The Inquisitor waited patiently for the Warder to finish speaking before looking curiously up at the other prisoner, a stonily expressionless look concealing whatever Mikel's thoughts and feelings were with regard to this obvious show of defiance. He raised a single muscular fist as a gesture to the nearby Children waiting within the tent; they did not need long to interpret his signal. They raised their own gauntleted knuckles before settling to with a vengeance that the hapless prisoner had no more than a split second to react to. It was a crude, gritty method of torture that an experienced initiate of the Hand would never have applied to wheedle out important answers... but this was at least sufficient to keep the man quiet long enough for the Amadician to focus on what truly mattered. Slowly the Inquisitor turned back to the Gaidin with an oily smile on his face as if an atrocious amount of physical violence were not being applied right before his eyes.
"I know very little of what occurred in the ambush, Lain," Mikel reminded him pointedly, addressing him by name in a way that suggested they were already close acquaintances. "Remember that I had nothing to do with this attack beyond happening upon the aftermath of the incident. I would not have commanded such an assault, if only because of the great dangers of sparking up a war between Amadicia and the White Tower." Mikel stopped there, careful not to say things that even the greenest recruit could not bring himself to tolerate from the mouth of a fellow Child. The only reason we have avoided war is because of the need to show respect and deference to the boundaries of the Aes Sedai. Every Lord Captain Commander with half his wits intact knows who would come off the better in a battle between our two organizations. The use of the One Power as a weapon was corrupted and base at best but no amount of legions could hope to stand against such a mighty force.
"As things stand, letters must be forwarded to your leaders... your Amyrlin and her Hall..." Mikel muttered, rubbing his hands together in an unconscious signal of deep, troubled thoughts. "Many are uncomfortable with the idea, as if such messages might imply we are willing to treat with your White Tower. Truth to tell, I do not much like it myself but I at least am able to understand the political minutiae of such a situation." The rhythmic thump, thwunk of the Children's gauntlets meeting with naked flesh cut through to Mikel's ears again for a brief moment before he ruthlessly forced the sounds out of his mind. The prisoner must learn his place, and he will not if I show even a hint of weakness. "I will not be a party to causing or beginning any manner of war you can imagine... unless it is necessary, of course." That smile twisted to a wry smirk, the look of a man who knew the realities of war meeting eyes with one who also clearly did. "I am sure you can well sympathize with me, yes?" With a calm click of his fingers, the pair of Children withdrew from the second prisoner, halting their relentless beating. The wretch was covered in ugly, black bruises from head to toe and blood flowed in thick rivulets where certain heavy blows had torn open flesh.
"Now since you have cooperated with me to the best of your ability and have shown me no great disrespect, it is quite possible that I will be able to push for your release," Mikel explained to the Gaidin in a business-like tone of voice. "With the underlying political influences brought into consideration, it is highly doubtful that my Lord Captain Commander would wish to risk inciting further trouble. Once you have seen the treasonous Lieutenant brought to justice and hung you can return to the White Tower and explain that the man who killed one of their kind was not working under the authority of the Children. I admit that I would be indescribably grateful if you would do this service for me... not that I expect it of you after the suffering one of my own has caused you but nonetheless, I sincerely hope that you can repay my kindly deed with one of your own." Mikel turned smoothly towards the exit of the tent, intending to issue orders for the Warder's release; he was never given the opportunity.
"My Lord Inquisitor," came the familiar voice of Hundredman Daved. "Before I leave, I must report that a pigeon just arrived for you. Sealed by the Lord Captain Commander's hand... it must be of utmost importance." Mikel nodded calmly, taking this new development coolly in his stride. So the supreme master of the Children sent another message soon after the one I just received... which means he had a change of heart about a certain command... or that he wishes to add something else. Daved strode forward confidently, not at all sickened by the sight of bloody, battered men but nor did he take any pleasure in the sight as some of the more sadistic members of the Hand were at liberty to do on occasion. The Hundredman placed the sealed letter in Mikel's hands before placing a hand to his heart in formal salute.
"Thank you, Daved," he responded, already waving his hand to indicate that the man was free to go. "Now leave before I decide I might need you, after all... enjoy your leave, Hundredman." Daved saluted a last time before marching stolidly out of the tent. Mikel did not waste a moment before cracking open the note and scanning hastily over the content. So...
Lord Inquisitor Mikel,
My first instinct was to command the immediate release of this Tower nit to prevent a conflict that we surely could not hope to win. However, when the damage is done, damage limitation must be applied and there is an advantage to possessing this Gaidin that we have never had before. He is already a broken man, the witch who leashed him dead. All know of the tricks they use to certify obedience... the pain and loss of a desire to live that the so-called Warders suffer when their mistresses die. A broken man is more likely to speak of things that the hardened hounds of the White Tower would not so much as loosen their tongues for.
It is my desire that you find everything you can of use from this man, specifically his knowledge of the Shadow and his own experience of dealings with the witches and other Darkfriends. It would also be useful to acquire information about the infrastructure of the White Tower, as well as any possible weaknesses that we can exploit, even by stealth. I intend to finally be the Lord Captain Commander who saves the world from the corrupting influence of the Tower.
Walk in the Light.
There was no signature but none was needed for Mikel to recognize the devious workings of the mind of the Captain Commander who was willing to expend any amount of resources if it meant extinguishing the depraved existence of the Shadow and the Aes Sedai from the world. And he is willing to sacrifice you as well, Mikel... remember that you are as much an expendable resource as anybody.
"I regret to inform you that there has been an unexpected change of plans, Warder," the Inquisitor spoke up coldly, already distancing himself emotionally from the subject. He turned to the Children and the herb doctor. "You will cease treating this patient now and find some other worthy task," he told the man who had been administering painkilling substances and stitching up the more serious wounds. "You two Children will secure this man as he was before my arrival... and then you must fetch my tools." The pair complied with barely a hesitation, tying the rope with painstaking attention to detail until the Gaidin was hanging by his feet once more. They left just as quickly... both knew full well what tools must mean to an Inquisitor.
"I fear that my orders are quite clear, prisoner," Mikel announced, turning back to his subject. "You must tell me everything you can of use to the cause of the Children and if you will not tell me, I must see to the loosening of your tongue. If you have not yet realized the situation, then I will inform you that our meeting has advanced to the point where Questioning is necessary. I prefer to structure my interrogations in a very tidy manner and unlike some I do not believe the element of surprise gives me the advantage. Just so, I will tell you what you can expect at the various stages of my Questioning you." The Children re-entered, one bearing a folded desk and the other a large wooden box that clunked with the noise of several metallic objects held within. "Firstly, I will simply ask the truth of you and if you answer to my satisfaction I will not harm you in any way. Second will include the use of my hands to... encourage you... since the moment I joined the Hand of the Light, I learned of many ways of using my hands to glean the truth from a person. Third will mean the use of the many pleasant objects you see being laid out on that table," Mikel gestured as the Children placed the last few hooks and knives on the desk. "It is truly amazing that so much agony can be caused by these tools without even bringing a subject to the brink of death. A very rare few are able to keep silent through this stage... but none I have ever encountered refused questions once at the fourth stage of my Questioning. Anything is allowable at this point... I might skin you alive but that would be... predictable, yes? Perhaps for a man of your admirable caliber, I can amputate those parts of your body that will not be needed for answering questions... or maybe I will fetch the hot coals. Needless to say you will be begging for your own death once I have completed much more than a minute of the final stage." There was no feeling in Mikel's voice now... only the cold, stark truth.
"And there are far greater violations that can be committed against a man," Mikel whispered, lowering his voice to a level that only Lain would be able to hear. "I know of at least three or four Children in this camp alone who would be unconditionally grateful were I to give them the legitimate use of your body for a few hours. One would take you while the others watched... perhaps by the time they have all taken a turn with you the first will be ready for another taste. They do not at all object at being told to be as rough as possible with the prisoners... tenderness is the last thing on any of their minds." It was no idle thread... men with such preferences were barely tolerated within the ranks of the Children... but out of those few who were, there were always some willing to take advantage. "I sincerely hope that you do not make such a thing necessary, Lain... it is never pleasant to watch, let me assure you.
"Now," Mikel spoke in a suddenly friendly tone, clapping his hands to push such thoughts aside. "Since that ugly business is out of the way, I am sure none of what I mentioned will become necessary, will it Gaidin?" Mikel asked dismissively, as if he were already certain of the answer. "Firstly, I am commanded to enquire as to your knowledge of the Shadow and what dealings you may have had with Darkfriends in the past. Will you answer me with the absolute truth, or must I immediately advance to the second stage?"
xxxx
Lain listened impassively as the Whitecloak spoke to him, trying to convince him he would be set free. Free if only he would go to the Amyrlin and explain that the Whitecloaks hadn't killed... an Aes Sedai... on purpose. He almost laughed aloud; almost spat at the man's feet. Almost. He thought better at the last moment; he didn't want to come out of this worse than he would already. If he came out at all. As the man finished, he turned, beginning to stride towards the entrance of the tent. Before he had reached the opening, another man appeared, carrying a small scroll.
"My Lord Inquisitor, before I leave, I must report that a pigeon just arrived for you. Sealed by the Lord Captain Commander's hand... it must be of utmost importance," spoke the man. The Questioner coolly nodded, taking the letter and reading it the moment the other left the tent. Lain watched with mild interest as the Whitecloak's face changed, something in the letter altering his emotions. The man became more distant, his mind focusing less on Lain, the man. This could be bad, he commented silently.
"I regret to inform you that there has been an unexpected change of plans, Warder," the Questioner told him, his voice the ice of a midwinter's morning. As the Whitecloak shooed away the herb doctor, calling for Lain to be hung up, and to fetch his tools, Lain shuddered convulsively in anticipation. 'Tools'. Definitely bad. He gritted his teeth as he was strung up, sneaking a glance at the other prisoner. He winced in sympathy- black bruises covered the man's body, blood oozing from fresh wounds, then hissed as the Whitecloaks brushed his leg, none to gently. Perhaps on purpose. He shrugged unconsciously- what difference did it make?
As the Questioner began speaking again, two other Whitecloaks bringing in a clumsy wooden box- Tools, his inner voice winced- Lain tried not to listen. Anticipation always made the fear worse, made it easier to break a man. But he couldn't help it- the man spoke so impassively, showing no eagerness for causing him pain. He described it lightly, with not much detail, leaving Lain to guess at what might be in store for him. The man is a master, he admitted grudgingly.
"And there are far greater violations that can be committed against a man," the Questioner whispered, then continued on. Lain could not help it- his eyes bulged, mouth dropping- or rising- slightly open. He stared at the Whitecloak, upside-down, uncomprehending. Did he mean?... No, he couldn't. Could he? His fears were affirmed as the man spoke on, Lain forcing his mouth shut purely through willpower. His thoughts on this were left behind as the Questioning began.
"Firstly, I am commanded to enquire as to your knowledge of the Shadow and what dealings you may have had with Darkfriends in the past. Will you answer me with the absolute truth or must I immediately advance to the second stage?" Lain stared at him some more, his eyes withdrawing and hardening.
"The truth?" he said softly, his voice distant. "Always, the truth." He looked up, his eyes focusing squarely on the enemy, mind imaging a million tortures worse than anything the creature before him could conceive.
His voice changed to a jovial one, sickeningly cheerful. "Why, the Shadow is the Dark One," he whispered in mock fear. "And Darkfriends are most awful people."
His eyes grew wide in exaggerated innocence. "I haven't had any dealings with the Shadow," he said, sounding surprised. "Why, it pains my light-loving soul you would think such a thing!" Lain tensed as he waited for the inevitable first blow.
xxxx
Mikel watched the man's face carefully, analyzing exactly how much truth had been in his words. All the Inquisitor could see was outright defiance in the Warder's eyes, as well as a hint of contemptuous mockery. But perhaps the man truly had not been a part of any dealings with the Shadow... truth could too easily be clothed in defiance as a means of putting one's enemies off the scent. Lain was more than sly enough to think up such a ruse and Mikel had seen too much in his life to take anything for granted now. His dark eyes stared daggers at the Gaidin, furious that the fool man insisted on making things so difficult. You could have avoided all this ugliness with but a slight loosening of your tongue... even now, I might still have secured your release.
"I see..." Mikel murmured, his head tilted again with a typically vague look of contemplation adding fine creases to his usually smooth forehead. "You have made your position quite clear to me, Lain... I do not give second chances," the Hand assured him with a distinctly matter-of-fact quality to his voice. "I swear under the Light and by my hope of salvation that you will live to regret disrespecting me." The pitch-black silken gloves that Mikel dug out of his cloak pocket did not fit with the rest of his pristine white uniform. There was something of a morbid look to those gloves... a brewing storm, dark and foreboding. It was the only item of clothing the Amadician owned that was not as clear as daylight; such a colour was black enough as to easily absorb and conceal the rank, corrupt taint of spilt blood.
Mikel walked icily to the freshly unfolded desk, picking out a pouch, sealed and tied meticulously as if the item held within were particularly valuable. With an almost reverent delicacy, the Inquisitor picked open the thread and pulled out the contents. A dusk-green collection of furry- skinned vines and thorny leaves had been massed together within the pouch, ready for immediate use. Itchweed. Mikel always made certain that a Child picked him out a new batch at least once every day... itchweed lost something of its potency after it was picked and the longer it was left, the less effective it became. The weed in question was only a few hours old in this case however, which meant that it still retained every bit of its usual effectiveness. Without any further delay, Mikel set to with just as much attention to detail as the herb doctor had shown... to the Inquisitor, it was as much a form of art as any of the greatest poetry.
He applied the itchweed to various points on the man's body, carefully removing the shirt that had been passed to the Gaidin only moments ago. The most important points to focus on were already vulnerable areas of flesh, such as deep wounds, and other cuts or bruises. Any experienced initiate of the Hand of the Light learned such things as a basic requirement of raising, but few managed to apply it with the correct level of exquisiteness that made it truly deadly. Mikel could. The thorny leaves were a personal addition of his; for the subjects, it always made the experience far more... memorable. The thorns also caught on soft flesh, attaching the itchy vines all the more securely. And now to begin. Before long, a shallow cut just below the man's upper chest had been given the treatment, while various bruises and torn flesh along his muscular arms were also "bandaged" in the same unique way. Mikel saved the largest thorns and the crispest weeds for Lain's twisted, mutilated leg; the Inquisitor applied itchweed to those torn and broken tendons with a strangely gentle look in his eyes. Tenderness was always an effective means of putting his patient's off balance.
"There is an ointment that can quickly relieve you of your ailment, Lain..." Mikel whispered soothingly into the Gaidin's ear. "...and more painkillers can be brought if they are required. However, if the right herbs are not brought soon enough, you will begin to itch furiously... there is only one possible reaction in such a dire situation." Scratching was inevitable and only natural in the situation but prisoners always discovered to their horror that this only exacerbated the situation. Yet exacerbate or not, they were unable to halt in their frenzied itching; not even when healing wounds were torn open anew and previously unblemished skin was marred by deep gouges from the wild slicing of fingers far beyond the control of their owners. "Now I give you a choice... you may vainly try to help yourself by conventional means. I have kindly left your arms free, you may have noticed... although I would not advise this method; it can only ever end in hideous, unsightly results. Your second option is to agree to answer my questions and I will of course call for the return of the herb doctor immediately." Mikel paused a moment to analyze what effect his words had had on the man, yet it was impossible to read anything from his stony face. Perhaps he will talk... the Inquisitor mused. Perhaps if he has half the wits of a blind mule. "I ask you again... what is your knowledge of the Shadow and what past dealings with Darkfriends can you tell me of?"
xxxx
Gale saw the fist come up and the two men approach him. He cursed at himself for being so stupid as to open his mouth in such an insulting manner. He grunted as the first fist hit him, the gauntlet cutting into his skin. A few more strikes and he felt a few of his ribs break. He was being shown no mercy and he felt himself loosing consciousness. He tried hard to keep awake and the pain helped him achieve this end.
He thought it would go on forever and then it stopped. He was unable to keep from gasping as they left, which caused him to wince. His ribs were fire and he was bleeding from a dozen deep gashes, some on his face and one uncomfortably close to his eye. He looked down at his torso, and saw it was shining wetly with his blood, and dark with bruises. No, he told himself. Control the pain. He saw the warder being strung up again and he realized that he had missed something. The warder was staring venomously at the Inquisitor.
The Inquisitor was pulling on black gloves and took out a pouch. The plants that he took out he attached to the Warder, with thorns if he wasn't mistaken. He explained about the plant to the man and Gale could not help but wince. Itchweed. Very potent when fresh and aggravated further by scratching. He pitied the man. Then he went inside himself, calming himself. He was exhausted and growing weak from loss of blood, which covered the floor under him. He receded inside his mind.
Inside himself he numbed the pain, taking deep breathes that sent lances of pain through his body. He had learned this trick when he was at the Tower, separating his mind from his broken body, putting himself in sort of a trance. He sought the void but did not seize the source. He fed the pain and anger into the flame he envisioned, calming himself. He would not be rash again, he promised, knowing that that was close to being impossible. He had promised this to himself before and it had never worked. He was too emotional, he knew and didn't think before he acted, something mastered by those who had been on this earth longer than 20 years.
His trance led to unconsciousness. He was losing blood fast and his internal bleeding had quickened. His head slumped forward onto his chest and the pain was not enough to keep him from slipping into the world between awake and sleep. He floated, in and out, sometimes seeing, sometimes not and he was always brought out of any sleep he slipped into by nightmares of demons and fire, a hell his mind created, a prison. He thrashed screaming and always came out within a few minutes of the dream, though those minutes seemed lifetimes to him.
xxxx
"I swear under the Light and by my hope of salvation that you will live to regret disrespecting me." Lain shivered involuntarily. Live. The Questioner pulled a pair of black gloves from his pocket, pulling them on like a butcher going to work. I wonder how they keep their white uniforms from getting covered with our blood, he wondered idly. He followed the man with his eyes, face tense as he reached towards a small tied bag. What could be inside? His question was answered quickly as the man- Not man, he thought angrily. Thing.- pulled out a bundle of thorns and vines, handling them carefully. He considered them thoughtfully, wondering what they would be for. What, would the monster stab him with thorns until he spoke? He chuckled without mirth then, a dry laugh, cut short by the Thing moving towards him.
He quickly and mercilessly 'attacked' Lain's body within an instant, applying the thorns and plant to his open and dripping wounds. Lain closed his eyes against the pain, preventing himself from watching. The sharp thorns twisted into his skin, digging their points into his body, driving the vines into his vulnerable flesh. A faint burning began where they touched skin, a vaguely familiar sensation he couldn't quite put his finger on. The Thing had moved behind him as Lain was absorbed in his thoughts, and Lain sucked in air sharply as large thorns were driven deep into the torn muscles of his leg. As more of the crackling vines were placed within his wounds, the first areas attended to began to itch. Lain's fingers twitched to scratch, and he held them tightly at his head, locked together. He caught a strange, gently tender look in the Monster's eyes as he moved before him again, out of place in that cold face. Freak of nature, Lain thought uncomfortably, his wounds beginning to burn.
"There is an ointment that can quickly relieve you of your ailment, Lain," The Monster whispered soothingly into the Lain's ear. "and more painkillers can be brought if they are required. However, if the right herbs are not brought soon enough, you will begin to itch furiously... there is only one possible reaction in such a dire situation." Lain clenched his fists again, fighting against the already fiercely itching wounds. If he scratched, it would be worse. Come on, he told himself. Are you going to let some itchy thorns break you? He clenched his jaw in turn, holding his hands firmly. He but flicked his eyes when the man hanging by him woke suddenly, thrashing and screaming. Poor man, he thought suddenly. What did he do to deserve this? The man fell asleep as quickly as he had awoken, his eyes falling shut. Lain shook his head, focusing on the words the Thing was saying. Anything to focus on.
The Monster gave him a 'choice'; talk, or the itching. Fine choice, he thought wryly. "I ask you again... what is your knowledge of the Shadow and what past dealings with Darkfriends can you tell me of?" said the Monster. Lain smiled at him, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Dealings with Darkfriends..." he mused. "You know, I can't say I know of any Darkfriends... personally, anyway," he added. "But you might want to punish that herb doctor," he told the Questioner, his face solemn. "His healing herbs seem to be having this itchy side affect..." he tilted his head sideways, face straight.
xxxx
Gale finally came out of his stupor, son weak he could barely move. His ribs hurt unbearably now and his breathing rasped and brought blood to his lips. I'm dying, aren't I, he thought glumly. I will die, drowning in my own blood. Time is running out. Sweat caked him in a slick sheen, stinging the numerous cuts though he shivered uncontrollably, he began to float again, drifting in and out of delirium, where he babbled incoherently and constantly. Too tired he feebly twitched instead of the violent thrashing he had experienced earlier.
He opened his eyes enough to see it was dark and knew it was in the wee hours of the morning. His wounds had stopped bleeding and the blood was covering his skin almost completely. He coughed weakly and felt blood fill his mouth. He groaned as each cough racked his small frame and he was spitting the blood out frequently. Drowning inside myself, he thought. He knew he would do no good to anyone now, his rescue attempt gone completely opposite. And then the man came into the tent, a whitecloak followed by three companions.
He came to Gale and sneered at him, whispering to his companions, "This one won't live much longer the way he's looking, let's have some fun with him. The Lord Inquisitor has no use for broken toys." He took his dagger out and cut Gale down. Gale fell in a heap, crying out as he hit the hard ground. A gauntleted hand covered his mouth and a filthy rag was shoved into his mouth "The Lord Inquisitor better not hear, " the Whitecloak whispered, "He's protective of his toys." the others laughed softly. A booted foot slammed into his side and he felt his ribs shatter more than they already were broken. His scream was muffled by the material and his eyes watered furiously, the booted feet raining down on him.
He looked up when it stopped, and the Whitecloaks face was close, and he could smell the alcohol on his breath. Drunk, he thought, That's worse than sober. They're idiots when their drunk and I don't need this. Let them kill me, please... He was praying now for a quick death and saw the dagger shining in the Whitecloak's hand. One of this companions let out a loud guffaw and the whitecloak hissed at him and slew him before turning back to Gale. He felt the dagger stab once into his hand, and once into the other, realizing they had pinned his hands to the earth with their knives. Another went to his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut waiting for death.
xxxx
"If you kill him, you will share his fate," Mikel told them calmly, eyeing each Child with a separate look that pierced the mind of each and every drunken figure standing before him. "I do not ever enjoy wasting valuable resources but when a tool is defective, it is far more wasteful to attempt to use or repair it... some things are simply beyond repair." The Children backed away slowly, raising their hands in gestures of appeasement. "As a Hand of the Light, it is my duty to acquire information from prisoners... if you kill this man or maim him beyond the point of talking then I would be most displeased." The group was already scuttling away, ready to jump into a pit of vipers before remaining another moment in this tent with an Inquisitor.
"Did I give you leave to go, children?" he barked, meaning the last word by its true definition. These supposed servants of the Light were nothing more than boys who thought their calling in life was to bully all those weaker or more vulnerable than them. Such people inevitably received their comeuppance and it seemed their time was now. "You will report your insubordination to whoever your Captain happens to be and will deliver a message to him that he is first to issue suitable punishments to each of you and then inform Lord Captain Jeraal that he is incapable of leading men." That would make their penalties all the more severe... their Captain would not appreciate being demoted and would wish to exact as much revenge as possible before it happened. "You are dismissed!" With that, they practically fell out of the entrance to the tent, each shoving aside the others to be the first to leave.
Satisfied that his words had had a suitable effect, Mikel bent down to give the prisoner a cursory diagnosis, frowning at the high quality Amadician steel, binding his hands to the ground. They truly have no finesse, no attention to detail, he sneered, coldly taking each dagger out of the man's torn hands. A better strategy was to work slowly up the ladder of torture, building up the agony with small, subtle steps. A man who suffered unexpected and sudden pain was often left too shocked to even consider answering questions... it was best to allow him to adapt just enough so that he would be able to talk when the anguish became too much to bear. Bodily picking the man up in his thick, muscular arms, Mikel tossed him out of the way in a shadowy corner of the tent.
"You will remain there until I find time to deal with you," he commanded as if the poor fool could do anything else in his current condition. He would not be capable of anything more than small movements for many hours to come, not with gaping holes through his hands. "I would call someone to bandage those up but perhaps it will serve as further penance for your disrespect... I suggest that you bind them with something clean to prevent infection." Mikel tore his pure white cloak from his shoulders and threw it contemptuously to the man. "This should suffice... I am sure I will be able to afford a new one." The Inquisitor turned away dismissively, finally released to deal with his charge once more. This Gaidin was going to be far more difficult to deal with than he had hoped, broken or not.
"If you are delusional then I might have to heighten the element of pain to force your mind back on track," he said, returning his icy attentions upon Lain. "You know very well what is causing the "itchy side effect" as you put it. And if you think this is the peak of the herbs effect, you are gravely mistaken. A few minutes more and you will be whining... begging for me to tear off your limbs if it will only release you from such suffering. Perhaps I will oblige you if you ask me very nicely." He smirked. Mikel had met the request once or twice but only when he considered his subjects far beyond coherence. He did not intend to wear down Lain so soon when his mind was surely still filled with useful information. "For now, I will assume that you are telling me the truth... perhaps you are truly ignorant of the depraved influence of the Shadow within the walls of your White Tower. I will instead enquire as to your knowledge of Tar Valon. What is the status of your defences? How about the numbers of the Tower Guard... and the exact amount of Aes Sedai and Gaidin in the White Tower at this time?" Mikel sank back into his hard, wooden chair, watching for any sign of weakness, waiting for the moment when the man would finally crack and tell him everything. Everyone had a breaking point.