The tall broad-shouldered king dropped into a chair across from Curzad and took up jug and goblet. "Tell me, Curzad, how fares the noble Garlud?"
"As well as in the days he walked Ammad's streets a free man," the captain said in his deep calm voice. "As an old fighting-man, hardship affects him but little."
"Perhaps his cell is too comfortable," Jaltor said, his lips twitching slightly.
"There are no comfortable cells beneath your palace, Most-High. Garlud's least of all. He sits alone and in utter darkness, the only sounds the scurrying feet and squeaking voices of rats. Only the strong mind of a great warrior can endure such for very long without cracking."
"Are you suggesting I am too harsh with him?" Jaltor was openly smiling now.
"I am suggesting nothing to Ammad's king."
"It has been eleven suns since I sent my closest friend to languish in those pits," Jaltor said, smiling no longer. "Nor has it been easy for me, Curzad. But I must learn who, if not Garlud, was behind old Heglar's attempt on my life."
He tossed off the wine and put his goblet down on the table top. "Something happened today," he said, "that may be the first crack in this eleven-sun wall of silence. One of Ammad's noblemen brought up Garlud's name to me during the afternoon audience."
Some of the impassiveness in Curzad's expression slipped a little and his fingers whitened on the goblet's stem. He made a sound deep within his massive chest but said nothing.