The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [115]
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Samatha said, ducking her head inside the tent. “But you must come with me at once.”
Grace met her gray eyes, then she grabbed her cloak and headed outside. The sun was at its zenith, and the day was bright and cold. She instructed the guard posted by her tent to keep an eye on Tira, then followed the Spider across the camp.
“What's going on, Sam?”
“I found the signs not far from here, and Leris and Aldeth were able to come upon them unaware. However, they reacted swiftly. They had some magic that monitored their hideout. One of them was slain, but we caught the other alive.”
Grace grabbed the Spider's arm. “What are you talking about? Whom did you capture?”
The Spider held out her hand. On her palm, a small, black object absorbed the sunlight. A hiss of static issued from the speaker embedded in the plastic device. Grace snatched it from the Spider's hand, then they were both running.
They came to a tent on the edge of the camp. Leris stood outside. The Spider was so slight Grace would have taken him for a twelve-year-old boy on Earth. That would have been a deadly mistake. Leris nodded, and they slipped inside.
The tent was dark. Grace concentrated, touching the threads of the Weirding, and a ball of green witchlight sprang into being above her, pushing back the shadows. The man sat on the ground, his hands and legs bound with ropes, blood trickling from a scrape on his cheek. She recognized him. He was dressed in the rags of a peasant, but his skin was clear of disease, and standing he would have been tall.
“Your mission is over,” Grace said. “Your only purpose now is to answer my questions. You will speak precisely, truthfully, and without hesitation. Do you understand?”
The man squinted against the glare of the witchlight, and Grace knew he couldn't see her. “Please, my lady.” His voice quavered. “I'm but a simple farmer. I know not what you speak. I ask only that you let me return to my village.”
The performance was convincing. He was speaking in Eldhish, and his accent was that of a commoner. They had learned more these last months than she would have thought; no wonder they had managed to blend in so well.
“I know who you are,” she said in English.
The man snapped his head up, and his eyes went wide—but only for a moment before they narrowed again.
“And now I know who you are as well,” he said, his voice hoarse but defiant. “It's hopeless, Dr. Beckett. We're close now—closer than you can possibly imagine. There's nothing you can do to stop us from getting what we want.”
“Really? It seems I've done pretty well so far.”
He glared at her, straining against the ropes; they creaked but held fast.
“The pleasantries are over,” Grace said, speaking in Eldhish again. “Now it's time for you to talk. You'll tell me what your mission is, who sent you, and how you got here.”
He shifted back to Eldhish as well, his accent that of a groveling peasant once more, only mocking this time. “You'll get nothing from me, my lady. Your only choice is to kill me as your slaves killed my partner.”
Aldeth stepped from the shadowed corner of the tent and knelt, pressing a knife to the man's throat. “I can arrange that, if you'd like.”
“That's not fair, Aldeth,” Samatha said, moving forward, her own knife drawn. “You and Leris got to kill the last one. This one's mine, and I'm going to savor every moment of it.”
Grace made a sharp motion with her hand. “No, Sam, Aldeth—no knives. I'll deal with this.”
The two Spiders reluctantly sheathed their weapons and stepped back.
Grace stood above the prisoner. “If you won't speak of your own free will, I have other options at my disposal.”
“Like what?” he sneered.
She had no time for games. “Like this.”
Grace reached out with the Touch and gripped his thread. He resisted, but his will quickly crumbled before her own. No doubt his training had inured him to any sort of physical torture, but nothing could have prepared him for this. She probed deep into his mind, searching for whatever knowledge she