"Good morning, Tariel." Came a snide, familiar voice.

"Sith… Sithian?"

"Why yes, how are you these days?  How is Maerhyn?" came the cruel retort.

Tariel raged against his chains, spittle flying from his lips.

"You bastard!" he screamed, "let me out of this damned cage and I'll show you how I've been!  I'll give you Maerhyn's regards!"

His thoughts were consumed with rage and the manacles bit into the flesh of his wrists.

"Patience, patience, patience my dear boy, all in good time." Sithian tormented him.

"I swear by all the Archangels that if I get out of here I'll see you dead!  I'll call you and all of your stinking, traitorous kind!"

"Silence, Vizjerei." A new voice, this one coarser, older, commanding.

"Who are you?"

"I am Necrozar, lord of the Necromancers, high priest of Mephisto."

Tariel recoiled in utter horror.  So this is what happened to them, the exiles, he thought feverishly, what have they done?  The shock let some of his rage bleed off, returning a small amount of clarity to his thoughts.  Then Sithian spoke again.

"What will happen to him, lord?"

"He will tell us why he is here, what he knows about the Vizjerei's plans, and how he found this place."

"So long as I live, Necrozar, you'll never hear a word from me." Tariel swore.

"Poor, stupid Vizjerei.  I don't need you to be alive for you to answer my questions.  Sithian, come."

Necrozar and Sithian left, leaving Tariel to shake in his bonds.  Tariel didn't know what to think of Necrozar's statement, but he knew perfectly well what it meant.  Necrozar could simply interrogate Tariel's corpse after he tortured him to death.  There would be no glorious battle, no awesome display of skill; Necrozar's power was sufficient to kill Tariel with a few spells.  His head slumped down, he felt defeated.

"Tariel?"

A raised his head, looking through the hair that hung down from his head. 

"Malek?  How did you…"

"There's no time… you must escape from here."

"What?  How?"

"The guard has the key… remember the initiation of the Horadrim?  Use it… I would free you, but…"

"But what?" but Malek was gone, and a corpse slowly shuffled past, bound around its waist was a gleaming ring of brass keys. 

The initiation of the Horadrim?  What did he mean?  Then the battered old voice of Maerhyn seemed to feel his ears.  It was a lecture they all had heard when there were but new students:

"Long ago, in the days of the Horadrim, initiates who were ready to become feel members of the Order were locked in a cell, with nothing in there, no food or water.  To pass the test they needed only use their mind to cause the key to slide under the door and into their hands, and then use it to escape.  This assured that every member of the Horadrim had the clarity of thought required for the powerful spells they would learn if they passed.  What happened to those who did not pass is unknown."

Tariel smiled, as Maerhyn had done at the end of that lecture.  The powerful spell of Telekinesis, taught to him by Aliandra.  The memory brought back a sense of nostalgia, and a powerful wave of homesickness swept through his soul.  He bundled up his regenerated mana into the spell, yanking the keys from the corpse's waist effortlessly.  The keys found their way into his hands where he used them to unlock the large manacles.  The corpse saw he was escaping and pulled its scimitar out of its sheath.  Tariel used the Inferno spell again, baking the corpse with the hellish flame.  The corpse fell to the ground, charred and broken, and Tariel stepped over it and began to head down the hall of the dungeon.  He heard voices carrying on the stale air.

"The Vizjerei know where we are, but do they know what we're planning?" a voice asked.

"Why send a child, why not send the mighty Vischar, or perhaps a warrior-mage?"

"He barely felled the Blunderbore at the gate, he is weak."

A colder, more powerful voice silenced all of them.

"He is Vizjerei, and the Vizjerei do not travel alone, no matter what the reason is they are travelling.  He has come from revenge against Sithian, and that very purpose puts him in our grasp."

"What do you mean, Necrozar?" it was Sithian's voice.

"You fool, don't you see at all?  Mephisto, the Lord of Hate, and if this apprentice hates then he comes ever nearer to us."

Tariel shook with the horror of the words, but he also knew they were the truth.  He hated Sithian, it could not be denied, and it could not perhaps even be helped.  But did hate truly make him a follower of Mephisto?

"What do you plan to do, Necrozar?"

"I will interrogate him, see how far his convictions run, how deep they run.  If he is strong, then I will kill him and raise him as one of the undead.  If he buckles then I will temper him into a Necromancer."

"But my lord, surely that is…"

"Do you dare to question me, Sithian?" Necrozar's voice was icy but calm; Tariel could feel the river of anger beneath it though.

"Of course not, my liege." Sithian said, fawning, begging.

Necrozar was silent.

"Lord?"

"Shut up!" Necrozar said harshly, his voice raw with anger.

"I am sorry…" Sithian began.

"Be quiet… something is wrong."

"What is it lord?"

"Tariel… Tariel has escaped."