‘Get out of here, Kalten.’ It wasn’t Sparhawk who gave the command, however.
Chapter 17
Krager was not in very good shape when Kalten and Tynian half-carried him into Sir Nashan’s study early that evening. His thin hair was dishevelled, he was unshaven, and his near-sighted eyes were bloodshot. His hands were shaking violently, and his expression was one of misery, a misery that had nothing to do with his capture. The two knights dragged Martel’s underling to a plain chair in the centre of the room and sat him in it. Krager buried his face in his shaking hands.
‘I don’t think we’re going to get much out of him when he’s in this condition,’ King Wargun growled. ‘I’ve been through that sort of thing myself, and I know. Give him some wine. He’ll be more or less coherent when his hands stop shaking.’
Kalten looked at Sir Nashan, and the plump Pandion pointed at an ornate cabinet in the corner. ‘It’s only for medicinal purposes, Lord Vanion,’ Nashan explained quickly.
‘Of course,’ Vanion said.
Kalten opened the cabinet and took out a crystal decanter of Arcian red wine. He poured a large goblet full and handed it to Krager. The suffering man spilled half of it, but he did manage to get the rest down. Kalten poured him another. And then another. Krager’s hands began to grow more steady. He looked around, blinking. ‘I see that I’ve fallen into the hands of mine enemies,’ he said in a voice made rusty by years of hard drinking. ‘Ah well,’ he shrugged, ‘fortunes of war, I suppose.’
‘Your situation here is not enviable,’ Lord Abriel told him ominously.
Ulath took out a whetstone and began sharpening his axe. It made a very unpleasant sound.
‘Please,’ Krager said wearily, ‘I’m not feeling well. Spare me the melodramatic threats. I’m a survivor, gentlemen. I fully understand the situation here. I’ll co-operate with you in exchange for my life.’
‘Isn’t that just a bit contemptible?’ Bevier sneered.
‘Of course it is, Sir Knight,’ Krager drawled, ‘but I’m a contemptible sort of person – or hadn’t you noticed? Actually, I deliberately placed myself in a position so that you could capture me. Martel’s plan was very good – as far as it went – but when it started to fall apart, I decided that I didn’t really want to share his fortunes when they were on the decline. Let’s save time, gentlemen. We all know that I’m too valuable to kill. I know too much. I’ll tell you everything I know in exchange for my life, my freedom and ten thousand gold crowns.’
‘What about your loyalties?’ Patriarch Ortzel asked sternly.
‘Loyalty, Your Grace?’ Krager laughed. ‘To Martel? Don’t be absurd. I worked for Martel because he paid me well. We both knew that. But now you’re in a position to offer me something of much greater value. Do we have a bargain?’
‘Some time on the rack might lower your asking price a bit,’ Wargun told him.
‘I’m not a robust man, King Wargun,’ Krager pointed out, ‘and my health’s never been what you’d call very good. Do you really want to gamble on my expiring under the ministrations of your torturers?’
‘Let it lie,’ Dolmant said. ‘Give him what he wants.’
‘Your Grace is a wise and gracious man.’ Krager laughed suddenly. ‘Awfully sorry about the pun there, Patriarch Dolmant. It was accidental, I assure you.’
‘There’s one restriction, however,’ Dolmant went on. ‘Under the circumstances, we could hardly set you free until such time as your former master is apprehended. By your own admission, you’re not very dependable. Besides, we’ll need a little confirmation of what you tell us.’
‘Perfectly understandable, Your Grace,’ Krager agreed. ‘But no dungeons. My lungs aren’t very strong, and I really should avoid damp places.’
‘A monastery then?’ Dolmant countered.
‘Totally acceptable, Your Grace – on the condition that Sparhawk is not permitted to come within ten miles of the place. Sparhawk’s irrational sometimes, and he’s wanted to kill me for years now – haven’t you, Sparhawk?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Sparhawk admitted freely. ‘I’ll tell you what, Krager. I’ll pledge myself to keep my hands off you until after Martel is dead.’
‘Fair enough, Sparhawk,’ Krager replied – ‘if you’ll also vow to give me a week’s head start before you come after me. Do we have a bargain, gentlemen?’
‘Tynian,’ Preceptor Darellon said, ‘take him out into the hallway while we discuss this.’
Krager rose shakily to his feet. ‘Come along then, Sir Knight,’ he said to Tynian. ‘You too, Kalten, and don’t forget to bring the wine.’
‘Well?’ King Wargun asked after the closely-guarded prisoner had left the room.
‘Krager himself is unimportant, Your Majesty,’ Vanion said, ‘but he’s absolutely right about the importance of the information he has. I’d advise accepting his terms.’
‘I hate to give him all that gold, though,’ Wargun growled moodily.
‘In Krager’s case, it’s not really a gift,’ Sephrenia said quietly. ‘If you give Krager that much money, he’ll drink himself to death within six months.’
‘That doesn’t sound like much of a punishment to me.’
‘Have you ever seen a man die of the after-effects of drink, Wargun?’ she asked.
‘I can’t say that I have.’
‘You might stop by an asylum sometime and watch the process. You may find it very educational.’
‘Are we agreed then?’ Dolmant asked, looking around. ‘We give this sewer-rat what he asks and confine him to the monastery until such time as we know that he can’t report anything significant to Martel?’
‘All right,’ Wargun gave in grudgingly. ‘Bring him back in and let’s get on with this.’
Sparhawk went to the door and opened it. A scarred man with a shaved head was speaking urgently with Tynian.
‘Kring?’ Sparhawk asked with some surprise, recognizing the Domi of the band of marauding horsemen from the eastern marches of Pelosia. ‘Is that you?’
‘Well, Sparhawk,’ Kring said. ‘It’s good to see you again. I was just bringing friend Tynian here some news. Did you know that the Zemochs are massed in eastern Lamorkand?’