He didn’t cut the rope off Gregory’s hands, though, keeping him bound, and there was still about six feet of slack dragging from his wrists to the ground, but he wasn’t about to complain.  The man patted himself on the chest.

He started moving that direction, crouched, and reached for the arrow.  He almost had it, only inches away, and then his hands stopped moving.  He was at the end of his rope.

When he first heard the sound, he passed it off as wind rustling through the trees. It was like a soft whooshing in the air above him, and he only asserted importance to it when he heard cries from off the right side of camp.

Something big was planned, he knew.  Was it true that the Duke was a heretic?  The city held two churches, large structures dedicated to the God Annis. The true God, the one that the priests spoke of.

The captain spoke again: “If it is any consolation, the wound to your stomach missed all of your vital organs and did minor damage. You should recover fully within a few days,” the captain said. “You should be fully healed by the time of your execution.”

Gregory awoke tied down on a wooden surface, unable to move. Waves of agony rippled through his body, and it felt as though someone had jammed a hot poker into his stomach. His memory started flooding back, and he realized how close to the truth that was.

They went outside, where he saw two soldiers waiting, and then on down the street. His legs felt like rubber, and it was all he could do to stay calm.

Marcus pushed himself to his feet, his heart still racing from the near-death experience. The blaring alarm and flickering lights only added to his sense of disorientation. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and focus on the task at hand: finding a way out of this nightmare.

Jonah waited outside the dining hall, debating internally whether his friend would be better suited discussing the situation out loud or being left to himself.  Quinn was inside, seated at one of the tables and lost in his thoughts.