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Raising his hand again, the mage causes pain to once more erupt along every nerve in his body. His muscles again contract painfully, almost to the point where they’ll begin breaking the bones they’re attached to.

Try as he might, he can’t keep a small gasp of pain from escaping. After what seems like an eternity, the pain stops and he flops back to the floor, eyes closed and breath coming in ragged gasps.

“This will only get worse if you do not tell me,” warns the mage. “And let me assure you, we have as long as it takes.” He then says something to one of the soldiers in their language. The soldier promptly leaves the tent and returns shortly with a chair for the mage. Taking his seat, he gazes down at Jiron who has managed to regain some of his composure. “Shall we begin again?” he asks.

Jiron just spits at him, the spittle managing to land on the hem of his robes.

The soldier closest to him strikes him across the face and begins yelling at him in their language.

“Enough,” the mage says and the soldier stops his tirade. Looking back to the mage, he sees him motioning for the soldier to move away from Jiron, which he does.

Holding his arm out, the pain once again flares along Jiron’s already flayed nerve endings. Back arching almost to the point of snapping his spine, he gnashes his jaws together to prevent the cry of pain from being torn from him.

“Tell me,” the mage says softly. “Tell me where the Fire is hidden and this will all end.”

Through an almost insurmountable obstacle of pain, Jiron cries out, “Never!”

Unrelenting, the mage sends wave after wave of pain through Jiron’s nervous system, each worse than the one before. Suddenly, one of the guards standing near the mage bumps into the mage and breaks his concentration ending the spell.

“Clumsy oaf!” the mage screams to the man as the backlash of magic burns through him. Pushing the man away, his anger slowly turns to puzzlement as the man staggers a moment and then falls face down. Protruding from his back is the back half of an arrow.

No sooner has the soldier hit the ground than the tent flap is pulled aside and another soldier begins talking rapidly to the mage. From outside the tent screams and the clash of swords can be heard. Then the soldier at the tent flap suddenly jerks upright and falls to the ground, two arrows embedded in his back.

The mage gets to his feet, points to Jiron and James as he says a few words to the remaining guard and then hurries from the tent.

Jiron lays there, the residual pain coursing through him beginning to subside. Outside he hears explosions from magic the mage is wielding against whoever is attacking. The remaining guard is at the tent flap peering out, occasionally glancing back to make sure Jiron isn’t trying anything.

As he lays there, strength beginning to return from the torture of the mage, he looks to the soldier peering outside. While his attention is focused on the events unfolding outside the tent, Jiron tries working his muscles to be sure they’re okay. From the beating he took from the mage, he wasn’t sure if anything permanent had been done. After a few minutes he’s sure all is well, the pain must have been more in his mind than physical in nature. Things like that were mentioned in some of the old sagas he used to listen to growing up.

He feigns docility as the soldier turns to glance back toward him. Outside, the clash of arms continues as does the explosions from the mage. Men are screaming and crying battle cries. One battle cry he recognizes is that of Madoc, it must be men from there who are attacking the camp.

At first he thought it might have been Fifer and the others but then realized there would have been no way for them to reach here so fast. They have to be at least a day or two behind, coming on foot as they are.

Once the soldier makes sure that Jiron remains passive on the ground, he turns back to the events unfolding outside.

Moving slowly, Jiron quietly begins getting up off the ground. Just as he’s reached a crouched position, James lets out with a groan which draws the attention