Seregil exchanged a disturbed look with the wizard as the warder hurried them toward a stone stairway at the far end of the gauntlet; they’d been in less disturbing charnel houses. It was an unsettling reminder that Illior, the patron Immortal of wizards and nightrunners, also held sway over these mad wretches.

“Come on, then,” the warder shouted above the wailing and screaming. “The one you want’s upstairs.”

It was marginally better there, more like a prison, and quieter. Heavy black doors with tiny grates lined the long corridor. They were barred, rather than locked.

“How can such a small island produce so many lunatics?” asked Thero, cautiously taking his handkerchief away from his face.

“Most were shipped over from the Plenimaran mainland,” the warder replied. “It’s unlucky, you know, to hear or see the mad.”

“Where does that leave you?” Seregil asked.

The man grunted. It might have been a laugh. “Where you see me, my lord. There’s your man, third cell on the left.” He jerked a grimy thumb in that direction. “I’ll have to shut you in.”

“Is he violent?” asked Seregil.

“Now and then, my lord. I’d be real careful, if I was you.” He took a lamp from a niche in the wall and gave it to Seregil, then heaved the thick bar from the brackets and let them into a tiny, airless cell that reeked of piss and fear.

A narrow stone shelf served as a bed, and a wild-eyed, unshaven man cowered there, clutching a blanket to his chest as he stared at them in terror. He was of middle years, muscular and bearded, but fear had clearly unmanned him. Seregil found a niche high in the wall next to him and set the lamp there. By its flickering light, he saw that the only other things in the room were a wooden pitcher and a large tin chamber pot.

Thero exchanged a look with Seregil; the wretched man before them didn’t look capable of violence.

“You have nothing to fear, Captain Sedge,” Thero said gently, remaining just inside the door.

Sedge blinked at him. “Captain?”

“Captain Sedge of the Governor’s Guard. That’s you. My name is Thero, a wizard from Skala, and this is my friend Baron Seregil. We’d like to help you, if we can.”

Sedge shrank back as if he wanted the stone wall to swallow him. “A wizard? Why have they sent a wizard? Oh, please, no more sorcery!”

Signaling for Thero to remain by the door, Seregil slowly crossed the tiny cell and sat down on the end of the bed shelf, hands folded in his lap. “Did someone use sorcery on you?”

“No one believes me!” The man was trembling so hard Seregil could hear his teeth clicking together. “Lieutenant Phania was pulled—pulled—”

He choked and his eyes rolled up into his head as a sudden spasm took him. He tumbled off the bed and began flailing, back arched, spittle foaming between his lips as he beat the back of his head against the stone floor.