He looked around for something that would work as a pick, and realized how much he relied on magic to get himself out of fixes like these.
But before the search for a pick got too far under- way, a ruckus at the end of the hallway interrupted him. King Archenomen's voice bellowed out of the darkness at the end of the hall, followed by the clank and rattle of chains and shackles.
"How dare you imprison your King!" roare King. "I'll have you all boiled in oil! Every last traitor- ous one of you! I'll have you skinned alive! I'll bury you in wasp nests! I'll see you wrapped in hot wires until you scream in agony and you're dead, dead, DEAD!"
Guards shoved King Archenomen into the dun- geon. Shackled around the neck and wrists, the King struggled as three large guards pulled him along, like masters leading a reluctant dog at the end of a leash.
His face was the color of overripe tomatoes. Stripped of his royal finery, he was now shivering half-naked in nothing more than a pair of breeches.
"Into the cell," one of the guards said indifferently.
"King Jehan will be down presently."
The words sent Archenomen into a fit of rage.
"King? Jehan! You'll die! All of you!"
They tossed the former King, sputtering and gur- gling in incomprehensible monosyllables, into the Kai had occupied, and padlocked him to the floor like the rest of them. Then they turned and left, without a word.
Naitachal favored him with a sardonic smile, and despite the gravity of their situation, he could not resist getting a dig in. "Hard to find good help these days, isn't it, Your Majesty?"
Archenomen ignored him. He raged at the end of his chain like a maddened lion. "Where is Sir Jehan?
Where is the traitor? Is he such a coward that he can no longer face the King he claimed he was willing to die for yesterday?"
Naitachal sadly shook his head. He still doesn't understand, does he? the elf thought dismally. Was he so blinded by Jehan that he thinks none of this was planned?
Down the hallway, he still heard sounds of fighting, although these were a little more subdued now.
Apparently the capture of the King had taken some of the strength out of the battle. How many are still loyal? How many are willing to keep fighting? How loyal are his men?
How long do we have before we're executed?
Naitachal marveled at the expertise with which his magic-using abilities had been neutralized. Unbeliev- able. He had never before come across anything, spell or drug, that could have so thorough an effect. Lyam looked frantically from the Dark Elf to his King and back again.
The guards had left them in a hurry, apparently to return to the fighting. If only he could use his magic, or even pick the lock of his chains!
Archenomen sat, dejected, in the center of the cell.
"Oh, what a fine mess this is! Lyam, you were right all along. I wouldn't have thought it possible before, but that murdering, oath-breaking blackguard is out for the Crown!"
Lyam squirmed over to the bars, as close t King as he could manage. "Who does he have? How many? I can't believe my men have fallen in with him."
"Your men are the only ones who are staying loyal!"
Archenomen said, despondently. "It's the bodyguards, the Swords of the Association, and some of the consta- bles who are trying to take control. The Royal Guard are the only ones standing between Jehan and my throne!"
Were, Naitachal thought dryly. Now that Jehan's troops have you, Archenomen, there is nothing stand- ing between Jehan and the throne. But you don't seem to have figured that out yet. "Have they taken prison- ers?" Naitachal asked. "We seem to be the only ones in here."