If he'd been in Zecarani, the guards would have had a jail with a heavy locked door. The thought buoyed him up a little bit. Things could have been a lot worse; at least he had a chance of escaping this place without help. The guardhouse had a rank smell that reminded Jorad of sweat and mildew and he wished that the windowless holes in the walls were big enough to let in more air. The stench combined with the smoke from the fireplace made the room quite uncomfortable. Several beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead and he could feel the moisture beginning to accumulate on his back. He frowned as he looked at the holes and had to keep from shaking his head. They were too small for him to fit through, so he’d have to use the door to make his escape. His sword and scabbard hung on a peg near the entrance and his stool was on the other side of the room, as far away from the door as they could put him. When Baurn had demanded that he turn over any other weapons upon arriving at the guardhouse, he had immediately given up two of his daggers but not said anything about the other two in his boots.
