Gavsot and his soldier had teleported me and Gus to a room I was not familiar with, but I assumed it must be somewhere deep in the Department of Enforcement. It was small and seemed to have been crudely assembled with mortar and large, oddly shaped slabs of gray stone. The room was featureless and austere.
In the center, a pair of ugly pit guards were busily tangling the still-unconscious Azraal in a complicated set of shackles. When they'd finished, their prisoner would have had the freedom to move in a circle about two feet in diameter--had he been awake. Instead, he lay limply crumpled in a loose bundle of chains.
"So...you just chain him up in here and he'll stay put?" I said. I felt stupid saying it, but I wanted to understand how my enemy was going to remain powerless and confined safely to this small room.
Gavsot nodded. "Yes."
"Did you already perform that spell you were talking about?" I asked.
Gavsot shook his head. "Not yet."
"Then when will you--" The rest of my question was drowned out by Azraal's waking scream of rage. He was writhing against his restraints and the thick chains--unbelievably--were already beginning to bend.
General Gavsot reacted quickly. He grabbed a long spear that was standing by the door, dipped it in a bucket of a red, frothy liquid, and swiftly drove the spear into Azraal's belly. Azraal's scream of rage became a cry of anguish, and he slowly relaxed, hanging his head in dejection. "Limiting spell," he muttered bitterly. "You fuckers."