Okay, here's the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing, please keep it up. Constructive criticism is always welcome :)
Nym was standing where he had been teleported to. A terrible cold dismay was waking up in his stomach. He fell to a sitting position, buried his head in his hands and wished the icy ache inside him would stop so that his tears would unfreeze and he could cry.
Nalfein sat too, leaned against the dungeon wall and started to tremble. He tried to keep his mind from doing anything, because there were too many horrible things to think about.
All of it had failed, somehow they'd found out, there was never going to be any freedom, any hope. What was going to happen to them now? What was the punishment for those who betrayed Lolth?
Some time later (neither of the boys were making an effort to find out how much time was passing) the high priestess arrived at their cell door, unlocked it and entered.
Nym glared at her defiantly for about two seconds before his gaze slid back to the floor and he started shaking.
Nalfein's knees were drawn up to his chest and he appeared to be gasping for air.
The priestess looked at both of them, her eyes cold, her face carefully neutral.
This lasted for a few minutes before Nym broke the silence. He didn't know what to do or say so he just blurted out that he was sorry. The high priestess snickered. Nym flinched. Nalfein's apparent breathing problem was worsening by the second.
"Master Fithros," said the priestess, seeming almost amused, "was just last night discovered to be a Vhaerunite. I suppose that you two are also traitors to the Goddess." There was a calm, calculated hatred in the way she said 'traitors to the Goddess'.
"Now, do you admit your guilt?" she asked. "Or would you like to have us rip it out of you?"
Helpless fear was swirling around inside Nym now. "I admit it." he said, in the most meek tone he could manage. This was a dumb idea, he thought. Stupid little boy...no one can get away. His hands were curled into tight fists, his nails digging into his palms.
Nalfein was choking now, apparently trying to talk but unable to get the words out. Nym stared at him, unable to help his friend.
The priestess shook her head and sighed, but she was grinning. She crossed the room and kicked Nalfein in the ribs. He fell over, wheezing, and Nym could see tears leaking out of his panicked eyes.
"He confesses too!" Nym said hoarsely.
"I can't hear him." said the priestess, nudging the boy with her boot.
"Please!" Nym could feel tears running down his own face. "He admits it, he just can't say anything right now. Please leave him alone!"
The high priestess rolled her eyes and came to stand over Nym. She leaned down, her face inches away from him. He cringed away from her.
In a soft, almost kind voice, she said, "You know, little boy, that you are in no position to be pleading for mercy for someone else."
He looked at the floor and bit his lip. There was really nothing he could say. It was over.
Six months later:
He had the knife. It was hidden in his hand and they had not seen it. 'Now,' he thought wryly, 'As I am about to die, I discover they have a weakness after all.' He stumbled slightly; his legs would not support him. All the combat skills he had spent so much of his life perfecting had ebbed away. His body was beaten, battered. Nalfein was dead already. Nym wasn't sad. He had cried enough. All the despair, all the hurt, all the rage had leaked out of his stinging eyes, ran in rivers of salt and blood and water down his scarred face, fallen onto the dungeon floor.
The priestesses walked at his side, holding the chains of his shackles. The one on the left was gripping his arm tightly; one more bruise. He entertained no foolish notions of killing them. He entertained no foolish notions of escape, or vengeance. He just wanted one triumph...he would kill himself. They would not have the satisfaction of destroying this Vhaerunite transgressor.
The thought did not give him any joy, really. He felt weary, useless, broken. But whatever tiny piece of determination still remained inside him had decided that they would not kill him. This would be one thing he would not fail in.
They reached the scaffold, the priestesses lifted him onto it. He was light, weighing probably around sixty-five pounds. Without them to support him, he weaved on the scaffold, struggling to keep his footing. He gripped the knife in his hand tighter.
One of the priestesses saw it. She reached up and gripped his wrist. She tried to take his knife away. The last dream died quietly, without so much as a whimper. He felt no hurt, just emptiness. They were right, and he surrendered. His fist uncurled and the knife dropped from his hand. He heard her quiet scoff as she picked it up. It seemed like he was underwater, drifting away.
Hands placed a noose around his neck, tightened it. The priestesses stepped back. Someone shouted a command, from far away. The noose was slowly cranked up and he choked. His hands clawed reflexively at the air; his body was still determined to survive, even if his mind was wiser. The demons shimmered into existence below him. They did not question their sudden appearance here; they knew their purpose. By Lolth's ironic mercy, he lost consciousness before one of them took a bite.
Okay, so I finished a story! The method of execution is kind of weird, my sister suggested it to make things interesting and I figured it couldn't hurt... Please review and tell me what you think!