Finally a lone legionnaire came limping down the street. By the looks of it, an old wound or fracture in his leg had never healed properly. Though he was past his prime, with a frame that had once been athletic and was now running to fat, he wore no medallion, plume, or other insignia of rank, and was evidently still a common man-at-arms.
He didn't look intoxicated, either. Perhaps he'd just come off duty and was heading for the same soldier's tavern Malark had visited.
In any case, whatever his business, he appeared perfect for Malark's purposes. The spy waited until the legionnaire was just a few paces away, then stepped forth from the shadows.
Startled, the legionnaire jumped back, and his hand darted to the hilt of his broadsword. Then he hesitated, confused, perhaps, by the contradiction between the menace implicit in Malark's sudden emergence and the innocuous appearance of his empty hands and general demeanor. It gave the spy the opportunity to step closer.
"What do you want?" the soldier demanded.
"Answers," Malark replied.
That was apparently enough to convince the warrior he was in trouble. He started to snatch the sword out, but he'd waited too long. Before it could clear the scabbard, Malark sprang in and slammed the heel of his hand into the center of the other man's forehead. The legionnaire's leather helmet thudded, no doubt absorbing part of the force of the impact. Not enough of it, though, and his knees buckled. Malark caught him and dragged him into the narrow, lightless space between two houses.
When he judged he'd gone far enough from the street that he and his prisoner would remain unobserved, he set the legionnaire down on the ground, relieved him of his sword and dirk, and held a vial of smelling salts under his nose. Rousing, the warrior twisted away from the vapors.
"Are you all right?" Malark asked, straightening up. "It can be tricky to hit a man hard enough to stun him, but not so hard that you do any real harm. I like to think I have the knack, but armor makes it more difficult."
"I'll kill you," the soldier growled.
"Try if you like," Malark said and waited to see if the prisoner would dive for the sword or dagger now resting on the ground beyond his reach or attack with his bare hands.
He opted for the latter. Wishing the space between the buildings weren't quite so narrow, Malark nonetheless managed to shift to the side when the captive surged up and hurled himself forward. He tripped the legionnaire then, while the other man was floundering off balance, caught hold of his arm and twisted, applying pressure to the shoulder socket. The warrior gasped at the pain.
"We're going to have a civil conversation," said Malark. "The only question is, do I need to dislocate your arm to make it happen, or are you ready to cooperate now?"
As best he was able, the legionnaire struggled, trying to break free. Malark applied more pressure, enough to paralyze the man.
"I really will do it," said the spy, "and then I'll go on damaging you until you see reason."
"All right!" the soldier gasped.
Malark released him. "Sit or stand as you prefer."
The bigger man chose to stand and rub his shoulder. "Who in the Nine Hells are you?"
"My name is Malark Springhill. I do chores of various sorts for Tharchion Flass."
The legionnaire hesitated, his eyes narrowing. Perhaps he'd never risen in the ranks, but he was evidently more intelligent than that fact would seem to imply. "You… are you supposed to tell me that?"
"Ordinarily, no," Malark replied. Out on the street, a woman laughed, the sound strident as a raptor's screech. "I'm a spy among other things, and generally I have to lie to people all the time, about… well, everything, really. It's something of a luxury that I can be honest with you."
"Because you mean to kill me."
"Yes. I'm going to ask you what truly happened in the Gorge of Gauros, and I couldn't let you survive to report that anyone was interested in that even if you didn't know who sent me to inquire. But you get to decide how pleasant the next little while will be, and how you'll die at the end of it.
"You can try withholding the information I want," Malark continued, "in which case, I'll torture it out of you. Afterwards, your body will be broken, incapable of resistance when I snap your neck.
"Or you can answer me freely, and I'll have no reason to hurt you. Once you've given me what I need, I'll return your blades, permit you to unsheathe them, and we'll fight. You're a legionnaire. Surely you'd prefer the honor of a warrior's death, and I'd like to give it to you."
The legionnaire stared at him. "You're crazy."
"People often say that, but they're mistaken." Malark decided to confide in the warrior. It was one technique for building trust between interrogator and prisoner, and besides, he rarely had the chance to tell his story. "I just see existence in a way others can't.
"A long, long while ago, I learned of a treasure. The sole surviving dose of a philter to keep a man from aging forever after.
"I coveted it. So did others. In those days, I scarcely knew the rudiments of fighting, but I had a friend who was proficient, and together we bested our rivals and seized the prize. We'd agreed we'd each drink half the potion, and thus, though neither of us would become immortal, we'd both live a long time."
"But you betrayed him," said the legionnaire, "and drank it all yourself."
Malark smiled. "Are you saying that because you're a good judge of character, or because it's what you would have done? Either way, you're right. That's exactly what I did, and later on, I started to regret it.
"First, I watched everyone I loved, everyone I even knew, pass away. That's hard. I wept when my former friend died a feeble old man, and he'd spent the past fifty years trying to revenge himself on me.
"I attempted to move forward. I told myself there was a new generation of people to care about. The problem, of course, was that before long, in the wink of an eye, or so it seemed, they died, too.
"When I grew tired of enduring that, I tried living with dwarves and later, elves, but it wasn't the same as living with my own kind, and in time, they passed away just like humans. It simply took a little longer."
The soldier gaped at him. "How old are you?"
"Older than Thay. I recall hearing the tidings that the Red Wizards had fomented a rebellion against Mulhorand, though I wasn't in these parts to witness it myself. Anyway, over time, I pretty much lost the ability to feel an attachment to individual people, for what was the point? Instead, I tried to embrace causes and places, only to discover those die too. I lost count of the times I gave my affection to one or another town along the Moonsea, only to see the place sacked and the inhabitants massacred. I learned that as the centuries roll by, even gods change, or at least our conception of them does, which amounts to the same thing if you're looking for some constancy to cling to.
"But eventually I realized there was one constant, and that was death. In its countless variations, it was happening all around me, all the time. It befell everyone, or at least, everyone but me, and that made it fascinating."
"If you're saying you wanted to die, why didn't you just stick a dagger into your heart or jump off a tower? Staying young forever isn't the same thing as being unkillable, is it?"
"No, it isn't, and I've considered ending my life on many occasions, but something has always held me back. Early on, it was the same dread of death that prompted me to strive for the elixir and betray my poor friend in the first place. After I made a study of extinction, I shed the fear, but with enlightenment, suicide came to seem like cheating, or at the very least, bad manners. Death is a gift, and we aren't meant to reach out and snatch it. We're supposed to wait until the universe is generous enough to bestow it on us."