Free Into a Dark Realm by Raymond E. Feist Page B

to understand a lot of things Nakor talked to him about, but sometimes he just nodded and pretended to understand the strange little man in order to keep him from repeating himself endlessly.
    Ralan continued to run his fingers along the seam until he determined that the door was designed to be opened only from the inside. He shrugged. “Bar,” he demanded, and a soldier stepped past him and inserted the crowbar where he pointed. The soldier struggled for a moment, until Bek said, “Let me.”
    With preternatural power, he forced open a crack, and the door swung suddenly wide with a protesting sound of twisting metal as an iron bar was ripped from its restraining mechanism. With a loud clank it hit the stones and instantly Bek had his sword out and was through the opening. Unconcerned about the noise, Bek turned toward the soldiers and held up a restraining hand. “Wait!” he said in low tones, and then he entered.
    The soldiers knew their orders. Bek would enter first and they would only follow when he gave the order or ten minutes after, whichever came first. One soldier turned over an hourglass bearing markings, red lines drawn to indicate demarcations of ten minutes. Erik’s handpicked men hunkered down before the entrance, along the edge of the pool, listening to the sound of the waterfall in the darkness.
     
    Bek moved cautiously, ignoring his lack of sight. He stepped lightly as he progressed, not putting his full weight down until he knew he wasn’t stepping into a pit, or triggering some sort of trap. He knew he could take a lot of damage—he’d been wounded several times in his short life—but he had no more appetite for injury than the next man. Besides, if what Nakor said was true, there should be some fun ahead.
    Thinking of the little man caused Bek to pause a moment. Bek didn’t like him; but then again Bek didn’t like anyone; he didn’t dislike anyone, either. His feelings toward other people were fairly predictable: they were either allies or opponents—or they were inconsequential, like a horse or some other animal, sometimes useful, but mostly not worth the attention. But the little man stirred some strange feelings in Bek, feelings he couldn’t put a name to. He didn’t know if it was familiarity, or enjoyment or what. His pleasures tended to the intense: watching men bleed and scream, or rough coupling with women. He knew he liked fighting. The crashing of steel, the clamor of voices, blood and…death. He liked watching things die, he had decided some time before. It fascinated him to see that onemoment an animal or a man might be alive, aware, moving, and the next it was lying there, just so much meat. Not even useful meat if it was a man.
    Bek expected to kill some very dangerous men, and looked forward to it.
    A faint sound from ahead caused him to forget Nakor and his confusion over things the odd gambler said all the time. Someone was moving at the far end of a tunnel and Bek’s entire body quivered with anticipation.
    He was supposed to go back, but he had lost track of time—how long was ten minutes, anyway? The other soldiers would come in after him, and besides, Bek was anxious to be about some slaughter. It had been a very long time since he’d enjoyed a good fight. Nakor had done something to him, and often his head hurt when he tried to think about things. But Nakor had said it was all right for him to kill anyone who was hiding up in this old keep, except for more of the old soldier’s fighters who might be coming in from the other side.
    Ralan Bek found his head swimming, so with a grunt he shoved aside all thoughts except finding the author of the noise he had heard in the darkness. He picked up his pace, and almost fell face forward into an open pit. Only his “lucky feeling” caused him to pull back at the last instant.
    He took out a small cylinder Nakor had given him, and pulled off the top. Inside was a bundle of sticks, one of which he pulled out. He recapped