Grimm. It was time to get out of this place. The dwarf
nodded emphatic agreement.
“Well, I am delighted to see that all things appear to
have been set aright,” Jastom said pleasantly, placing his
cap back on his head. “Thus I believe that we will be – ”
Skaahzak interrupted him.
“I have a proclamation to make!” the draconian
shouted. He sloshed some wine into a silver goblet –
spilling the better portion of it on his robe – and began to
weave drunkenly about the tent, stumbling over chests and
pieces of furniture. One of his attendants followed behind
him with a quill and parchment, taking down each word.
“Be it known that, for their most excellent service, these
two healers shall hereby become my personal physicians,
from now until the end of all days!” He spread his arms
wide in a gesture of triumph. The silver goblet he clutched
struck the head of his attendant with a loud CLUNK! The
soldier dropped to the floor like a stone, the parchment
and quill slipping from his fingers. Skaahzak did not
notice.
Jastom and Grimm exchanged glances of alarm. “Er,
begging your pardon, milord,” Jastom said hesitantly, “but
what exactly do you mean by that?”
Skaahzak whirled about to face Jastom, his eyes
burning with the consuming fire of the goblin’s gruel. “I
mean that Lieutenant Durm here will show you to your
new quarters,” the draconian said, displaying his countless
jagged teeth in a terrible smile. “You will be remaining
here in this camp with me. Permanently. You are my
healers, now.”
Jastom could only nod dumbly, feeling suddenly ill.
Impossible as it seemed, it looked as if this time his elixir
had worked too well for his own good.
*****
“How many soldiers are standing guard out there?”
Jastom whispered.
“Two,” Grimm whispered back, peering through a
narrow opening beside the canvas flap that covered the
tent’s entrance. “Both are draconians.”
Jastom tugged at his hair as he paced the length of the
cramped, stuffy tent. The air was musty with the smell of
the sour, rotten hay strewn across the floor. The only light
came from a wan, golden beam of sun spilling through a
small hole in the tent’s canvas roof.
“There must be a way to get past them,” Jastom said in agitation,
clenching his hands into fists.
“Too bad we can’t get them drunk,” Grimm noted dryly.
Jastom shot the dwarf an exasperated look. “There’s always a way
out, Grimm. We’ve been in enough dungeons before to know that. All
we need is time to come up with the answer.”
Grimm shook his head, his shaggy eyebrows drawn down in a
scowl. “Even now, the goblin’s gruel will be burning Skaahzak from the
inside out, as sure as if it was liquid fire he’d drunk. He’ll be dead by
morning.” The dwarf paused ominously. “And I suppose we will be, too,
for that matter.”
Jastom groaned, barely resisting the urge to throttle the glum-faced
dwarf. His energy would be better directed toward finding a way to
escape, he reminded himself. Once they were free, THEN he would have
all the time he wanted to throttle the dwarf.
With a sigh of frustration, Jastom sat down hard on the musty straw,
resting his chin in his hands. Grimm’s doom-and-gloom was catching.
The tent’s entrance flap was thrown back. The two draconian guards
stood against the brilliant square of afternoon sunlight, their forked
tongues flickering through their jagged yellow teeth.
“It’s mealtime,” one of the draconians hissed, glaring at Jastom with
its disturbing yellow eyes.
For a startled moment Jastom didn’t know whose mealtime the
draconian meant: Jastom’s or its own. With a rush of relief, he saw the
bowls that the creature carried in its clawed hands. The draconian set the
two clay bowls down, their foul-smelling contents slopping over the
sides. The other draconian threw a greasy-looking wineskin down with
them.
“The commander ordered that you be given the finest fare in the
camp,” the other draconian croaked, a note of envy in its voice.
“Skaahzak must hold you in high esteem, indeed. Consider yourselves
fortunate.”
After the two draconians left them alone, Jastom eyed the bowls of