With a shake, Samon regained his consciousness. As always, he thought it was a dream. However, reality was never too long in setting in. As his vision cleared, he could see the small room, lit by a single torch, that had become his world. No longer could he follow the passage of time. Either he was awake and aware of his surroundings, or he wasn't. That was the only difference between his days and nights.

A knock came at the door, and a guard who he didn't see stepped forward. It amazed Samon that someone as large as that could hide so effectively without cover. Kathal, obviously, weren't known for their stealth.

When the door was opened, a man stepped through who Samon assumed was bringing his meal which would be spoon fed to him. They wouldn't release his hands for any reason. However, when the man stepped into his field of vision -- Samon didn't like to move his head; too much pain -- he saw that he was wrong. This man was not just another guard. By his cloak, Samon knew he was a man of high station, perhaps royalty. Silk was not something for a guard, or even a captain of the Fists. Whoever he was, he was important. And he'd come to see the Mariyan prisoner.

"Well, Jackal, how have you been?" Samon didn't respond. All they could do was hurt him more; pain, regardless of how much he disliked it, was not something that frightened him. Wolves were trained to resist pain.

A gloved hand reached out and grabbed Samon by the hair, wrenching his eyes up. He found himself staring into the masked face of a man in full battle armor. The only part of the man's skin that was showing was the bit between his eyes, and a small vertical line connecting the middle of his forehead to the tip of his nose. Even if Samon's hands were free, he doubted if he would have been able to touch that small portion. The guard, on the other hand -- the one that had been beating him mercilessly for...days, probably -- was bare-chested. As yet, however, Samon had not been able to touch him, and the beatings certainly didn't count.

"I asked you a question," said the man holding Samon's head upright. "How have your accommodations been? To your liking, I hope."

Smiling, Samon responded. "The food's marginal, but the entertainment more than makes up for it. And the full-body massages have been a particularly nice touch." He braced himself for a punch, and then mentally winced as he realized how he had given himself away. The man just stared, however. Samon could tell that under his mask, he had raised one eyebrow.

"Entertainment?" he asked.

"Yes," Samon responded. "The occasional visits I have from silk-wearing egoists with enlarged opinions of their pompous selves more than makes up for--" Samon wasn't able to finish his thought, because at that moment the punch that he had earlier expected impacted in his stomach with great force. Not from the armor-wearer, as he thought, but from the silent guard. Again and again, punches rained down on him from a man a full eighty centimeters taller than he, and massing nearly one-hundred kilograms more. The size difference was so great that a box had to be brought in for him to stand on while chained to the wall; this particular cell was generally used for torturing other Kathal, not Mariyans.

After a few moments of beatings that seemed to stretch time out to hours -- or maybe it actually was hours -- it stopped. The man in the mask and armor stepped forward. "Your guard is particularly loyal to his emperor. You must watch what you say to me. And around me. And about me."

Samon had been knocked off his stool during the beating, so he lifted himself up with his shackled wrists until his feet were able to rest on it again, and he slunk down again, depleted of almost all his energy. "Emperor Martahk, eh? That makes sense. A sodding git without enough sense to stay where he is, and feels he must climb higher than the Elements had in mind for him when they pulled his sorry form from the refuse." The guard stepped forward again, and Samon braced himself -- without showing it this time -- but the emperor stopped him.

"No, it's quite all right, Adrik. The poor Jackal has been though a lot. As a matter of fact, his woman said something quite similar about him as I raped and killed her."

Samon knew that Cerri had said nothing of the sort about him -- in fact, she probably had said the exact same thing about the emperor as he did -- but the idea that Martahk had been the one to kill her was enough to drive him over the edge. Straining against the steel chains, he grasped for the emperor, but Martahk remained well out of Samon's thirty centimeter reach.

The emperor laughed and stepped close to Samon's face, looking at one hand, then the other. "You'd like to reach me with those claws, wouldn't you, Jackal?"

Abruptly changing his exertion, Samon pressed his wrists against the wall and reached out with his teeth. Biting hard, Samon tried to penetrate the leather of his mask, tried to draw blood. But the armor was too thick, and the emperor was too strong.

Pushing Samon back against the wall, Martahk punched him with his left fist quickly in the stomach to stop him from moving, then drove a powerful right hook into Samon's jaw.

His head snapped back and forth, bouncing off the brick wall he was chained to. Blood flew from his mouth and dripped down the sides of his head where he had come in contact with the wall. But without missing a beat, Samon felt around in his mouth with his tongue until he found what he was looking for, and then pressed it to his lips. Taking careful aim, he spat at the emperor. Or, rather, he spat into the emperor's eye.

Screaming in pain, Martahk reached to his face. Yanking hard, he pulled the object from his exposed right eye. Blood and fluid followed his hand, and he quickly reached back to cover his face with his free hand. Holding up the object to his good eye, he stared in disbelief. Samon had blinded him with a steel-pointed tooth.

Smiling, Samon showed the gap in his lower jaw where Martahk's punch had dislodged the fake tooth. "Wolf or Jackal, I still got fangs."

The emperor turned to the guard, Adrik. "Don't kill him," was all he said. Then he left. Adrik didn't smile as he walked purposefully towards Samon; he never smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly, Samon opened his eyes. For a brief moment, he thought even the pain was just the fading remnant of a dream. As his eyes focused to the darkness of the room around him, his last vestige of hope faded. It always did.

Adrik was in the corner washing the blood off his knuckles. The man always seemed to obsess over blood, whether it was too much or not enough. The few times Samon had been conscious during the beatings, the guard had taken a near-aesthetic approach to what part of Samon's body he was beating, how the bruises were shaped, and where the blood splattered. Samon could almost admire him for the love the Kathal was taking in his work. Almost.

Looking down to see where he had been beaten most recently, he saw that his pants had been ripped to shreds. The thin switch laying broken on the floor told him what had happened to his legs, and he stared at it, confused. A thin piece of wood was not the sort of thing Adrik normally used in his torture.

"It does leave wonderful scars, you see." Samon looked up at Adrik as the larger man continued speaking. "I do not like using them on your upper body, because it doesn't scar as well. I assume it has something to do with how your shin is so close to the surface of your skin." As Adrik had been speaking, he walked close to Samon until he was right in front of him. Samon strained for a few moments against the steel cuffs around his wrists, and then gave up. Adrik saw and considered it for a moment, then continued speaking.

"Your upper body and back is good for bruising. I have left some wonderful bruises that changed into a beautiful green before fading entirely. I wish you could have appreciated them." Bending down, Adrik ripped the torn portions of Samon's pants away up to his knee. "I have left good bruises on legs, too, but my emperor desires you whole for as long as possible, and I have killed several through over-exertion." He smiled. "When I was younger, it had never occurred to me that too much pain alone could kill. Fright, as well." He knelt on the ground in front of Samon and picked up his right leg. "In a few years, you will have shapes on your legs that I am sure you will be proud of. Perhaps I will be allowed to take your skin."

"In a few years," Samon asked.

"Yes, provided you survive. Now, the way to tan Mariyan skin so that the white scars show against the white skin..." Samon stopped paying attention to the psychopath as he continued droning on about human skin preservation. But there was something about what he was talking about that tickled Samon's memory. He watched as Adrik traced one of the slices, or, rather, as he traced a series of cuts in his skin that formed a near perfect spiral.

That was it! Samon was touching his skin! All he had to do now was...what? He furrowed his brow, and Adrik talked all the more vehemently, perhaps convinced by Samon's expression that he found the topic interesting. Samon focused on Adrik's large hands holding his leg up, and tried to remember why skin to skin contact was so important.

Healing. Samon was a Healer. It was slowly coming back. He remembered that his skills in Healing lay in anything the physical body could feel, pleasure or pain. But he required physical contact, like he had now. To make it work, he had to... The memory was gone! The only thing he could think about was the beating. Most of his life had even gone away from his mind, leaving him empty. He hadn't realized it until now; he hadn't even tried to remember anything until now. He racked his brain for something -- anything -- from his past that would trigger his Gift. There was something from his childhood, he remembered, something important. It was why he left his home; it was why he was called...

"Jackal, where are you?" Samon's eyes snapped open, and it occurred to him that he never remembered closing them. Adrik was speaking to him, and calling him Jackal. To Samon's horror, Adrik had put his leg down, and was readying himself to stand. NO!!!

Using all the strength he had left in his body, he swung both of his legs down, and laid them on Adrik's shoulders. Sensing that the Mariyan had no ability to cause him physical harm, Adrik just stared at him. "Jackal, what are you doing?"

For an instant, they just stared at each other, Adrik trying to figure out what Samon was doing, and Samon trying to remember what he needed to do. Suddenly, they both realized something. Adrik knew that somehow, beyond his knowledge of the situation, he was in danger. Samon knew what to do.

"You're over," Samon said as he released his Gift into the Kathal. Eyes widening in shock, Adrik arched his back, then fell to the side, dropping Samon against the chains on his wrists. Several minutes passed, and Samon tried to catch his breath. When the pain in his wrists became too great, he lifted his legs back on to the box that had held him up, and rested there.

Opening his eyes again, Samon realized he'd fallen asleep. Shaking the sluggishness from his mind, he formed a plan. He'd only had one motive when he'd changed Adrik. Survive. Now, the most crucial time had landed on him, much before he was ready.

"Adrik," he called. "Hey, Adrik!" he said louder when the large man didn't move. "Wake up!"

Slowly, the Kathal seemed to come back to life. Moaning, he put a hand to his head.

"Great! Now, get me out of here," Samon said.

Looking around the room, Adrik seemed confused. "Who...what...what is going on? Who are you?"

Samon looked at him with disgust. "Hilarious. Will you please get me out of here?"

"I do not know you," Adrik said. "I do not know you, or why you're here." he said again, shaking his head.

Disbelievingly, Samon took a deep breath. "Are you telling me you don't know anything?"

"No, I know...I know who I am. I know where we are. I just do not know who you are. Or what we are doing...wait, I remember...I remember an assassin."

Samon let out a deep breath. "Thank the elements. I thought they'd gotten everything. I'm here because of the assassin." Adrik took a hesitant step back. "No, no, wait, not like that. I was sent by the Wolves to warn the Emperor about it, but they got to me first."

"The Bleiddieid? Sent you? Who got to you first? Who are 'they'?"

"Some counteragents within the Fists," Samon responded.

"Fists are planning to assassinate the Emperor? I do not believe it."

"No, they're not Fists, they...they're possessed! They're demons! If we don't stop them soon, they'll win! One of the strongest allies against the Fallen will be taken down and replaced with one of the Black Children." Samon held his breath. He was betting that Adrik had never sold his soul to the darkness, but if by some slight chance he had, he was dead.

After what seemed like an eternity, Adrik looked Samon in the eyes. "Very well. I will go warn the Emperor."

Samon shook his head. "No, they think you're dead. If they see you walking around, they'll know that spell failed to kill you. The Emperor will be just as dead as the two of us if that happens."

Adrik thought for a moment. "What do you propose?"

"I've studied the blueprints of this place. I know of some secrets that they won't."

For a few more moments, Adrik thought. "So it will be. You're not in any condition to do damage to anyone if you are lying." Adrik reached up, and pulled on some intricate pin Samon could not distinguish from the rest of the cuffs, and suddenly, he fell onto Adrik's chest.

"Where do we go," the Kathal asked.

"No, not yet," Samon said back. "I need a few moments to rest, and remember where the passageways are. We will go in just a minute."

Adrik paced impatiently across the room while Samon leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. It had seemed like he would never be free from those cuffs, that he would never be free to see her again...

Reality settled in with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball. Samon leaned forward and threw up. He barely had the strength to twist to a side so he wouldn't get vomit all over his legs. Even so, much of the mess settled around his thighs.

Adrik took a large step toward him. "Are you okay?" There was genuine concern in his eyes.

"Yes, I'm fine. We go."

"Are you sure? We should go if you--"

Samon's eyes flared with anger. "I said I'm okay." She's dead. "We go."

Leaning against the box one last time, Samon pushed himself to his feet. "Thank you, Adrik," he said, looking into his eyes. "You really are a good man." He rested his hand against the Kathal's large arm, and Adrik's eyes rolled back into his head. After watching the man crumple to the ground, Samon walked to the door. He had no need to take the man's pulse to know his heart had stopped. Painless, at least.

Samon opened the door and took two quick looks outside. The hallway was deserted. These dungeons were almost forgotten, sitting unused for generations. Quickly, purposefully, Samon walked down the black halls. He had no need of torches to tell him where he was going; he really had memorized the blueprints to this place, and he was going to use that information to his advantage. He had one more man to kill...