Nilbog made a mistake. I suppose it was only a matter of time before he did something overwhelmingly stupid. We let it happen. He was so adamant about it, and we weren't about to force him to wait at the inn. He struck out in the night to try the prison on his own.
I will have to wait until tomorrow to learn whether he survived this foolishness, but I know from the noise of the guards that he did not accomplish our mission. It's going to be a terrible three days.
I know that I should not care so much about this. Nills has never made overtures of friendship to me, despite having saved my life on nearly half a dozen occasions since we set out from Bach's inn together. But he has saved my life more times than I can ignore, and—perhaps I'm overly idealistic—I still feel he's a better man than he knows he is.
I cannot leave him to rot in that prison. I have to know if he still lives, and if he does, I have to give him freedom again. Even if Ansley and Dreyfuss and Cobbermark decide to move on, I will stay.
I'm a mad fool.
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