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Wilt felt the world form around him as he floated back up into the present, away from the seething confusion of the past. He kept his eyes closed, the universe an empty slate, waiting to be filled. First came a sound, a drip, a metronomic beat. Then a distant cry for help, the voice far away, muffled by walls of solid rock, the words garbled but the meaning painfully clear. Then a much closer sound, a clink of iron chains and a shuffling, heavy step.
The guards.
Wilt opened his eyes and sat up. In the dim light of the cell he could just make out the far wall, water dripping steadily down from an open shackle hanging from it. The weight on his wrists told him similar shackles bound his hands. He hefted them up in front of his face to study them in the gloom. They seemed heavy, far too
