When she’d said chamber, I’d assumed it was some kind of meeting room. When I saw what awaited me I began to buck and thrash, almost summoning my familiars in panic. It was like something out of the Spanish Inquisition; they had the whole kit and caboodle. A rack, its ropes crusted with dark stains from the wrists and ankles of previous victims. An iron maiden stood in the corner, the door open and inviting. The rusty spikes within, not so much. The third device made my butt clench. The Judas Cradle had been explained by a particularly eager history teacher in all its glory. Ropes hung from hooks in the ceiling, ready to lower my weight onto the pointed tip of the triangular metal below. From there the torturers would add more weights to the poor fucker who was sat astride the device, pulling him down harder and harder. Let’s just say it would hurt worse than a strong vindaloo.

“Sit him down,” said the woman.

If they’d moved me anywhere near the butt ripper, I would’ve flipped my shit and drowned them in rats. To my eternal relief, they sat me in a relatively normal chair with only leather straps setting it aside from those around the guard’s table.

“I normally like to get to know a lady before I let them tie me up.”

The woman grunted as they lashed me tightly and moved to the nearby bench. She started to pick through dirty blades, thumb screws, and other shocking implements.

“How about we get to know each other a bit?” My voice squeaked a little as she picked up a hammer.

She looked to the guards. “Take off his shoes.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. My feet are cold.”

I tried to resist by bunching my toes, but the brutes ripped my moccasins off and tossed them in the corner. I’m not embarrassed to say I started to shit myself. Figuratively, not literally.

“I’m Mark, it’s nice to meet you.” My attempt to offer a hand was thwarted by the thick straps securing my wrists.

“I’m Sunlith. My friends call me Sun. You may think differently about our meeting shortly, Mark. It’s nothing personal.” In her hand was a hefty looking hammer.

“Of course it’s personal! You’re going to hit me!”

She shook her head as she knelt at my feet, the reluctance plain in her downcast eyes. “Not because I want to. The marshal wants to get to the truth of things.”

“You do know that any information obtained under torture can’t be relied upon? The person being hurt will say anything to get the pain to stop!”

“You’re already saying too much and the pain hasn’t even begun yet.”

“Yeah, because I’m not that fond of pain.”

Sun scowled at me. “What kind of warrior are you? The rumours I heard had you taking down two orc raiding parties and a warg pack.”

“I got lucky with the first and the second captured me. It was only Romund and the villagers who saved me. We killed the wargs by luck more than anything.”

Her face pinched when I spoke about killing the wargs, but I was more worried about the massive lump of black iron in her hand.

“What fortuitous timing,” she replied, robotically. “Some would say too fortuitous. Hence why the marshal wants you questioned.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because these are dark times and the wolves are at the door. This land is beset on all sides. Each attack takes another bite from the failing body of Kherrash. Soon, she will perish. I will do everything in my power to stop that.”

The hammer was perilously close to my toes and I winced every time Sun’s arm moved. “That’s why I’m here too! To fight! To save people! Just let me prove it to you!”

“The marshal need answers first. Use the pain to cleanse your soul and find the strength to answer truthfully. Wounds will heal, you can trust me on that.”

“I’d rather just answer your questions without the pain.”

Sun looked at me with disappointment. “You bleat like a crippled farmhand. Where is your courage?”

“In my other trousers.”

“So it seems. From where do you hail, traveller?”

“Brighton. A town in England.”

“You lie. There is no such land. From where do you hail?” she repeated, slamming the tool down. Her hammer pancaked my pinky. The suddenness of the injury caused my entire nervous system to light up. A freezing wave washed over my nerve endings, making me shudder from head to toe. The true pain burst forth like a locomotive tearing from a tunnel and I screamed as it fully hit me.

“Breathe through it,” Sun urged. “Breathe.”

I tried, but it felt like the rats from the tutorial were gnawing at my foot. Everything was a white-hot blur.

“From where do you hail?” Sun repeated.

“England!” I growled through gritted teeth.

Bam! The hammer mashed my middle and ring toes. I screamed again, desperately wanting to quaff one of the waiting healing potions. Fear of the revelation and what it would trigger left them untouched as tears started to stream down my cheeks.

“Just tell me the truth and we can move on.”

“I’m… telling… you… the… truth.”

She sighed and raised the hammer for the next blow.

“Hold!”

My eyes snapped open to see Finneus standing at the door. I swallowed the agony induced bile which was climbing up my throat. Trying to speak was difficult as my whole body was trembling from the torture. “You can hurt me… as much as you want… but I’m not a spy.”

“You may not be a spy, but you are something. I’ve spoken to Romund and some of the villagers. Are their tales true?”

“That I clubbed a few orcs to death? Yeah, that’s true.”

“I’m talking about your dark powers. Your… necromantic powers.”

Sun looked at me in a different light and backed up a pace.

“I don’t have necromantic powers.” Which was true. Resurrection was something pure. A chance to restore life. Necromancy was the twisting of death for nefarious ends.

“Then how do you explain the dead child who is now very much alive.”

I was surrounded by hostiles and I wasn’t about to spill my secrets to them. It wouldn’t just be Gutrender who would want to see my insides and study them.

Finneus grew angry. “I asked you a question!”

“And I don’t have an answer, so do your worst! I regret ever coming here to help you people.” I fixed my gaze on one of the torches and prepared myself. Unlike my own, the wick was made from a splayed branch packed with dried hay. The embers flickered as they fell.

“Finneus?” said Sun, seeking an order.

The commander huffed. “The marshal wants the questioning… paused. For now. Take him back to his cell. I’ll see which way the marshal’s mood is blowing once he’s had time to think. He may just decide to put him to death and be done with it. A spy is one thing. If the tales are true though, he may be something much worse.” With a final snort he swept out of the room.

“Release him,” ordered Sun.

“Can I at least get my shoes?” I muttered weakly as the straps were loosened.

To my surprise, Sun herself collected them. The two no-names helped me to hop down the passage, fragments of shattered bone dripping with blood. As we made our way back, Sun addressed them as Scab and Brin. The first’s name was apt considering he was a veritable walking sore. I slumped inside the cell and crawled into the corner. Sun followed and laid my shoes down carefully just inside the door.

“I’ll get some cloth to bind the wound,” she said, locking me in.

I cracked the back of my head against the wall to try and divert some of the pain signals. Each beat of my heart sent blazing agony through the crushed toes.

“To hell with it. Let them fucking worry.” I quaffed a potion and closed my eyes as my foot moulded itself back to normal. Summoning another torch to relace the one they’d stolen, I sat and took stock of my situation. Maybe my decision to look for allies had been a mistake. If that was the case, then why did I have reputation tabs for various factions? I figured it best to let them do their worst and if that meant death, then my second attempt would keep me well away from any form of authority.

“You’re crazy,” I sighed.

There I was thinking about being killed without so much as a care in the world. The pain would be bad enough. The humiliation slightly worse, considering I’d come to help. It was the unknown price to pay that eventually had me rattled enough to start looking for a way out. I had no doubt that by fighting my way free it would burn any bridges that might be maintained with the humans of the land. I’d only be confirming their suspicions, not that they weren’t deserving of my wrath. I was deep below ground with no knowledge of tunnelling. If I tried to go all Shawshank I’d end up buried by tonnes of earth before I ever got to the shitter pipe. Not that castles like this had shitter pipes. More like holes that protruded over the outside wall.

What options did that leave? Smashing the door in and making a break for it through a heavily patrolled garrison. That was after escaping the keep, then the inner wall, then the outer wall, and the moats. I’d end up cut to pieces or Boromir’d with arrows before I got close to freedom.

“I could seduce Sun and schmooze my way out?”

With the way she’d glared at me I’d be better off trying it with one of the greasy, filth encrusted jailers. They just weren’t my normal type. Washing at least once a month was a non-negotiable part of my dating preferences.

I heard the beat of feet on the stone outside and the door once again swung open. Sun was carrying a bowl of warm water and a small stack of pristine cloths. She took one look at my unharmed foot and the new torch and scowled at me.

“Thank you. I’m feeling much…”

The water was tossed into the cell and the door slammed shut without another word. I felt like a complete dick that I hadn’t at least let her clean and wrap my foot before healing myself. Then I felt even more of a dick for wishing I’d let her waste time on me unnecessarily like a common servant.

“She hit you, remember,” I reminded myself. It wasn’t my job to assuage her guilt. No one had a gun to her head to swing the hammer. Or a bow. You know what I meant.

I took the time to open up the skill trees and added another point each in Evasion and Frenzy in Combat, bringing them both up to level 3. I now had four spare points waiting in Melee, so I scrolled through to it and studied the choices.

Melee

Juggernaut (Level 1)

Adventurer (Level 1)

Weak Spot (Level 1)

Juggernaut increases damage when wearing heavy armour types

Adventurer increases damage when wearing armour types other than heavy (no armour also counts)

Weak spot increases critical strike damage when wielding melee weapons of all types

I was going to be fighting in the heaviest plate I could find, so I split the points between Juggernaut and Weak Spot, hitting level 3 in both.

The time had come to start allocating my actual stat points which was far more daunting. Following the welcome boost to my Wisdom and Charisma from my class choice, I hoped to avoid falling for the porn scam that told me gorgeous women were waiting to have sex with me only five miles away. I’d received two points per level up, which gave me eight spare. I was gradually moving away from any focus on arcane spellcasting, which left me six remaining options. Of those, two had already had their boost. I split the difference and added two each to Strength, Dexterity, Constitution and Luck. I pulled up my updated stat list and checked it over.

Strength: 11

Dexterity: 8

Constitution: 10

Intelligence: 6

Wisdom: 7

Charisma: 9

Luck: 9

Unlike my other abilities, I could actually feel the increase from the stat boost. I thought it might’ve been the fluttering torchlight playing tricks at first. That was until I held my forearm up and watched the skin tighten around the newly forming muscle. The tendons throughout my body thrummed as they became both more flexible and stronger. I’d been a little sluggish moments before, but now I felt ready for a night on the town again. Vibrant. Energised.

I was at the beginning of what might be a very, very long journey, but at least I was moving in the right direction. With nothing left to do, I pulled out some of the looted clothes I’d gathered, made a pillow, and laid down to await the marshal’s decision.