'Stop,' ordered the other voice. It had a gentler tone, less aggressive. There was another silence.
'It's been a lot of years, but you're Hirad Coldheart, no doubt about it.'
'That's right, now can we stop-'
'Where is Ilkar?'
'You know him?' returned Talan.
'I'm from Julatsa. Where is he?'
'Travers has got him,' said Hirad. 'He's in the Black Wings' castle, that's why we're going there. You're holding us up and it's pissing me off!'
The first man laughed, relieved.
'Come on in and join us. We have a stove and you look as if you could do with a hot drink.'
'Any reason we should?' asked Talan.
'Well, I happen to think we could be of great help to each other. Let's face it, it can't hurt to find out.'
Erienne was still shaking. She had no doubt that what the Captain had shown her was Septern's amulet. How could it be anything else?
The lore in three College languages. The Dordovan code that revealed the location of Septern's workshop.
That the Captain held the amulet set her in the grip of fear, and she had been able to do nothing but confirm what he thought he already knew. That indeed there was a search for Dawnthief, that it was advanced and that he had, in all probability, managed to capture the Xeteskian mage, Denser.
Her skin crawled and for the first time she began to believe that the Captain was not just a man whose dreams matched her nightmares. There was now the possibility that he might actually be able to assemble the catalysts and control the spell. And if he could, the Colleges would tear each other apart to get it. There would be another war and she was very much afraid that Xetesk would win it.
'You see, I really am determined to find out all you know about Dawnthief, and I will hurt you if I have to.'
Ilkar raised his freshly bleeding face to Travers but said nothing. After Denser's departure, they had manacled his wrists to a wall and beaten his body with the flat of a shovel before leaving him on the wall for what had to be the best part of an hour. Then another, shorter beating, during which one wild swipe had caught his face, splitting his nose and lips. The pain was intense but he could handle that. What he was scared of was internal rupture. In his state, he didn't think he would be able to hold that type of wound at bay. Certainly not if he was drugged. Another thing he knew was that he couldn't buy any more time by keeping his silence.
'Come now, Ilkar,' said Travers. 'This is all so unnecessary.' The Captain had begun to slur his words just a little. 'It is Ilkar, isn't it?'
'You seem to think so,' said Ilkar.
'He speaks!' Travers clapped his hands. 'Bravo! I have to say, we were confident of your identity. After all, not too many elven Julatsans ride with The Raven, eh?'
'Not many,' agreed Ilkar.
'Indeed.' Travers smiled and laid a hand on Ilkar's shoulder. 'I expect you'd like to sit down now, eh?'
'Good guess.' Ilkar's manacles were removed and he was put back in his chair, arms once more tied behind him. The difference in comfort was enormous and the mage had to quash an unwanted smile at the thought that he could ever feel good battered, bruised and bound to a chair. A sense of perspective was going to be important.
The Captain sat himself down, poured another large drink and took a long sip. He had to be drunk, yet he seemed in complete control of his thoughts. In fact, the only outward signs of any intoxication were his flushed face and slightly disabled speech.
'So, now we've begun at long last, Ilkar - and I do commend you on your resistance. But that must be over now, so please answer my questions and you can rest. I would hate to have to employ any further punitive measures but please understand that I will not shy from so doing should the need arise.'
Travers smiled again. Thinly this time. Ilkar gave no reaction.
'I assume we understand each other,' said Travers. He finished his glass and poured the last drops from his bottle. He waved the empty at a soldier, who took it away. Ilkar watched as he threw back the small measure.
'Think I might pass out?' This time, the smile was broader. 'You'll be disappointed, I'm afraid. What's my record, Isman?'
'Four bottles, Captain.'
'Four,' repeated Travers. 'Bottles.'
Ilkar just let him get on with it. Travers examined his empty glass but his frown turned to yet another smile as a full bottle was placed on his table. He unstoppered it immediately.
'Now, before we get on to Denser's delightful spell, I'd be terribly grateful if you told me why you, a Julatsan, were travelling with a Xeteskian.'
Ilkar looked up sharply, studying Travers' face for a moment. 'You really don't know?'
'Enlighten me.'
'You sent an assassin to kill Denser, yes?'
Travers nodded. 'Yes, she was evidently unsuccessful. Lucky, really, considering what I have to do now.'
'She wasn't entirely unsuccessful, your assassin.'
'Really?' Travers paused, mid-sip, and exchanged glances with Isman. The latter shrugged.
'She killed Sirendor Larn.'
'Oh.'
'Yes. Isman. Oh.' Ilkar turned to the tall swordsman. 'So Hirad wants all the Black Wings dead. And what Hirad wants, the Raven want.'
'Thank you for the warning,' said Travers. 'We really shall have to look out for ourselves, shan't we?' He leaned in close to Ilkar and patted his knee.
Ilkar turned up one corner of his mouth. 'If I were you, that's exactly what I would do,' he said quietly.
'Hmm.' Travers sucked his top lip and leaned back in his chair. 'Well . . . we'll return to that later, eh? Now while your friend's unfortunate demise explains why The Raven were on their way here, it doesn't begin to explain why Denser is with you.'
Ilkar allowed himself what he hoped was a wry smile. 'There will be precious few things on which we agree, Captain Travers, but I think our distrust of all things Xeteskian will be one of them.'
'Hmm.' Travers nodded. 'It is a shame you are with him, Ilkar. Your kind of mage I could tolerate, I think. Continue.'
'He owes The Raven money,' said Ilkar simply. Travers raised his eyebrows. 'Against my express wishes, we body-guarded him to Korina. The plan was to watch him until the money went into our account. When you murdered Sirendor, that meant bringing him with us.'
Travers was quiet for a while. He took a mouthful of drink and sloshed it around the inside of his mouth before swallowing it.
'I am disappointed, Ilkar. You've had all this time and that is the best you can come up with? Are you seriously trying to tell me that you had no idea what Denser had in his possession?'
'No,' said Ilkar carefully. 'I knew it was valuable by the amount of money Denser offered us for the job. What I'm saying is that I had no idea what the amulet was. I can't read the inscriptions.'
Travers picked his bottle up by its neck, lunged and crashed it across the side of Ilkar's head. In trying to duck the blow, the mage succeeded only in toppling his chair over. His right side hit the floor hard, his arm beneath him flared in pain and all he could see were the shattered remains of the bottle, slightly out of focus, as his head warmed with trickling blood. He could smell the spirit strongly.
'Do not presume to insult my intelligence!' shouted Travers. 'Let me tell you what you were doing.' He paced backwards and forwards, grinding glass underfoot.
'You were after the Dawnthief catalysts. You know what they are. That amulet contains College lore in Julatsan as well as Xeteskian and Dordovan. You and Denser both need each other and your pact of evil is threatening the whole of Balaia.'
Ilkar was silent. He was aware Travers was well versed in spell theory, but this latest speech really confirmed what he knew already but hadn't allowed himself to believe. There was a mage working for the Captain. At least one.
He was hauled upright, grunted as the pressure was lifted from his arm and was glad he couldn't move it; he thought it badly bruised if not broken.
'Isman, another bottle, please,' said Travers in a fatigued tone. He took his seat but said nothing until the swordsman had returned and his glass was refilled.
'You can't lie to me for ever,' he said.
No, but long enough, thought Ilkar.
'There's no one to save you. No one knows you're here.'
'They do, and they're coming.'
'Who, The Raven?' Isman spoke with a sneer.
Ilkar turned to him. 'It's a pity, you know, Isman. Hirad thought you were Raven material. It was only because we'd never seen you fight ourselves that you weren't invited to join.'
'I'd have refused.'
'No one ever refuses.'
'At least I'm still alive,' said Isman.
'Oh, yes, I neglected to mention,' said Travers. 'Isman did have to kill your friends. After all, we couldn't have them following us now, could we?'
But Ilkar wasn't really listening because, as Travers spoke, he leaned right forward and there, visible inside his part-open shirt, hung the Understone Pass Commander's Badge. He had one third of the key to unbelievable power around his neck and he didn't even know it. Ilkar smiled.
'Something funny?'
'There's humour in everything, Travers,' said Ilkar. 'You're telling me something I don't believe in order to get me to give you information I don't have. And when I fail to tell you, you'll try to extract it by force.'
Travers smiled too and poured himself another drink.
'And so we meet on either side of our disagreement,' he said. 'From where I sit, your friends are dead and you do indeed know the answer to my very simple question. But I will ask it again. Do you know the identity of the Dawnthief catalysts?'
'No.'
Travers stood up. 'I think it's time you were reminded of your predicament. Isman, put him back on the wall. Leave his head alone. I'll be back in a few minutes.' The Captain strode from the hall, his walk steady, unhindered by his consumption of alcohol.
'Oh, shit,' muttered Ilkar.
'Yes.' Isman smiled. 'Please don't struggle. It only makes things more difficult. For you, that is.'
Ilkar allowed himself to be hauled to the wall chains, his right arm thumping with a strength that made him nauseous. Bracing himself for the pain, he fought to keep in mind that Denser had not let out a mana scream. And while that was true, it meant the Familiar was still alive. And while that was true, help was on its way.
But as the first shovel blow caught him just below his ribs, making him gasp as the air was forced from his lungs, he also knew that the cat wouldn't last for ever without its master. If no help arrived by sun-up, none was coming.
'So how long has Travers had her?' Hirad remained dubious. The story he had just heard didn't make much sense. He cupped his mug of steaming coffee in his hands and was glad of it. At least their meeting would not be a complete waste.
'Just a few days,' said Alun, the man who had been doing most of the talking. He was, he said, the husband of the Dordovan mage, Erienne, whom Travers had kidnapped. He looked a quiet man, and though he carried a long sword, Hirad doubted whether he really knew how to use it. He didn't have the face of a swordsman.
'What for?'
'What does he ever take mages for? For questioning,' Alun said, his voice muted, desperate.
'Why don't the Colleges do something about him?' asked Talan.
'Because enough senior mages are in grudging agreement that his work may have some use in taming dark magic,' said the big man, Thraun.
'But we're talking about kidnap here,' said Hirad. 'Surely . . .'
'It's not that simple,' said Alun. 'Erienne is a maverick. She doesn't live by College rules and they are pig-headed enough to let her suffer for it. Maybe even die.' His voice was bitter, angry. 'Look, it isn't just her. They took our boys.'
Hirad caught Alun's eyes and felt a pang of sorrow for the man. It was the same expression he'd seen in Sana: knowing he'd lost something but not really believing it was gone.
'Boys?' prompted Talan.
'Twin sons. Four years old,' answered Jandyr, the Julatsan bowman. He was an elf and claimed a nodding acquaintance with Ilkar. For his part, Ilkar had never spoken of him.
'And you three are hired, I take it,' said Talan.
'You think we'd do this sort of thing for love?'
'We are,' snapped Hirad at the gruff-voiced man, Will. He was small, maybe five and a half feet, but he was wiry and well muscled, and his eyes were clever. He carried two short swords in a crossed back-mounted scabbard, wore dark-stained leather and had a small growth of stubble covering the jaw and neck of his thin face. Hirad didn't like him.
'I don't have to justify myself to you,' said Will. 'We're all hired men here. All but Alun. You choose to fight battles for the Barons; we recover things. And people.' He shrugged. Quiet fell. The stove hissed and smoked slightly, aside from which, nothing but a dim glow from the coals gave notice that they were sitting round a fire.
Hirad glanced at the other man, Thraun. He was huge, a man who could have given even The Unknown cause for thought. His long sword was at his side and he absently scratched at his brown-flecked blond beard as he stared into the night.
A rustling behind him caught Hirad's attention and he looked over his shoulder to see the cat entering the camp site. All was clearly far from well. It stumbled and swayed as if intoxicated as it moved towards the barbarian; and in the dim light from the coals, he could see its coat, as dull now as its eyes, ragged and unkempt.
'Gods, Hirad, look at it,' said Richmond.
Hirad nodded, scooped the stricken animal up and placed it inside his jerkin, against his skin, wincing as the cold of the cat touched the warmth of his flesh.
'Yours, is it?' asked Will.
'It belongs to Denser. It's dying.'
'Obviously,' said Will.
Hirad shot him a sharp glance. 'It can't be allowed to happen. We need Denser right now.' He glanced over to Richmond and Talan. 'It's time we sorted ourselves out.'