Ten Arrows

Chapter 24

Generally speaking, not much is known about the inside of the holding chamber known as Gallow's Path. This is largely due to the fact that the vast majority of the people who have ever been held there are no longer in any sort of position to answer questions.

The thing I noticed about the room right away was how spacious it was, easily capable of housing a hundred people at once without there being any shortage of elbow room. Doubtless it actually had housed that many prisoners at some point in time. Though no longer all that popular an activity, riots and revolts weren't unheard of in a city like Harael, and some of its princes weren't exactly known for things like mercy, or patience.

I was the only one being held there at the moment, so I mostly noticed how large and empty it appeared; how any sound I made seemed to wander off and get lost in the faraway corners, seemingly absorbed by the prison walls rather than bouncing off and echoing back as you might expect.

It wasn't a peaceful sort of quiet, either. It was unnerving. Likely a calculated effect.

My whole introduction to the place had been a strange, tense affair, come to think of it. When I'd first been brought into the poorly lit room by Borshank's knights, I'd been led very carefully around this and that, then shackled into place just as carefully against the wall. Strange, dangerous-looking restraints were placed tightly both around my wrists and just above my elbow, the combination of which seemed to require me standing in a very particular manner or risk losing all feeling in my arms. Once I'd been properly secured, I was advised that I shouldn't move around too much, or attempt to stray from my spot against the wall, given what would probably happen to me if I attempted to do so. For emphasis one knight drew my attention to the floor, which, despite being fairly clean and well-kept, bore several dark brown stains between floor stones, as well as other evidence suggesting that spilled blood wasn't exactly an uncommon thing to happen here.

I nodded, smiled at the fellow, and resolved to remain very still.

My first several hours in Gallow's Path were actually spent being entertained beyond all measure. The batmallow agaric I'd breathed in earlier was still causing me to hallucinate, which was handy, because I assumed hallucinating was a much more interesting experience than simply staring at cold, grey stone. As it turns out, I was right - the effects of the drug eventually wore off, at which point I spent several hours shackled in place, staring at cold, grey stone. It's even less interesting than it sounds.

I also spent some time giving a cursory inspection to the room and the various safeguards it contained, deciding very quickly that I wished to trifle with exactly none of them. My previous holding cell had been playful and kittenish compared to the chamber I was now being held in. The 'shackles' binding me in place looked as though they were rigged to snap shut, possibly even remove both my arms completely should I attempt to venture too far from the wall. There were a good dozen or so other deadly-looking traps and devices I thought I could make out as well, all built right into the walls and floor. I'll leave the specific details to your imagination.

Occasionally I'd look around and experience a pang of realization, causing my pulse to quicken unpleasantly. I mean, here I was, a prisoner in Gallow's Path. The sense of unreality associated with that whole notion instantly resulted in feelings of panic and self-doubt, causing me to call into question everything I'd done up to that point. I'll freely admit that forcing myself not to become worried or distressed was a bit of a challenge at times, not to mention how difficult it was to ignore my assorted injuries while left standing there for so long. Although my best guess had me in there for about ten hours in total, I did manage to keep things more or less together the whole time.

It's not an experience I'd care to repeat, mind you.

Two black-clad knights eventually arrived, looking decidedly uneasy and anxious. They took every precaution when stepping into the room, weaving around hidden this and that, and gingerly removing me from the shackles I was wearing. I meekly cooperated whenever asked to turn around, or lift my hands up, or to hold very still. I ended up trading my wall-shackles for a pair of slightly more comfortable, oblong cuffs that fit quite snugly around a generous portion of my wrists. A quick inspection and an experimental tug told me I wouldn't be slipping in and out of these particular cuffs anytime soon. They were connected to one another with a two-foot length of heavy chain, which was probably only there to jangle noisily as I walked, and provide me with that traditional "condemned" look.