His legs were broken. Both of them. He knew that before he even opened his eyes. Nothing else could hurt so badly. Where was he? Did he even want to know? He slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a small cell with black walls. He was lying in the corner, his back up against a wall and his legs stretched out on a concrete floor. His legs. He looked down at the swollen, bruised skin. They didn’t look much like legs, other than the feet that were at the ends of them. They were broken all right, and no one had bothered to set the bones. So this is what they had in store for him? To let him sit here and die slowly? Where were the other archons? What had happened to them? The light was dim for a change. They weren’t torturing him with strobe lights or floodlights. But then again, they didn’t need to. The pain in his legs was torture enough, definitely enough to keep him from exercising dominion. Another thought came to Gevri as he stared at the black walls. This was not an interrogation room.
