“You were going to take it to your father,” Morgan said, nodding slowly. “Son, do you know what they call people who take things that don’t belong to them?”

“I’m not a thief and I’m not your son!” the boy retorted. “We looked around and didn’t see anyone, so we thought the horses must have strayed from the encampment down below. They are fighting horses, after all.”

“Are they, now?” Morgan mused. “And you thought it quite likely that such horses would be wandering loose.” The boy nodded gravely.

“You’re lying, of course,” Morgan said flatly, grasping the boy by the bicep and swinging him down to the ground. “But, then, that’s to be expected. Tell me, are there any more obstacles between here and the Dhassa gates, or—”

“You are spies! I knew it!” the boy blurted, starting to fight as his feet hit the ground. “Let me go! Ow, you’re hurting me! Stop it!”

Shaking his head in annoyance, Morgan deftly twisted one of the boy’s arms behind his back and held it, increasing his pressure until the boy doubled over with the pain. When he had ceased struggling, his attention wholly on the hurting arm—which he had discovered did not hurt if he stopped struggling—Morgan released him abruptly and swung the boy around to face him.

“Now, relax!” Morgan commanded, turning his gray gaze on the boy to Truth-Read. “I haven’t time to listen to your hysterics.”

The boy tried to resist, but he had no chance against Morgan’s compulsions. Blue eyes met gray ones defiantly for just an instant; but then the young will yielded and the blue eyes blinked and went a little glassy. As the boy calmed enough to be Read, Morgan straightened and released the boy’s arm, letting out a relieved sigh as he tightened his belt and brushed a drying strand of hair back from his face.

“Now,” he said, again looking the boy in the eyes, “what can you tell me about the rest of the trail? Can we get through?”

“Not on horses,” the boy said calmly. “You could probably get through on foot, but the horses—never. There’s a slide area ahead: mud and shale. Not even the mountain ponies can get across.”

“A slide area? Is there any other way around?”

“Not to Dhassa. The way you came leads back to Garwode. Hardly anyone ever uses this trail, because you can’t get through with pack animals or baggage.”

“I see. Anything else you can tell us about the slide area?”

“Not really. The worst part is about a hundred yards across, but you can see the other end of the trail before you start across. It’ll be muddy this time of year. You’ll just have to pick your way across as best you can.”

Morgan glanced at Duncan, who had moved to his side during the interrogation. “Anything else?”

“How about the gates at Dhassa?” Duncan asked. “Will we have any trouble getting in?”

The boy glanced at the Saint Torin badge pinned to Duncan’s cap, then shook his head. “Your badges will pass you. Just mingle with other people who get on the ferries. There are scores of strangers in Dhassa these days.”