The Raging Storm

Chapter Three: Time To Go

Kazmere Vale gazed out of the barred cell window within the Skyprison. From the tower high up in the clouds, he peered down at Dawnsguard, the capital of Reven. The Foundling's home. My home. He swallowed back the familiar sorrow. At least it used to be. Before Ansel ruined us. His heart grew heavy with that passing thought.

The Skyprison - a colossal spire that dwarfed even the king's Crimson Palace - sat atop Mount Sunspear behind Dawnsguard. The stronghold had a reputation for containing the most infamous criminals in Reven. No one ever escaped. The whispers from the common people told him this and many other things.

Being the leader of the Foundlings had perks when it came to information.

At least, it used to. Were there even any Foundlings left alive? Now I'm a leader of none. He tried to curb the depressing thoughts, but every day it got a little harder. Even if some of his comrades were alive, the trust of the common people dissolved months ago. Things would never be the same.

The storm outside picked up steam over the grand city and heavy rain pelted his window. The murky lighting from twilight covered the city below, blurring the details. His eyes scanned the rocky landscape leading to Dawnsguard, looking for anything that resembled an escape route. But for the hundredth time, he felt hopeless. In his thirty years of life, he prepared for many things. Escaping the Skyprison was not one of them.

He turned his head toward the brutish Crimson Guard to study him. On the other side of the cell, the man was standing stiff at attention. He was brawny, his crimson armor barely containing his hefty body. His right hand stroked the hilt of his sheathed longsword while he studied Kazmere, his eyes always trained on him. He was on edge.

Something important must be happening today. The guard had brought him from his cell to this one without giving a reason. He didn't need an explanation. It didn't take a genius to guess what was about to happen. In the four months since being imprisoned, he was only brought from his cell for one thing. Three times so far, each worse than the last.

Interrogation.

His hands started to sweat. What questions do they even have left to ask? I won't give up any dead drops or hideouts. I must try to save any Foundlings left alive. Looking down, he realized his hands were gripping his pants. He relaxed his fingers, turned his head from the window, and looked at the chair in the center of the room. Chains hung off the left and right sides of the metal chair. One metal table was on the other side of the cell, near the Crimson Guard. Two candles rested on the table, providing a soft glow to the dim room. The candlelight glinted off metal objects on the table.

The sound of metal scraping against the ground came from behind. The cell door swung open. He turned around. The Crimson Guard came closer and seized his left arm. Frustrated, Kazmere tried to pull his arm out of the guard's hands. The man had a death grip.

His eyes widened with surprise. The person that entered was none other than Winslow, the king's Head Vibrant. A beautiful woman in her middle years. She was garbed in an elegant onyx-tinted robe with crimson lining running along her sleeves. On the front of the robe was the sigil of the Viberium Council - a sideways diamond with an eye in the center. A full ruby rested on her chest, attached to an elaborate golden necklace. Black hair tinged with gray was pulled back in a tight braid and hung down the right side of her chest. She carried herself like someone in charge. Dark gray eyes rested on Kazmere and pierced his soul while she studied him. The left side of her mouth raised but lowered, almost too fast for him to notice.

He coughed, trying to hide his shock. "Hello Winslow, it's been a while."

Winslow ignored him. "Strap him into the chair Rupert, I have some questions."