Free The Crystal Chalice (Book 1) by R.J. Grieve

where position and respect are inherited, a mere
accident of birth. I hold this place with two things - strength and fear. If my
men do not fear me they will not obey me. One of them may even challenge me for
the leadership. Now, we can’t have them thinking I’m getting weak, allowing
someone who has betrayed me to go unpunished. Your fate will depend on whether
I think you are of more value to me dead or alive.”
     His speech, however, did not have quite the intended
effect.  She had been sitting with her head hanging, and when he finished
speaking, she quietly, rather gracefully, slumped forward onto the table.
    He observed her for a moment before remarking: “You are
about to add to your meagre store of experiences, for you are going to have one
monumental headache in the morning.”

Chapter Six
An Unexpected Friend
     
     
        
     
      As Celedorn had predicted, Elorin awoke the
following morning with a thundering headache. Cautiously she sat up, holding
both sides of her head with her hands, as if sudden movement might cause it to
fall off. Her recollections of the night before were a little hazy. Parts of
her conversation were clear, others might have been something she had dreamed.
She had a vague notion that she had said some things that in the cold light of
day would have been better left unsaid. But here she was, back in her prison,
still in one piece - except for her headache.
      When she tried to get up she made another discovery
- she was lying on a rather lumpy mattress instead of the bare boards and
someone had put a blanket over her. She stared at the blanket. She had no
recollection of going up to her room and assumed that one of the guards must
have carried her. She wondered if the blanket was part of his orders but
guessed that it probably was not. She rose a little unsteadily and went into
the bathroom. The mirror informed her that her looks had not improved. The
swelling had gone down in her cheek but it was now several interesting shades
of purple.
     “You certainly wouldn’t pass for a princess today,”
she informed her reflection. “Indeed, your behaviour last night was not exactly
dignified.” She sighed. “Too much fear, not enough food or sleep and too much
wine. An appalling combination, but not exactly an excuse.”
     She leaned on the basin, wondering if it was worth
trying to wrestle with the tap again. Her head hung forward and through the
pain of her headache she was conscious of a dense fog of depression beginning
to settle on her. At that moment she heard the sound of a key turning in the
outer door. She stepped swiftly back into the room and stood with her back
against the wall, facing the gradually opening door with trepidation.
      But a rather unexpected sight met her eyes. In the
doorway stood a burly figure so rotund as to be almost completely circular. He
was dressed, unlike the others she had seen, in a homely brown tunic that might
have belonged to a farmer. It was held at the waist by a belt that struggled to
meet around his ample middle. He was older, too, than the others. His bald pate
was fringed by grey hair and his brown eyes twinkled merrily out of the folds
of flesh. Even more interesting, he carried a tray set with several covered
dishes.
      “You are Elorin?” he beamed, making it more of a
statement than a question. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Dorgan - a
civilised being, I might add, without sacrificing modesty - or at least, what
passes for civilised in these environs.”
     Elorin gaped at him, completely nonplussed by the
appearance of someone within the grim fortress who did not exude evil and
death. His cheerful homeliness was incongruous in the extreme. He looked as if
he should be in a marketplace selling apples or sitting in the sun on a bench
outside some country tavern drinking cider.
      Undaunted by her lack of response, Dorgan said:
“I’ve brought you some breakfast. I heard those barbarians brought you nothing
to eat