"He—is mistaken."
Jaltor snorted. "Don't bandy words with me! When one man says he talked with another about killing a third, he cannot be mistaken. He is either telling the truth or lying. Which is it, in this case?"
"If Heglar's mind was clear at the time he so accused me, then he lied!"
"But my good Garlud," cried Jaltor, his reasoning tone a mockery, "you told me only a moment ago that to your knowledge Heglar is an honorable man and does not tell lies."
"Then it must be," Garlud said, openly serene, "that he has started to tell them now. Either that or his mind has become affected by his disease. It is common knowledge that there is a sickness in his throat and he has only a few moons of life remaining."
Jaltor turned on his heel and began his pacing anew. The four guards remained stiffly at attention near the door, their eyes fixed unseeingly on the opposite wall, their ears obviously hearing none of this. Against the far wall the two attendants continued their unceasing efforts to bring consciousness and comfort to the old man on the bed.
Without pausing in his pacing, Jaltor said, his voice more subdued now: "It is useless to throw doubt on Heglar's sanity, noble Garlud. After his bungling attempt on my life I questioned him. He told me it was his own idea to take my life, that no one else had anything to do with it. Over and over he said that, even when my questions called for no such answer, until I began to suspect he was trying to shield an accomplice. When I charged him with this he became so upset I was sure he lied. So I had my guards torture him into telling the truth. That is when he named you."
"A man will say anything to escape torture, Most-High," Garlud pointed out calmly.
"Do you think I'm not aware of that?" growled the monarch. "It was not until he endured torture I doubt I could have stood up under that he gave your name."