Gorgoroth (Haladras #2)

TWENTY-TWO

Rizain Du Kava. The name resonated with meaning, of hidden secrets. General Karíknof, too. After taxing his brain for several hours, he had finally remembered that Karíknof's head chef was the one who purchased Grüny. The general was to have a feast the next eventide. His stomach churned as he realized Grüny might be on the menu.

Skylar had to escape. He understood that now. If he was to help Grüny. If he would learn of this man, Du Kava, and what he knew, he must escape the Inferno. And he must to do it soon-tonight. The chance to operate with a full stomach and clear mind would not return. His one-time trip from that dark pit would not come again. Death would come for him before any savior, unless he took his salvation into his own hands. But how?

Almost immediately after the ceremony of the mutual sacrifice, Skylar and the other nine slaves had been sent back to the lowers depths, back to their pitiless taskmasters. They returned in time to perform the bulk of a day's work. Skylar laid down on his bed of moldy hay that night fully exhausted but still fortified enough to keep his mind alert. He must escape. Since being dragged back down to the pit, Skylar's brain had not ceased to think of a plan to achieve that purpose.

As far as he knew, only one way existed to get out of the Inferno. He had descended its stairway twice now. Deeper down, another chamber, which slaves and taskmasters streamed in and out of during their work hours, might harbor some secret portal. He doubted it. Though he didn't know what kind of production went on in this lower sector, he saw no reason why it should need special access to the upper region of the castle. A single way in and out meant less chance of anyone stealing away undetected.

No, however he escaped, it would have to involve taking the stairs which had brought him here.

Which exit to take troubled him less than his largest obstacle: the iron bars of his cell. With no implements but his hands and teeth, he possesed no means of breaking free of those bars. He contemplated feigning sickness when the guards came for them in the morning. What would they do with an ill slave? Send him to the infirmary? Doubtful. Dispatch him without blinking an eye and feed his remains to the other slaves, more than likely. Could he escape during working hours, create confusion by spilling one of the crucible's contents onto the floor? His own taskmasters would certainly be distracted by it. The others though...would the confusion spread to them, possibly ensuing in a riot? Then he remembered the lifeless, vacuous state from which he had just awaken. This same spell held the other slaves bound. The spell of extreme fatigue and hunger controlled those men more than any enchantment. They were incapable of rioting. Throw open the gates and let them run free. How many of them would have sense enough to leave? It was too risky.

Why were his wits not about him when they were taken to the kitchen? A stolen knife, a fork even, could have served him now. Regretfully, he had been too consumed with devouring the food to even think about doing so. It amazed him how easily men transformed to beasts-void of thought and reason-when deprived of food and rest.

So, he lay there contemplating his plight, staring up at the ceiling of his dungeon. Only the faint orange glow of a dying torch provided any light. He stared at the iron bars, their crisscross pattern, feeling the lids of his eyes grow heavy with sleep. No. He mustn't fall asleep. Fall asleep, and die, he told himself. He forced his eyes open wider. Think, Skylar. His eyes darted back and forth keeping time with the frantic pace of his thoughts.

Then he noticed something he'd never noticed before. Or if he had, his mind was too leaden to process it. Maybe now his eyes were deceiving him, feeding him false hope. What he saw looked like an extra wide gap between two of the bars, just where cage and stone ceiling met. It looked as if one of the vertical pieces had been cut away or broken free. If this were indeed true, the gap might be wide enough for him to squeeze through.