April 25th, 1422
On the edge of Milan, Italy, in a stone dungeon, a large, silent shape made its way down a stairway by moonlight. The eleventh hour had just struck. The shape shivered in a sudden wind, an almost imperceptible shudder, then continued on its way.

Two stories below him, an old, withered man slept, curled up against the cold walls of his cell. A wrinkled hand clutched a small, dry piece of bread. A ridge of tooth-marks dug into his frostbitten fingers. His figure was slight, his strength sapped from long captivity. He slept undisturbed among the rubble.

REDSHAFT

CHAPTER I

I wasn't sure how long I was in the prison cell, but one thing was certain:

I was going to free myself this time.

Standing up, I walked in circles in the cell, the smell of dungeon weed growing on the castle stones around me clogging my thoughts.
Perhaps that's why they let this weed grow; to stop one from thinking straight.
The circles in which I walked to free up my mind weren't too large, for my leg was chained to a large three hundred pound ball of iron.

Chapter 18