BREDOCK HOLT OPENED HIS EYES, there was a sharp stabbing pain behind his left ear. He took a moment to gather himself, remembering his efforts to obtain entry to the stronghold without arousing too much suspicion. The fight in the bar, someone had clubbed him. Vaguely he recalled being dragged out of the tavern and along the trail leading to the keep.
Even through the pain, he managed a smile.
He was lying on a low wooden cot, a thin blanket covered him, he peered beneath it, discovering that he was still fully clothed.
Slowly he rolled and sat on the edge of the bed, except for the throbbing bump on his head, he felt rested. He noted his weapons had been removed. Looking about him, he was in a small cell, a thin grey light filtered in from a small
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Then with a final look at those seated at the tables, he turned and left the room.
'That my new found friend, is Dagan Thayn, Varg's right hand. A nasty piece of work. Stay clear of him, keep out of trouble, and you still cannot be sure you will not incur his wrath.'
Slowly the Gnomes finished their breakfast feast and started to leave the hall. Soon only Tiber Grist and the Troll, whose name he had learned was Ixil Driz, remained. Tiber spoke to the Troll, telling him to make sure the brigands were ready for whatever work Shabur Varg had for them. The Troll nodded his understanding and made his way to the Gnome quarters. Tiber stood and walked over to where Holt was collecting plates.
'Make haste with your work Bredock,' he instructed, slapping Holt on the back with one huge hand. 'We will soon depart, but do not think of leaving us. There is only one way out of here and that is well guarded. I should not like to hear that you have spurned Varg's hospitality by trying to escape.'
'Pah, do not worry I will carry out your tasks. But I must admit I was hoping for something a bit more suited to my skills,' he grumbled. 'Cleaning is no work for a Gnome