of pain crossed his face. More perspiration beaded on his forehead and he let out an animal growl, half pain, half aggravation. ‘Get out of my head!’ he shouted, then with an expression of triumph, he laughed and said to the newcomer, ‘You’ll have to do better than that!’
Pug glanced at the other man with an unspoken question. The other man looked at Pug, nodded once, then looked once more at Ketlami.
Pug said, ‘Begin,’ and the torturer took a quick step forward and drove his fist straight into Ketlami’s stomach. He stepped back while the prisoner gasped, his eyes watering. After a moment, Ketlami sucked in a deep breath and said, ‘A beating? What next? Hot irons and pincers?’
The torturer struck Ketlami in the stomach again, but this time it was two quick blows, and suddenly the contents of the victim’s stomach emptied onto the floor.
Jommy’s expression was grim as he looked at his companions. All three boys had been trained in hand-to-hand combat and an early lesson had been about double strikes to the stomach. A strong man could take a single blow and not miss a stride, but two quick strikes, the second coming before his stomach muscles could recover fully from the first, and he was doubled over, losing his last meal.
Magnus, Caleb, Pug and Nakor stood implacably, watching as Ketlami spat. The first indignity was but a start in slowly breaking the man down and learning what they needed to know, the location of the Grand Master of the Nighthawks.
Everyone remained silent as the torturer struck Ketlami across the face with the back of his hand. It was an insulting blow as much as a damaging one, and did nothing more than bring tears to the prisoner’s eyes again and make him even more defiant. Caleb turned and whispered to the boys, ‘It will be some time before he truly begins to feel hopelessness. He is a strong man: moreover, he’s a fanatic.’
The three boys stood quietly, their grim expressions reflecting the proceedings they observed. The torturer was methodical and appeared to be in no hurry. He would strike the prisoner repeatedly, then pause, as if letting Ketlami catch his breath. He struck him in the face, the torso, the legs.
After nearly half an hour of this slow beating, Jomo Ketlami hung from his chains, unable to stand. He appeared to be on the verge of unconsciousness.
‘Revive him,’ said Pug.
The torturer nodded and moved to the far corner of the room where a table stood, upon which rested a variety of bags and instruments of his trade. He opened one of the bags and removed an item, a small vial. Stepping up to the limp form of Ketlami, he unstoppered the vial, holding it under the man’s face. Ketlami’s head jerked back and everyone heard his sharp intake of breath, followed by a faint groan.
‘Where hides your master?’ Pug demanded.
Ketlami raised his face to face Pug. Both his eyes were swollen nearly shut and his lip was split. He could barely speak for the swelling of his mouth, but he still retained a look of defiance. ‘You’ll never break me, magician. Kill me and get it over with.’
Pug glanced at the man standing next to him who shook his head slightly. ‘Continue,’ Pug said.
The torturer returned the vial to his bag and then came to stand before the prisoner. Ketlami glared at him. The man suddenly brought his knee up, brutally striking the Nighthawk in the groin. Ketlami collapsed completely, and hung for a moment from his chains, gasping for air.
And the beating continued.
Well into the second hour, Tad appeared to be on the verge of collapsing himself. With each repeated blow he would wince visibly. Caleb observed his adopted son’s behaviour, then motioned him to leave the room with him. With a wave of his hand, he instructed Jommy and Zane to stay.
Outside the door, in a long corridor with guards on either hand, Ralan Bek was hunkered down with his back against the wall. The strange and dangerous youth had been given over to Nakor’s supervision and seemed content with the situation.
‘Are you all right?’ Caleb asked Tad.
Tad took a long breath and let it out slowly. ‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘I’ve seen a few fights, as you know, but this …’
‘It’s different,’ finished his step-father.
Tad took a deep breath. ‘I know what he is, but …’
Caleb looked Tad in the eyes. ‘It’s brutal. It’s evil, and it’s necessary. You know what he is: he would kill you without a thought; kill me, your mother, anyone, and then sleep the night like a baby after doing so. He is not worthy of your conscience.’
‘I know, it’s just that I feel as if …’
Caleb, in an uncharacteristic act, suddenly put his arms around Tad and hugged him close. ‘I know; believe me, I know.’ He released his step-son. ‘Something is lost by this, and it is something I doubt any of us can earn back.
‘But those who oppose us mean naught but ill for those we love and they must be stopped. Now, this is going to take a while longer. If we didn’t have the resources we do, it might take days. But this man will give up what we wish to know in another hour or two. If you wish, you may remain out here.’
Tad thought it over for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. Some day I may have to do this myself.’
Caleb nodded, knowing that both Jommy and Zane would have missed this aspect of the lesson. ‘Yes, more’s the pity.’
They returned to the room and found the torturer reviving Ketlami again. Caleb and Tad resumed their place alongside the others, and Zane whispered, ‘Surely he can’t last much longer?’
Caleb whispered in return, ‘You will discover that men are a great deal more resilient than you think if they believe strongly in their cause. This man is a depraved animal, but he thinks he serves a higher cause, and that makes him very difficult to break. Talk to Talwin Hawkins—’ as he remembered his own father’s stories of his years in a Tsurani labour camp, ‘—or your grandfather about what men can endure. You’ll be surprised, I wager.’
For almost another hour the punishment was meted out, then suddenly the torturer halted. He glanced at Pug, without a word, and the magician nodded. Pug then turned to the man next to him who made a noncommittal gesture.
Pug said, ‘Give him water,’ and the torturer complied, giving the prisoner a long drink from a copper cup. The drink seemed to restore Ketlami a little and he spat in the torturer’s face. The implacable man in the black hood merely wiped away the spittle and looked at Pug for instructions.
Pug asked again, ‘Where is your Grand Master?’
‘I’ll never tell you,’ said Ketlami.
The man next to Pug reached over and gripped his forearm. ‘I have it,’ he said in a low voice.
‘You’re certain?’ asked Nakor.
‘I am certain,’ replied the man.
Pug took a deep breath, then looked at Ketlami, whose distorted features couldn’t hide the malevolence of his expression. Pug said quietly, ‘Finish.’
With a quick, unhesitating motion, the torturer drew a sharp blade from his belt and made a single downward cut, sliced
