The dungeon room they had cleared was small, though it had been built from old blocks of stone, carefully cut and fitted by people who had expected the structure to survive pressure and time alike.
A single chair sat in the far corner, the sort that ended up in offices and guard stations because no one thought about chairs until they needed one.
Beorn sat in it.
Some herbs rested wrapped in cloth in his hand, the dosage to knock him unconscious already prepared. He had set it aside upstairs before they came down. That part, at least, had been predictable.
Godric stood near the doorway with ten men in formation behind him. He had chosen them before Beorn asked, the men from the mansion. The ones who had fought through the library. The ones who had seen what Aestrith could become and had not looked at her differently afterward.
Reliable men were important in situations like this. Godric understood that instinctively.
"Squad is in position."
"Very well."
