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Sixteen

“Can I get, uhm - five minutes, to talk to her, before we present ourselves to the Chamber for a verdict?” Sir. Oswic asked Fanzen Trouy who had a snug smile and was beaming about what neither Sir. Oswic nor Cwena nor the other ten guards that had escorted him knew of.

“Y'know - just in case, we - perish. We want our moment,” Sir. Oswic explained.

“Hokey dokey. Five minutes. Anything more than that then I'm sorry but you're going to rot in here,” Fanzen put in then walked deeper into the faintly illuminated corridor, out of their view. The guards excused the duo, too.

“He's not dead!” Sir Oswic whispered.

“Huh? Who's not - Ohh!” Sir. Oswic clamped his jittery hands hastily over Cwena's mouth.

“Shhh, don't talk loudly. Remember the spell I put on Gerey? It is to make him sleep and do some minimal healing. I don't know how effective it is but considering the fact that they still believe him

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