Travers turned and made his way to his chair, his canes giving him a wobbly four-legged gait. He sagged in his seat, breathing heavily, and his officers sparked two very bright alchemical lights. The heat of them washed over Jean-Claude’s goose-pimpled flesh, but this was not being done for his comfort. Those were the same sort of floodlights used in shadowpults. Even through clenched eyelids the reflected light burned his eyes.

“Now, speak,” Travers said.

What sort of test was this? There was no way to tell what this nutter actually wanted him to say, so he’d best at least make it interesting.

“Czensos means to betray you,” Jean-Claude said. A sudden pain burrowed into his head, like a corpse worm gnawing on his brain. Fear rose from the black places deep inside. Had Travers bought Jean-Claude just to kill him?

“It’s true,” he said. Something had to get through to the man, but what? The fear only grew worse. Panic welled and his heart raced like a kicking rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. If he said anything wrong, the vile venomous snake uncoiling in his head would strike.

“He served the Skaladin…” The snake loomed before him an endless coil, glistening with poison. His throat constricted and he shied away, but he still had things he needed to say. He had a hook to set. “Killed the Savior…” The black beast sank fangs into his mind. Dismay shattered all reason and vaporized his words. The Ravenous Gate opened and shrieked his name.

He must make Travers listen, but when the words formed in the back of his mind, courage failed. To even think of speaking brought on cold sweat and shivering. Pushing the words forward plunged him into nightmare, shriving him of all thought and intent. His tongue shriveled like a rotten carrot. He curled in on himself, but he could not escape the fear.

“You see,” Travers said, “there is no thought, no word that will ever again be vital enough for you to brave the shackles of terror on your tongue. The soulless should be silent. Language is not a gift you have earned. Words are treasures that do not belong to you. Fear is the only emotion you are allowed. In due course, terror will break down your mind, destroy that corrupt and cracking edifice you dare to think of as yourself. When the terror has done its work, I will remake you into something worthy of serving me. Only then will I extract from you the truth of Czensos’s schemes. You will present those facts to me as a gift, carefully arranged to please me and served up with utmost respect, entirely untainted by whatever poisonous deception you were no doubt planning.”