Prison of Night

"Take these away." The jewels made hard, rattling noises as she threw them down. "Bring me pearls-no!" Pearls were tears of pain. What then? What? "The crystals," she finally decided. "Bring me the crystals."

Faceted stones backed by metallic films graven with lines to form a diffraction grating which reflected the light in glowing spectrums. An inexpensive novelty bought when she was little more than a child when bright and shining things had held a peculiar attraction.

As war seemed to hold a terrible fascination for men.

Madness, of course, a destructive urge which caused them to volunteer and to go out and face injury and death. Would women be so insane?

Her reflection told her the answer. Fight, she had demanded. Protect what is ours. Kill if it comes to that but stand against those who would rob us. Words-when translated into reality what did they mean? The answer lay in the infirmary whimpering in pain. Rose on columns of black smoke to the sky. Was in the red eyes of bereft women, the wondering gaze of deprived children.

When would it end? For the love of God, when would it end?

"My lady?" The girl was patiently waiting. "Is there anything else?"

"No." There was nothing else. Just a thing which had to be done because, once started, there was no choice. "You can go. No-a moment." Lavinia looked at the face reflected in the mirror, that of the girl's looking, it seemed, over her shoulder. "Do you have anyone in uniform?"

"No, my lady."

"No one? Not a young man?"

"Certainly not." The girl was offended. "That would be foolish, my lady. He could be killed."

"Yes," said Lavinia. "How right you are, girl."

Dressed, perfumed, adorned she made her way downstairs to find all her preparations wasted. Dumarest was not to be seen. Roland sat alone at the table crumbling bread into little balls with the fingers of one hand.

"Earl?" He shrugged at the question. "He's busy somewhere. Did you know they brought in a prisoner? They're questioning him, I think. Lavinia-?"

But she was gone and, again, he sat alone.

The room was small, bleak, lit with a somber light from suspended lanterns. A place with a bare, ugly floor, a table, a chair on which a man sat his body held by ropes.

He seemed little more than a boy then she saw his eyes, the way they roved over her body, and Lavinia knew this was no boy but a man slow to age with a cynical disregard for others and a selfish pandering to his own whims. Dumarest glanced at her as she entered the chamber.

"Leave."

"Earl? Who is he?"'

He said, again, "Leave."

"Please, my lady." Gartok was more discreet. "There is something which must be done and it may not be pleasant."

"Torture?" She looked at the man tied to the chair. "You intend to torture him?"

He was leaning back, smiling, his hair cropped and his nose uptilted a little. His clothing bore stains and the fabric over one thigh was red with blood. His lips were sensuous and his teeth even and white. Time would harden his features and rob him of the spurious youth-if he was given time.

"Earl?"

"I asked you to leave."

"And I asked a question." Then, as he made no answer, she added, bitterly, "Has it come to this, Earl? Are we to lose the very last scrap of decency? To torture a wounded man!"

"He has a choice. He could talk but refuses to do so."

"But he will talk," said Gartok. "He and I are in the same business and I know a man when I see one. He's made his protest and acted the part but now its over. Now he will talk. Right, my friend?"

"Go to hell!"

"You see, my lady, how stubborn he is? Looking at that face you would never guess that he gouged the eyes from a helpless man and laughed while he did it. Nor that he shot an unarmed boy in both knees and left him to crawl over rocks as sharp as broken glass. I know him. I saw it done. And there was a woman-but I'd better not mention her. And he will talk, that I promise. Now let me get to work."

"Outside, Lavinia."

"You too, Earl." Gartok was blunt. "If I get nothing else out of this war I'm going to have this. Don't try to stop me. Just take your lady and go."

Lavinia was silent as Dumarest led her to the great hall. She remained silent as Roland rose, sat again as he was ignored to toy with more bread. A servant deftly served the first course. Irritably she pushed aside the plate.

"How can I be expected to eat?"

"And how can you expect men to be other than what they are?" Dumarest was harsh. "I told you once that when you hire men to kill you don't expect to get monks. Well, Kars is a killer and lives by his own code."

"He will kill that man?"

"Yes."

"And you allow it? Earl, what has come over you? Why are you so different?"

"Different to what? Did you ever know me when I too had to kill? Can I stop Kars? Do I want to? That man would be dead now if I hadn't saved him. I did it so he would talk. Well, he's going to talk and what he says might win us this war. Or would you prefer others to die in his place? Your maid, for example. Roland. Me."