The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [99]
“You keep a very poor watch, Baruma.”
“I had no idea I needed to.” He managed to force out a smile. “You might have knocked.”
When the Hawkmaster chuckled under his breath, the two men with him smiled, baring their teeth like animals.
“I might have but I didn’t. Why haven’t you joined the Old One yet?”
“He suspects treachery. I’ve been debating whether I should go or not.”
“Does he? Oh, does he? And you never said a word to me about it?”
Baruma went sick-cold with fear, but even though his stomach was churning and his hands were shaking, he tried to keep his voice steady.
“How could I have contacted you? Would you have appreciated me calling to you when anyone could hear? Should I have sent a public messenger with a letter?”
“Well, I have to give you that, yes. Besides, you couldn’t know that he’s struck against us.”
“He’s what?” Baruma heard the squeal in his voice, but by then he was shaking too hard to control it.
“He sent his confederates against my men. He has to be the one behind this, he has to! No one else would dare cross me.”
As if by some prearranged signal, the other two Hawks stepped forward. One grabbed Baruma’s wrists and twisted his arms round behind his back; the other clamped a hand over his mouth.
“Did you warn the Old One, little Baruma?” the master said. “One of my men is dead. I can’t make contact with the others. Is it your fault, little piglet?”
Since his captor’s grip was too firm for a shake, Baruma wobbled his head in a no. Sweat was trickling down his back and beading on his forehead.
“I don’t know if I believe you, creature. You were trying to cram both heels of the loaf into your mouth at once, weren’t you? Did you think you were clever enough to fool both me and the Old One?”
Baruma choked out a muffled snort that he meant for no.
“We’re going to take you with us, piglet. We’re going to make you answer our questions. I’ve heard you’re a master at giving pain. How well do you take it, I wonder?”
The Hawkmaster reached out and caught his elbow between a probing thumb and forefinger that slid down, separating the muscle masses, then pressed—hard—the raw nerve against solid bone. Baruma’s scream gathered in his throat and forced its way into his stifled mouth as a gargling spitting cough that made him spasm.
“Unless, of course, you tell me the truth. Let him speak, Karralo. He knows that if he screams for help, he’ll die right here.”
When the Hawk took his hand away, Baruma caught his breath in moist sobs.
“I didn’t betray you. I couldn’t. I went against the Old One’s orders when I brought you into this, didn’t I? He specifically said to sell Rhodry and let Fate take him. I wanted him dead or prisoner. Didn’t I? Didn’t I?”
Instead of answering the Hawkmaster reached up and pulled off his silk hood. With a shock Baruma realized that the man was handsome; his skin was the lustrous blue-black of Orystinnia, his mouth soft and full, his black eyes wide and beautifully shaped. He’d always imagined the Hawkmaster as some scarred monstrosity.
“You’ve seen my face now, little Baruma. Do you know what that means? The only way you’ll leave my side from now on is by dying. Do you understand me? Oh, you’re as pasty as spoiled cheese, so I think you do. The only reason you’re staying alive is because I can use you. You’ve seen this mysterious Rhodry, and that means I can scry through your eyes. You’ve been to the Old One’s villa, and that means you can take me there. I’m going to break your will like a wild horse and ride you like the beast you are. As long as you’re useful, you’ll live. Give me the slightest trouble, and your pain will number itself in weeks, not hours, before the Clawed Ones eat your soul.”
Baruma felt hot urine spurt down his leg. The Hawkmaster laughed, then grabbed his shoulder to inflict the same sort of fiery agony as before. This time he couldn’t scream, didn’t dare make any noise that would attract the attention of the other people in the inn, because he knew that a cry for help was worse than futile, that the Hawks would