Raðenn opened his eyes.  He could see nothing; blackness still surrounded him.  He tried to sit up, but groaned as his stiff body grated against a rough surface below him.  He groped around and felt cold stone, damp and slimy.  Carefully he rolled onto his side, peering into the darkness in the hope of distinguishing something, but his eyes might as well have been closed.  Levering himself up onto one elbow, he struggled to remember where he was.  Then, as he tried to turn onto his hands and knees preparatory to standing, his hand struck something soft.  He felt carefully over this object, and as he did so it stirred and groaned.  Raðenn’s memory cleared suddenly.  The priest!  The temple – we are in the dungeons!  He moved his hand more carefully until he came to Mal-Den’s face, and was able to slide the hand gently along the priest’s arm, finally giving his hand a gentle squeeze.



‘Lord priest.  Mal-Den.  Can you hear me?’  There was no reply.