‘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.