"I sent him away."
"Where?"
"To that place from which you and your turncoat crew will never fetch him back."
"Be more specific."
Qohey spat.
"Torbu didn't much like that crack about turncoats," I said. "He's eager to show you how little. I advise you to talk fast and plain, before you lose a whole raft of lives."
"Even these swine would never dare—" I took out the needle-pointed knife I was wearing as part of my get-up. I put the point against Qohey's throat and pushed gently until a trickle of crimson ran down the thick neck.
"Talk," I said quietly, "or I'll cut your throat myself."
Qohey had shrunk back as far as he could in the heavy chair.
"Seek him then, assassin," he sneered. "Seek him in the dungeons of the Owner of Owners."