Ravenna studied the walls of her cell and found no other entries. The cell contained no spell components. Could her captors not realize that certain Magick required only the guile of the caster?
Hours passed. One by one memories returned. A twinge of hunger let her know that her stomach was empty and awake. She listened intently. The skittering of the spiders in their webs interrupted the silence. Then she heard the approach of soft steps. Ravenna readied by the opening. The footsteps stopped just beyond the opening to the cell.
“You may as well move away from the wall, wench! I know you’re in there. I don’t care if you eat or not. I’m not going to wait for you,” the voice growled.
Troglodyte! She hated the wretched language, but at least something had interrupted the silence. She had fought many trogs in conflicts in Donothor. She had been a troglodyte for a time. A rod of transformation employed by the great dark sorcerer Roscoe created the ruse during the Great War. Ravenna had never queried as to the origins of the rod, and Roscoe never told her. The device was expended during the conflict but its Magick helped bring down the guards of Red Mountain.
Ravenna answered in troglodyte dialect, “OK. I’m hungry. Leave my food.”
The troglodyte snarled and extended a tray covered by unusual fruits. Green oblong variegated leaves, round reddish brown berries, and blue apples- fruits uncommon in Donothor. The beast extended the tray, which was made of a shiny auburn material through the opening on the floor. The aperture permitted passage of the device.
The Centurion and Counselor watched the troglodyte perform his assigned tasks.
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