7
There had been a blue light, then a smile, then a blow across the back of his head, harder than he ever imagined possible, hard enough to drive his mind past pain, directly into numbness. Claws. There had been claws, ripping into his scalp, a golden light burning through him, door after door opening inside his mind, the images gaining speed, rushing along until he could no longer make any sense of them, until they swirled into a whirlpool that sucked him into darkness.
Fever dreams, nothing more. They had faded into the stillness of sleep, and now that too was seeping away.
Wilt kept his eyes closed and his ears open. He was lying on his back, in a sling of some sort judging by the swaying movement that rocked him back and forth. Dark shadows flickered past him, guards he guessed, pat
