Without the slightest change of expression Ekbar whipped out the knife at his belt and sank three inches of the cold flint into one of the man's thighs. Tykol cried out involuntarily and struggled to free his arms from the vines binding them to his sides.
Ekbar waited until his struggles ceased. A small stream of blood welled from the knife wound and began to drip against the leaves beneath.
"What," said Ekbar, "are the names of the two young noblemen accompanying Jotan?"
Tykol, his active mind racing, did not at once reply. It was clear these men meant no good to any of Jotan's followers. His cue was to simulate a certain amount of fear to satisfy them his answers were the truth until he could discover exactly what was afoot.
Ekbar leaned forward and lifted his knife again. "Shall I give you a second taste of this?" he growled.
Tykol appeared to flinch. "No," he mumbled. "I will tell you. Their names are Javan and Tamar."
"How many men are with them?"
"Thirty-seven."
"You lie!" Ekbar snarled. "Fifty were in the party when it left Ammad."
The young captive digested this information quickly. It proved these men were Ammadians like himself; how else could they have known that?