Legends from The Warlock's Chair - Book One - Ravengaard

Chapter Fourteen - The Fortress of Zigmal

BREDOCK HOLT OPENED HIS EYES, there was a sharp stabbing pain behind his left ear. He took a moment to gather himself, recalling his efforts to obtain entry to the stronghold without arousing too much suspicion. The fight in the bar, someone had bludgeoned 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 thankfully 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 noticed they had taken his weapons. Looking about him, he was in a small cell, a thin watery light filtered in from a small barred window high above. The bed, a stool, and table were the only furniture, a bucket sat in one corner of the room.

Tentatively he stood up and crossed to the door. Astonishingly he found it unlocked. The door opened into a narrow passageway, lit by torches which burned smokily in the gloom.

The smell of cooked food caught his attention. From farther down the hallway came the sound of laughter and cursing. Holt walked towards the noise, the smell of food getting stronger.

The passage him into a large room, lit by great candlesticks. He noted the plush carpeting underfoot, a little out-of-place in a mess hall, he thought. Rows of tables and benches filled one side, whilst the other side was taken up by a huge trestle filled with the source of the smell. Slabs of meat, cheese, fresh bread, vegetables and fruits of all kinds overflowed from platters, great jugs of ale spilt their contents over the table top.

'Ha, my friend, come sit, have some breakfast,' called Tiber Grist from the end of one of the tables.

Holt looked around at the occupants, all except one were Gnomes, some of whom he recognized from the previous night in the tavern. The sole exception was a large Stone Troll who sat on its own in the corner, the thick rock-like plates of his hide glistening darkly in the candlelight. He was trying to remove a morsel of food from his large protruding teeth, with a ragged talon-like fingernail. But his small gimlet eyes fixed firmly on Holt as he walked across the room to the table.

Holt's stomach grumbled as he surveyed the food, he filled a plate with food and grabbed a large jug of ale to wash it down with.

'This is good fare, much too good for a bunch of mountain brigands,' he ventured, seating himself at the end of the table opposite Tiber Grist.

'Well, never let it be said that Shabur Varg does not look after his raiders, eh lads,' boomed the Boss Gnome, shovelling in another mouthful of food.

They all cheered, slapping the table in agreement.

'This Shabur Varg, I would like to meet with him,' said Holt.

'All in good time my friend. Do not forget you still owe me for last night. Incidentally, I still do not know your name.'

'Bredock Holt,' he replied dourly. 'And how, may I ask, do you intend that I repay you?'

Tiber Grist laughed. 'All will be revealed soon. Do not worry. Eat up now, you will require all your strength in the coming hours.'

Holt glanced at the other Gnomes sat around the table, but their faces gave nothing away. He pondered what his fate was to be.

He did not have long to wait for an answer.

Once breakfast finished, he found out.

'Well,' shouted Tiber. 'As the new boy you can start repaying some of what you owe me,' he motioned at the tables around the room. 'All this needs cleaning away, plates washed, floors swept.'