Reynevan said nothing. He had a lump in his throat, couldn’t swallow. The dungeon was dreadfully cold and stank horribly. The stench, it appeared, came from an opening in the floor covered by a heavy iron grating. Although the descent beneath the tower down a winding staircase had taken quite some time, the level they found themselves on wasn’t the lowest. There was something even lower. The dungeons beneath the Maiden must have extended down to the very guts of the Earth.

Servants stuck their torches into iron cressets. The grating in the floor scraped as it was opened. They lowered a ladder into the musty-smelling, dark opening.

“Climb down.” Bergow confirmed Reynevan’s hunch. “Be quick.”

They didn’t let him climb down to the very bottom. Instead they shook the ladder hard and Reynevan fell from a height, landing heavily on the compacted, rock-hard floor. The fall knocked the wind out of him.

“I once had here an arrogant mage, well read and smooth-tongued, who claimed that a dungeon like this one is called an oubliette,” shouted Lord Bergow from above, blocking off the scrap of light entering through the opening. “I’ve never heard anyone apart from that wizard use the word. It’s meant to derive from the word for ‘forget’ in Gallic, ho-ho. I shall enlighten you as to why: the grating will soon be replaced and you will be forgotten. Quite forgotten also as far as bread and water are concerned. Which is why I prefer the local Czech name hladomorna over the Gallic one. You will be starved to death, Lord of Bielawa. Unless you smarten up and reveal to me who hired you; on whose orders you were to kill me. I warn you, lies and deceit won’t help. I already know who’s behind the assassination attempt. You only have to supply the details. And the proof.”

Reynevan groaned and changed his position. He was bruised, but probably nothing was broken. He heard the grinding and scraping of the grating being closed.

“Ah, I almost forgot,” Bergow added from above. “Magic, if you are indeed a sorcerer, won’t help you. That cocksure mage I mentioned put special protection spells on the hladomorna. He claimed that not even Merlin himself could undo them. It turned out he wasn’t lying, which he found out to his cost. He perished down there and will now keep you company. Thus, if Rupilius the Silesian couldn’t escape from there, you have no chance, either. Farewell. And since soon you’ll be drinking your own piss, let me wish you prosit in advance.”

The footsteps and clanking of metal faded. The echoes died away. And a deep, dull silence fell.

It took some time for Reynevan’s eyes to adapt to the darkness. Enough to notice the grinning white skull of a skeleton chained to the wall in the corner of the dungeon.