'The Edur don't give a damn, one way or the other. Their leader is unkillable, and that makes their mastery absolute.'
'A high-ranking Tiste Edur liaises with us almost daily—'
'To keep you in rein. You, Tanal Yathvanar, not your prisoners. You and that madman, Karos Invictad.' She cocked her head. 'Why is it, I wonder, that organizations such as yours are invariably run by pitiful human failures? By small-minded psychotics and perverts. All bullied as children, of course. Or abused by twisted parents – I'm sure you have terrible tales to confess, of your miserable youth. And now the power is in your hands, and oh how the rest of us suffer.'
Tanal walked over with the food and the flask of water.
'For Errant's sake,' she said, 'loosen at least one of my arms, so I can feed myself.'
He came up beside her. 'No, I prefer it this way. Are you humiliated, being fed like a babe?'
'What do you want with me?' Janath asked, as he unstoppered the flask.
He set it to her cracked lips, watched her drink. 'I don't recall saying I wanted anything,' he replied.
She twisted her head away, coughing, water spilling onto her chest. 'I've confessed everything,' she said after a moment. 'You have all my notes, my treasonous lectures on personal responsibility and the necessity for compassion—'
'Yes, your moral relativism.'
'I refute any notion of relativism, little man – which you'd know had you bothered reading those notes. The structures of a culture do not circumvent nor excuse self-evident injustice or inequity. The status quo is not sacred, not an altar to paint in rivers of blood. Tradition and habit are not sound arguments—'
'White Crow, woman, you are most certainly a lecturer. I liked you better unconscious.'
'Best beat me senseless again,' she said.
'Alas, I cannot. After all, I am supposed to free you.'
Her eyes narrowed on his, then shied away again. 'Careless of me,' she muttered.
'In what way?' he asked.
'I was almost seduced. The lure of hope. If you are supposed to free me, you would never have brought me down here. No, I'm to be your private victim, and you my private nightmare. In the end, the chains upon you will be a match to mine.'
'The psychology of the human mind,' Tanal said, pushing some fat-soaked bread into her mouth. 'Your speciality. So, you can read my life as easily as you read a scroll. Is that supposed to frighten me?'
She chewed, then, with a struggle, swallowed. 'I wield a far deadlier weapon, little man.'
'And that would be?'
'I slip into your head. I see through your eyes. Swim the streams of your thought. I stand there, looking at the soiled creature chained to this rape-bed. And eventually, I begin to understand you. It's more intimate than making love, little man, because all your secrets vanish. And, in case you were wondering, yes, I am doing it even now. Listening to my own words as you listen, feeling the tightness gripping your chest, that odd chill beneath your skin despite the fresh sweat. The sudden fear, as you realize the extent of your vulnerability—'
He struck her. Hard enough to snap her head to one side. Blood gushed from her mouth. She coughed, spat, then spat again, her breath coming in ragged, liquid gasps. 'We can resume this meal later,' he said, struggling to keep his words toneless. 'I expect you'll do your share of screaming in the days and weeks to come, Janath, but I assure you, your cries will reach no-one.'
A peculiar hacking sound came from her.
After a moment, Tanal realized she was laughing.
'Impressive bravado,' he said, with sincerity. 'Eventually, I may in truth free you. For now, I remain undecided. I'm sure you understand.'
She nodded.
'You arrogant bitch,' he said.
She laughed again.
He backed away. 'Do not think I will leave the lantern,' he snarled.
Her laughter followed him out, cutting like broken glass.
The ornate carriage, trimmed in gleaming bloodwood, was motionless, drawn up to one side of the main thoroughfare of Drene, its tall wheels straddling the open sewer. The four bone-white horses stood listless in the unseasonal heat, heads hanging down over their collars. Directly ahead of them the street was framed in an arching open gate, and beyond it was the sprawling maze of the High Market, a vast concourse crowded with stalls, carts, livestock and throngs of people.
The flow of wealth, the cacophony of voices and the multitude of proffering or grasping hands seemed to culminate in a force, battering at Brohl Handar's senses even from