"Be sensible," the newcomer said. "Spare yourself any fur shy;ther unpleasantness. Give the autharch what he wants."
Kemas felt lightheaded. He thought he was fainting or dying, and would have welcomed either. But the sensation passed, and he started talking.
It shamed him. He wept even as he spoke. But he couldn't stop.
When he finished, the autharch said, "That's that, then. He'll make a scrawny excuse for a zombie, but at least he won't be chickenhearted anymore."
"My lord," the blond man said, "I would regard it as a favor if you'd give the lad to me. As you say, he wouldn't be all that impressive an undead, and I confess, I'm fond of certain pleasures. Seeing him like this, teary-eyed, barebacked, and bloody, reminds me that I haven't had the opportunity to enjoy them since I set forth on my journey."
Kemas had imagined he couldn't feel any more wretched, but he was wrong. He shuddered, and his stomach churned. He wondered if his further torment, whatever it turned out to be, would be Kossuth's punishment for his treachery.
The autharch cocked his head. "Since the boy isn't fit to travel, I take it that you plan to bide with me for a while."
"With your permission. It's a stroke of luck that I have the chance to watch you and your men actually fight a battle. It will give me a better idea of your capabilities than anything else could."
"Well, I'm delighted to offer you my hospitality, especially if it will lead to you carrying a good report of me to Tharchion Metron." The autharch shifted his gaze to one of the soldiers. "See to Lord Uupret's horse and provide him with a tent."
"You can toss the boy inside it," the blond man said. "It will be convenient to have him close at hand."
The legionnaire didn't literally toss Kemas, but he shoved him. The push sent a fresh burst of pain through the boy's back and sent him staggering. He fell, and with his hands tied behind him, could do nothing to catch himself. He slammed down on his belly, then rolled over on his side to peer up at the tharchion's emissary. He was afraid to look at him, but afraid not to, also.
The blond man's face was as cold as before, but revealed none of the gloating lust or cruelty his prisoner had expected. The officer sang something, crooning so softly that Kemas couldn't make out the words, then darkness swallowed everything.
When Kemas woke, a pang of fear froze him in place until he remembered what had befallen him and that, in fact, he ought to be afraid. Hoping to take stock of his situation without revealing that he'd regained consciousness, he opened his eyes just a little.
Night had fallen, and the wavering yellow light of a single lantern pushed the deepest shadows into the corners of the tent. The flaps were closed, but the blond man sat on a camp stool facing them anyway, as if he could still see out. He slumped forward with his left hand supporting his forehead, seemingly weary or disconsolate.
Which was to say, he had his back to Kemas, and scarcely seemed alert. He had, moreover, untied his captive's hands.
Kemas cast about. He didn't see any actual weapons within easy reach, but a wine bottle sat on a little folding table. Trying to be silent, he pushed back his blanket, rose from the cot, picked up the bottle, and tiptoed toward the man on the stool. He swung his makeshift bludgeon down at his captor's head.
The blond man jerked his upper body to the side, and the bottle only clipped him on the shoulder. Kemas jerked it up for another blow, but twisting around, his captor grabbed his forearm and immobilized it. Then he jumped up, hooked his leg behind Kemas's, and dumped him onto his back. Still gripping the boy's arm, twisting it, he planted his foot in the center of Kemas's chest.
"I don't want to hurt you," the blond man said.
Kemas kept struggling, but the only result was to grind pain through his shoulder joint.
"It's true," the blond man said. "If I were your enemy, why would I untie you or lay you on the cot? Why would I use my songs to heal you? You did notice that someone tended your wounds, didn't you? Otherwise you wouldn't have the strength to play tricks."
Kemas hadn't noticed, but recalling the beating he'd taken, he realized it must be so. "All right. I yield."
The blond man gave him an appraising stare, then released him. He moved to the tent flaps, pulled them slightly apart to make a peephole, and peered out. "Good. It doesn't look like anyone heard us scuffling."
Keeping hold of the bottle-not that it had done him much good before-Kemas clambered to his feet. "I don't understand any of this."
The blond man waved for him to sit down on the cot and dropped back onto the stool. "Then let me explain, starting with the basics. Are you aware that the zulkirs have gone to war with one another?"
"I heard you and the autharch say something about a war, but I couldn't take it all in."
"Well, here's the nub of it: Szass Tam wants to make himself supreme ruler of Thay, and the other archwizards refuse to accept him as their overlord. By and large, Delhumide and the other northern tharchs stand with the pretender, while the southern provinces support the rest of the council."
"But what does that have to do with the temple? Why did the autharch attack us?"
"The Church of Kossuth stands with the council, as well it should. Szass Tam betrayed and murdered scores of your priests and monks. The news just hadn't reached you in this remote location. But it did reach your autharch, and he decided to wipe out your enclave before you could strike at him or his masters."
"Judging from the way you talk, you're against Szass Tam, too."
"Yes. My real name is Bareris Anskuld, and I serve in the Griffon Legion of Pyarados. I'm on a scouting mission to find out what Szass Tam's forces are up to in Delhumide and who still stands against them. I ran into the real Lord Uupret on the trail, and when I realized I could use his ring and documents to examine Szass Tam's troops and fortresses up close, I killed him and assumed his identity."
"Didn't he have a company of guards protecting him, like the autharch asked about?"
"Yes, but I had my griffon, my magic, and a formidable comrade who dogs my steps whenever I'm not pretending to be somebody else."
Even so, fighting an important noble's retinue sounded liked a desperate undertaking. "Aren't you afraid of meeting someone who knew the real Lord Uupret?"
Bareris shrugged.
"And if you want people to think you're just an ordinary noble in the service of the tharchion, wouldn't it be wise to shave your head? So you don't look… peculiar?"
"I'm a bard. If I offer an explanation for my hair, I can make people believe it, just as I made the autharch think it reasonable that one of his master's chief deputies is traveling alone."
"I suppose." But it seemed clear that Bareris was taking risks that no prudent spy would have chanced, as if some self-destructive part of him wanted his enemies to penetrate his disguise.
The blond man scowled. "That's enough blather about me. The night won't last forever, and we need to talk about how to save your temple."
Kemas swallowed. "Do you think it can be saved? I. . I told the autharch the truth. I told him everything."
"I know. I laid a charm on you to compel you."
"What?"
"Keep your voice down!"
"Why would you do that if you're really the autharch's enemy?"
"Because I judged that you were going to talk eventually in any case. Was I wrong?"
Kemas wanted to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, his eyes stung, and he squeezed them shut to hold in tears. "No," he whispered.
"You don't need to be ashamed. Torture breaks nearly everyone in the end."
"Well, you should have let it break me!" Kemas didn't know why that would have been preferable, but he felt it nonetheless.