Naked save for a scrap of cloth knotted around his loins, Hardane stood in the middle of the inquisition chamber, his wrists tightly lashed to a thick iron bar suspended over his head. The end of the noose around his neck was also secured to the iron bar to discourage him from turning into the wolf. Should he do so, the noose would tighten, and he would be left hanging in midair while the rope choked the life from his body.
How long had it been since Kylene had stood in this very room, in this very spot? How long since the Executioner had laid a whip across her tender flesh?
Hardane's hands curled into tight fists as he stared into the eyes of the man who had replaced the former Executioner. He was a tall man with a long narrow face and cruel brown eyes. But he was a master with the long black whip in his hand.
For the last twenty minutes, he had plied the lash with infinite skill, sometimes sending the whip through the air so that it flicked lightly, painlessly, at Hardane's groin. At other times, the lash cracked through the air to land with sickening force across his bare back, cutting deep into sweat-sheened flesh and quivering muscle.
He was a man who enjoyed his work, this new Executioner, Hardane had to give him that. And he was good at it, able to command the whip so that it fell soft as a caress, or sharp as the bite of an adder.
Hardane tensed as, from the corner of his eye, he saw the Executioner lift his arm, saw the whip slither through the air. His stomach clenched with dread and his mouth filled with the sharp taste of fear as the lash snaked through the air with a sharp whistling sound to bite deep into the backs of his legs.
He choked back the urge to cry out as the thick black whip fell again, slicing into the half-healed wound on his right thigh.
Head hanging, his breath coming in labored gasps, Hardane closed his eyes, his whole body trembling convulsively as he waited for the lash to fall again.
But there was only blessed silence. And then he heard a faint creak as the door to the inquisition chamber slid open and he knew the Interrogator had arrived, come to ask the same question he'd asked every day and every night since their arrival at the Fortress.
Renick stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Tapping a short black riding crop against his thigh, he circled the prisoner, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. The Lord of Argone would break soon. No man could possibly endure what he'd endured and continue to resist. It was only a matter of time.
"I don't want him dead," Renick remarked as he walked around the prisoner. Face impassive, he observed the blood dripping down Hardane's back and legs. "Only cooperative."
"Yes, my lord."
With a grunt, Renick dismissed the man, then went to stand in front of Hardane. Lifting his crop, he delivered a stinging blow to Hardane's chest.
"Look at me!"
Wearily, Hardane opened his eyes and stared into the face of the Interrogator.
Dressed in a light gray wool shirt, dark gray breeches, and black boots, his face cleanly shaven, Renick looked fit and well rested, as if he hadn't a care in the world. His eyes, as blue as an icy river, held a keen look of anticipation.
"The secret, Hardane," Renick said brusquely. "I would know the secret of the Wolffan."
"There is no secret."
"She'll be here soon," Renick said, tapping the butt of his crop against Hardane's chest. "The Sea Dragon has been seen off the northern coast. If you wish me to spare her life, you will tell me what I wish to know."
"There's nothing to tell!" Hardane exclaimed, the pain that racked him swallowed up in his fear for Kylene. "Don't you think I'd tell you if there was?"
"We'll soon see, won't we?"
"Renick, for the love of God, leave her alone. Kill me now and be done with it, but don't touch Kylene. If I'm gone, the prophesy can't be fulfilled. You and Bourke can rule Mouldour. Cut me down and I'll write my father a letter, extracting his promise that he'll never attack Mouldour again. If necessary, I'll have him send Bourke half of all our crops, all our goods. . . ."
Hardane groaned deep in his throat as the Interrogator shook his head, his expression one of boredom and disbelief.
"Renick, if that's not enough, I swear I'll give you everything I own." He took a deep breath, knowing even as he prepared to humiliate himself by begging that it wouldn't be enough. "Please, Renick, please don't harm Kylene."
The Interrogator stared up at the prisoner, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"What aren't you telling me, my lord wolf?" he mused. "There's more here than concern for your woman. What are you hiding?"
"Nothing."
"You're lying."
"No." Hardane took a deep breath. "Kylene and I are life-mated. There's a bond between us. I don't know how to explain it, except to say that she's a part of me, closer than my own blood kin."
"What causes this bond?" Renick asked, his earlier conviction that Hardane was hiding something forgotten as he considered the implications of this new bit of information.
"It's peculiar to seventh-born Wolffan offspring," Hardane answered cautiously.
"If I should mate with a seventh-born Wolffan, would my mate and I share such a bond?"
A feeling of unease, a premonition of disaster, skittered down Hardane's spine.
"I don't know." The lie slid smoothly past his lips.
The Interrogator's eyes narrowed ominously. "I think you do."
Renick tapped the crop against his thigh, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. Perhaps, if he were to life-mate with a seventh-born Wolffan woman and share the bond of which Hardane spoke, he might also be granted the secret of shape shifting. Perhaps he didn't need the heir of Argone after all.
"Tell me, Hardane, does this bond pass to all seventh-born Wolffan?"
Hardane kept silent, the sense of impending danger growing stronger.
Without warning, Renick struck his crop against the half-healed wound on Hardane's right thigh. "Answer my question, Wolffan."
Fighting the urge to vomit, Hardane shook his head.
"Answer me," Renick demanded, "or what happened here today will be as nothing compared to what will happen on the morrow. Does this bond pass to all seventh-born Wolffan?"
Hardane licked lips gone dry. "No."
"You're lying."
"No." Hardane gasped as Renick wielded his crop again.
"Explain!"
Hardane stared at the blood trickling down his thigh. Bright shafts of pain darted the length of his right leg, making it hard to think coherently.
"Explain," Renick repeated softly. "Only tell me what I wish to know, and I promise no harm will come to Kylene."
Hardane swallowed the bile in his throat. "Your word?"
"Of course. Only tell me what I wish to know and I'll send someone to bind your wound. You'll have food and wine. A blanket to turn away the cold."
"Kylene . . ."
Her name whispered past his lips, soft as a sigh, and for a moment he saw her face, her warm brown eyes filled with concern, her lips moving in a silent prayer.
"Kylene . . ." He was fighting to stay conscious now. His hands curled around the bar over his head, and he stared at the Interrogator through a red haze of pain, felt the room begin to sway, felt himself falling into the darkness that hovered all around him.
Impatient to hear what Hardane had to say, Renick plied his quirt one more time.
Hardane gasped, his body twitching convulsively, as a fresh wave of pain jerked him from the brink of unconsciousness.
"I'll do her no harm, Wolffan," Renick said. "Only tell me now, quickly, what I wish to know."
"Only the seventh born . . . of one who . . . is also . . . seventh born."
"Your mother!" Renick exclaimed, wondering why he hadn't thought of it before. "Of course."
But Hardane was past hearing.
When he woke, he was lying on the floor of his cell, his arms chained behind his back. He groaned softly as he struggled to sit up. His wounds had been treated and bound. A blanket of coarse wool covered his nakedness. A plate of cold sliced mutton, vegetables, and a loaf of freshly baked bread were on the floor beside him, along with a large bowl filled with wine.
A wry smile tugged at Hardane's features as he received Renick's silent message.
You're a wolf. Eat like one.
His pride, the only thing the Executioner hadn't whipped to shreds, rebelled at the idea of eating off the floor like a dog, but his hunger soon overcame his self-esteem.
It was awkward, eating off the floor with his hands chained behind his back, but he managed it well enough to take the edge off his hunger.
After quenching his thirst, he sat back against the wall, closed his eyes, and summoned Kylene's image to mind. He would die content, he thought, if he could only hold her one more time, inhale her warm womanly scent, touch the silk of her hair, taste the incredible sweetness of her lips.
Kylene. He ached for her in the depths of his soul; his heart feared for her safety.
Kylene. She was near. The Sea Dragon had been seen off the northern coast of Mouldour.
Perhaps she was here, even now.
"Ready?" Sharilyn asked.
"Ready," Kylene replied firmly, though her hands were shaking and she wondered if her legs would support her.
"We'll be right behind you," Lord Kray said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Sharilyn embraced her husband. "If anything goes wrong, remember how much I love you."
Lord Kray nodded. "As I love you." He gazed deep into his wife's eyes. "Should it become necessary to make a choice, you know what to do."
"Aye, my lord," Sharilyn whispered. "Are you ready, Kylene?"
"Yes."
"Jared?"
"Let's go," he replied tersely, and settled the helmet more firmly on his head.
There was a moment of silence, and then the four of them disappeared into the darkness that surrounded the Fortress.