Chapter 2 - Part V

The two sat on the stone ground and talked into the night - not that the ambiance of the cell was affected by the movement of the sun. The questions the man lobbed at Onion were strange, beyond the realm of curiosity. He asked about the details of their final mission, how they came to learn of it, and where their prior mercenary work had been. He grilled her about why they had come to Eirdred after years in the south, fighting for coin on all sides of the Three Pronged War between Sandor, the Independent Duchy of Vem and the Federation of of Tribes of the Northern Outer Crest.

For reasons unknown to Onion, as the man reached deeper into his inquiry, his demeanor lost its aura of friendliness and his tone took on a sense of urgency. She didn't have most of the answers he was searching for - she was a minion in the Clan of the Fir, a follower to her commanding brother. This was something she readily acknowledged without shame to nosy man. When he finally left, she was glad to see him go. His final announcement, made just as he left the cell, that the execution was to take place later in the week, elicited no response from the emotionally numb Nü. Nor did the words "Rel protect you, for I cannot." whispered softly under the breath of the well-built priest ever reach her ears. Onion was exhausted and easily passed out within seconds of his departure

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True silence is a disturbing thing. Too easily one forgets that they hear the ever present breath of a stranger, or the crackle of a torch. But the heart does not forget. It beats to the rhythm of energy and life as the mind ignores this harmony. And in the absence of the harmony of life, the heart is tossed into the Void.

To Onion, the wave of silence hit like a slap to her soul. Instantly, she sat up, awake in her windowless cell, but there was nothing but blackness. She could not even tell if her eyes were truly open or if it was just a trick of the senses.

Movement.

In an instant, Onion's cell door silently flung open, a fact known to her only by the gust of air fanning from the exit. Not even a creak was made by the solid oak board and the hallway remained as black as ever.

She felt two strong hands lay on her arm and Onion nearly groaned in pain as the hand clamped down on a bruise not yet healed from the skirmish with Lord Archne. Her gut told her that it would be wise to remain silent, so she permitted herself only a grimace in her agony.

While not readily apparent, Onion understood that it was not just her own person that was being manhandled. Sure enough, as she was shoved into the dungeon hall, she felt the soft, smooth skin of what had to be Cedric's hand. To her amazement and grudging respect for the twitchy man, he also compelled his tongue to remain silent.