The squeal of metal snapped Karna’s attention back. He saw Dimvak drag a sharp, pointed rod from the brazier amidst a shower of white sparks. Karna’s guts churned. Dimvak stepped forward and pressed the orange-hot metal end onto Karna shoulder, and dug inside his skin-breastplate. Blood poured copiously. Karna’s muffled screams echoed off the walls.

‘He wasn’t lying. It is part of his skin,’ Dimvak said.

‘I don’t care about the details of what an abomination he is. Strip him the way he was made before Xath.’

Dimvak nodded and dug deeper. It sounded like ice being dropped into a pan of hot oil. Combined with Karna’s agonized cries, it was a heart-wrenching sound. Karna’s body thrashed and shuddered like a fish on a hook, his back arched hideously, the manacles on his hands threatening to give way. But Dimvak kept a firm grip, all the while working grim-faced.

Foul steam shot up from where the iron had finally found a way inside the armour. Karna’s screams were garbled now, mindless. With pursed lips, Dimvak blew at the steam rising from where he had skinned Karna, and continued to dig in the iron. He sliced downwards to the armpit. Blood splattered Dimvak’s face. But Dimvak might as well have been cutting open a stag for dinner the way he laboured on, unfazed.

Karna could not breathe. He would have lost consciousness had the pain not been relentless in its embrace. Sparks flew before his eyes like a swarm of bees as Dimvak began to pierce his skin to create a space between his breastplate and his bare flesh. All the while, Jhestal stood mute, an eye on the water clock.

Suddenly the sizzling and shrieking grew quiet. Spit frothed around the rag between Karna’s bared teeth. He was whimpering like a beaten dog.

‘What is it?’ Jhestal asked, annoyed.

Dimvak grunted and yanked out the iron. Karna was dragged back from semi-consciousness to another scream; a short one, that faded into a groan. Dimvak pointed to the end of the rod that had cooled to a dark red, smeared with blood and charred flesh. The cell stank of burnt flesh. He tossed the rod onto the coals, waiting for it to heat again.

Jhestal crossed to Karna and grabbed the drooping head, yanking it back. He tapped Karna’s chest, one, two, three times, then pulled at the singed edges of the breastplate, wrinkling his nose. All Jhestal saw was blackened, raw, skinless flesh under the breastplate. ‘It does look like part of his skin,’ he murmured.

‘Like I said,’ Dimvak grunted, returning with the rod.

Jhestal stepped back. Karna’s eye did not leave the looming orange top of the rod as it fizzed in the air towards him, anticipating the scorching pain.

Dimvak leaned forward. ‘Sorry, kid. It’s just business.’