The next day.
When Edgin, Simon, Holga, and Doric came to interrogate Forge, who had been whipped to within an inch of his life, with not a single uninjured spot left on his back or buttocks, and had to be carried into the interrogation room on a stretcher, he saw the four of them—especially his old friend Edgin, resplendent in shining armor—and scrambled to his feet, crawling over to him and pleading in the most obsequious, miserable voice he could manage.
"Edgin!"
"For old times' sake—for the two whole years I spent looking after Kira for you—please!"
"Get me out of this hellhole!"
"I'm begging you!"
It was clear Forge was having a truly miserable time. The proud, carefree swagger he'd once had as Neverwinter's lord, when he'd held all the power, was gone.
But it was easy enough to understand. Anyone who went from a life of luxury as a city lord to being a prisoner, locked up in a freezing place and forced to live on scraps and watery gruel, would lose their swagger. Especially after being hung outside the frigid prison gates the day before and whipped dozens of times, nearly to death.
"Forge..."
"Who would've thought you'd end up like this?"
Edgin first stepped back to avoid Forge's grasp. Then he shook his head and sighed, his voice dripping with scorn.
"Friends?"
"If I hadn't already learned everything—if I didn't know you'd sent people here to kill Holga and me, and if you hadn't tried time and again to have us executed—I might've believed your lies just now."
Edgin wasn't exaggerating. He really did know everything.
The five of them had once gone on a heist together, but from the very beginning, the man before him had been playing them. It had all been part of