In the dark caves of the Elder Mines, Rild held the hapless Atheed in a trap.
Ropes bound Atheed’s hands and feet. His head was wedged tightly between two stones. His torso was surrounded by spears.
“So,” Rild said, “we begin. Tell me, what tastes much better than it smells?”
Atheed, distracted by the tight ropes and decreasing circulation, tried to think. “Umm…” he said. “Let’s see…tastes…smells…oh! A tongue.”
“Hmm, well done little one. Hmm. Walk on the living, they don’t even mumble. Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble. What are they?”
Atheed’s head was squeezed, in pain. Still, he took a deep breath and thought. The pounding in his temples pushed against the rocks. The answer came to him in a flash, and he said, “Leaves!”
Rild nodded. “You got it again. Very well, something trickier. Tell me, what is light as a feather, but becomes more difficult the longer you hold it?”
Atheed was quiet a moment. As he thought, his chest relaxed, moving forward only to have the spears poke him. He jumped back, and was poked from behind. He stopped himself, the points still lingering in his flesh. He let out a sigh, and perked up. “A breath!”
“Hm. Say my name, and I am no – ”
“Gah! That’s it.” Rild tightened the spears around Atheed.
“Hey! You said you would let me go if I got your riddles right!”
“Boy, I have tied you up in a terrible trap to ask you riddles. Why would you think I would keep my word?” With that, Rild jabbed the spears into Atheed and left him to die.