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“Now you understand,” the man said. “Tell me.”
Gerek spat blood from his mouth. The teeth on that side were loose. But there were no broken bones. He could still talk. The man had judged the blow well.
“I-I have n-n-nothing to say.”
The man slapped him hard—the same place where he’d struck him with the knife hilt. “Tell me, or you die in the most unpleasant way possible.”
It was not hard to feign terror. He was shivering. Blood trickled from the gash on his chest. He swallowed and tasted more blood. His stomach heaved against his ribs, but he willed himself not to vomit again. “I have nothing to say.”
The man shrugged and turned aside. Now the lean figure approached, limping heavily and leaning upon his stick.
“I am Lord Markus Khandarr,” he said. “I would know the truth from you.”
Khandarr. Gerek nearly fainted. This was the man who killed Dedrick. The king’s own mage councillor. But the man’s voice was strange—the speech garbled, as if he had an impediment like Gerek’s. Then he remembered Alesso Valturri’s report, and how the king’s mage had suffered injury from his confrontation with the Morennioùen queen.
Injured or not, Khandarr went on to question Gerek closely, though he often needed several attempts to speak. Which agents had Gerek used? Where and when did Kosenmark intend to meet the ship? What was his destination?
“I-I do not know,” Gerek said.
Khandarr gave an inarticulate cry. Choked. The guards stepped forward to intervene, but Khandarr rounded on them, furious, and gestured for them to keep their distance.
He turned back to Gerek. Mumbled a few words in Erythandran. The air turned cool and crisp, like the mountains above the Gallenz Valley. “Where is Lord Kosenmark? He has a ship. Which one? Where do they meet?
Gerek shook his head.
“Where?” Khandarr struck him with his staff. “Answer.”
Then he spoke—a stuttering string of Old Erythandran. The philosophers always said that spoken words were only one medium for magic. If you imprinted the discipline on your mind, you did not need the words. Khandarr proved the theories true, because the air drew tight around them, a thick green cloud that almost suffocated Gerek even as it loosened his tongue.
He had no choice. Even as he realized it, he hated how easily he confessed everything to this man. Yes, Kosenmark left Tiralien weeks ago. There was a ship. A meeting. Where? Tur on Osek. No, he did not know the ship’s final destination, but yes, the matter did concern the recent events in Osterling Keep. The rest he did not know, did not—
He choked. Abruptly the magic released him. Gerek fell to the floor, gasping for breath. He heard, through the thundering in his ears, Khandarr giving orders but he could not make out the words.
Then, unexpectedly, a loud hammering at the door, and someone demanding entry in the name of the watch. One of Khandarr’s men doused the lamp, the other flung himself against the door. Gerek scrabbled away from his captors, shouting for help. One man grabbed him by the collar and cuffed him across the face. Gerek wrestled with the man and they both fell to the floor, taking Khandarr with them.
The door burst open. Khandarr gabbled more Erythandran, but he was too late and too slow. A dozen men poured inside, all of them wielding clubs. Gerek ducked under one man’s arm, rolled over in time to see another bring his weapon down hard on Khandarr’s head. Khandarr collapsed into a heap. There was a brief struggle before the intruders subdued his two men.
Gerek snatched up Khandarr’s staff and backed into a corner, breathing heavily. One of the strangers—the new set of strangers, that is—gazed around the cramped room. The others fell into that waiting quiet of soldiers expecting orders. Gerek shifted his grip on the staff.
The stranger’s gaze fell on him. To Gerek’s surprise, the man smiled. A brilliant, open smile, completely at odds to what had just transpired. He was so taken aback, it took Gerek a few moments before he recognized the man. Alesso Valturri. “You,” he breathed.
Valturri smiled, a lazy seductive smile that reminded Gerek of Dedrick. Or Kosenmark. “I am delighted you remember me. However, we do not have time for pleasantries.” He turned to the others and gave them a rapid string of orders. Then he held out a hand to Gerek. “Come.”
But Gerek refused to trust him so easily. “What happened? How did you find me?”
Alesso sighed. Motioned for the others to leave the room.
“I cannot blame you for mistrusting me,” he said. “So, let me begin again. You know Kosenmark and I had an agreement. No? I am disappointed but not surprised. Listen to me then. Your Lord Kosenmark offered certain assistance to me and my associates, in return for other favors. In the spirit of that assistance, I followed these three men to Tiralien’s wharves.”
Gerek gripped his aching head in both hands. “A very good story. Thank you for the distraction.”
Valturri grabbed Gerek by his shirt and shoved him against the wall. “Listen, you stammering idiot. Your Lord Kosenmark expects a ship. I learned that in his own household. What he, and you, do not understand is that Khandarr’s agents have taken your agent and all his records. Your man is dead, do you understand? He killed himself before they could question him. So they decided to arrest you.”
Gerek absorbed this news with dismay. So very plausible. Too plausible. “How do you kn-kn-know that?”
Alesso shrugged. “Does it matter how I know? What does matter is that you must get to the ship and tell them to sail at once. Never mind about the stores or all the rest. Leave before this one”—he gestured toward Khandarr, lying insensible at their feet—“recovers and closes the port.”
Gerek wanted to argue, but he was too sick to make the effort. And too much of Alesso’s explanation made sense. The man might be a questionable ally, but he was right in this matter. He rubbed his aching head. “Very well. I will go at once.”
