Paragon - Book I

The Interview

The willowy, sallow-faced Serfigue hangs limply with his wrists tied in tree roots above his head. Water glistens along his long nose and hair is plastered down across his forehead. His eyes track her as she enters, watching her snap the door shut and approach with her arms folded behind her back.

"Serfigue," she states, observing his predicament, keeping the trepidation out of her face.

"And here I thought I knew all of the nearby Jarles officers," he rasps, and his voice is deeper than she expected. "I'm afraid we haven't been introduced."

"That was the idea," she says flatly. And then: "I apologize if my colleagues have been unkind. As you may have guessed, we have had a leak."

He laughs, a brittle, wheezing thing.

"Someone has given some important information about our activities to Keesark," she continues. "Information about how our couriers travel and how they get to and from Morgalth. It allowed a party of infidels to infiltrate our operations."

"And you think I did it?" he scoffs, twisting his hands in the rough binds. "What could I possibly gain from that?"

"Protection, if King Hai Sofo suspects Brezkin. But I don't believe you did it." She pauses, then arches her eyebrows slightly in copy of that cold, mocking look Snyder had when he left Brezkin. "Well, not anymore. We had to be sure, of course, but I took very careful store of your belongings while you conversed with my friend."

"How prudent," he remarks, his face remaining unnervingly passive. "And what now? I notice that I am still strung up here."

"Yes. We need to have another conversation." Allayria steps to the side, smoothing out the front of her jacket before she looks back up at him.

"The infidels obtained highly sensitive information," she tells him. "Information, from the General's safe, that may implicate your master. It seems unlikely that we will be able to contain it."

She has his full attention now, and she can see the gears whirling in his head.

"So what now?" he asks.

"Brezkin falls or flees," she answers. "And you could fall or flee with him too, if you choose to."

"And my other choice is...?"

Here it is.

"The General may be able to shelter a man who can grant us access to Brezkin's stash," she states, straining to keep her voice level and tone casual. "It seems a shame to let that all go to waste."

He stares at her a moment, and then laughs, a cold, low, grumbling laugh that goes on just a little too long for a man hanging by his wrists in an abandoned apartment.

"Is that it, then?" he prompts, his face twisting as he leans toward her. "Brezkin's stash."

He settles back, looking less limp and thin in his shackled position, his shoulders pulled back and neck relaxed.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, you do know how to walk like them, maybe even talk a bit like them, but you aren't fooling anyone here, sweetheart."

Her jaw really does clench at that, and she feels her spine stiffen.

"What are you implying? Did you lose what little intellect you had when they doused you in water?" she shoots at him. "Perhaps I should just have them kill you now and be done with it."

"I have worked with the Jarles for ten years, you stupid girl," he sneers back. "I know how they strut, I know how they operate, and it isn't by having their little freak lackeys string people up and play torturer and savior. Did you really think that would work?"