“Gladly,” the bald man said. He stepped in front of the prisoner, regarding the man blandly. “Now, this won’t hurt a bit.”

“Watch,” Ionkovo said. “You may find this instructive.”

Maurisk watched. He watched as the Liar’s nails began to glow a bright blue, and watched as the bald man sank these burning claws into the prisoner’s face as though it were made of butter. Maurisk felt his gorge rising, but he felt Ionkovo’s eyes on him, and dared not look away. It was obvious that there was a purpose to this exercise beyond simply gathering information. He wants me to know that it could as easily be me in that chair.

As his blood ran down his face and dripped onto his shirt, the Mierantai spoke in a slow, careful voice, answering every question the Liar put to him. It was, Maurisk thought, when his instinctive horror of the supernatural subsided a little, considerably more efficient than the beating and flaying his own people relied on to achieve the same end. When the Liar was satisfied there was nothing more to be wrung from the wretch, he withdrew his hand. The young man gave a few final twitches and died.

“Well,” Ionkovo said, “it appears you were correct.”

“I’ll get a force together.”

“Do so,” the Penitent said. “One of my people will accompany them.”

“Cinder?” Maurisk said apprehensively. The old woman’s ability was anything but subtle, and keeping her involvement a secret always involved a regrettably large number of extra casualties.

“No,” Ionkovo said, with a slight smile. “Not this time. Liar, would you please inform Twist that his services are required?”

“Of course,” the bald man said, ducking his head. The politician in Maurisk noted that there was a simmering resentment in the Liar’s gaze when he looked at Ionkovo. So there are rivalries among even the Penitent Damned? He filed the thought away for later perusal and kept his face blank.

“This time,” Ionkovo said, stepping back into the darkness, “there are to be no mistakes.”

Chapter Seventeen

WINTER

The river Piav was a large tributary of the Velt, running down from the Keth Mountains until it met up with the greater flow somewhere north of Desland. Rivers like it ran from east to west across the Velt Valley at regular intervals, carrying rain and snowmelt from the mountains down through the hills to nourish the lowlands and ultimately flow out to the sea. The Piav happened to flow within fifty miles of the Orlan Pass, the largest of the gaps in the mountain range and the only one capable of accommodating a large army. It was here, therefore, around the small town of Antova, that the Free Cities League had built its great fortress.