Part 21 (1/2)

No one moved, though in Noetos's judgment a number of the women and at least two of the men wished they could. They do not believe their Emperor's a.s.surances. And why should they? They've just been reminded of a clever subterfuge to flush out the disloyal among them. Why would they not suspect another?

'We have questions for you,' Claudo said, approaching Noetos and Duon. Two soldiers accompanied him, each carrying one end of a long stake.

They mean to burn us? Inside this room?

Duon, his back to Noetos, began to shake. Noetos himself was certain he was shaking also. Anomer! Arathe! Are you there? Please!

Nothing.

The soldiers lifted the stake, then slipped it between the men, forcing them apart and scoring their backs with its rough, knotty surface. It would hold them upright when, as would no doubt happen in the next few moments, they could no longer stand unaided.

'I feel strange,' said Duon.

Claudo cracked him across the mouth. 'We'll hear from you later, black man.'

A third soldier wheeled a brazier into the room, leaving it next to their torturer. Coals glowed redly, and in their midst sat half a dozen instruments. Claudo donned a glove, leaned over with the air of a scholar choosing a volume to read, and selected a pair of pincers.

To Noetos's mortification, his bladder let go. A few t.i.tters of laughter rippled around the room from those close enough to see.

'Now, we want to know from you how you learned the schedule of the Neherian fleet. How did you know in time to organise resistance at Makyra Bay?'

Noetos lifted his head wearily. 'I know how this goes. What answer do you want me to give?' he said.

'Those with no imagination do not fear pain. At least,' Claudo said, with a glance at Noetos's damp breeches, 'not enough. The son of Demios has never had much imagination. At least, that is what our spy told us. Therefore we must stimulate it for him.'

As the man lifted the pincer to Noetos's tunic, fastened on the material and ripped it away, the fisherman's thoughts turned, oddly, to the sound and smell of the sea, as though there was comfort to be found there. Strange that, at the end, he should return to a place he never liked.

'Ready!'

A thousand hands clasped each other. 'Remember,' they had been told, 'you will experience discomfort, if not actual pain. Hold on, endure. The more of you who endure, the greater the number the effects will be spread across, and the less anyone will have to tolerate.'

By no means everyone had believed it, though Anomer and Arathe had used their Voices widely. Those people had moved on, over the brow of the hill, and made camp there. The remaining volunteers braced themselves.

'These things are of little use to a man,' Claudo said, playing to his audience. 'It is almost as though they were invented for the purpose. Can't think of what else they're good for.'

To Noetos, the man's voice was the cawing of a gull; the murmur of conversation from the table the wash of waves upon the reef.

The pincers closed over his left nipple and squeezed.

'Now.'

And nothing happened. Claudo gritted his teeth and squeezed his gloved hand as hard as he could. Noetos watched in giddy bemus.e.m.e.nt. He could feel nothing.

Meranios leaned forward.

Claudo grasped the pincers with both hands, intending to apply more pressure. 'Gah!' he cried, and jerked his gloveless hand off the handle.

A half-day's walk north of the Summer Palace, just under a thousand people felt a slight constriction on their own chests. One or two of the more sensitive among them gave an involuntary cry. The gentle pain lasted a few seconds, then ended suddenly.

Noetos's mind slowed, unable to keep up with events. He was still antic.i.p.ating pain, but none came.

A few of the men at table were laughing, believing the torturer's actions to be an elaborate joke. Wine flowed freely, and the comments as to how the traitor's son ought to be tortured were becoming more explicit.

'Claudo?' said the man who sat the throne. 'What are you doing?'

'Nothing, Mer-my Emperor. Attempting to frighten the prisoner.'

'Get on with it, man. Use the knife.'

Hold still, Father, Arathe sent.

'A finger, then,' Claudo said, his face rea.s.sembling itself into what he probably thought was a torturer's leer. He drew a knife from his belt while one of his a.s.sistants grasp Noetos's right hand and held it firmly.

Teeth bared, Claudo drew it powerfully across the fisherman's first and second fingers.

The sensation was to Noetos like someone pressing a stick against his knuckles. A slight pressure, nothing more.

This time about twenty people put up their hands for a.s.sistance, indicating they had been hurt. They bled from slight cuts to their fingers. The rest felt little more than a tingling sensation.

'You are doing well!' Anomer told them. 'Please, hold still. We will defeat the Neherians yet!'

'Aaah!' Claudo cried. 'Raaah!' All sophistication was abruptly abandoned. He struck with the knife, trying to bury it in the man's hand. It bounced off the suddenly hard skin. A greater arc this time, with the same result. The third and last time he drove the knife at his victim's arm. It connected, and the blade shattered into a thousand pieces.

'Hold!'

All over the hillside people cried out with sudden pain, and blood was visible from where Anomer stood. But no one moved save those rus.h.i.+ng with cloth bandages to staunch the wounds.

The comments from the table had become less mocking and more agitated. The Emperor shouted something, but Claudo could not hear it, preoccupied as he was with his own nightmare. He darted at the nearest a.s.sistant and drew the man's sword. Not the done thing, to unsheathe another man's weapon, but he didn't care. He took it in both hands-wincing at the burn-and swung at the traitor's unprotected neck. A mild thud, and nothing more.

'No! No!'

A frenzy came on the torturer. Had to be magic, had to be. He hacked and hacked, raining blows on the man until his sword arm dropped from exhaustion. The tip of the blade clicked on the stone floor.

The only sound in the room was Claudo's own panting.

Joined at once by Noetos's laughter. 'Neherius is a dung-heap,' he said. 'Always was, always will be. Time to rid ourselves of dung.' He turned his head towards the wide-eyed, white-faced soldiers. 'Are you going to free me, or must I break free on my own?'

'We, my friend,' said Duon from behind him. 'We. Our hosts have yet to see my power.'

The nearest soldier stammered something unintelligible, then pulled a key from his belt.

'No!' cried the Emperor, suddenly afraid. 'Keep the prisoners secured! Guards! Valiant Protectors! s.h.i.+eld your Emperor! Magicians! Launch your attack!'

The more perceptive members of his court were already up from their chairs, but they had left it too late. Feeling like a G.o.d, Noetos flexed his multiply augmented muscles and the chains around him disintegrated. Behind him Duon appeared to have done the same thing.

'I have the north door,' he said to Noetos, and was gone in a blur of movement. A moment later the remaining chains crashed to the ground, along with the stake.