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. The
half-elf's words made sense to him, but he wondered
exactly when that better moment might come. Escape
seemed impossible. The arena was well protected;
archers and sentries were everywhere.
An indrawn breath from the half-elf made Tremaine
shift his gaze. "What is it?"
"The senior inquisitor is up in the stands with the arena
masters!" his companion muttered. "Pray he is not here
concerning us! If so, we go from having little chance to
NONE!"
Following the direction of the other prisoner's eyes, the
knight focused on a man who had been watching the duel
between Nelk and Sylverlin from the stands.
Brother Gurim!
Arryl Tremaine tripped and nearly fell. He stared and
stared at the rat-eyed priest. Arryl was certain now. He had
stepped into a nightmare whose master was the gloved
cleric.
Was this TRULY what Istar had become?
*****
Sylverlin marched Arryl out into the arena after the
meal and handed the knight a sword. Arryl dropped it at
the man's feet. Sylverlin told him to pick it up. Arryl told
him the same thing he had told the elf earlier: "I will not
fight." The knight fully expected to be beaten or tortured.
Sylverlin clenched his fist, seeming to enjoy the idea
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