"Yes. All went as planned." Inric hears the voices as if through water, the words distorted and hard to understand. "Well done. Take this and keep quiet." Or is it an accent? He struggles to concentrate through a throbbing head. "We want no panic," the speaker goes on. "Better nobody knows. Understand?" "Yes, cleric." Faint footsteps mark the departure of the first speaker. Inric manages to open one eye, to find that the blindfold around his head has been tied badly. Through the folds of cloth he can make out an Eldarin face, wearing a hat similar to the one worn by Taan Berik. The man's expression is grim but calm. "Do tha wake?" he says, and his voice is strangely familiar despite the weird accent. "I think he did not hit thee too hard. I want to ask thee some questions, but." He holds up one finger. "Do tha remember thy wyrbeast is held here." Copper! "Do tha do anything, any magic, ritual or prayer, do tha leave, he will be killed. Understand?" "I do," Inric manages through a suddenly dry mouth. He had not been afraid until then.