“He will try the climb,” the European said.

The other end of the rope ran through a pulley system that had been hammered into a ledge about a third of the way up the shaft, hundreds of feet from the top. It served as a safety measure, Bruce realized, as the strong man began to scale the crumbling stone wall. Rugged outcroppings and narrow crevices were scattered irregularly along the rocky face, offering occasional purchase for the climber’s bare hands and feet.

He made his way slowly up the shaft, the chanting growing louder and louder as he climbed toward the light. At one point he slipped, and almost lost his grip on the wall, but managed to recover. The safety rope trailed behind him as he rose.

Secure handholds and footholds grew scarcer and further apart the higher he went. He paused on a narrow ledge, gazing up at the challenge ahead. The next available shelf was at least a twelve-foot jump away. Bruce would have been hesitant to make such a leap even as Batman. It was a daunting prospect.

The strong man perched upon the foothold, searching in vain for some other way to proceed. Far below him, the chanting egged him on, growing in intensity. The man gazed up at the distant sunlight and made up his mind. As the chanting peaked, he jumped for the higher purchase—and missed.

Screaming, he plummeted toward the bottom of the pit. The safety rope snapped taut partway down and he swung into the unforgiving stone wall, hitting it with bone-crushing force. The chanting fell silent as the battered prisoner was slowly lowered down on the rope. His head drooped limply. Blood dripped from his smashed face and torso.

The spectators retreated back to their cells.

“Has anyone ever made it?” Bruce asked.

His caretaker shook his head.

“Of course not.”

One cell over, the blind man barked in protest.

“What does he say?” Bruce asked.

“He says there is one who did,” the European admitted. “A child…” He shuddered. “A child who had been born in this hell.”

Bruce knew whom he meant.

“Bane.”

The other man flinched at the name. He seemed anxious to change the subject.

“An old legend. Nothing more.”

Shoving the last of the bread between Bruce’s lips, he hurried to leave the cell. Once outside, he paused to switch on the TV.

“Don’t,” Bruce pleaded. He had no desire to witness whatever horror show Bane had in store. But his caretaker left the TV on. He shrugged apologetically.

“Whatever they want you to see,” he said, “it’s happening soon.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Where are they taking us? Fox wondered.

Bane’s men led their hostages out of Wayne Tower through the jagged hole in the floor of Applied Sciences. They made their way across the debris into a confusing maze of tunnels somewhere beneath the city. The dismal catacombs were dank and dark, but showed evidence of recent modifications, and even new excavations.