"You suspect poison?"
"Don't you?"
Allazar simply gazed, and then began searching the room with Gawain. From underneath the black altar-table, Allazar drew a large wooden box. His fingers trembled a little as he reached to open it. But Gawain reached down and threw open the lid, fearlessly.
Nestling inside the box was a large glass flask of green liquid that seemed to glow in the dim light from the sconces around the walls.
"Now do something useful for a change." Gawain said softly. "Tell me if that's poison, or if it's a cure for some unheard-of affliction."
"What are the signs of the illness?"
"Convulsions, followed by severe weakness and insensibility. Which are miraculously held at bay for seven days after this is administered."
There was an empty phial in the box, and Allazar uncorked it, and poured a small measure of the stuff from the flask into the phial. Then he sniffed it, and frowned.
Behind them, the emissary groaned.
"Hurry, whitebeard. He wakens sooner than expected. Is it poison or cure? In truth, for I'd prefer not to leave this vile scum alive after going to this much trouble to get in."
"There is dreadbane in this. And Elve's Blood, though not much of it. The green is arrowmint. But there is more. Another ingredient I cannot name yet."
"Poison or cure?"
"It could be either, Longsword! In small doses, even Elve's Blood can be medicine and not poison! Likewise the sap of the Dwarfspit tree!"
The emissary groaned again.
"Time runs short!" Gawain urged.
"I do not know! The odour is strangely familiar but I cannot name it!"
Then the emissary began struggling.
"Remain silent." Gawain sighed to Allazar. "He must not know you are here."
Allazar nodded, and went back to sniffing the phial.
The emissary's eyes were open when Gawain stepped around in front of him. They opened wider when they focussed and Gawain slipped the blackening cloths from his head.
"Yes, it is indeed I. You were expecting me, of course.” Gawain hissed.
The emissary's eyes narrowed, and then sparkled darkly in the lamplight.
"Ah. You wish to impart a secret, perhaps?" Gawain asked, straight-faced.
The Ramoth nodded, and were it not for the gag, the lips would doubtless be curled in a sneer.
"I see. Something about Juria, no doubt, and how you stand between the Crown and a terrible death? Something like that?"
The emissary's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he nodded once, slowly.
"Not interested." Gawain leaned close, staring hard into the man's eyes. "Not even remotely interested. What do I care for the life of Juria? Do I look like a Jurian?"
The emissary's eyes widened, and sweat began to form on his brow.
"Besides," Gawain continued, "I doubt Juria would thank me for slaughtering his guards outside. I suppose I might be able to pacify the Crown if I could say, 'I have the cure', but it doesn't really matter. I came for you, you stinking Ramoth, just as I said I would."
The man's eyes widened further, and he began shaking his head violently as Gawain drew his knife. Over the emissary's shoulder, Gawain saw Allazar shaking his head. He still hadn't identified the remaining ingredient.
"You worship Ramoth?” Gawain asked menacingly.
The man nodded.
"I keep seeing the snake-symbol. This Ramoth of yours, a snake, is he?"
Again a slight nod.
"And you and your followers would like to be like Ramoth, make way for him in your heart."
Another nod.
"But snakes don't have ears.” Gawain said quietly, toying with the knife. "And you do. Perhaps I should help you in your quest to be more like your ancient god? What do you think, shall I remove your ears?"
The emissary shook his head violently.
"No? Strange. I would've thought you'd welcome the chance to look more like the thing you worship. They say imitation is true flattery. Come to think of it," Gawain sheathed the knife, to the man's obvious relief, "Snakes don't have legs, either. Do they?"
And Gawain slowly unsheathed the longsword.
The emissary began weeping, and struggling against his bonds as Gawain flourished the mighty weapon casually.
"Or arms, for that matter." He whispered in the man's ear, eyeing Allazar, who again shook his head, his expression frantic.
Gawain stepped back from the emissary, and eyed the man's legs while he took a firm two-handed grip on the sword. He made a play of testing the clearance around him, checking that his strike would be unimpeded by walls and beams…
When the blade touched the emissary lightly on the thigh during this practise swing, he immediately began screaming through the gag in his mouth, and struggling violently.
"Oh, something to say?" Gawain paused expectantly, mockingly.
The emissary nodded his head frantically, and Gawain stepped forward again.
"But snakes can't speak. Maybe I should cut out your tongue first? Let's hear what the scum of Ramoth has to say for himself first, though. And try not to scream, vermin, you don't want the last thing your tongue articulates to be nothing but meaningless noise, do you?"
Gawain prised the gag roughly from the emissary's mouth.
"Under the table!" he gasped, terrified, "Under the table! The medicine! For the king!"
"Medicine? For the king?"
"My life for it! My life for the secret! You can command a king's ransom with it!"
"Really? Go on."
"It's under the table! It is yours for my life!"
"What good is it to me, Ramoth filth? When the medicine runs out, how then can I command this king's ransom?"
The Ramoth nearly choked so anxious was he to spit out the words. They came in a flurry, unbroken by breath or pause.
"It is simple! So simple! Dreadbane and Elve's Blood in the mixture of one part to one half part, and arrowmint to disguise the taste of one part of aquamire!"
"Aquamire!" Allazar gasped, his face a vision of revulsion, and he cast the phial from him aghast.
The emissary gasped too, and his eyes widened again, and he began weeping, realising he had been deceived.
"Kill him, Longsword!” Allazar cried, "In the name of all the races of man, kill this monster now!"
Gawain shrugged, and slammed his fist into the emissary's face, knocking him senseless again.
"So. Is it poison, or cure?"
"Kill him, I beg you." Allazar pleaded.
"Here he is. Helpless and at your mercy, Allazar. If you would see him dead, here is my knife. Or if you prefer to distance yourself from the slaughter as your kind always do, why then borrow my longsword. It lets you stand so much further away from the deed."
"Kill him.” Allazar said again, but with less conviction, the horror still plain on his face.
"What is aquamire?"
"I will not say. It is vile. Evil. The vilest of all substances made with dark wizardry and I cannot bear to speak of it or how it comes to be."
Gawain studied the wizard, and was surprised to see what appeared to be tears in the man's eyes. Whatever this aquamire was, it was clearly distressing.
"So. Is it poison or cure?"
"Poison. Of a most insidious kind."
"Can you rid the king of it?"
"Now I know the nature of this green filth, yes, easily."
With that, Allazar kicked the box and its flask across the room. Glass smashed, and green fluid seeped out to stain the floorboards.
"For the last time, I beg you Longsword, despatch that fiend."
Gawain drew his sword and with a single flowing motion sliced through the bonds that held the emissary suspended from the ceiling beams.
"I told a princess today, no-one commands my blade but my own arm. And no-one commands me, wizard. You want him dead, you do it."