The room was almost dark, lit only by a few candles, and he felt completely disorientated. The last thing he remembered was standing on the hill looking down at the wound in his shoulder, and then gazing into Tenera’s eyes, and then everything had gone black. Where was he? And how had he got there? “Grimbeald?” Tenera’s voice came from behind him and her face appeared, pale as the moon on a dark night. She looked tired and drawn, but lit up as she saw him. “You are alive!” “Of course I am alive,” he said gruffly, coughing a little and wincing at the pain in his shoulder. “It is a miracle,” she breathed. “Hardly.” He coughed again and looked around him. He was in some sort of underground cave. The ceiling was low, only a few feet above Tenera’s head, and the room was long and narrow. He was lying on a makeshift bed in the centre of the floor. To one side he could see shelves lining the wall, each filled with objects. His eyes were blurry and he could not make them out.
