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Keshik repeated his dofain and started planning.
    Time passed as the blacksmith pounded the metal into a cage. Keshik started to feel faint with hunger and thirst. It had been a long time since he had tasted either.
    â€˜Water?’ he croaked.
    â€˜I don’t think so,’ the blacksmith said. He put down his hammer and turned to face Keshik. ‘The better shape you are in before I hang you in this,’ he gestured at the cage taking shape, ‘the longer you live out there. And I don’t think you want to live long out there.’
    â€˜Water,’ Keshik repeated.
    â€˜You think you have a chance of escape, don’t you?’
    Keshik held the blacksmith’s gaze.
    â€˜Idiot. No one escapes from the Arch of the Shamed. No one.’ He did, however, fill a mug of water and allow Keshik to drink. ‘Idiot,’ he muttered darkly as Keshik finished the mug. ‘You will regret this later. You’ve just bought yourself another day’s suffering out there.’
    More time passed. Another mug of water and the cage was finished. It was a simple cylinder, narrow at the base, widening, coffin-like, at the shoulders and narrowing again. There were only six lengths of steel, but the gaps between them were narrow enough to ensure Keshik could not possibly squeeze out. The base was a round sheet of steel and there was no top plate.
    â€˜Right, let’s get you in here,’ the blacksmith said. He lifted the solid cage with one hand and carried it across the room. Keshik tensed as the smith approached. This was the only opportunity he would get.
    The big blacksmith stopped short. He put down the cage and scratched at his stubbled cheek.
    â€˜You are a dangerous man,’ he mused. ‘And I am guessing that you are planning something.’ He stepped back and stared, as if pondering Keshik’s possible actions. Finally he shook his head and sighed. ‘Too dangerous, I think.’
    He turned away again and walked to the opposite side of the room, returning with a small black metal pot.
    â€˜Sorry about this, but I fear you are planning something that does not bode well for me,’ he said, placing the pot at Keshik’s feet. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand, flicked off the lid and stepped back quickly. Almost immediately, Keshik felt dizzy as pungent fumes wafted upwards. He tried to move out of the way, throwing himself from side to side, but the chains gave him only limited movement. He held his breath, but the gas stung his eyes and made him gasp with pain, drawing in more of the pernicious stuff. The room spun before his streaming eyes, dizziness swept over him and darkness stole in.
    He was dimly aware of the manacles being removed, but his mind and body felt disconnected. His wrists, rubbed bloody by the harsh metal, lay limp as he regarded them with blurry vision. He slumped to the ground when he was released, onlyto be picked up by a powerful arm and shoved unceremoniously into the cage. When it was heaved upright, he slid down until his knees pressed hard against the bars. The pain sparked a flickering response, but not enough to overcome the dulling effect of the gas. Keshik looked up, bemused, to watch the blacksmith working on the bars, doing something to them until they nearly closed over his head.
    A part of his mind that still worked tried to tell him something, to warn him, but it was muffled, dimmed by the narcotic. Keshik smiled up at the blacksmith.
    â€˜What’s your name?’ he slurred, but the big man was rude and ignored him.
    No matter, we can talk later. When I wake up.

8
    By the end of the next day, Slave was delirious with hunger, thirst and pain. He had somehow struggled against the wind and the cold, forcing his battered body on, unaware any more of direction or reason, only the need to keep moving, to work against the memories, to maintain the exhaustion so that he could not think. He could not afford to think, to