He was disoriented in time and space. His entire world had been reduced to the
effort of repeating the simple exercise.
“Where’s that will you bragged about,” the torturer taunted. “More! Bend those
knees completely. Move!”
* * *
He was growing used to the taste of Vertan’s vile potion. It still disgusted
him, but the repeated doses had made the nausea familiar and therefore
acceptable.
“Today you stand,” the wizard announced without fanfare. ‘
Jubal hesitated, a piece of roast goat-meat halfway to his lips. As promised he
was now eating five meals for every one the Lizerene ate. “Am I ready?”
“No,” Vertan admitted. “But there’s more involved here than your knees.. Your
muscles, “especially -yow-leg muscles, must be worked if you are to keep any
strength in them. Waving your feet in the air isn’t enough for your legs; they
must bear weight again-and the sooner the better.”
“Very well,” the slaver agreed, finishing the last of the meat and wiping his
hands on his sleeves. “Let’s do it now-before I’ve got to relieve myself again.”
That function, too, had increased five-fold.
Seizing the wall with one hand, Jubal drew his feet under him then pushed with
his legs. Standing up had once seemed so simple; nothing he ever thought about.
Now sweat popped out on his brow and his vision blurred. He kept pushing; by now
agony was as familiar as the Lizerene’s face. Slowly, his hands scrabbling
against the walls, he rose until his weight was on his feet.
“There,” he stated through clenched teeth, wishing he could stop the waving