“Now, what to do?” said the Thegn of Moliagul. He cast a glance over the unconscious Caewen, Fleat, Dapplegrim, and finally to the shadow-demon Fetch, bottled up in its glassy prison.
The boy followed his gaze. The shadow-thing also seemed to be… well… sleeping wasn’t the right word… inactive? It was just a motionless blotch of darkness inside that glass and iron bottle. The boy half-a-mind to hide the bottle or throw it away while he could. He was still far from convinced that Fetch meant well. That Caewen seemed to depened upon the shadow-thing’s lent power for continued life was all that stopped him.
“What to do? What to do?” said the Thegn of Moliagul, quietly. “What are your thoughts?”
“Release them and tell them where to find Athairdrost.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “No. Not that. Or not yet.” He bent over a little and stared coldly down at the boy. Now, we have some truth between you and me, but it turns out there’s something more in play upon our idle gaming board. Some magical thingummy. An old powerful thingummy.”
“Yes,” said the boy. He looked quickly at his friends, worried.
“Sounds like the sort of thing I might like to own too, eh? You think I don’t know a few spells and witch-charms myself? I am Thegn of Moliagul. A thousand years of witching-blood run in my veins. And you dangle some old and powerful thingummy in front of me? What should I do?”
The boy didn’t have an answer. He stood there, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
“So here we are, you and I.”
“Here we are,” agreed the boy. “What will you do?”