He had no weapons and no magic that would ever make a difference. Not while he wore the conjure collar.
He felt the weight of the collar around his neck, a constant reminder of his reduced state. Even thinking of it caused him to wince involuntarily. He had tried over and over again to remove it or at least loosen it to relieve its pressure. But each time the pain it had generated was so intense that it doubled him over and left him writhing on the stone floor. Each time the extent of his helplessness had been reinforced.
Until at last he had stopped trying.
Until finally he had accepted that it was never coming off.
There was nothing left for him after that. He sat in his cell, his prison, his jail, and waited for his inevitable execution. He had no meaningful expectations left. What expectations could there be? That a miracle would happen and someone would come for him? That he could still find a way out of this madness? Impossible! Who even knew where he was? Even those who had remained behind, stranded on that ledge with the Goblins coming at them from every direction, were probably dead by now.
Even Railing.
But he didn’t believe it. Oddly, it was the one hope he clung to. Railing was still alive, still out there somewhere searching. His brother would never give up. It might be hopeless for him, but it wouldn’t be for Railing. Not now, not ever. Railing was his twin, his other half, his shadow self, and he was alive and well and hunting for Redden. Railing would never be satisfied with leaving things as they were. Even if it killed him, he would find a way to reach his brother.
Of course, he was aware of the impossibility of this happening. And the thought of Railing dying, too, brought down by his efforts to reach him, was more than he could bear.
They brought him food and water, and sometimes he ate and drank. But mostly not. Sometimes they pulled back the metal plate set in the cell door that served as a peephole and looked in on him to see what he was doing. He never bothered to look up, never cared if they were looking at him or not. He ignored them. He tried to pretend they didn’t exist.
For a while, he tried disappearing into memories, but that hurt too much. Memories were reminders of what he had lost, and what he could never have back.
So he ended up studying the floor and tried not to think of anything. He just sat there, staring at the lines of grout that connected the stone slabs of the cell flooring, fascinated by the intricacy of the workmanship.
That worked much better.
Except that without realizing it he was slowly disappearing from the real world. He was slowly treading his way down an endless spiral stairway that descended into darkness and finally insanity.
And then, unexpectedly, they came for him.
Oriantha was stretched out in the shade of an overhang among the boulders, taking a short nap while she waited for the cover of darkness, when she heard an earsplitting creaking of iron fastenings followed by two massive booms. She was up instantly, catching sight of Tesla Dart charging back into the rocks from the perimeter where she had been keeping watch.