Brice took one look and grabbed Thorgil’s arm.
“Take them to the Great Hall,” the older elf commanded. “Lord Rimuel will decide their fate.”
At that command, burlap grain sacks were roughly jammed over their heads and their hands tied behind them. Brice began wailing again.
“Do all dwarves bellow so much?” an elven voice complained.
Guided by firm hands gripping their arms, Thorgil tried counting steps and turns, but gave up when he realized he had no clue where they were to begin with, and the resonance of the city overlapped despite his best efforts to identify sounds. At one point, the noise of the city faded, followed by being led up a long set of hard stairs.
After more twists and turns, they stopped and their covers removed. They found themselves in a room cleverly crafted o
