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out of my face!" He lifted his eyes. A quick smile shot across his mouth.
    Thom Loure grinned. "Make me."
    Roget grabbed his best friend's brother in a bear hug. "You son-of-a-bitch! How the hell did you manage to get yourself put in here?"
    "Lack of mental function," Storm Jale quipped as he came up to them.
    "I can understand that," du Mer said and chuckled. He held out his hand to Storm. "You're an ex-Elite, right? You're needed here, my friend. We have someone who…"
    " Roget!"
    Du Mer saw a guard hurrying toward him. From the look on the man's face, something was wrong. "What's happened?"
    "They've put the bars across the outside entrance to shaft one." The man was nearly out of breath. "The bastards have locked us in!"
    Roget stilled while his mind worked. He looked toward Jah-Ma-El. The thin man had stopped work and was listening. Roget turned back at the guard. "Do you know why?"
    "No, but I do know they brought out the Necroman and lashed him to the whipping post about twenty minutes ago."
    "Appolyon is in here, in shaft five. Who's in charge out there?"
    "Lydon Drake."
    Roget's knees felt weak."Shit!" He started down the tunnel that led further into mineshaft number five.
    Storm and Thom looked to the guard for an explanation.
    "Lydon Drake hates the Traitor," the guard snapped. "It was him who sent Drake here. He'll hurt that boy for sure!"
    "You think he went to the medical hut?" Jah-Ma-El yelped, his face going pale as a sheet.
    "Don't know," he answered, but his eyes, as worried as Jah-Ma-El's, gave lie to his words.
    "I've got to get to him!" the sorcerer shouted, throwing down his pick ax.
    Storm and Thom knew and hated Jah-Ma-El. They had ignored him all morning and now wondered at the emotions crossing his face.
    "Has this got something to do with the commotion we heard last night?" Storm asked. He and Thom had been locked inside the Indoctrination Hut and had been unable to see.
    "It's got everything in the world to do with it!" the guard replied.
    Thom turned as heavy footsteps and shouted obscenities came blasting from farther back in the tunnels. Roget and the fat man hurried past, several guards behind them. Jah-Ma-El followed the last guard. Thom shrugged. "Might as well go see what's happening."
    It took the men ten minutes to wind their way to the mine's main entrance. Straining bodies blocked their way, a wall of sweaty backs and raised fists. A cacophony of angry shouts and whistles—fury and sound—greeted them.
    "What's going on?" Thom yelled above the noise. He could hear the beating of iron to iron as the men in front pounded on the bars blocking the entrance.
    "They're beating them," one of the inmates answered.
    "Who?"
    "The Traitor and the darkie."

Chapter 3
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Lydon Drake nearly killed Conar and the Necroman.
    The savage beating left them each hovering over that fine line separating the living from the dead. Conar, already so ill, suffered the most. His back, scarred from so many past beatings, looked like raw meat by the time Lydon was stopped. Blood streamed down his breeches, was washed away by stinging rain. He was unconscious long before Lydon finished, had been from the first searing stroke of the lash that caught him low around his waist where little scar tissue had formed. He hung loosely from the uprights to which he had been strapped, his head sagging between his close-bound arms, his body swinging as driving rain battered it, his hair dripping wet over his fevered forehead.
    Not having fared much better, Shalu didn't lose consciousness until after the thirtieth blow. He made no sound as the flesh was ripped from his body and knew Conar had felt nothing at all from the first. For that, Shalu was grateful.
    Shalu had heard the shouts from the mine, craned his neck to see the entire entrance jammed with bodies, could see fists stuck through the bars as the men shouted at Lydon and the handful of guards he had assembled to help him.
    "Drake!" Appolyon screamed. "Unlock these