All very impressive, even beautiful, if she'd felt in the least like appreciating it. So they were here, wherever here was, and their armored captors were seating them in huge stone chairs, chaining their throats so tightly to the backs of these seats that they could barely breathe.
The armored men then promptly departed back the way they'd come. All, that is, but the huge armored mountain of a man who commanded them, who strode to one of the row of doors Tantaerra could see along the back wall of the room and smote a metal panel on it with his gauntleted fist, causing a muffled boom.
Almost immediately, another door in the row swung open. Two servants in identical uniforms stepped out, faced each other across the doorway, and bowed low. Between their bent heads swept a burly, red-faced man whose shoulders were broad, whose jaw was large and heavy, and whose face was haughty, lip curled in a sneer. His hair was swept into a flowing peak, no doubt by the dint of much servants' primping and wax, and he wore a flared tunic that looked like a military uniform made by a ladies' gown designer.
"You two," this grandest of men boomed, sweeping up to the helplessly imprisoned Tantaerra and The Masked, "are foul Mereir spies! You shall die, but not before you've yielded up all you know, and every last villainy you'd planned-and you shall yield everything, under the tortures my experts shall inflict upon you, regardless of how sternly you resist me now! Know this, and despair! Yet I am munificent, I am, and can be so generous as to offer wine, and an evening of civil converse-if you speak freely!"
With every sentence he uttered, this large and florid man strutted back and forth in front of his prisoners, his chest bulging and arms gesturing grandly. His voice was almost deafening, and he was practically spitting.
"Let us begin," he said, suddenly stopping and bending to thrust his face almost into Tantaerra's, "with your names!"
"Uh," she stammered, terrified and ashamed of being frightened, her face warmed by his breath and spittle, anger rising in her as his gaze dropped from her face to her bare body. "Ah …"
"You are unsubtly vicious and ambitious," The Masked interrupted crisply, "which leads me to suspect that of the Telcanors, you must be Krzonstal Telcanor. Excuse me-Lord Krzonstal Telcanor. Am I correct?"
Tantaerra tried to turn her head to look at the man she'd hired. He was bluffing-he must be-drawing on some of the replies he'd had from citizens earlier in the day. And with torture and death promised, why not bluff? What was there to lose?
It hadn't taken much eavesdropping to learn that the Telcanors were a large and cruel clan, and this Krzonstal was one of three brothers or cousins-she hadn't sorted them out, though she suspected The Masked had-who led them. He wasn't the head of the family, though, she did know that much, and-
Lord Telcanor had swung around to glare into The Masked's face, their noses almost touching.
"I am Lord Krzonstal Telcanor, and I'm not in the habit of repeating my questions. Give me your name. Or Zreem here-" He flung out an arm to indicate the huge armored man who'd so effortlessly broken Tantaerra's dagger in his hand, and who was now standing impassively behind the lord. "-shall force it out of you. Painfully. We usually begin by breaking fingers."
"Do you? The General Lords will be intrigued to learn that," The Masked replied flatly, gazing fearlessly right back at the snarling noble.
Lord Telcanor recoiled as if he'd been slapped, mouth falling open. Then it clamped shut, his eyes narrowed, and he leaned in close again. "Oh? And how will the General Lords learn of it? Enlighten me."
"They'll learn it from our reports. And if anything happens to us and our reports cease or seem false, from those sent to find out why."
"Your reports?"
"Our reports. Our names don't matter, as we won't give you our true ones. We are special investigators of Molthune, working personally for the General Lords."
"What? You expect me to believe that?"
"Lord Telcanor," The Masked snapped, "I don't expect you to do anything. After what I've just heard you say, I doubt your loyalty to Molthune, your judgment, and your sanity. It is not my business, as an investigator sworn into service personally by Imperial Governor Teldas himself, to 'expect' things. My duty is to observe, pry to learn what lies behind what I can observe, and report. Without altering what I say with my own opinions, expectations, or embroiderments. Your beliefs are your own business. Nevertheless, I and the halfling you have chained beside me are investigators charged to observe certain matters here in Braganza and promptly report what we've seen to the General Lords, and if you-"
Lord Telcanor paled, yet looked about to bluster further. Whatever reply he might have made, however, was lost forever in the almighty crash that followed, as one of the largest panes of the skylight shattered and started to rain down shards all over the gleaming floor.
The giant bodyguard sprang like a tiger to catch Lord Telcanor and sweep him back from the ringing, flying shards, but kept his gaze on something behind Tantaerra's chair that had obviously shattered the skylight-and was now descending into the room.
"Before you rush to strike any of the gongs, Onstal Zreem, you and Lord Telcanor might want to hear what I have to say in private," said a new voice from behind Tantaerra. A loud, calmly commanding voice she recognized.
It was the brown-eyed man from the rooftop in Halidon. He was still hidden from her view behind the chairs where she and The Masked were chained, but glass crunched under unhurried boots as he strode around them.
Lord Telcanor was gaping in earnest now, and Zreem had placed himself protectively in front of his lord, hand on sword hilt and face impassive.
The crunchings stopped. "In the name of Imperial Governor Markwin Teldas, I thank you, Lord Telcanor, for capturing these two dangerous spies. They have long been threats to Molthune, and have eluded some of our best warriors and agents. I've pursued them from Halidon to here. Molthune thanks you, and will soon do so by more than merely my words. So loyal and effective a Molthuni deserves high command, that we may all benefit from such leadership and capability."
Telcanor visibly preened, but managed to ask, almost fawningly, "But …but who, sir, are you?"
"I am an investigator for Molthune. The High Investigator, as it happens. I am from Canorate, and my name here is Orivin Ahrkholm. I speak with the authority of the Imperial Governor himself."
"And who are these two?" the noble asked, waving a hand at Tantaerra and The Masked. "They would not give me their names."
"Small wonder; I'd not be surprised to learn they never surrender their real names to anyone. Lord Telcanor, you've captured not just two lying imposters but two veteran spies from Nirmathas! Be assured that Canorate will pay for the replacement of your skylight, but I dared not wait a moment longer when I heard them claim to serve the General Lords."
"Nirmathi," the noble breathed, making the word a curse, as he glared at The Masked and then at Tantaerra.
"They are of the enemy, yes," Ahrkholm agreed gravely, turning back into all the glass.
"Where are you going?" Zreem asked sharply.
"I must retrieve the rope," the investigator drawled, "by which I dropped down into the midst of things."
"Leave it," Lord Telcanor commanded, his booming self again. "An idea has occurred to me, and I must confer with my advisor." He nodded to Zreem, who strode to a particular dark gong amid the row of doors.
"You have an advisor, Lord Telcanor?" Ahrkholm asked softly.
The noble looked smug. "A passing fashion among the great houses," he replied, "but mine is the best. A real sage."