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gates!"
    Lydon ignored the Commandant's orders and drew back the whip to hit McGregor again.
    "If you kill him, Lydon," one of his men said, "who'll you play with next time?" His grin was evil. "Why don't you just leave him there?"
    Lydon looked at McGregor's bloody body and then back to the men jerking on the gate.
    "They'll have to stay in there all night and see him hanging here in the rain."
    "I want McGregor in pain!" Lydon bellowed.
    "He don't feel nothing!" one of his other men scoffed.
    Lydon grabbed a handful of wet blond hair and dragged back his captive's head. "Dammit!"
    "Leave him until morning. When he wakes up, go at him again!"
    Lydon grinned.
    They left the two prisoners hanging from the uprights. The rain slacked off, but the flashing lightning and rolling thunder shot in ever-increasing volume over the compound. It reverberated through the mineshafts and shook the walls. The men inside worked feverishly to unlock the heavy iron wrought bars.
    "He could be dead," Appolyon grieved, staring at Conar's still form. He turned his pig-like eyes to du Mer.
    "If he is," Roget snarled, "you're dead, too!"
    "Aye, Tohre will see to that!" Jah-Ma-El agreed.
    Thom and Storm pushed their way through the heavy cordon of men and were near the front of the crowd when the first shriek of iron pulled free from its barrier and the gate moved a little.
    "At this rate it'll take us the whole damn night to get out!" a guard shouted.
    * * *
    Shalu awoke, blinking against the pounding rain streaming down his face. He looked to the man hanging beside him. "McGregor?" There was no answer from the limp form.
    "Shalu? "Is he alive?"
    The Necroman recognized du Mer's cultured voice coming from the mine. He looked at Conar, and could barely see the rise and fall of the young man's belly. "Aye! He's breathing!"
    A worried frown formed over Shalu's sable features. When a man's arms were tied above his head for any period of time, his chest was constricted and his breathing was hindered. It was not uncommon for a man tied in such a fashion to suffocate. He kept his gaze on the steady rise and fall of Conar's chest and began to hope it wouldn't take the men long to free themselves from the mine. But he knew hoping wouldn't help; he had to do more.
    In the litany of his native tongue, in timeless runes handed down from father to son from time immemorial, Shalu began to pray.
    To chant.
    To beg and plead and cajole.
    To bargain.
    To threaten the old gods of his darkworld homeland.
    Long into what seemed like a never-ending eternity, alien words flowed from his mouth in an unceasing rhythm, for he was not by nature a man who prayed. But his entreaties were not for himself; they were for the man beside him. His worry for the boy, for anyone outside his own family, was unusual for him. For a white man, exceedingly unique.
    "McGregor?" he called again.
    His worry turned to genuine fear as the rain-drenched night drew on and Conar remained unconscious. There was not even a flicker of an eyelid; not even a sound.
    Shalu moved his head toward the mine. He could see Jah-Ma-El's anxious face peering at him through the rain. He shook his head in mute answer to the man's terrified look. Another face caught his attention and he looked that way. The face was as familiar to him as his own. He had smashed that beak of a nose once, long ago. Had smashed it just yesterday. A grim smile of satisfaction lit the dark features as he saw the tall, rubber-faced man grimace at him.
    "Troll," Shalu mumbled, sniffing, for he was beginning to feel the cold settling in his bones. If he didn't catch a fever it would be a wonder.
    * * *
    Thom eyed the Necroman through the pelting rain and hated him more than ever. He put a hand up to his aching nose. "He doesn't appear to be hurt all that much," Thom mumbled.
    "Too bad," Storm hissed, remembering the trouble the Necroman had given them a long time ago and then again yestermorning. He rubbed his jaw where a mighty black fist