In the deep distance, he heard the creak of a stair and immediately set off in a pursuit that took him down toward the lower levels. Someone had placed slow-burning candles at various junctions and these left more than enough light for his sorcerer-enhanced eyes to follow with comparative ease.

Vulkan moved with wraith-like speed down the narrow adit, turning this way and that as he closed rapidly upon his quarry. Without missing a stride, he drew forth his dirk as the rank odour of a male body bloomed in his nostrils, telling him that the target was only yards ahead. Turning at the next junction, Vulkan came rushing up behind a short, rotund barrel of a man whose arms were piled high with a platter of food salvaged from the very banquet Vulkan had quit only an hour before.

In one fluid motion, the prince kicked the man in the back of the leg collapsing him on to one knee. At the same time, he clamped his hand over the greedily chewing mouth, preventing the expected shout of surprise and snapped the head backward to slap the cold blade of the dirk tight up against the taughtly drawn skin of the throat.

Ahead of the grappling pair the diminutive shape of a grull turned to hold up a brightly flaring torch, the docile face with its red, almond shaped eyes stared up at Vulkan uncomprehendingly.

"Who are you?" snapped the prince, slowly releasing his iron grip on the shaking man's lower jaw just enough for the wretch to swallow the food he was choking on before he might speak.

"I am Gargo, the dungeon master," the man finally spluttered.

"What the fuck are you doing creeping around at night in these secret passages?" demanded Vulkan, twisting the dirk into the soft flesh of his throat until a thin trickle of blood began to flow.