“It has happened before, Milamber. But that would mean civil war, for there is no heir. The Light of Heaven is young and has yet to father sons. Of his issue there are only three girls as yet. The Warlord desires only the stabilization of the Empire, not the overthrow of a dynasty more than two thousand years old. I have neither affection nor disaffection for this Warlord. But the Emperor must be made to understand that his position in the order of things is spiritual only, surrendering all final authority to the Warlord. Then shall Tsuranuanni enter an era of endless prosperity.”
Hochopepa barked a bitter laugh. “That you can believe such drivel shows only that our screening at the Assembly is not rigorous enough.”
Ignoring the insult, Elgahar said, “Once the internal order of the Empire has been made stable, then we can counter any possible threat you may herald. Even should what you say be true and my speculation prove accurate, there may be years before we need deal with the issue upon Kelewan— example time to prepare. You must remember, we of the Assembly have reached new pinnacles of power never dreamed of by our ancestors. What may have been a terror to them may prove only a nuisance to ourselves.”
“You fail in your arrogance, Elgahar. All of you. Hocho and I have discussed this before. Your assumption of supremacy is in error. You have not surpassed your ancestors’ might; you have yet to equal it. Among the works of Macros the Black I have found tomes that reveal powers undreamed of in the millennia the Assembly’s existed.”
Elgahar seemed intrigued by the notion and was silent for a long time. “Perhaps,” he said in a thoughtful tone at last. He moved toward the door. “You have accomplished one thing, Milamber. You convince me it is vital to keep you alive longer than the Warlord’s pleasure dictates. You have knowledge we must extract. As to the rest, I must . . . think upon it.”
Pug said, “Yes, Elgahar, think upon it. Think upon one word, that which you whispered in my ear.”
Elgahar seemed on the verge of saying something, then spoke to the guard outside, ordering the door opened. He left, and Hochopepa said, “He’s mad.”
“No,” said Pug. “Not mad; he simply believes what his brother tells him. Anyone who can look into Axantucar’s and Ergoran’s eyes and think they are the ones to bring prosperity to the Empire is a fool, a believing idealist, but not mad. Ergoran is the one we must truly fear.”
They settled back to silence, and Pug returned to brooding on what Elgahar had whispered to him. The chilling possibility that represented was too dreadful to dwell upon, so he turned his mind to consider again the strange moment where for the first time in his life he glimpsed the true mastery of the Lesser Path.
Time had passed. Pug didn’t know how long, but he assumed it was four hours past sunset, the time the Warlord had set for interrogation. Guards entered the cell, unshackling Meecham, Dominic, and Pug. Hochopepa was left behind.
They were marched to a room equipped with devices of torture. The Warlord stood resplendent in green and golden robes, speaking to the magician Ergoran. A man in a red hood waited silently while the three prisoners were shackled to pillars in the room, situated so they could see one another.
“Against my better judgment, Ergoran and Elgahar have convinced me it would be beneficial to keep you alive, though each has different reasons. Elgahar seemed inclined to believe your story somewhat, at least enough to think it prudent to learn all we may. Ergoran and I are not so disposed, but there are other things we wish to know. Therefore we shall begin to ensure we have only the truth from you.” He signaled to the Inquisitor, who tore Dominic’s robes from him, leaving him wearing only a loincloth. The Inquisitor opened a sealed pot and took out a stick heavy with some whitish substance. He daubed some on Dominic’s chest and the monk stiffened. Without metals, the Tsurani had developed methods of torture different from those used on Midkemia, but equally as effective. The substance was a sticky caustic that began to blister the skin as soon as administered. Dominic screwed his eyes shut and bit back a cry.
“For reasons of economy, we thought you’d be more likely to tell us the truth if your companions were given attention first. From what your former compatriots tell us, and from that unforgivable outburst at the Imperial Games, you seem to have a compassionate nature, Milamber. Will you tell us the truth?”
“Everything I have said is true, Warlord! Torturing my friends will not change that!”
“Master!” came a cry.
The Warlord looked at his Inquisitor. “What?”
“This man . . . look.” Dominic had lost his pained expression. He hung from the pillar, beatific peace upon his face.
Ergoran stepped up before the monk and examined him. “He’s in some manner of trance?”
Both Warlord and magician looked at Pug, and the magician said, “What tricks does this false priest practice, Milamber?”
“He is no priest of Hantukama, true, but he is a cleric of my world. He can place his mind at rest regardless of what occurs with his body.”