Returning to his cell, after a day of stitches and herbal ointments, Thorik was frustrated with his conversation with Ericc. He had gotten nowhere with the young man. In fact, Ericc refused to even discuss the issue any further with Thorik.
Pushing Thorik forward down the corridor, the guard from the medical area began to notice that his services were needed elsewhere. Dozens of guards were being dragged away from Thorik’s cell.
Da’Shawn helped escort a few guards out of the doorway, as well. “Damn you, beast!” he yelled. “Damn you all the way to Della Estovia.” Limping away, he gave instructions to his men to retrieve the remaining men still unconscious inside the cell.
Thorik looked through the bars as he approached the door. Santorray was standing in the center of the cell, covered in blood, and panting hard. Stab wounds and fresh whip marks covered his body, his left hand cupping his right fist as bright red blood poured from it. They had come for payment, to remove one of his fingers.
The guard pushed Thorik into the cell before helping remove his comrades.
Stumbling forward, Thorik felt responsible for the loss of the Blothrud’s finger. Even more so, seeing that he was unable to convince Ericc to escape with them. He wondered if he had the right to ask Santorray to lose another finger while attempting to persuade Ericc again.
Da’Shawn returned to the cell and slammed the door. “We’ll beat you down, we will. We’ll just end up taking two of them fingers tomorrow.” He cursed the beast as he helped another guard down the hall.
Santorray opened his fist to reveal one of the guard’s ears in his palm, surrounded by all of the Blothrud’s digits. Spiking the ear at the ground, the Blothrud collapsed against the far wall from the exhaustion of the fight.
Thorik was pleased to see all of his fingers were intact. “You’re okay!”
Still breathing hard and bleeding from his open wounds, Santorray shot the Num a serious look, which for the first time Thorik felt cause for alarm. Reflections from the lanterns and torches made the Blothrud’s red eyes glow bright. His heated breath appeared as smoke against the cool damp air.
Suddenly Thorik felt like he was caged with a wild starving animal. He froze, waiting for the beast to leap from his spot. Listening to his own heart race, he made no sudden moves. Instead, he slowly lowered himself to pick up a slug from the floor. Slowly approaching the wounded beast, Thorik placed the slug into the blood, which dripped from its arm. Not knowing the significance, he had seen the Blothrud do this several times the prior night and hoped the gesture would be a show of good faith.
Santorray responded. Respect had been given to him and the Blothrud relaxed his facial muscles, covering his teeth. A slightly kingly nod of approval gave way for Thorik to continue the gesture several more times while the beast healed his own gashes with handfuls of his own saliva which bubbled and sizzled upon placement.