“The wards are complete, master. No one else may look into this room with magic.” “Fine,” Kaverin said. He resumed his pacing, clacking the knuckles of his jet-black hands together with every third step. At last he turned to Lord Rayburton. “You know, milord, I’m beginning to believe you about the ring.” His hands bound firmly behind his back, his legs lashed securely to the chair, Rayburton didn’t bother trying to see his captor’s face. Kaverin always paced behind the chair, where he remained hidden. Even in Rayburton’s time in Cormyr this had been an old interrogation trick; without being able to read body language or expression, the prisoner could use only his ears to judge anything told to him. “Then you can let me go,” the nobleman said. “Byrt, too.” “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Your gray-furred friend is going to be a present to the goblin queen, since the winged spy your fellows killed was technically hers,” Kaverin said. He clucked his tongue.
