Cry of Sorrow by Holly Taylor Page B

dictates of the enemy in order to keep Regan alive. She could not give up now.
    “I cannot give you information I do not have,” Elen said. She did not add that even if she knew, she would never tell—even if it did cost Regan her life. There were limits to everything. “I do not know where my brother and his Cerddorian are hiding. If you stopped just one moment to think—assuming the feat is not completely beyond you—you would know that I am telling the truth. How could I possibly find out such a thing? I was already captive when they slipped away after the last battle.”
    “Iago,” Guthlac spat, turning to the Druid who had once served Queen Olwen and now served the enemy, “you know about the message we received today. You know how important this is. Make her talk.”
    Iago, who had been wearily leaning against the wall, straightened up slowly.
    “Yes, Iago,” Elen sneered. “Make me talk.”
    “Guthlac,” Iago said in a pleading tone. “I—”
    “Do it, Druid! Your Archdruid has ordered you to help in this matter any way you can. Do it!”
    Iago’s tortured dark eyes seemed to plead with Elen to understand, to forgive. But this she would never do, and Iago knew it. She braced herself and waited.
    “Iago!” Regan cried, struggling against her bonds. “Don’t! Don’t hurt her!”
    “Do you think I would harm her?” Iago rasped. “Oh, no. Never.”
    It was then that the hem of Regan’s dress began to smolder, then caught fire. Elen screamed, “No!” as she tried to rise from her chair. But Iago’s psychokinesis held her fast. Rescue came from another quarter.
    The door burst open. General Talorcan did not hesitate. He leapt across the room, tearing off his cloak and wrapping Regan in the heavy wool, beating out the flames. When the fire was out, he helped Regan to a chair. His face tightened when he saw her bonds. He turned to Guthlac and snatched the man’s dagger from his hands. Talorcan then knelt by Regan’s chair and cut the rope that bound her, his face dangerous. He paused and briefly touched her face, then rose, turning to Guthlac and Iago.
    Very, very quietly, he asked, “What in the name of Holy Lytir is going on here?”
    Before the two men could answer, Elen answered for them. “They wished to know the location of the Cerddorian. I could not tell them. And so Iago set Regan’s dress on fire, to make me talk.”
    Talorcan’s green eyes glittered as he looked at Iago.
    “I did as the Master-wyrce-jaga bade me, General,” Iago said stiffly.
    Talorcan transferred his stare to the wyrce-jaga. Guthlac licked his thick lips. His black robe with the green tabard was rucked up over his huge belly, and he straightened it with nervous hands. “General, it was necessary.”
    “After two years, Guthlac, have you still not understood? Queen Elen does not know the answer to your question.”
    “But, General, you know the messages we received from Lord Havgan today!”
    “I repeat to you, she does not know. And you will never again seek to interrogate either one of these ladies. Understand this. I will not tell you again.”
    “Lord Havgan would surely like to know we are doing all we can to fulfill his orders. He would be most interested in learning that you lack the boldness necessary.”
    Talorcan laughed, the torchlight flickering off his dark blond hair and the stony lines of his thin, hard face. “Try it, wyrce-jaga,” he taunted. “But I think you will not be happy with the results, unless you are truly tired of living. Now get out.”
    Bowing, Guthlac backed out of the room, hatred in his piglike eyes.
    “Your coming was fortuitous, General,” Elen said coolly.
    “I came to see if Regan would care to take a stroll on the battlements. Another time, perhaps.”
    “But I would like to,” Regan said, as Elen had known she would. “More than ever, now. I need fresh air.”
    “But you are burned!”
    “I am not. You rescued me too speedily for that.”
    After a moment’s