On the fifth day, the chained man was stronger, somehow revived. He seemed to be waiting for Caramon and motioned him to come closer. The twin looked over his shoulder at the minotaur guard, who waited far down the corridor, seated on the floor with his back to the wall. The minotaur was growing careless. After all, Caramon was unarmed and had no prayer of escape.

"It is being arranged," whispered the broken man, summoning all his strength.

"What?" asked Caramon, puzzled. He made a great show of slowly ladling out the meat and water in case the minotaur guard was watching. The warrior edged closer, so that his face protruded through the bars. "How do you know about me and Sturm? And what is being arranged?"

"I have spoken to my brothers. We can get you out."

Caramon's heart beat rapidly. "Why me? Why not you?"

"I am trapped," the broken man said pathetically. "My cage is never unlocked, except for interrogations and beatings-and occasional feedings." He nodded toward the trough. "But my people know about you and your friend. I was told of your coming. They will help you."

"Why me?" repeated Caramon.

"Because you are not a minotaur," the broken man said. "Because you were sent. But most importantly"-he managed a weak smile-"because it can be done."

Daring another glance over his shoulder, Caramon saw that the minotaur guard's chin had dropped down on his chest. He was nodding off. That gave Caramon precious extra moments. "How do you communicate with your people?" asked the twin. He had to be suspicious, yet admittedly he was drawn to this courageous prisoner.

Painfully the broken man brought a hand up as far as it would go against the straps holding him, pointing to his head. "Telepathy."

Caramon looked up. "Telepathy?" he repeated dubiously.

The broken man nodded. In spite of himself, Caramon wanted to believe him.

"What about my friend? What about Sturm?"

There was a long moment of silence. "You will have to leave him behind," the broken man said grimly.

"I can't do that!"

"You will have to leave him."

"When?"

'Tomorrow."

A scuffling behind him told Caramon that the guard had scrambled to his feet and was coming this way.

"Hey!" came the by now familiar growl. "What are you two talking about?"

Caramon grabbed the buckets and whirled around, coming face-to-face with the minotaur. The Majere twin caught a breath. "Just like all the others," he said with what he hoped was an edge of annoyance. "He's complaining about the food."

The minotaur guard looked at Caramon suspiciously, then raked the broken man with a glance. Satisfied, he gave Caramon a shove down the hall. The warrior stumbled, then regained his footing, and continued along the corridor without a backward glance. He could hear the minotaur guard shuffling after him.

"So he don't like the food, don't he?" the minotaur guard grunted. "Well, we only lets him eat as a reward, and something tells me he's gonna be all tied up today!"

Later that night, Sturm and Caramon talked over what had happened. Neither of them understood it, nor did either think it was possible to escape.

"Anyway," said Caramon stubbornly, "I wouldn't go without you."

"You have no choice," Sturm replied solemnly. "We have no choice. If one of us is free, the other has hope. I would go if it were me."

"Would you?" asked Caramon skeptically.

"Yes," lied Sturm.

Caramon thought long and hard. "If by some means I do escape, I vow to return and get you out."

Sturm clasped his friend's hand warmly.

The next day, as usual, the minotaur guards came to let Caramon out at mealtime. The Majere twin hoisted the two heavy buckets of meat and water and began his regular tour, traveling up and down the dank corridors of the prison cell block. He was careful to follow his customary routine so that the minotaur guard, who watched over him halfheartedly from a dozen yards behind, wouldn't grow suspicious. Caramon had no idea what to expect, but he was determined to stay alert to every possibility.

After Caramon had been carrying the food and water to prisoners for over two hours, the guard began to lag farther behind, confident that his charge was performing his duties adequately.

By the time Caramon came to the far end of the corridor where the broken man was sequestered, the minotaur guard had dropped well behind. He squatted on the floor, idly stabbing at some vermin that darted across his path.

Caramon felt his stomach turn when he saw that the broken man had been beaten and tortured anew. His wounds were streaming with blood. It seemed as though his back had been shredded open. His face was covered with black and purple bruises.

The warrior dropped the two buckets, spilling the contents, and rushed forward, pressing his face through the bars.

The chained man raised his chin ever so slightly, but his eyes were puffed shut. His head twisted in Caramon's direction.

Down the corridor, the minotaur guard, seemingly oblivious, stabbed at another creature on the floor.

"What-" began Caramon in a shrill whisper that he had to suppress before it turned into an angry scream.

"Business as usual, my friend," gasped the broken man, his voice cracked and weak.

"Why do they torture you so?"

"I am not one of them. That is enough."

Caramon lowered his head, filled with pity and shame. In doing so, for the first time he caught a glimpse of the man's feet. His long legs tapered into birdlike claws. The Majere twin opened his mouth in astonishment.

"There is no time for further explanations," gasped the broken man. "Hurry! Set those buckets on top of one another to the right of the door. No… there! Steady. Keep them balanced. Now climb on top!"

Caramon looked dubious.

"Hurry!"

Without having any idea why, Caramon did as he was told. He began to mount the stacked buckets. A glance over his shoulder told him that the guard was still distracted by his little game of stab the vermin.

"What about you?" Caramon asked, hesitating.

"If I am lucky, I will be permitted to die."

Then Caramon heard a rough sliding of stone. He looked up and saw a massive brick being shifted out of place in the ceiling over his head.

"Stretch your hands up!"

As he did so, Caramon caught a last glimpse of his savior. The broken man's face glowed with momentary triumph before his chin dropped to his chest.

Rough, strong hands pulled Caramon up.

The massive brick slowly slid back in place.

Caramon could see nothing but darkness and a dim, moving shape. He was prodded into a low, flat tunnel. The burly Majere twin had to half crawl, half crouch as he tried to scurry along. Whoever-whatever-was ahead of him turned every dozen yards or so and shrieked at him in an inhuman language. It was a high-pitched, barking noise that had the effect of urging him forward even if Caramon had no idea what it meant.

The person or thing scuttling with ease along the low tunnel stayed so far ahead of him that Caramon couldn't distinguish any of its features.

Rocks scraped Caramon's head and back. Roots and cobwebs brushed across his face. His joints hurt from the bending.

"Hey!" Caramon whispered. "Who are you? Where are we going?"

The shape up ahead stopped for a moment, turned, and shrieked something at Caramon, then kept going, seeming to pick up speed. It was all Caramon could do to keep the shape in sight as it lurched and twisted ahead of him in the dim tunnel.