CHAPTER 50
Zandaril’s eyes bleared open, and he commented thickly, “What are all those birds doing, singing at night?”
And what am I doing sitting by the side of the road? Where am I?
He shook his head to clear it, and discovered he was bound to a young tree, just off a narrow road. He tried to raise his hands to his throbbing head, but they didn’t budge.
The sun was rising to his right, and he turned his head aside to keep the piercing light from his eyes.
I was talking to Dzantig about Veneshjug, then I headed to my room for something before joining him in the square, and then… what?
He couldn’t make sense of it, but the pounding in his head told its own tale.
The ropes that held him to the tree were coiled around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. His bound hands protruded
