The boy gathered his legs beneath him. He curled into a balled crouch. Even had he been unchained he could not have resisted. He had been inactive too long.

An old, old man entered the cell.

Ethrian tried to shrink away.

And yet... there was something different about this one. He lacked that air of indifferent cruelty possessed by everyone else the boy had encountered here.

The old man moved as if in a dream. Or as if he were badly retarded.

Slowly, clumsily, the ancient tried his keys on Ethrian's fetters. At first the boy cowered. Then, moved by cunning, he waited for the last lock to fall away.

The old man seemed to forget what he was doing. He considered the keys with a bewildered expression, surveyed his surroundings. He made a circuit of the dark-walled cell.

Ethrian watched warily.

He tried to stand.

The old man turned. His forehead creased in concentration. His face came alive. He moved closer, fumbled with the last lock. It fell away.

"Ca-ca-come," he said. His voice was a crackling whisper. It was hard to follow even in the unnatural stillness haunting the dungeon.

"Where?" Ethrian whispered too, afraid he would rouse the beasts.

"Ah-ah-away. Th-they sent me to ka-ka... to ga-give you to the savan dalage."

Ethrian cringed away. The turnkey had told him of the savan dalage—the worst of Ehelebe's creations.

The old man produced a tiny vial. "Dra-drink this."

Ethrian refused.

The old man seized his wrist, pulled him close, twisted him round, forced his head back and his mouth open. His strength was both startling and irresistible. Something vile flooded the boy's mouth. The old man made him swallow.

Warmth and strength spread through him immediately.

The old man pulled him toward the cell door. His grip was steel. Whimpering, Ethrian tripped along after him.