Delver Magic II: Throne of Vengeance, Jeff Inlo [graded readers .TXT] 📗

They said nothing, delver and elf, as they were escorted roughly through the corridors of the palace prison. They did not struggle. Each felt the strength of the dwarf hands that held them. They would have been tossed about like rag dolls had they chosen to resist, even the delver. Ryson’s gift was in his dexterity, his agility, not in strength. He could avoid the grip of a dwarf, but not break it.

The dwarf escorts brought them before a stone door. Their grip tightened on the captives as one saw to the opening of the cell. Both Ryson and Lief felt dwarf fingers crushing their flesh right to the bone. The release of the pressure was welcome, until heavy hands thrust them both into the darkness of the cave-like hold.

“I don’t understand!” Ryson proclaimed to Lief once they were thrown into the dank cell. His statement was punctuated by the heavy closing of the stone door. Rock thumped against rock just before a single click testified to the locking of their prison. The delver looked to the door with abhorrence. Small cracks of light pierced the edges of the door, an accent to their predicament. “How can she still think we’re responsible? How can she just throw us in here?”

Lief appeared more concerned with the conditions of their imprisonment. He stared up at the dark stone ceiling overhead. He pressed his hands against the thick walls which surrounded him. He exhaled heavily as if trying to rid himself of a tightening of his chest. A groan escaped his lips.

Concern for Lief replaced Ryson’s bafflement. “Are you alright?”

“Stupid question,” Lief mumbled.

Ryson agreed. “You’re right. It was. What can I do for you?”

“Give me space. I just need a chance to adjust.”

“Right.”

Ryson backed away quickly. He did not pressure the elf with further questions. Instead, he took the chance to examine the cell. His eyes bore through the darkness and immediately fell upon the slumped figure residing upon a flattened piece of stone.

“Jon?”

No answer.

“I think that’s Jon.”

At the moment, Lief did not care.

Ryson took four bounding steps across the cell. His presence was not acknowledged by the dwarf. Other than heavy, uncertain breathing, Jon made no movement at all. The delver needed to bend over to get a clear look at the dethroned dwarf king.

Dirt and grime adhered to Jon’s gaunt face like slime on a stagnate pool. His expression was vacant. His arms hung from his shoulders like limp clumps of seaweed. His hands were thin, almost bony and not at all like the powerful hands Ryson remembered. His back remained hunched over even as Ryson placed a palm on his shoulder. Jon showed no sign of sensing the delver’s touch. There was little spark of life to generate any reaction whatsoever. His eyes were open, but he chose not to see.

“Jon?” Ryson whispered.

Still, the dwarf did not respond.

Ryson shook him gently. The dwarf only slumped further. Any stimulus which would bring him back to reality was unwelcome.

Ryson stood up straight, took his hand from the dwarf and placed it on his own forehead. “I can’t take much more of this.”

The delver stiffened. He kicked once at the rocks by his feet before returning his hand to the dwarf. This time he took hold of the dwarf’s tattered shirt at the shoulder. There was plenty of cloth to grip. The shirt was loose and roomy around Jon’s neck as the dwarf was now simply wasting away.

“Jon! don’t you remember me? It’s Ryson.”

One last time, the name of the delver stirred the dwarf’s memory. He lifted his head slightly. He did not look at the figure before him. His head turned slowly from side to side. He blinked his eyes over and over as if trying to see through a cloud of fog. He started to slump again, welcoming the hazy mist of near unconsciousness.

Ryson fought him. He pulled at the cloth, trying to lift the dwarf off the slab, but the shirt began to slip over Jon’s head. Ryson released his grip, but threw his arms to Jon’s sides. He shook the dwarf more vigorously.

Jon resisted reality. He moved with Ryson’s shake as if he were nothing more than a pile of jelly.

“This is ridiculous.” Frustration bubbled from the delver.

“He’s given up,” Lief spoke up. The elf had found a place in the middle of the enclosed cavern, an area which gave him the most available space. He continued to struggle with the growing dread of his claustrophobia, but he managed to display some semblance of control. His hands closed into tight fists. Each breath heaved his chest with vigor. His gaze shifted uneasily about the all-encompassing rock as if it could not be trusted. Still, he spoke with a hardened understanding of Jon’s true plight. “He does not want to believe this is happening anymore than I do. Give me a few days down here and I will probably look the same.”

“You can’t mean that. Look at him. He hasn’t been locked in here that long.”

“His troubles exceed the time of his imprisonment.”

Ryson would not listen. He shook the dwarf harder. “Come on, Jon! It’s me! Don’t you remember?”

“He probably remembers more than he wants to,” Lief argued.

“So what?” Ryson nearly exploded. “He can’t just give up like this.”

“He has and I don’t think you can blame him.”

Ryson released the dwarf and walked away in near disgust. “Sure I can.”

Lief admonished the delver with a harsh tone. “He has lost his brother. His father has left him. The throne was forced upon him and then taken away by his own mother. Think about that. Can you still blame him?”

Ryson was in no mood to look at things logically. “I don’t know. I just don’t think he should sit there like a toadstool. We may need his help.”

“Help for what? What is there left for us to do? You don’t really think we have any options available to us, do you?”

The question struck at Ryson like a hammer. He looked at Lief, he looked at Jon, and he looked upon the tons of rock that surrounded him.

“We can’t get out of here, can we?”

“Not likely.”

Ryson would