Chapter 48. Lucen’s Voodoo Sacrifice

Eryndor’s POV

When I first came to, I realized I was no longer anywhere familiar. Instead of the open forest or the damp cave where I’d last fought, I lay in a small hut whose walls were molded from mud and reinforced with broad, green leaves.

My clothing had changed too: I now wore a pristine white tunic and equally white trousers, not the weathered leather jerkin and breeches I had donned moments—or perhaps hours—ago. My weapons, which had always clung to me like extensions of my own limbs, were gone. I tested my limbs and discovered my hands were bound by rough cord, though my legs remained free.

I rose gingerly and crossed the narrow space between my bed—a simple pallet of straw—and the door. I rattled at the lock, threw my shoulder against the wood. The door did not budge. At first glance it looked like ordinary timber, but each time I struck it, it rang solidly, as though I were pounding on steel. My blows did not so much as crack the surface. Clearly