Varzil sighed in exasperation at the blood-covered form kneeling unwillingly in front of him, and briefly contemplated having the man killed by the two guards who were already methodically beating him senseless.  It was obvious the rebel leader was not going to cooperate with Varzil's plan to pass himself off as a fellow prisoner during the first few days of their forced march to his father's stronghold; and without the leader's endorsement, Varzil knew he would accomplish nothing.

Abruptly, the prince spun around and signaled to the guards to stop the beating.  The rebel looked up at him in question, but there was no trace of hope in his eyes.

"Since you obviously don't care about your own pain, perhaps the pain of one of your men will move you to reconsider," Varzil spoke with deliberate coldness.  He knew he was on the right track as he caught the unmistakable No! from the man's mind before the other locked his barriers tighter.  That was no random touch; the man was laran gifted, Varzil thought to himself.  What was a man with the shared telepathic gift of the nobility, doing fighting for the insurgents?

The prince's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he realized that this discovery alone made the trip more than worthwhile.  Possibly this was the very man who had been setting the suicide circuits into the rebel's minds, making the interrogation of captives virtually impossible.

As Varzil turned to give the orders for another prisoner to be brought in, he found himself unexpectedly flying through the air, impacting abruptly on a jagged stone wall.  A few moments later he came to his senses with his head pounding and found his own dagger being held tightly to his throat.

The prisoner spoke savagely, the knife drawing a thin line of blood - emphasizing his words.

"Understand well, Lord Varzil.  I was already a condemned man, even before I laid hands on you.  I have absolutely nothing to lose.  Order your men out now, or prepare to join me in hell."

The knife let up slightly at the sound of the closing door behind the last guard.  "Now, I have two things to ask you, my lord, in exchange for your life," the prisoner paused briefly.  "The first is for your word that you will not use any of my men against me, or ever again use torture of one human being to force the obedience of another."

"I suppose I must say yes, since you're leaving me no choice," Varzil answered tightly as the pressure increased on his jugular.

"Now," the prisoner continued.  "Why in the name of the gods are you out here?  Did you really come all this way only to spy on us?  We must have your father far more worried than I thought!" the man laughed bitterly at this last.

"Lord Serrais did not send me, and I am not a spy!" Varzil answered with as much dignity as one could when sprawled on the floor with the enemy sitting on your chest.  "I came here, as I've already told you, to find out why you rebels continue to fight against what you must know are impossible odds!"

"Not to find out how many of us there are; where we are headquartered; how we are weaponed...?" the rebel asked sarcastically.

"No."

"And you expect me to believe that?"