The Gathering Storm

Nynaeve sighed. "Look," she said to him. "I am Aes Sedai, and am bound by my word. If you tell me what I want to know, I will see that you are not suspected in the death. The Dragon doesn't care about you three, otherwise you wouldn't still be here in charge of this little . . . stopover of yours."

"If we talk, we go free?" the fat man said, eyeing her. "Your word?"

Nynaeve glanced about the tiny room with a dissatisfied eye. They had left Lady Chadmar in the dark, and the door was packed with cloth to muffle screams. The cell would be dark, stuffy and cramped. Men who would work a place like this barely deserved life, let alone freedom.

But there was a much larger sickness to deal with. "Yes," Nynaeve said, the word bitter in her mouth. "And you know that's better than you deserve."

Jorgin hesitated, then nodded. "Let me down, Aes Sedai, and I'll answer your questions."

She did so. The man might not know it, but she had very little authority to stand on; she wouldn't resort to his methods of extracting answers, and she was acting without Rands knowledge. The Dragon probably wouldn't react well when he discovered that she'd been prying—not unless she could present him with discoveries.

Jorgin said to the broken-nosed thug, "Mord, fetch me a stool." Mord glanced at Nynaeve for approval, which she gave with a curt nod. As Jorgin settled his bulk onto the stool, he leaned forward, hands clasped before him. He resembled a hulking beetle tipped up on its side. "I don't see what you need from me," the man said. "You seem to know everything already. You know about my facility and about the people it has held. What more is there to know?"

Facility? Some word for it. "That is my own business," Nynaeve said, giving him a stare which she hoped implied that the concerns of the Aes Sedai were not to be questioned. "Tell me, how did the messenger die?" "Without dignity," Jorgin replied. "Like all men, in my experience." "Give me specifics, or you'll go back to hanging in the air." "I opened the cell door a few days back to feed him. He was dead." "How long had it been since you'd fed him, then?" Jorgin snorted. "I don't starve my guests, Lady Aes Sedai. I just . . . encourage them to be free with what they know."

"And how much encouragement did you give the messenger?" "Not enough to kill him," the jailer said defensively. "Oh, come now," Nynaeve said. "The man remained for months in your possession, presumably healthy all that time. Then, the day before he is to be brought before the Dragon Reborn, he suddenly dies? You already have my promise of amnesty. Tell me who bribed you to kill him and I'll see that you're protected."

The jailer shook his head. "It wasn't like that. I'm telling you, he just died. It happens sometimes." "I tire of your games."

"It's not a game, burn you!" Jorgin snarled. "You think a man could get far in my profession if it were known that he'd accept a bribe to kill one of his guests? You couldn't trust him any further than you could a lying Aiel!"

She let that last comment slide, though a man like this one could never be "trusted."

"Look," Jorgin said, "that wasn't the type of prisoner you kill, anyway. Everybody wants to know where the King is. Who'd kill the only one with information about it? That man was worth good money."

"So he's not dead," Nynaeve surmised. "Who did you sell him to?"

"Oh, he's dead," the jailer said with a chuckle. "If I had sold him, I wouldn't have lived long afterward. You learn that sort of thing quickly, doing what I do."

She turned to the other two thugs. "Is he lying?" he asked of them. "A hundred gold marks to the one of you who can give me proof that he is."

Mord glanced at his boss, then grimaced. "For a hundred in gold, I'd sell you my own mother, Lady. Burn me, but I would. Jorgin's telling the truth, though. That body was good and dead. The Dragon's men checked when they brought the lady to us."

So Rand had considered that possibility. But she still had no proof that these men were telling her the truth. If there was something to hide, they'd work hard to bury it deep. She decided to try a different path.

"What did you discover, then," she said, "about the King's location?"

Jorgin just sighed. "Like I told the Lord Dragon's men, and like I told Lady Chadmar before she landed here in the dungeons herself. That man knew something, but he wouldn't speak it."

"Come now," Nynaeve said, shooting a glance at the chest with its sharp equipment. She had to look away again before it angered her. "A man of your . . . skill? And you couldn't pry one simple fact out of him?"

"Dark One take me if I'm lying!" The jailer's face flushed as if this were a matter of pride for him. "I've never seen a man resist like that one did! A pretty feather of a man like him should have broken without much encouragement at all. But he didn't. He would speak on anything other than the things we wanted!" Jorgin leaned forward. "I don't know how he did it, Lady. Burn me, but I don't! It's like some . . . force had ahold of his tongue. It was like he couldn't talk. Even if he'd wanted to!"

The two thugs muttered to themselves, looking apprehensive. It seemed that Nynaeve's questioning had hit a nerve.

"So you pushed him too hard," Nynaeve guessed. "And that's how he died."

"Take it all, woman!" the jailer growled. "Blood and bloody ashes! I didn't kill him! Sometimes, people just die."

Unfortunately, she was coming to believe him. Jorgin was a wretch of a man who could use a decade doing chores beneath the eyes of a Wisdom. But he wasn't lying.

So much for her grand plans. She sighed, standing up, realizing just how tired she really was. Light! This scheme was more likely to make Rand explode at her than persuade him to listen to her counsel. She needed to return to the mansion for some sleep. Perhaps tomorrow she'd be able to think up a better way to show Rand that she was on his side.

She waved for the guards to take the jailer and his men back up above. After that, she wove Air to shut the cell door on Milisair Chad-mar. Nynaeve would see that the woman's conditions were improved. Despicable human being or not, she should not be treated this way. Rand would have to understand that when she explained it to him. Why, Milisair looked so pale she might be coming down with the shakes! Absently, Nynaeve walked to the viewing slit at the top of the cell door, then wove a Delving of Spirit to make certain the woman was not ill.

As soon as she began the Delving, Nynaeve froze. She had expected to find Milisair's body taxed by exhaustion. She had expected to find disease, perhaps hunger.

She had not expected to find poison.