The world has changed for the Wtorak. For him there were no more mountains, no dry forests, or ashen plains, there was no firmament swirling formidable clouds. All that the world now turned out to be for him was nearby, at arm's length: cold, damp walls, floor and metal door. Several holes in which it was difficult to stick a fist, apparently, served as ventilation, so that the prisoner did not suffocate ahead of time. His round chamber carved into the rock was now all that represented his life. Dwarfs fed him twice a day with incomprehensible, tasteless stews and never spoke to him and even among themselves. He did not even know if the underground people could speak. In fairness, there were pluses at this situation. At least for the first time in his life, water was in abundance. A small stream flowed directly down the chamber wall and went through holes in the floor further into the rock. He used to lie all day under her stream, enjoying a kind of water massage. Vtorak thought that the water could once have hollowed out a large tunnel in the rock, however, it would have taken her several decades, so such hopes didn't look like a good escape plan.
The openings that served as air ducts also missed faint rays of light into the gloom of the chamber. Obviously, they led to the surface, because at night even they did not give any illumination, plunging the dungeon into impenetrable darkness. Blinking in the night, the mercenary felt blind because he did not notice any changes from opening and closing his eyes. He finally lost track of time. How much did he stay locked up? Week or month? Maybe even a year? No, hardly a year. He would have noticed snow falling through the air holes. Although... maybe this has already... happened?
He suddenly distinctly remembered how wonderful it was to watch the light, airy dance of white patterned snowflakes, smoothly, in a stream of dim light, descending on the stone floor of the cell. He remembered how he was laid on top of a bunch of straw, where he arranged himself in the evenings for sleeping, some kind of worn skin. Wrapping himself in the skin, he felt that his sleep was much warmer. Were it real memories? Maybe he invented all this while sitting as he was now, in front of the door and waiting for dinner? All this could be dreamed of by a prisoner. Recently, the forests and villages, bloody battles and charming beauties have ceased to appear in his dreams, recently his dream was only about the camera, because now only she was his world.
But for what? For what?! For what! Why was he thrown here without saying a word?! Why are they still silent?! It was necessary to prepeare weapons in the water. Not to approach them, not to greet and not bow, it was necessary to chop everyone into pieces and run, run, with all my might, where my eyes looked! Maybe I should have even jumped back into the lake, but certainly not to go towards my jailers! How often Vtorak imagined in all details an incredible set of other outcomes of that meeting, if only he knew then how it could end. These were only sweet dreams, however, ending always the same way, namely returning to harsh reality, where he could not do anything but sit and dream about the past.
More than once Vtorak tried to escape. It was impossible to open the iron door with bare hands from the inside, it was impossible to escape, passing the guards bringing food - the soldiers were too strong. The prisoner screamed... very loudly and often... for a while. A few days. However, he later abandoned this. In the mountains, which travelers are avoiding, no one would have heard him, and the Dwarf Gods ignored this behavior. Vtorak seemed, that even the dwarves did not hear him. He was alone. Completely alone. And no one heard him. Nobody.
The only reason he could be caught was the assassination of Polyphemus. The mercenary now with horror recalled the striking outward similarity of the giant and representatives of the dwarf people. He was ashamed of the battle, in which he irreparably injured their brave guard and threw him into the gorge. I wonder if there was then a chance to run unnoticed past Polyphemus and, dodging all his stones, jump into the lake? What if he would acted different then? Perhaps the dwarves would not consider him an enemy now? Surely there was such an opportunity, but, unfortunately, a sword hung on a belt of as a heavy burden. Its very form, the coldness of its hilt and its sparkling blade called for violence. It was created to destroy, kill and injure. And he subjugated the will of the master with his own weight. Only sensation of his presence was enought. The weapon on the belt always reassures the person. Always. Too many issues Wtorak was ready to solve with weapons. He remembered the dead peasants. He remembered the unfortunate Mara. He remembered Uttama and her fellow villagers, whose houses were burned through the fault of weapons in the hands of Vtorak. These errors could no longer be fixed. He had no idea how much regret those very fatal moments would cause when his thought from a dubious, fluid throwing turned into a rock-hard decision. How many options for action were opening for him now that the choice had long been made. How much he could think about now that he had lost everything. Now there was nothing to worry about. At first, he hoped that sooner or later Varaha would understand that people in the villages had not seen his old student for a long time and he would decide to find him himself, but... Vtorak soon realized that these aspirations were in vain. Varaha would never go against the will of these little immortals. And even if he had done it, would one man have managed to get here, making his way only with his sword in his hands? The lake still would not let the old warrior went through. He was talking about it. Why did lake let the Vtorak went through? Why did the dwarfs meet him on the shore? Was Polyphemus so important to this immortal people? Why did he just kill the giant... why...
The door snapped. A three-eyed dwarf with a torch entered and stared at the prisoner. Fire illuminated the creature's face. Who could call his race as race of gods? A bald, pale head, no mustache, no eyebrows, no beard. Black, like bottomless pits, eyes. Vtorak could not make out whether there was an iris and a pupil greatly dilated from constant darkness, or whether the whole eye was arranged somehow completely differently. The massive jaw and skull only remotely resembled human ones. The eyebrows diagonally converged on the bridge of the nose, separating the three eye sockets. Puffy earlobes almost reached the shoulders due to the short neck wrapped in warm fabrics. The cheekbones stood out strongly forward. On the hands of the dwarf wore gloves. Vtorak did not make out the rest of the clothes.
- They will execute you in three days, - the dwarf said.
- For what? Why am I being executed? - General weakness did not allow the captive to speak loudly, however, the dwarf heard him and nodded.
- Three days, - he answered, went out and locked the door behind him, leaving a bowl of tasteless stew on the floor.
Vtorak picked up a plate and began to eat. "They probably make it from mushrooms," he thought, "because more than anything underground, most likely, nothing grows... How strange... it gets tastier with time..." The chowder became tastier as Vtorok became aware of the horror of what the dwarf said a few moments ago. He will be executed. This nightmare will be finally over. Or should he be afraid? But why? Death must be painful. Although, after so many days of silence, darkness and loneliness, even the pain seemed desirable because of the brightness of sensations that she promised. Vtorak almost came to terms with the fact that he would remain inside this rocky chamber for the rest of his life, but fate decreed otherwise.
How could he, the "Chosen One of the Light", end his life like this? Why did the light save him from death many years ago? It saved him only so that he could die in these dungeons? Dwarfs are physically stronger than humans. Vtorak was convinced of this by trying to escape the very next day after he was caught. He has no hope of defending his life in battle with them. He has no weapons. Death cannot be avoided. What then to do? He wanted to do so much more. Why did Varaha and Uttama consider him dangerous? Why did Koschey let him through his kingdom? Really, did the Vtorak ruin everything by killing Polyphemus? Was it really an easy test that he so shamefully failed? Was he really supposed to prove himself a peacemaker and maked agreement with a giant? However, he only once again proved his bloodthirstiness and cruelty. But what if Uttama and Varaha somehow knew what would happen and decided to get rid of him by the hands of dwarfs?..
The empty plate was on the floor, and Vtorak felt a pleasant warmth in his stomach. What a small thing could please him now that, in addition to everything that he had already lost with his freedom, he found out that he would soon lose his life too.
The prisoner lay down on a shabby warm skin and extended his legs. Soft relaxation spilled over his body, and the man suddenly laughed out loud. There is nothing more to lose. Remained a few hours. The time during which he could still enjoy this world to the fullest, even remaining in the dank stone crypt. The dim light falling in direct rays from the openings in the ceiling now seemed like streams of divine grace. Shining specks of dust circled in the rays of light like magic fairies. For the first time, Vtorak felt that with every glint of light on the wet stones of the floor, the world smiled at him, sincerely and disinterestedly bestowing its love. So time has passed.
"I will not sleep," thought Vtorak on the eve of the execution, "This is my last hours. Whatever it is, I want to enjoy this time to the full. " For all the time spent in the cell, he did not find any interesting activities, except for reflection. His mind was now opening for him a slightly embellished world, which had remained somewhere out there, free. Vtorak suddenly thought that he would really like to see the sun before death! What is it like? Is it really so bright and round, as in the reflection of the lake? It is a pity that clouds always cover the real sun. Maybe if it shone brightly, people would not cause each other so much evil and just admire its radiance? Perhaps envy and excessive pride, anger, greed and other gloomy emotions would dissolve in its rays, and restless souls could finally leave this ashen world. "I will not sleep." Vtorak decided to live this night with feelings. He reveled in the sensations with which he will soon to parted forever. Spiky hay, soft warm skin, damp cold wall, uneven, not perfect, but already so dear. The smell of dampness and water. The murmur of a stream along the wall. The creak of the iron door. Callosity fingers. The darkness of the corridor. "How much time did they build this underground city?" Staircase. Torches on the streets. "It is much brighter here than in prison." Stone floor slabs. There, between the houses in the distance! Something flashed! Need to resist! Deter dwarfs at all costs, but see it again! This is the Sun. A little, golden sun. He managed to see him. Through a small niche between tall, stone-carved houses, very far away, in the reflection of the lake, he almost missed the moment, but still he saw... he saw...
One of the Dwarf Gods sat on a high marble throne. Vtorak did not distinguish among themselves dwarfs. They had neither beards nor hairstyles by which they could be recognized, and their facial features seemed the same to him, because he was not yet accustomed to them. The dwarf rose and extended his arms to pass judgment. Vtorak was no longer afraid or opposed. He did everything he wanted and was now ready to accept his demise.
- You, - the dwarf pointed with his finger at the captive, - Vtorak from the Ashen valley, the creature of Doom, the Peasants killer and the Fire of the villages. You came to us to find your place. Did you find it among us?
- No, - Vtorak puzzled a similar question. The only place he found among the dwarfs was the prison.
- Because there is no place for you here, - the dwarf continued, -
Immortals live here. But do you know now where is your place?
- On the way to the sun, - unexpectedly for himself said the captive. He now clearly understood what he would devote his life to, if they give him a chance. Now it seemed that the dwarf was holding Vtorak life between his fingers as a coin, rolls it back and forth, not yet making a final decision on what to do with it. He looked, he is asked the price, but did not make a choice. He will throw prisoner life into the abyss, leave it for himself or give it to Vtorak - everything now depended on his will. Vtorak could only think of one thing. If they let him go, he will do everything possible to see the sun only once in a cloudless sky. To just plunge into its soft warmth.
- You're right, - the dwarf nodded. - Everyone who goes to the sun gradually becomes the same as sun. From now on, share with people the light that you will gain, just as the sun shares light with people. Today you will not be killed by us. But you will not leave here. You will have to pass the test. Based on its results, we will decide whether you are worthy of our protection. Take Vtorak to the arena!