, two soldiers and one prisoner. They entered the dungeon and went down several flights of stairs and hallways before stopping. The weasel held Riverwyte still as his stoat accomplice produced a rusty key and opened the door. Quickly they threw the gray otter in and locked the door, cackling. "Enjoy yore new 'ccomodations, otter!"

Riverwyte waited until the pawsteps and laughing had faded away. Arching his neck as far as he could, he set his teeth into the ropes. In a few minutes he was free, and he cast the pieces of rope into the corner before taking stock of his cell.

Being the only living creature to personally face Verduaga, the wildcat had obviously made certain that Riverwyte was given the worst cell possible. The gray otter noted that all of the floorspace was covered with an inch of water. Mold grew on the walls and filled the air with a musty aroma. Riverwyte knew that if he stayed here long, he'd take ill very quickly and die. He squatted on his haunches to avoid sitting in the water as he thought. His only chance of escaping death in the dungeon was to escape the dungeon itself. But how? The gray otter stroked his chin, eyes half closed as he put his brain to work. After a while, a small smile crept across his features. Of course! He knew exactly how to handle things.

At that moment, a stoat very wide in the gut unlocked the door. He tossed some bread in haphazardly, which Riverwyte caught before it could hit the water. Chuckling cruelly, the stoat slammed and relocked the door. "Didn't bring ye water; figger y'had enough already." His footsteps disappeared into silence.

Riverwyte munched grimly on the bread, chancing a look of the water he was standing in. It was filthy, murky slop; he'd have to be at death's door before he drank it. Now he had a time problem; he'd have to be out before his need for water killed him.