"I don't know," said the man stolidly.
Jotan swore impatiently. "I'm through wasting time," he said. "Dylara may be in danger. I'll get the truth from him."
He motioned to Javan. "Get me a fire bowl."
When his friend had handed him a bowl of fat, he lighted its wick with a glowing coal from an earthen jar and came back to Fordak. The seated man watched him, apprehension in his eyes.
The flame wavered in the faint breeze from the windows. It suddenly had become very quiet in the room.
Jotan drew the flint knife from his belt and began to run the blade back and forth through the candle's flame.
"What are you going to do?" Tamar asked.
The lips of his friend were pressed into a straight line. "He's going to talk. Be ready to listen."
Another minute passed. Jotan continued to move the knife blade to and fro in the heart of the fire. Fordak could not tear his eyes from the objects in the man's hands. Great beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.
"Tie his arms and legs," Jotan said.