|
apping for you, but I'll
need a signed order from the King, along with an Order number, a
Work Group, a Cost Code, and a Risk Evaluation report from the
Tactical/Diplomatic Bureau, as well as - ack!' Kargoon pushed
Bargeld up against the damp rock wall of the cells, with his staff
across the smaller troll's throat.
`Listen, short-arse. I'll be back after lunch. If you don't have
a fourteen-year-old elf for the King to poke by then, you are going
to be in serious trouble. And if you want an idea of what "serious
trouble" entails, just pop up to the battlements and say hello to
Battle-Captain Hirnsage. He's the one impaled on the flag-pole.'
With that, Kargoon allowed the Slave-master to drop to the floor,
and stalked out, slamming the doors behind him as usual.
* * * * *
Making his way to the banquet hall, Kargoon's ponderous brow was
furrowed with the effort of thought. It did no good to intimidate
the Slave-master (even if it did make him feel better); there simply
were no elves to be had, given the current political climate. He
would have to sort this out by himself.
He sat at the end of the banquet table, swept the remains of the
previous diner's meal onto th
|
