In vain, Skylar struggled to free himself from his unseen captor. Many hands seemed to be holding his arms. His legs were free, though. And he made good use of them, kicking blindly in the darkness. Several kicks with his booted foot made contact. Shouts of protest erupted from behind him.

"Hey!" shouted one.

"Stop that!" yelled another.

"Tie up his feet," rejoined yet another.

A cold object slid in beneath Skylar's chin.

"Stop struggling or we'll slit your throat," hissed a surly voice in his ear.

He froze.

"That's better."

The sound of scuffling had ceased now. Skylar wondered if his companions were unharmed. Then an orange glow from a torch flame infused the scene. The faces of a dozen or more rough men became visible. Lasseter, Krom and Endrick were as equally guarded as Skylar, with two or three of these men holding them fast.

The mens' faces were heavily scarred and dark with dirt and soot. All wore unkempt beards and long hair, though a few used bands tied across their forehead to keep their hair back. Glints of yellow from earrings and gold chains reflected in the torchlight. No uniform described their dress; they wore an eclectic array of clothing. There were patchwork tunics worn beneath leather jackets or jerkins; threadbare cloaks of various earth tones; one very large ruffian wore only pants and a blaster strapped to his back; another wore a robe of an intricate pattern. All were armed to their teeth with daggers, dirks, clubs and blasters.

"Who are's ya?" demanded the man holding the torch, his voice grating the air like a knife blade on stone.

The man with the torch was looking at Krom when he spoke. But Krom did not reply.

"Well?" said the man, holding the torch to Krom's face. "I asked you a question."

"Who we are is no concern of yours," replied Krom calmly.

"Ah!" exclaimed the ruffian man. "No concern of mine, is it? And I suppose it's no concern of mine where's you be going to?"

"We are traveling to Arsolon, if you must know."

"Merely traveling, is it? Funny route you've chosen. I'm sure the boss would love to hear this story."

"Come on, boys" he said as he whipped around and motioned with his torch for his cohorts to follow. Skylar's captors jerked him to the side and forcibly ushered him behind his companions and the rest of the ruffians.

Though only the torch of the lead ruffian lighted their way, Skylar could see much of the cavern in which this band of men apparently lived. Scattered all about were cots, bed rolls, hammocks, and various other makeshift beds. A long table of sorts, constructed of wooden crates and shabbily fastened planks, ran the middle of the stone floor. The smelly remnants of countless meals, old and new, lay piled on the table; stacks of bones, overturned goblet and jugs, broken plates, knives embedded in loaves of moldy bread. A large beady-eyed rat stood on the table top, nibbling a potato peel. It glanced up curiously as they passed and bore its razor sharp teeth in defense of its spoils.

Their captors led them out of this main chamber into a tunnel. A few dark portals along the tunnel led to other chambers or tunnels. At the end of the tunnel, they entered another, smaller chamber.

It was a better-lit chamber than the other, with several torches glowing from sconces on the blackened walls. A tidier chamber, too, with a real bed, clothed in a fine down quilt and many feather pillows. Next to this stood an oak wardrobe and desk. The subject of principle interest in that subterranean chamber was a figure, lazily reposed on a throne carved into the far wall. Before this lounging figure, the companions were made to stand.

He was reading a small leather-bound volume, from which he did not immediately look up. The man's dress and appearance echoed a refinement lacking in the others. He wore a white silk tunic, loosely laced at the throat; a green and gold striped vest; brown leather trousers; and tall boots. His black hair, though long, was tied neatly back. He face was clean-shaven. On his nose rested a pair of round spectacles, which he eventually removed as he closed his book and looked up at his audience.

At first glance, the man's face showed such a sign of indifference toward them that Skylar felt a twinge of anger.

"Well, Boris? What have you brought me this time?" The man's voice sounded bored and impatient.

"Yes, Boss, yes," sputtered the torch-bearing ruffian. "Intruders, Sir. Come's in from the east entrance, they did."

The man called the Boss lifted his gaze a little, showing a hint of real interest. "By the east entrance, you say?"

"Yes, Boss, that's right."

"Any weapons?" asked the Boss, leaning forward now.

"Aye, Sir. They carry swords."

Boris pulled aside Endrick's cloak to reveal the sheathed blade hanging from his side. The Boss's eyes flashed with eagerness.

"Bring it to me," he demanded

Boris grabbed Endrick's sword by the hilt and pulled it out, then turned and obsequiously presented it to his master. The Boss studied it for several moments before thrusting it back into Boris' shaking hands.

"My name is Madrick," he said, addressing the companions for the first time. "You've made acquaintance with my men already. I trust they've treated you with the same courtesy we pay all our intruders."

Madrick smiled insidiously.

"Though, admittedly, our visitors are few. They always belong to one of two groups: those seeking to unite themselves with our infamous brotherhood of thieves, and those seeking to thwart us. The latter never lives to tell a soul of their discovery."

He smiled again and his men let out a chorus of disquieting chuckles. Skylar's stomach tied itself in a knot. Menace echoed from that laughter, menace and eagerness.

"But you," he continued, bringing the laughter to a halt with startling abruptness. "I can't make out what group you belong to. Never has anyone come by the east passage. And never have we had a mere boy in our midst." He pointed to Skylar as he said this and his men resumed their previous laughter. "You carry swords, but are dressed more like vagrants than warriors or noblemen."

Madrick stepped down from his platform and brought himself face to face with Krom. He stared Krom in the eyes, narrowing his own as if seeking to see something more. Neither Krom's gaze nor his proud stance faltered during the wordless interview.

"Why have you sought us?" said Madrick at last.

"We are but travelers," replied Krom. "We journey to Arsolon."

"Travelers!" ejaculated Madrick. "You expect me to believe that? Come now, I am no fool. Nor, do I believe, are you."

"These tunnels are the fastest and surest way through the mountains, are they not?"

"Indeed, but few there be who know of their existence. And even fewer who dare to travel them. By your accent, I judge you are native of neither the eastern nor western province. How can you know of the Boldúrin tunnels?"

"Our guide—he lives in the valley just east of here."

Madrick eyed the others. "And which one of you is this guide?"

No one responded.

"Well?" demanded Madrick.

Krom turned to look down the line at Lin. Skylar and the others did likewise. It was then that they all realized Lin was not with them. Skylar looked behind them, then to his left. There was no doubt. Lin had vanished.

"It would appear," said Krom calmly, "that our guide has eluded your men."

"Good-for-nothings!" cried Madrick. "Boris, take two men and hunt down this alleged guide. Bring him to me. I want this puzzle solved.

"Guards, disarm the prisoners and lock them in the dungeon. We shall deal with them later."

"And pray," he continued, glaring hotly at Krom, "that my men find your little guide. For should I find you've deceived me...all the worse for you."

With that, Madrick turned his back to them and strutted back to this throne. Rough hands seized Skylar and hauled him back out of the chamber into the dark corridor. He was forced through a portal and dragged down a short flight of stone stairs, then tossed onto the cold stone floor of a jail cell.

Krom, Endrick, and Lasseter were thrust inside just behind him. Endrick tripped and fell over Skylar's body.

"Gentle, you tunnel lovers," cried Endrick. "No need for inhospitality."

Then came the squeak of the dungeon door as it closed, the ominous clank as it locked shut, and the grunts and jeers of the ruffians as they disappeared up the stairs, taking the only torch light with them. When they had gone, all that remained was silence and darkness.

The dungeon reeked of human filth mingled with putrid flesh. A smell which burned Skylar's nostrils, churned his stomach and made him glad of the darkness; the stench alone produced despair enough that the mere thought of seeing its source sent chills over his skin.

Only Grim's death had made him feel greater despair. They had that kook Lin to thank for it.

"I'll bet he's in league with these louts. Probably having a good laugh about it now."

"Careful to judge a man, Skylar, before you command all the facts," said Krom. "We have no reason to believe he's betrayed us."

"No reason! How about the fact that he led us straight into this den of thieves? If he knew these passages so well, how come he didn't know about these marauders? If anyone knew, he did. And how could he have escaped when the rest of us were caught so easily? He was leading the way. He would have been the first one snatched."

"I suggest you keep your voice down, Skylar. We don't want—"

"What difference does it make!" shouted Skylar, his cheeks beginning to burn from his anger. "They're going to kill us anyway. And they'll bring all this pointless questing to an end. Tarus may even exonerate these murderers if he ever finds out."

"Tarus may be pleased. Morvath I believe, will not. He wants you alive. Else the Trackers that found you on Haladras would have poisoned you. I would be surprised if Morvath has not played a hand in this band's existence."

"Nor would I," added Lasseter. "An excellent justification for replacing Lord Denovyn and bringing in a regiment of His Majesty's Guard."

"Well whoever they are and whatever plans they have," said Skylar bitterly, "there will be nothing we can do to stop them once they've slit our throats and fed us to the rats."

"In that," responded Krom in a low tone, "I believe you are mistaken."

It was impossible to know how much time had passed since they were thrown into the dungeon. The occasional sound of a water drop hitting the cold floor; the scratching of rats' feet scurrying this way and that; the faint sound of crass laughter from the main cavern: these were the only things which distinguished one moment from the next. Had the silence been as profound as the darkness, Skylar might have believed time had stopped altogether.

Then the sound of heavy boots marching down another tunnel reached his ears. Skylar caught his breath. They were coming for the execution. He knew it. The sound grew louder. He would fight. Fight to the death, he decided. His pulse quickened at the thought. Maybe one of his companions, at least, could escape. He sat with bated breath, listening, plotting.

They didn't take my jetwing, he realized. I'll put it to good use—somehow.

Then, slowly, the sound died away. Whoever it was had passed. Skylar exhaled, but continued listening intently. The muffled sound of many voices issued from the tunnel, as well as the shuffling and stamping of feet. Eruptions of laughter. Then the rumbling of many engines come to life. The sound of the engines rose, then died away gradually.

"They've gone to their nightly thieving," said Krom when all was silent. "Now is the time for our escape."

"Splendid," said Endrick. "Shall we eat away the iron bars with our teeth or break them in two with our bare hands?"

"Neither. Skylar, I trust you still have your jetwing? Madrick's men seemed to care little about searching us for other implements."

"Yes, I have it. But what good will it do? I can't fly through a stone ceiling."

"That's not what I had in mind," responded Krom, "I suspect there are yet a few guards on duty. So, we'll need to keep as quiet as possible. We'll need everyone's help to make this work. Skylar, your jetwing, please."

Reluctantly, Skylar unclipped the jetwing from his belt and held it out in the darkness.

"Thank you."

"What do you have in mind exactly, Krom?" asked Endrick. "Ram the door with our heads?"

"We torch the lock. These jets can produce enough heat to melt that iron. We just need to hold it steady enough to direct the blast—"

"That won't be necessary," said a voice that made them all start and look toward the door.