Satchel’s eyes opened slowly. His head ached and his stomach felt sick. He tried to stand but found that he couldn’t. His legs and hands were bound, and his mouth and eyes had been covered. Then his sense of smell engaged as the stench of death and decay filled his nostrils. He struggled with all his might to free himself but to no avail.

  Memories of what happened came flooding back. The Lady, under the spell of the White Knight, had betrayed him. He had left Jarek and Basco lying on the floor of the main hall. For all he knew, they could be dead. And Addie, what had happened to her?

  A wave of helplessness washed over him. He had felt this once before. He had gotten lost amongst the tunnels of the Pipes. A band of competing thieves had caught sight of him alone and gave chase. He managed to evade them, but he wound up in a section of the Pipes he hadn’t known. Try as he might, he couldn’t find his way out. In despair, he had cried then. He cried now.

  The sound of a door opening made him stop. A pair of footsteps approached, echoing against the stonework. Satchel focused on the sound, allowing his training to push through his terror. He and the newcomers were in a wide-open room. Suddenly, Satchel was lifted to his feet and made to stand. The bindings on his legs were removed and a man’s gruff voice spoke into his ear.

  “Do as we tell you and you live. Don’t and you die.”

  They shoved Satchel, making him stumble, and marched him onward. The air was cold and damp. A basement perhaps? His footsteps clapped on stone. He stumbled on a sharp corner of a step and then began to climb stairs. When he stopped, one of the men forced him to sit on something that felt wooden.

  The cover was yanked from his eyes and the sudden shift from darkness to light made him wince. Once Satchel’s eyes adjusted, he realized that the light was, in reality, not very bright at all. They had seated him near one of the few lit torches in the room. Looking to his left, he noticed row after row of straight rails. Shifting his gaze to the front and the other side, he saw hundreds upon hundreds of these rails, all perfectly parallel to one another. Then he looked down and realized there were no rails at all. They were the tops of wooden pews. He glanced up and saw against the far wall of the room a series of bloody red windows.

  The cathedral.

  He then noticed his captors. Three large brutes, dressed in monks’ robes, stood beside him, each carrying a heavy club on their waist. With their hoods drawn, Satchel could not see their faces in this light. Then he heard slow footsteps echoing throughout the sanctuary. Straight ahead of him, standing in front of a black altar nested within the apse of the sanctuary was a single figure.

  As the figure walked toward him, it said, “Stupid boy. If you had just done what I asked and accepted your fate, you wouldn’t be in this situation. What is the point of prolonging life if it is only filled with pain?”

  Satchel kept his mouth shut, realizing who it was. The figure stepped out of the darkness and Satchel saw the scarred face of Kazi.

  “Don’t want to talk?” Kazi mused. He bent down so that he was within inches of Satchel’s face. “After all the trouble you caused me, the least you could do is say ‘hello.’”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Kazi’s fist hit Satchel’s right temple, jarring the boy’s head.

  “Oh yes. You didn’t know, did you? My master gave me back my arm. It’s the one I’m hitting you with right now.”

  Another blow connected with Satchel’s cheek, making him bite hard into his cheek. The taste of blood hit his tongue. Kazi grabbed Satchel’s chin and drew in close.

  “I would kill you right now if I could, but the master wants you alive. He’s tending to the Lady at the moment and will arrive shortly. I must admit, I’m curious too. Where did this armor come from?”

  Kazi dangled the breastplate in front of Satchel. Dread and anger in equal measures washed over Satchel. He felt more helpless than he had when first waking inside this horrid place. He had failed. Kazi and the Knight had captured him. Jarek and others would not come to save him this time. For all he knew, they were captured or worse. There was no telling what the Knight did to Addie while using her. And now they had taken his armor; Basco’s cautionary words flitted through his mind. The old scholar had been right after all. Satchel gritted his teeth and fought back tears. Lower jaw quivering he let his head hang, defeated. But, when he looked down, a flicker of hope ignited within him. He had a chance, however slim. Like a fire, the hope burned away his fear and dread.

  “Boy,” said Kazi, an annoyed edge in his voice, “where did you get the armor?”

  Satchel looked up at him and with as the surge of confidence said, “Pick a hell and go there.”

  Kazi stared at the boy for a minute. Before Satchel even knew what had happened, he was skidding down the pew, the side of his head aching with new pain. He stopped sliding and then tumbled off the pew onto the ground. The brutes jumped on him and lifted him back into the pew. Satchel’s entire face throbbed with pain.

  “Such disrespect,” said Kazi rubbing his hand. He got in Satchel’s face again. “Let’s try again, shall we? Where did you get the arm-”

  Kazi never finished. Satchel lunged forward and bit into the Komji’s nose. The terrible scream that came from Kazi’s throat made Satchel’s ears hurt, but still, he hung on. Kazi punched Satchel hard in the gut, lifting him in the air. Satchel’s grip on Kazi’s nose loosened, and he landed hard on the pew two rows back. The fall knocked the wind out of him and hurt his ribs.

  “Stupid brat!” Kazi shrieked. “Bring him back here.”

  Satchel struggled to get up, but the narrow space between the pews made it hard to move. He could hear the brutes approaching. They reached his row before he managed to get to his feet. One of the men reached down for him, but Satchel was ready. He kicked the brute in the face hard, making blood fly from his mouth. The brute stumbled back, blocking the row momentarily. Satchel got up and turned his focus to the hooded thug coming from the other side. With perfect timing, Satchel ducked as the brute neared him and jumped, swinging his bound hands upward. The young thief’s strike hit him between his legs. The brute let out a whimper and crumpled to the floor. An enraged Kazi began moving toward him, blood running down the sides of his nose and mouth. Satchel jumped onto the pew seat and took off in a dead run.

  “For the love of the gods, how hard is it to catch one little brat?!” yelled Kazi.

  Satchel reached the middle aisle, dropped onto the floor and turned to run to the main doors, but Kazi was already after him. Satchel could hear Kazi’s heavy breathing grew louder as he closed in. The Komji would catch him. In a desperate move, Satchel stopped abruptly, planted his feet, engaged the magic of his boots—which the idiots had neglected to remove—and rammed Kazi, hard. A sound somewhere between a gag and a croak escaped Kazi’s lips. Stars swam in Satchel’s vision, but the tactic had worked. The Komji lay on the ground, struggling to get a breath. Satchel scrambled to his feet and started to run, but Kazi caught his leg. He tripped, crashed into the side of the pews and fell onto the floor. Kazi, still sucking wind, grabbed the back of Satchel’s collar and lifted him effortlessly. His face was bloody and filled with anger. Kazi’s breathing returned, hot and foul.

  “Insolent boy! Do you even realize what I could do to you?”

  Kazi drew up a knife and waved it in front of Satchel’s face. The knife had an ivory handle. The blade was pristine steel, fine and sharp.