The small Dorje hangs upside down where he hangs from the bole of the old tree, bound expertly and securely, as helpless as a child. He has long since run out of energy to struggle. Blood runs freely from the socket where his left eye formerly was, dripping down to the leafy floor of the forest, staining his traveling silks. The Dorje's breathing is labored and ragged. His other eye blinks furiously, darting left and right, pupil wide with terror.
The pale hand of a shadowy figure, with long, delicate fingertips, strokes the Dorje's cheek. The voice the Dorje hears is taunting. "Tell me again, little Dorje. There were three of them, you say. And a Reith family, from Camars."
The Dorje can only gibber in terror. His voice is hoarse from shrieking. "Yes! Yes! Four warriors...two Tol Nedrans, a Northerling shaman, and an Urag. Brought us a family from Camars, said they were outlaws, yes, yes…A father, two girls, a boy. Wanted us to hide the Reith. The chieftain Dukas took them in, promised he'd help, and smuggled them off to cousins in the west, who sent them to the Refuge. Please! I have money, you can have it!"
The figure seems amused. "The Refuge, you say. I thought that a simple myth, to give hope to the masses."
The Dorje tries to shake his head but the pain is too enormous, the bonds too tight. "No, no myth! Real as you or me! But I don't know where it is, I swear, no, no!"
"Hm...We'll return to that in due time. Did these warriors have names?"
A momentary pause. "Kane! Brion! Yes, yes! Khom-Bei! And Thragga!"
From the shadowy figure, a nod. "And whence went these warriors?"
"Back to Camars!" the Dorje shrieks. "Madmen, madmen all! Something about rescuing a comrade. Now, I beg you! Beg! Untie me, we can work a deal, yes, yes? Help you find them?"
The dark figure strokes the Dorje's blood-clotted hair, ever so gently. "Oh,
we can indeed…we can indeed work a deal. But I've decided that your left
eye was so delicious, I simply cannot resist eating the right one. Isn't temptation
a terrible burden?"