But the heavy doors at either end were solid enough, and he was willing to bet they were locked, as well. There were no windows, and besides the doors and the holes in the roof no other visible ways in or out. He tested the ropes that bound him and found them too tight to loosen or to wiggle out of. No surprise. He watched rats scurry about in the gloom, eyes shining with reflected light from a sun only just visible through a gap in the far wall.

Sunrise or sunset? He couldn’t be sure.

He waited a long time afterward for someone to come. When someone finally did, it was dark, the light gone, the world beyond his prison lit only by stars and a thin wash of torchlight thrown off by the city. He might not even have known anyone was there if not for the slow hissing of breath in the darkness.

“Doesss you know thisss plassse, Druid?”

A Mwellret. The sound of its voice was unmistakable. Lizard creatures, they made their homes in the far Eastland, mostly in the swamps below and caverns within the Ravenshorn Mountains. Seldom did they get this far west. Bombax could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had even heard of Mwellrets being sighted in Varfleet.

“Catsss gotsss your tonguesss?” the voice hissed at him, sly and insinuating, a teasing that made Bombax want to tear the speaker’s head off.

Instead he kept still and waited. His chance would come.

“Thirsssty?” the voice persisted.

Bombax heard movement—a rustle of clothing—as the speaker approached. Then cold water was poured down his face and into the gag. He sucked at it eagerly, drawing it from the cloth into his parched mouth. It had a slightly bitter taste, but he didn’t care; he drank it anyway. The water trickled down his throat, easing his thirst. He kept his eyes closed as he drank, feeling the Mwellret’s breath on his face, knowing he must not look in the creature’s eyes, that if he did those eyes could take control of him and make him a slave. The Mwellret was testing him, seeing if he would let his guard down.

“Prisonersss are troublesss for usss,” the voice continued, the shadow of the speaker backing away again. “Essspecially Druidsss.”

A pause. Bombax waited, searching the darkness for the Mwellret’s face. Tell me who did this? Who is responsible?

“Staysss with usss only another day. Then leavesss for visssit to thossse who pay usss to take you prisssoner.”

Who? A name!

But the Mwellret was already moving away, and in seconds it was gone.