'I see you caught him,' said the officer, ignoring the salute. 'About time, sergeant. Has he told you where the girl is?'
'No sir. I was ordered to bring him back, not interrogate him.'
Masrick swung to Bakker, who was just about to douse the breakfast fire. 'You there! Keep that fire going.' Slipping his dagger from its sheath, he tossed it to Bakker. 'Heat the point. I want it glowing red.'
Masrick strode to where Fell was tied, then aimed a savage kick into the prisoner's belly, doubling him over. 'That,' said the officer, 'is for nothing at all. What follows will, however, have value. Are you listening, clansman?'
Fell raised his head and met the officer's stare. He said nothing. Masrick knelt before him and punched him full in the face. Fell's head snappped back, cannoning against the tree-trunk. 'You killed a cousin of mine. He was a wretch, but he owed me money. That was bad. But it will be worth much more to me to find the woman and bring her back to the Baron. I think you'll help me. All you clansmen think you are tough. But trust me, when I have burned out your left eye you'll do anything to save the sight in the other."
The soldiers had gathered round the scene in a sweeping half-circle. Obrin gazed at their faces.They were eager for the entertainment. Kollarin was standing back from them, his expression impossible to read. Bakker brought the heated knife to the officer; the hilt was wrapped in a rag, the point hissing as Masrick took it.
'Lieutenant!' Obrin's voice barked out. Masrick was startled and he almost dropped the knife.
'What? Make it quick, man, the knife is cooling!'
'Leave him be!'
Masrick ignored him and knelt before Fell, the knife moving towards the forester's eyes. Obrin's foot rose and slammed into the officer's face, spinning him to the ground. There was a gasp from the soldiers. Masrick rolled to his knees, then screamed as his hand pressed down on the red-hot blade which was smouldering in the grass. He surged to his feet, his face crimson. 'By God you'll pay for that!'
'I am an acting captain,' said Obrin, 'promoted by the Baron himself. You are a lieutenant who just disobeyed an order from a superior officer. Where does that leave you, you jumped-up toad?'
'You have lost your mind,' sneered Masrick, 'and I will see you hang for your impertinence. No common man may strike a nobleman, be the common man a captain or a general. That kick is going to cost you dear!'
'Ah well,' said Obrin, with a broad smile, 'may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb!' So saying, he took a step forward and slammed his fist into the officer's mouth, catapulting the man from his feet. Drawing his dagger, he moved in for the kill.
Something struck him a wicked blow on the skull and he staggered, half turning. He saw Bakker raise his arm, then the cudgel struck his temple and he fell into darkness.
When he awoke he found himself tied to his saddle. Masrick was leading the column and they were approaching a small castle. Fell was walking beside Obrin's mount, his hands tied behind him and a rope around his neck. The other end of the rope was being held by the rider in front.
'You really did it this time, sergeant,' said a voice from his left. Obrin turned in the saddle to see, riding alongside him, Bakker. 'Now they're going to hang you! Not before time, if you ask me.
You always was a right pain in the groin. Never liked you.'
Obrin ignored him.
The castle gates loomed ahead.
CHAPTER VII
A SMIDIR HAD NEVER enjoyed great talent as a magicker. Though his powers of concentration were great, and his imagination powerful, he had always lacked what his tutors termed ability of release. Magic, he was told, involved the user surrendering control and merging his mind with the powers hovering beyond what the five senses could experience. For all his talent Asmidir had never been able to fully release. Now he sat in the main hall, a huge leather-bound book open on his lap. The script was in gold, carefully set upon bleached leather; it was an ancient Kushir script and he read it with difficulty.
Closing the book, he stood and moved to the long, oval table. Upon it was a golden dish, set on a stand above three small candles. Asmidir drew his dagger and began to speak. His eyes were closed, his spirit loose within the cage of his powerful body as his breathing deepened. The dagger blade cut into his forearm and blood welled, dripping into the heated dish where it sizzled and steamed.
Asmidir's voice faded away. Opening his eyes, he took a deep, shuddering breath. It was done. Not brilliantly, not even expertly. Let it at least be adequate, he thought. Returning the dagger to its sheath he pressed his thumb against the shallow wound on his arm, applying pressure for some minutes. A dark-skinned servant stepped forward with a long linen bandage. Asmidir extended his arm, and the man skilfully applied it.
'Bring the officer here to me, Ari,' he told the servant. 'Also the man in green. You have prepared the refreshment I ordered for the soldiers?'
'Yes, lord. As you commanded.'
The servant took the bowl and departed the room. Asmidir returned to the log fire and settled himself into an armchair. He heard the sounds of hoofbeats on stone, and felt the cold blast of air as the main doors of the castle were pulled open to admit the soldiers.
Rising from his chair, he turned towards the door just as the potbellied Lieutenant Masrick strode into sight with Kollarin the Finder behind him. Masrick's face was discoloured, his lips thickened and split.
'Good day to you,' said Asmidir, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. 'It is good to see you again, Masrick.' The officer responded with a perfunctory handshake. A servant appeared.
'Fetch wine for our guests, Ari.' Masrick removed his iron helm and carelessly dropped it upon the highly polished table.
'The Baron wants to see you," said Masrick. 'You are to return with us to Citadel.'
'I think you mean that the Baron has requested my presence,' said Asmidir coolly.
'No, I said what I meant. He told me to bring you, and that's what I'll do.' Masrick lifted a hand to his smashed lips, probing them. 'I have two prisoners with me. Does this place still boast a dungeon?'
'No,' Asmidir told him. He swung to Kollarin. 'And you must be the Finder,' he said, forcing a smile. 'I take it from the fact that you have prisoners that you have been successful.'
'Yes,' said Kollarin. He moved to the hearth and reached out to touch the leather-bound book on the small table. Idly the man in green flipped open the cover. 'Ah, a Kushir grimoire. A long time since I have seen such a work. The scripting is very fine - resin dusted with gold and then varnished. Exquisite!'
'You read Kushir?' asked Asmidir, holding his expression to one of mild interest, while his heart beat against his ribs like a drum of war.
'I read all known languages,' said Kollarin. 'I do not wish it to sound like a boast, since it is a Talent I have possessed all my life, and not the result of dedicated study.'
The servant, Ari, returned with a flagon of wine and two goblets. Masrick accepted his without a word of thanks. Kollarin smiled at Ari and gave a short bow of the head. 'Not drinking with us, Asmidir?' Masrick asked.
'No.' Turning back to Kollarin, he asked, 'What will you do now that your hunt has been successful?"
'Successful?' queried Kollarin.
'Two prisoners. I understood you were hunting for a man and a woman.'
'We haven't caught the woman yet,' said Masrick, cutting in, 'but we will. We have the forester, Fell. The other prisoner is a renegade. He struck me! Loosened several teeth. By God, he'll pay for it when I get him back to Citadel.'
'It does look sore,' agreed Asmidir. 'Ari, fetch some of the special camomile ointment for this gentleman.' As the servant departed Asmidir seated himself before the fire, trying not to look at Kollarin as the man slowly turned the pages of the grimoire. 'So,' he said to Masrick, 'why does the Baron request my presence so urgently?'