Execution, Part 2

Finn had been awake for a while. Her hearing returned to her first. Her ears exploded into life with a high pitched squeal that quickly faded into a numb din. She heard her own labored breathing and focused on it. Her eyes remained closed as she gathered her faculties.

Bit by bit she began to remember herself.

The last thing she remembered was casting a spell at a swarming mob of thugs. She recalled the grimace on the face of the man who was rushing her, his club raised, his throat a mangled roar. Finn pulled slightly, testing her constraints. Rope chaffed and rubbed her wrists raw. They were tight enough to pull her shoulders back uncomfortably with the back of a chair pressed firmly against her. Utter constriction. More breathing; that she could control. Finn focused on keeping her breathing steady and listening to her surroundings, absorbing her current predicament. A large lump on her head throbbed.

There were other people drawing breath in the room. It took a few minutes of concentration but she could make out at least three other heartbeats with her.

Two of them were familiar.

Stauch was to her right. His musk was palpable, his breath it's usual rythm. She moaned audibly to see if he would respond, being careful not to tip off her newly found consciousness to anyone else in the room. Nothing.

Abe was in front of her. He gasped for oxygen irregularly. There was a distinct taste of iron to the air, the smell of blood. He was in dire straits. Underneath it all though, Finn could make out the familiar sound of Abe’s legendary snore.

The third person was unknown to her. He hummed occasionally, tapped something on a table with impatience. Occasionally she would hear a jingle of coins as he shifted his weight. He sounded to be a big man. Perhaps it was the man in black who had rushed her earlier.

Finn realized she had no idea how long she had been out. Time was never Finn’s strong suit in general; the concept eluded her. Since the island though, it had been particularly difficult to make anything of it’s passing. Finn refocused on the present.

She’d have to open her eyes soon. It was torture for her not to see her friends faces or know their condition. She also wanted to face her foe. Finn considered the mystic forms that could assist her. She could try to change into something small. A mouse would be able to slip out of the door and disappear. But that would leave Abe and Stauch here and helpless, also the enemy in the room would likely thwart her escape. Or large? If she turned into a wolf, her restraints would snap her bones as they formed. She would be useless in that form unless she got her hands free. The other spells that floated around in her head required elements that weren’t in her possession. Finn had no idea where her things were, if they were in the room it might be an option…

Finn opened her eyes. She scanned the room silently.

It was a simple but brutal room. Four cold concrete walls, a ceiling, a floor, a door, and a table. This place smelled of death and bore the stains of it. The soldier was leaning against a mahogany table, on it were various items that Finn recognized. The hammer they had removed from Thorin’s Statue, Abe’s shield, scrolls, a map…

The soldier was large. He wasn’t the man whose face she remembered- this man was also wearing an official uniform.

He was cleaning his fingernails with a small dagger when he looked up, and locked eyes with Finn.

“She’s awake.”

Finn ignored him.

Stauch was tied up with the most care to detail- more rope, more complicated knots. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with him physically. His head was hanging forward, his long hair obstructing a full view. From what Finn could see of his face it was unmarked; his expression was serene and blank.

Abe was a mess. Countless cuts and bruises marred his face. Their captors had removed all of their armor, but only Abe was left with no shirt on. There were old scars there, new ones, and fresh wounds. One in particular on his right shoulder was still tacky with blood. It was an injury Finn recalled seeing Abe receive in battle a week prior that had just begun to heal. It had been reopened with a cross hack from an ax during their capture. The deep gash caught candlelight as he gargled a snore. Finn shuddered at the thought of his fading light.

“You have to help him. He’s going to die otherwise.”

Her voice was hoarse, she strained it with effort.

The soldier returned her gaze with a blank stare.

“Yeah. And?”

There was a moment. It held, as some moments do, immense power.

A voice came from beyond the cracked door. A hand pushed it open.

“That will be all Sorbic, thank you. You are dismissed.”

A man shuffled into the room. As he entered, he was putting on a dark mask. Briefly, Finn saw a fine lined patchwork of scarring on his face before it was covered. Cruel, blue eyes looked out from the mask at her.

“My name’s Salvic. Bastard.”

The soldier abruptly sheathed his dagger and pushed past the new man. Coins clattered noisely in his pocket as he bumped into the crippled figure.

“Fine and dandy. Glad to be done with this shit assignment. Waste of a perfectly good night…”

His voice ended abruptly as the Hooded Man slammed the door shut. He stood there for a moment, his gloved hand pressed against the door.

Turning to Finn he spoke, his voice was disturbingly pleasant. Finn felt a cruel smile that was unseen.

“Better.”

He leaned on his cane as he took a few steps towards the center of the room. He placed a leather bag on the table next to the items, rested his cane against the table, and lastly removed his jacket with some effort.

He turned to look at her once again.

“Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

She responded flatly.

The man shook his hooded head.

“I’m wearing a mask. Clearly it’s not something I wish to discuss. Who are you? What’s your name?”

Finn said nothing, she looked the man top to bottom with pursed lips.

The man nodded.

“Call me Inquisitor; if it makes it easier to speak.”

“If you freed me and my friends, that’d be the biggest help. Inquisitor.”

~~~

Renfield pondered this. Is she right? It would be nice if the solution to his problems was so simple.

Renfield had already begun to enter the calming and numb headspace of "Inquisitor", but this honest statement gave him pause.

It struck Renfield as the ultimate irony that he could relate to his captives' situation. He was similarly hindered. Options of action were scarce as hope in this room; the consequences hung dense, stifling. He had already decided his only way out was to extract information and reassess. Renfield was already knee deep in the shit, so it was time to consider the source.

Renfield chose his words carefully, as usual.

“Would it? To Whom? Perhaps if you are convincing enough, I’ll consider it.”

Finn couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her. She parsed his tone for humor and found none.

“My friend is dying.”

“I can see that. It’s unfortunate, but I didn’t put him in this position. I have a feeling you had more to do with it than I did.”

These words stung Finn. She spoke through clenched teeth.

“Let us go. Please.”

Renfield sighed. She had no reason to give, because she was naively wrong. It would help nothing; they would be caught, Renfield would die with them. Their only use at this point was how they could see Renfield out of his shackles. They would die in theirs--but if Renfield played these next few hours right, he could see his broken.

“I’ll help your friend; if you tell me who he is.”

Finn looked down at the floor. Her mind raced.

“If I tell you my name, will you help him?”

“Yes. I will help him. If you tell me your name.”

It was the truth.