LITMIR.BIZ

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came forward to greet a tall, slender woman. The naitan was dressed in a pale blue robe open over a tunic and trousers much the same color as those Stone wore, but of an even finer quality. Her brown hair fell past her shoulders in a froth of curls. She looked much like any woman found in any women’s quarters. Until she turned her eyes on him. They were the same blue as his own. Stone shuddered, suddenly understanding how uncanny they seemed to others.

      “I will allow you one more chance to give your own answers,” the general said to Stone. “The naitan holds North magic. She is Ukiny’s far-speaker, speaking mind to mind with others of her gift. Do you understand what I am saying?”

      Stone tried to hold his gaze steady, to focus only on the window in the far wall, but his eyes rolled toward the blue-eyed witch again before he could jerk them away.

      “She can touch minds. There is a kind of North magic that can reach into your mind and see what is there. You do not have to say anything at all. A naitan can simply take what we wish to know from you.” Uskenda pursed her lips. “Of course, sometimes it isn’t easy to find what we are looking for. Who knows what havoc might be worked upon your mind?”

      In his peripheral vision, Stone could see the witch looking most unhappy. Did the process perhaps cause her discomfort too?

      “General, I don’t—” the witch broke off when the general raised a hand.

      “Naitan, does this sort of magic do all that I have said?”

      “Well, yes, but—”

      “And,” Uskenda interrupted, “does it not on occasion leave those who are mind-searched…altered?”

      “Yes, it might, but I—”

      “Do not bother to explain the techniques. This Tibran would not understand. His kind have no magic. Is this not true, Tibran?”

      Stone tightened his jaw and stiffened his spine yet again. He feared no man. Nor did he fear any woman. Any ordinary woman. But this witch and her magic…how could he not fear a thing that could go crashing about in his thoughts, shredding them to bits, stealing away whatever seemed interesting?

      Long moments slid away while Uskenda watched Stone and Stone watched the far wall.

      “Shall we start again, warrior?” The general’s gentle voice reminded him of ease, of soft comfort in women’s quarters. “What is your name? A simple thing, your name.”

      Simple, yes. But the first word spoken, the first truth told would change everything. Would the gods forgive him for failing to punish this woman’s sacrilege? Would they count his blasphemy against him for following her orders? The warrior god was a harsh one, demanding much and forgiving little. But surely he would understand about the magic.

      Uskenda sighed. “Naitan—”

      “Stone.” The sound of his own voice startled him. “Stone, Warrior vo’Tsekrish.”

      Uskenda came to attention and saluted him. “Warrior.” She nodded at the witch. “I believe we will not be needing your services after all, naitan. But please hold yourself in readiness in case our Tibran friend changes his mind.”

      The witch smiled, bowed and left the room. Stone sagged in relief, but only for a second.

      “Stone, Warrior vo’Tsekrish.” Uskenda paced the floor before him. “You are a long way from home, are you not?”

      “Yes, General.” He hoped all his answers would be so guilt free, but the hope was small.

      “How did you learn our language, warrior?”

      “I…do not know. I—after the assault, when I was taken prisoner, the soldiers spoke to me, and I understood.”

      “This was after the—” She checked a paper on her desk. “After the dark scythe, the magic, was it not?”

      “Yes, General.”

      “You were captured in the breach?”

      “Yes, General.”

      “And you never advanced into the city. Is that correct?”

      “No, General.”

      Her head came up and she stared. “No?”

      “Fox—my partner and I were in the First and Finest, those leading the assault. We took the breach, held it for the next wave, then advanced into the city.” Talking about the past, things that had already happened would surely hurt nothing.

      “How far into the city?” She spread a map on the desk, obviously expecting him to come look. Stone spared a glance for his guard who grunted and prodded him forward with the pike.

      Uskenda indicated the position of the breach and the high-spired temple with its colored windows. Stone pointed to a street a quarter of the way between, his shackles rattling. “Here.”

      “Are you sure?” She held his gaze, the light gray of her eyes almost as unsettling as the blue of the witch’s. “Every other Tibran within the city walls was found dead.”

      Stone studied the map again, letting the shivers take him. He was among witches now. He had to live with the fear. “It might have been here.” He pointed at a place a few streets to the south. “My memory isn’t good, not for those minutes—but I know we were inside the city.”

      “Then how is it you were found in the breach? Alive?”

      He met her gaze, held it, willed her to believe him. He did not want her to call the witch back when he was telling the truth. “I do not know. I remember the world coming to an end. And then I remember waking up in the breach. Nothing else.”

      They stared eye into eye for a long moment more, until Uskenda broke contact, looking down again at the map. The guard crashing to attention startled both of them. “General,” he rapped out.

      “What is it, Sergeant?”

      “There is a mark on his neck.”

      The general’s eyes widened and her eyes flicked from one man to the other. “What kind of mark? Show me.”

      The guard seized Stone by the scruff of his neck, forcing him to his knees, shoving his head forward. He raked the pigtail out of the way. Uskenda’s gasp as she touched a finger lightly to the nape of Stone’s neck sent a thrill of terror shooting through him yet again. What was this mark? What did it mean?

      The guard released Stone’s head, but held him on his knees with a foot on the chain connecting wrist shackles to leg irons. Uskenda shuffled through the papers on her desk. She found the one for which she searched and scanned it quickly.

      “You say this man has been behaving strangely?” she asked the guard.

      “He beats his head on the wall and claws at the stones. You see the bandages. His hands are much worse than his forehead.”

      “Does he know he is doing this?”

      The guard shrugged. “Who can say? All Tibrans are barmy, you ask me.”

      “Are you aware?” Uskenda asked Stone. “When you do these things?”

      He didn’t want to answer. But more, he didn’t want magic mucking through his mind, making things worse than they already were. “No.”

      Uskenda touched the back of his head and he bent it obediently forward. She moved the pigtail aside but made no attempt to touch him again. Then she released him and stepped back, her boot heels a brisk clap against the polished wooden floor. “Make ready to take the prisoner to Arikon.” Her orders snapped out with spine-chilling authority, the corporal appearing again to take them. “I wish I had seen him earlier so I might have sent him with Captain Varyl, but no matter. He will go on the next boat, at dawn tomorrow. Inform your captain. I want him escorted by an officer and a quarto of her best soldiers.”

      Once more, the guard stiffened to attention. He hauled Stone to

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