The hallway was dark and narrow, lit by a single oil lamp that flickered with every draft from the cracks in the walls.
I stood outside the basement door for a long moment with my hand resting on the cold iron handle, listening to the silence on the other side. I pushed the door open and walked down the stone steps, my boots echoing off the walls like the ticking of a clock counting down the last seconds of someone's life.
The basement was damp and cold, the air thick with the smell of old blood and rusted iron. Two torches burned in brackets on the far wall, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor like grasping hands.
Silla and Grog were chained to the far wall.
Their wrists were bound with heavy iron cuffs connected to thick chains bolted into the stone.
