He touched it and felt the faint presence of a bound elemental.

Open, he commanded it but it did not respond and there was no way he could break the door with his bare hands. The other door was similar. The room might be luxurious but it was just as much a prison as the holding cell in the Pit. Outside the world went about its business but he was still as trapped as he ever had been.

He inspected the shackle on his arm. The slavestone glowed green, dormant but holding the promise of pain should he try to escape. Pleasant languor flowed from it. It was a chain of the most sophisticated sort. While he was within range of the master stone, it would feed a light euphoria into his brain. The further he got from it the less pleasant it would feel, and when he crossed the range threshold it would send boiling agony into his veins. It was part of a system meant to control House slaves. They would go happily about their duties within the tower and eventually, addicted to their own bondage, be unable to leave. The slavers of Typhon had perfected their arts over long aeons.

Heavy curtains draped one wall. Massive metal doorways marked two exits. There were armchairs and on a table stood a pitcher of water and two goblets. There was no sign of any food.

He felt better although there was a small hard lump in his chest with scars around it that he did not like at all. It was not tender to the touch and it gave him no pain but the skin in the area above it had a waxy, alien feel.

The doors in the inner wall opened for him, revealing a series of large chambers, all as luxuriously furnished as his bedroom. There was a sunken marble bath from which steaming hot water emerged when he passed his hands over a tap. There was a small library of very expensive books.

He found a full-length mirror and inspected himself. He had collected some new scars in his belly and on the side of head. He guessed that they came from Valerius’s machine. In the same chamber he found a wardrobe of clothing, all in the purple colour worn by the House guards. It could have been tailored to fit him. He put it on and in moments a tall, burly, shaven-headed, military-looking figure glared back at him from the mirror. He grinned and this ugly stranger grinned back.

In another chamber were weapons of expensive make, all set in ancient hardwood racks along the wall. He chose a blade of the curved sort he favoured, tried it and found the balance perfect so he took down a scabbard, strapped it on to his belt and made ready. There were defensive amulets draped over a bolster.