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Beneath him he could hear something rustling and the scratch-scratch of tiny claws. Gnawers! He had always loathed and feared gnawers from his days in the kingsward compound. The memory of gnawers with their sharp claws and naked tails running and sliding across his skin and their teeth biting into his flesh made him shudder.
    He could feel the slight tug on the ropes that the slave had been told to attach to his cage and wondered how long it would be before the first gnawer climbed the rope to feast on his flesh. They would start with his feet which were pressed hard against the bars at the bottom of the cage but were there other parts of him exposed? He couldn’t tell, as his flesh was so numb but even if other parts of his crouching body were not exposed he doubted if his robe would protect him from their sharp, biting teeth for long.
    With a sudden scrabbling of claws and squeaks of alarm the gnawers scurried away. There had to be someone else in the pavilion as he could hear movement behind him and the swishing of cloth rubbing against cloth. A harsh grunt of pleasure and a small whimper made him open his eyes in surprise. By the sound of it there were two people in the room, a man and a woman the one enjoying himself and the other not. Another grunt of pleasure and a corresponding whimper came followed by a loud crack as flesh met flesh and after that there was just the grunting coming in a rhythm, faster and faster until there was an exultant hiss of breath and a groan of pleasurable release.
    For a short while there was silence and then the sound of a slap, not as loud as the earlier one but sharp enough to convey the man’s displeasure. There was the rustle of clothing, the patter of feet and the sound of the pavilion’s door cover being moved and then nothing until the man’s snores filled the silence. He drifted back into his fevered sleep but the sound of someone moving outside of his cage made him open his eyes again.
    In the gloom he could just make out the form of the slave standing in front of the cage and looking nervous. He glanced over his shoulder to where the snoring man must have been and then stepped as close to the cage as he could without touching it. In his hand he held a pot and a spoon and taking care not to spill a drop he held a spoonful out for Jonderill to drink. If he could he would have resisted so that his end would come that much sooner but his body’s need for water was too great.
    Jonderill swallowed each mouthful of the bitter liquid until it had all gone and still craved for more. He went to speak, to beg for more but the man held his finger to his lips to silence him. The slave leant forward as close to Jonderill’s ear as he could and whispered so low that he had difficulty hearing what the man was saying.
    “Lord, I’m sorry that the gnawers alarmed you but I cannot come near to chase them away when the demon is here and awake but I will protect you the best that I can until your power returns. In the meantime you must drink what I bring you, the feverbane will break your fever and I’ve added some red poppy seed to ease your pain and make you sleep.”
    Jonderill could already feel the effects, a numbness which stole across his body taking away all feeling and across his mind threatening to extinguish the small flame which was all that was keeping him alive. He panicked as he felt the flame dim and fought against the influence of the drug, pushing back the encroaching darkness until he had built an invisible barrier around the flame. Only then did he succumb to the red poppy seed, slipping into a deep, painless sleep.
    When he woke it was daylight and the burning fever had receded leaving him weak and desperately thirsty. He listened for sounds of someone being in the pavilion with him but everything was silent. His need to drink was desperate and to do that he needed to attract the slave’s attention but in doing so he might attract the attention of others, his captor, the