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The man’s calmness disturbed Brodda. He shifted his weight in the saddle. “You’re not going to see the elves, you presumptuous rogue,” he said sharply. “You will proceed before me, walking, and I will ride behind. We’re going to the great hall, and if you don’t know the way, I’ll tell you. Now move.”
He jerked his head in the general direction behind him and then moved his horse out of the old man’s way so that Thorn had a clear path back into the narrow streets of the village. Thorn’s steady eyes gave him a final stare and then he walked forward obediently. Brodda’s mouth tightened with anger and disdain. The more he had to do with the old man the less he liked him.
Thorn knew the way to the hall. Brodda never once had to give any sort of direction and never once did he feel as though Thorn were contemplating any movement to escape and get away. He walked like a lamb to the slaughter, Brodda commented to himself. A cruel smile twisted its way onto his face. Like the lamb, he thought, the man probably didn’t know what he was walking towards.
At the gates of the courtyard of the hall, the guards sprang to attention. “That man is under arrest,” Brodda said as he stopped. “Put him away until lord Uldor returns and calls for him.”
The guards knew precisely what Brodda meant and one of them immediately laid hands on Thorn and took him inside the gates. Brodda looked after them a moment and then nodded briefly. Without a glance at the other guard, he turned around again and once more headed towards the hunting grounds, this time without dread of meeting his master.
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