The general snapped his fingers. Ssaras scurried over to a
pile of odds and ends and picked something up. Garrick
gradually identified it as his own shield. The general took it
from the draconian and looked at it with some amusement.
“Perhaps I am overestimating the noble Knights of
Solamnia. Perhaps they are indeed skulking around in the
woods, hiding out of sight, fighting like elves or gully
dwarves – with no honor – coming from behind their
opponents.” He dropped the shield and spat on the front.
One heavy boot came down on the wet spot. With little
effort, Krynos had put a great dent in the shield.
Garrick’s growing madness threatened to burst then, but
the warmth around his chest checked it. It occurred to him
then that they had removed his armor but not his medallion.
He could see no way that they could have possibly missed it
in their search.
Ssaras looked hopefully at the general. Krynos was
calculating his possibilities.
“Get Thaygan.”
The torturer hissed. “Thaygan is a fraud. All clerics are
frauds, General.”
“Would you like to tell that to the Queen herself,
Ssaras? She might beg to differ.”
The draconian quieted immediately. Without further
ado, it scurried away to seek the cleric. Garrick muttered a
prayer to Paladine. Should Thaygan be a strong enough
cleric, the knight would have little chance of defending his
mind from the psychic onslaught. Unlike many of his
brethren, he had a strong respect for the power of clerics.
A strong, gauntleted hand pulled his head up by the
hair. Krynos moved close to him, so close that Garrick was
able to feel the other’s hot breath on his face. “Tell me what
I want to know now, and I’ll spare you the tender touch of
Thaygan. In his own way, he leaves a prisoner much worse
off than Ssaras does.”
“There is only me.”
The general’s eyes flared. “Do you swear to that?”
Garrick avoided the binding trap by repeating his
statement once more. As he hoped, his refusal to swear only
convinced Krynos even more that there were other knights
lurking around somewhere near or in the forest ahead.
The general let Garrick’s head drop. He paced the width
of the tent several times before the sudden presence of the
dark cleric brought him to a startled halt. The cleric stared
at the general and then at the prisoner, who was struggling
feebly with the bonds. Nothing of the cleric was visible save
his hands.
“You have need of my services, General Krynos?”
“Regretfully so. I need information from this man, and
you know how stubborn Knights of Solamnia can be.”
“A Solamnic Knight? Here?”
“Are your ears still stuffed with the chants and
incantations of your order? A Knight of Solamnia, found in
the woods – and where there’s one, there’s more. I want the
truth from him. Beware, though. He is not in the best of
condition. I fear my men must have mussed him up a little
bit too hard.”
The cleric drew back his hood. Garrick had the brief
notion that he was being visited by Death itself. The cleric
was emaciated beyond normal tolerances. To the prisoner, it
seemed as if Thaygan’s face should crack in pieces each
time the old man spoke.
As the cleric stepped toward the knight, Krynos
actually blanched slightly. Garrick dimly wondered what
could frighten a man of the general’s reputation. That
thought vanished with all others as the cleric reached down
and put a hand to each side of the prisoner’s head.
The knight fell down an abyss. He screamed all the way.
Somewhere, he could hear a commanding voice that
demanded things of him. The words meant nothing to him,
though, and he kept falling.
A mighty hand came from the darkness. It glowed with
a light all its own. With little effort, it caught the
plummeting Garrick and held him tight. The pressure of the
monstrous grip was not stifling; rather, it reassured the
knight. Overwhelmed by a wave of peace and love, Garrick
slid off into velvety blackness.
He awoke briefly to see two men arguing. One was
incredibly ancient and looked more like an old corpse. The