Lonely Company

  A feather tickled Skye’s nose. He shivered, his head lolling back, heavy as a stone. Grunting, he realized he wasn’t lying down, but held horizontally, dangling.

  Strange.

  Again, the feather prickled him. “Please stop.” His voice came out ragged, the words slurred.

  His left eye refused to open as though stitched shut. Swollen. But why? And when? His right squinted against the glare above.

  The feather returned, more insistent. He snorted to shoo it away. Agony shot up his face at the movement, and he gasped, then grimaced. Something buzzed at his ear.

  “Coals!” he cursed, his voice congested. “Leave me alone!”

  He wanted to swat the damned thing, but cold hands held his arms, rooting him to the wall.

  “Wh-what’s going on?!”

  A bright radethyst clung to the wall before him. The cave was small, dungeon-like, with a long staircase leading to a closed metal door. No person held him, but a pair of metallic cuffs at the end of long steel chains. Across the ground, hundreds of roaches, yellow acid-beetles, black coalants, and many other vermin writhed, swarming his feet.

  He yelped, stomping and jumping, trying to clear his pants and boots of insects. Green coalflies, red dragonmosquitoes, and other fliers buzzed around his head. After some shaking, kicking, and blowing, they finally conceded, leaving him alone.

  Tired, he sagged down, but the chains were too short, splaying his arms, keeping him up. He cursed, trying to pull them enough to sit without success. A while later, the bugs returned.

  He tried to recall the sequence of events that led him here. Dray. The Deeps. The library with its erased books. Then…

  Emery!

  He staggered to his feet. What a fool he’d been to let that old warden sneak up and attack him. Judging by the crusted blood dotting his pants and shirt, that blow nearly split his head open. He winced, trying, and failing to open his swollen eye. Cursing, he swore an oath to repay that coalson tenfold once he’s free.

  His dungeon was a large, circular cavern with a high dome like an underground rotunda. Water dripped somewhere behind, and the air smelled of ammonia.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Three human skeletons stared at him with vacant eyeholes, shackled to nearby walls. A spider had made its home inside the ribs of the one on the right, busily cocooning an unlucky roach.

  A chill passed down his spine; he’d never seen bones so white. As much as they spooked him, their state gave him a spark of relief. They must have been here for years, and they hadn’t stonified. Meaning this dungeon was protected by whatever gemstone that prevented petrification in the library.

  Nearby, a half-rotted rat lay gutted, its intestines strewn across the ground. Two ant colonies, one black coalants, the other striped brown-and-yellow hornetants, battled and died over the corpse.

  Skye shook his head, attempting to focus. How long have I been here?

  He couldn’t risk waiting for the chief, or any other warden, to come and finish the job. They’d torture and question him, and that would be his doom. He summoned his bell.

  Dong!

  The radethyst vanished, casting the cave in darkness. Three faint yellow rays remained, filtering through the barred hatch high on the distant door.

  No one would bother or beat him now. He could plan his escape in peace.

  He startled when a shrill shriek shattered the silence. A pair of red eyes glared from the shadows above. A deepbat hung upside down, its gaze murderous, its posture coiled for attack. Skye half-expected it to dive and rake open his throat, turning him into another battleground where insects feasted and fought for glory. But the creature remained still.

  Its head was misshapen, its wings deformed, hideous even for a bat. Skye guessed it was a outcast, exiled by its own cauldron. Deepbats were unkind even to their own kind.

  Deciding it was no immediate threat, he shifted his focus to the chains.

  They were old and rusty brown, holding him aloft like a washed rag left to dry. When he pulled, they clacked and rattled, shedding flakes of rust all around. The cuffs had an unyielding, tight grip, and they chafed his wrist as a warning to stop resistance. He was their charge after all, and escape wasn’t permitted.

  “Void take you,” he hissed, yanking both arms. He summoned his strength, pulling with his entire body. But no matter how hard he tried, regardless of how gravely he pressured his back and shoulders, these Necro-stained chains. Just. Wouldn’t. Budge.

  He deflated, panting. The metal pegs anchoring the chains were thick as his forearms and driven deep into the rock. They wouldn’t fall after such a measly attempt; they hadn’t even shifted an inch.

  Which worried him.

  There was the option to dislocate his thumbs and extract his hands. But that would hurt like the Void and he doubted he had it in him to pull it off. Better to continue as he was for the moment. Sooner or later, the pegs would give in, or the wall might crack. Stooping forward, he grunted, pulling hard, knowing that his life depended on it, working until the rust-edged cuff cut his left wrist and sent a trail of blood trickling down his arm to his elbow.

  He collapsed again, drenched in sweat.

  He couldn’t go on like this, not if he wanted to have functioning hands upon his breakout. The only progress he made was in sewing his wrists off.

  No one knew he was trapped in this dungeon, under the hidden library, which was itself miles submerged in an untrodden section of the Deeps. Moreover, the entrance to this place was sealed, secluded far from the rest of the archives. During his stay, only Emery and a couple other wardens had entered the library, and none went near the dungeon’s iron door.

  They won’t check on an empty prison. They won’t question him. Won’t bring food or water or check whether he still lived. He was trapped in a cage and all his captors had forgotten about him.

  His pains seemed insignificant, his fatigue a dangerous indulgence. He had to do everything possible to get out of this place.

  Standing up again, he kicked away some crawlers that’d came late to the party. Then begged forgiveness from his wrists as metal scythed into his flesh.

  **********