The dungeon had seen heavy use over the centuries. Peasants caught hunting or gathering firewood in the lord's forests, those failing to meet their harvest quotas, religious heretics, and enemies of the lords, all had done a dance of pain here. The room, however, had fallen out of favor with Cyndy's grandfather, more enlightened than most. Her father had almost not used the dungeon.

A heavy oak door, banded with steel, guarded the room's entrance. The heaviness of the door had the added benefit of muffling the cries of victims so that more delicate members of the lords' households wouldn't be disturbed by what transpired within. There was a small cell besides the entrance. Cyndy was pushed inside and the barred door...

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