Whispers in the Shadows
By Alisa Clary and Chad Clary

His robe was tattered. The cloak was gone. Blood, mud and sweat had saturated every bit of his clothing. His armor had been cut off hours ago. Or was it days? Perhaps weeks? Othric couldn't remember and had ceased trying long ago. The fists flying at his face then his ribs, then his face again, after every question had dulled his mind. They kept him chained face down in a hut with no windows. Not that it mattered really. The Dim Forest had little light under the best of circumstances.

The questioning starts early today. The chains are loosened and he feels strong hands lift him easily from the dirt. After a moment, he is thrown backward into a chair.

"Good morning, Othric. This is your last day of life."

It was not the threat that sent an abrupt chill through his spine. His life had been threatened before. Perhaps it was the sheer lack of emotion in the voice, speaking as if he was a bug about to be stepped on.

"I will ask you this only this one last time. How many are there left inside that fortress? If I like your answer I may let you eat before you die."

"I told you. I don't know. I haven't been there in months. I left on patrol and the shadows..." Othric's muddled words were cut short by the massive knuckles slamming into his jaw with a loud crack. The world goes black as his head snaps backward and Othric abruptly can see nothing but white. He feels a tug against his what remains of his shirt as the torturer cleans his hand. Dimly, he becomes aware of the door of the hut opening and a cool morning breeze moving over his skin.

"Your methods have yielded very little to justify your continued breathing." The voice was one Othric had never heard, an almost languid drawl.

"He has more strength than I had expected. If you had given me.."

"If the gods had given you more wit, you would be of more use to me. But we all work within our limits. I have a new task for you."

"This siege has been boring me. They should have been destroyed by now."

"Never fool yourself into believing that there are not reasons for the things I do. Now, go back in there and break that fool's neck. You need to leave by nightfall and Mithrond is quite a distance from here."

"What's in Mithrond?"

There is a pause and the new voice lowers in pitch to almost a whisper.

"The bondmate of the Dim has been found. He must be destroyed."

There was a long pause as this information was considered. Othric's whole face is swollen, but he could still make out the general shapes of the two men. Craning his neck as much as he could, he sees a cooking fire outside. And massive trees just beyond that. Were those shadows darting between them or real men? It was so hard to tell.

"I'm going to need resources for this. Shadows and fades if we're to cross the forest. Mithrond isn't a happy place right now."

"You will have them. If you do not succeed at this task, you should keep marching and present yourself for service at Derelion. It would be better for you there than what would happen if I had to clean up your mess again."

The large man suddenly enters the hut again, almost ripping the door off as he slams it shut. Othric doesn't have to do much acting to look helpless.

"This may be good news, Othric. You are about to die."

His fist slams into Othric's ribs and then a second blow slams into his face. Othric's ribs let out a sickening crack in protest. Rather than moan, Othric yields to the sudden darkness. And he was no longer there in the hut with man.

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