“Everything is unfolding . . .” Alder’s voice was calm and practically emotionless. Like it always was.
“What?” The first thug turned to face him, “Shut your Mouth!”
The Grand Cleric Dashu turned his head to look at the two, “Oh?” He stood up, a motion that was slow, but in a steady way, not an elderly or weak way.
“The war, your kidnappings . . . . it’s all unfolding and you’re going to lose,” A small smile touched Alder’s lips as he emphasized “lose”. It was the first emotion he had shown in days.
The thug loomed over him like a statue made of solid granite, with one bulky arm raised, “I said shudd’ up!” He brought his fist down on the cleric’s head and a stomach churning thump broke out in the small room. He had used enough force to send him on his back, had he not pounded Alder’s skull at a completely downward angle.
The healer was slumped forward, facing the make-shift floor. If his head hadn’t been pounding with the possibility of a concussion, he probably would have thought something along the lines of, “They did not do too shabby, making a cave like this into a place to live . . . they even coated the ground with soft, dark earth.” But he couldn’t think of much as his vision went in and out of focus. His ragged bangs, now unkempt and gown out, covered most of his face.
Dashu stepped closer, in more of an urgent manner, his face stern.
“He’s a cleric . . . he has an extremely high pain tolerance,” He said smoothly, “Just like me . . . He can resist almost any spiritual attack . . . his soul energy is completely safe from me,” As the man spoke, he got closer still. There was a dramatic hint in his tone as if he was building up for something huge.
“Some might say that clerics are completely free of pain, protected from hurt,” A long almost skeletal hand reached out from his thick black robe; slender fingers gripping a large chunk of filthy chestnut hair.
“But that isn’t true!” Dashu yanked his hand back and forth, the chair his heir was sitting in shook to and fro, threatening to fall over. Scarlet droplets scattered the dirt floor as Alder’s head was lurched back and forth.
“Clerics are not warriors. They can heal and cast spiritual magic; there is no reason for them to endure any form of physical pain. His pain tolerance is high . . . for the moment. It’s meant that he can grit his teeth, taking a couple blows before he quickly finishes his enemy. When stripped of his armor and weapon, physical pain is a cleric’s worst nightmare.”
“What’s your point?” Alder’s voice was just as smooth as the Grand Cleric’s.
“My point,” Grand Cleric Dashu gave another, painful looking yank to Alder’s hair, “Is that you are in one of the worst situations possible and you really aren’t in the place to be spouting garbage,”
Alder smirked, looking up at the Grand Cleric’s face as best he could, “Everything is unraveling and I’ll tell you why. Your first mistake was kidnapping the prince four months ago,”
Dashu’s dark brows furrowed, “What?”
