Heglar was watching him through narrowed eyes. "I'm beginning to see the light," he said dourly. "The name I give him will be that of the man you are really after."
"Exactly."
"Whereupon I will be put to death."
"Jaltor has never been famed for his leniency, noble Heglar."
The old man drained his goblet of wine and put it on the table with a steady hand. "At least he is a just man. He would punish only those he believed implicated in the plot; my family would not be persecuted." He seemed to be speaking to himself. "Rhoa would be a wealthy woman and my children would never know want or hardship...."
His eyes came slowly up to Vokal. "My price will be one thousand tals!"
It was a staggering amount—the equivalent of twelve thousand young male slaves—but Vokal never hesitated. "I will pay it, noble Heglar," he said quietly.
"In advance."
"As you wish. I need no assurance beyond your word that you will carry out the exact terms of the arrangement."