“You lied to us!” The angel hanging from his chained hands had broken, silver wings. His nose had been smashed and he was bare to the waist. His legs, too, were the wrong shape for sound limbs. He was gasping his words to an older angel who wore a robe and whose white wings were banded with orange. “You said we served the gods!” The vard holding the chains that suspended the silver winged speaker from the hook in the ceiling gave a jerk on the chains so his prisoner’s body bounced like a dangled toy.
“I took you into service in a Choir, Eledial. Into the Choir that serves the Masters who took me in when the gods rejected me. They gave you shelter too, and you thank them with disloyalty?”
“They are not who you told me they were when you recruited me.” Eledial was still defiant. “They do not seek to preserve the world. You preyed on my desire to serve.”
“And serve you have and serve you will,” the robed angel sneered at him. He laughed at the prisoner’s expression, “Oh, Eledial, don’t think your service is over yet. Not by a long shot.” He strode up to the beaten angel and whispered in his ear, “You’ll make such wonderful bait and when our Masters triumph, I will kill the gods’ Choirmasters myself before everything is unmade to have never been and my revenge will be complete.” He stepped away again and added to the vard, “He’s yours now, Visht. I wish you good hunting.”
With that he left the cell and left Eledial to the vard.