"What of it?" Kilt said, allowing his annoyance and frustration to come through loudly now. "I insist on being on my way."
Vulpan clearly had not expected the admission. "You admit to being Vested?"
"I never denied it," Kilt replied, taking them all in with a single glance as if he was surprised anyone had thought differently. The soldiers looked very large and unmoved by the conversation. He might well be able to fight off Vulpan and his ugly companion but the guards would smash him to a pulp. And he noted that the door had been left open so they could be easily called. "What actually is the problem here?" he demanded.
"I..." Vulpan hesitated. "There is no problem," he finally admitted.
"Good. Then call off your dogs at the door, Master Vulpan. I am a man of Lo and I don't take kindly to being threatened with violence, or being held captive, or being intimidated by your Wikken. That was your intention, wasn't it?"
Vulpan gave a gesture of dismissal and the soldiers disappeared. It was a small win, but even so Kilt's hopes soared. "I came here seeking details of my sister. Do you have any?"
"Only that she is mildly Vested with healing powers and is now officially in our records. She left the same day with her husband."
The word husband cut deep inside Kilt; the suggestion of Lily's being Vested rankled even deeper. Surely he would have known if she'd had more than the ability to simply wield her herbals with such stunning effect. "Where were they headed, sir?"
"Back to Brighthelm was my understanding."
"Thank you. I will take your leave."
"Not so fast, Pastor Jeves."
Kilt turned back to the man. "I really must catch up with her."
"Of course. First, though, we would like to keep a record of you as well. You are Vested, after all. You could have saved us a lot of time if you'd simply told us as much."
"You never asked."
"Indeed."
"Do you hide your power because it is so strong," a gravelly voice piped up. It was Shorgan, talking in perfect Set.
Kilt swung around; the man's face was scary but his voice was worse. Deep and unaccustomed to being used, it rasped in a manner that Kilt was sure could scare children.
"I wouldn't call it strong, sir."
"I would. I can smell it on you. You hide it well, though."
Kilt tried for a smile, lacing it with feigned self-consciousness. "I don't know what to say. I don't use my magic. I have no use for it. I'm a clergyman, guiding folk in the path of Lo. I have never considered it strong, in fact - "
"When did you last use it?" Shorgan asked.
Kilt was taken aback. "Well, I...I honestly can't remember."
"That long ago?"
"So long ago I really couldn't tell you," Kilt said firmly.
"Could you give us a demonstration of your skill? What is it you do?" Vulpan inquired.
"Demonstration?" Kilt stammered. He hated himself in that moment. More than three decades of practice and discipline had just been undone.
Vulpan's head shifted. He regarded Kilt with a dark stare. "Was that a stutter I just heard, Pastor Jeves?"
Kilt cleared his throat and smiled sardonically, using the moment to regain control of himself. "Just a childhood affliction I thought I'd conquered."
"But it comes out in times of anxiety?"
"Not really. Just now and then when I don't concentrate."
"Interesting. Nosebleeds and stutters."
"Master Vulpan, I'm not going to give demonstrations. I told you, I don't use my magic. You want a sample of my blood, presumably. Shall we get on with it?"
"Shorgan?" Vulpan asked.
"He's lying. He's very strong in his magic. He used it recently. I think you'll find that would account for the nose-bleed."
"What?" Kilt said, turning on his heel and roaring at the Wikken, who regarded him placidly. "I demand to speak to someone who can grant me an audience with the emperor. This is ridiculous."
"I can organize that," Vulpan said. "General Stracker, the emperor's most trusted confidant and brother, will be here shortly. You're most welcome to discuss an audience with him. Until then, you'll remain here."
"I'm a prisoner?" Kilt asked.
"I prefer the word guest," Vulpan replied and smiled. Kilt could hear the Wikken chuckling behind him. "I will, of course, still require a sample of your blood to taste."
"Why don't you lick it off my face?" Kilt said, feeling angry and incredibly helpless.
"Oh, I prefer it fresh and running. Hold out your hand, please, Pastor Jeves."
To Lily he looked like a broken man. He'd arrived in their