With Galtero and Lunetta right behind, he took the steps two at time. While the walls on the main level were trimmed with ornate paneling adorned with portraits of Nicobarese royalty and decorated tapestries depicting their fabled, largely fictitious exploits, the walls on the lower level were simple stone block, cold to the eye as well as the touch. The room he was headed for, though, would be warm.

As he knuckled his mustache, he winced at the ache in his bones. The cold seemed to make his joints ache more of late. He admonished himself to be more concerned with the Creator's work and less with such mundane matters. The Creator had blessed him with more than a good amount of help this night; it must not be wasted.

On the upper levels the halls had been well guarded by the men of the fist, but downstairs the drab corridors were empty; there was no way into or out of the palace from the lower levels. Galtero, ever watchful, eyed the length of the hall outside the door to the questioning room. Lunetta waited patiently with a smile. Tobias had told her she had done well, especially with the last spell, and she was a glowing reflection of his good graces.

Tobias stepped into the room and came face-to-face with Ettore's familiar, wide grin.

The eyes, however, were filmed with death.

Tobias froze.

Ettore was hanging by a cord tied to either end of an iron pin driven through his ears. His feet dangled just clear of a dark, coagulated puddle.

There was a neat slice from a razor all the way around the middle of his neck. Below that, every inch of him had been skinned. Pale strips of it lay to the side in an oozing heap.

An incision just below the rib cage gaped open. On the floor in front of his gently swinging body lay his liver.

It had a few bites out of each side. The bites on one side were edged with irregular tears left by larger teeth; on the other side were those of small, orderly teeth.

Brogan spun with a wail of rage and backhanded Lunetta with his fist. She crashed to the wall beside the fireplace and slid to the floor.

"This be your fault, streganicha! This be your fault! You should have stayed here and attended Ettore!"

Brogan stood, fists at his side, glaring at the skinned body of one of his Blood of the Fold. If Ettore wasn't dead, Brogan would have killed him himself, with his bare hands if need be, for letting that old hag escape justice. To let a baneling escape was inexcusable. A true baneling hunter would kill the evil one before he died, no matter what it took. Ettore's mocking grin incensed him.

Brogan struck the cold face. "You have failed us, Ettore. You are discharged with dishonor from the Fold. Your name will be expunged from the roster,"

Lunetta cowered against the wall, holding her bloody cheek. "I told you that I should stay and attend him. I told you."

Brogan glowered down at her. "Don't give me your filthy excuses, streganicha. If you knew how much trouble the old hag was going to be, then you should have stayed."

"But I told you I should." She wiped tears from her eyes. "You made me come with you."

He ignored her and turned to his colonel. "Get the horses," he hissed through gritted teeth.

He should kill her. Right now. He should slit her throat and be done with it. He was sick of her vile taint. This night it had cost him valuable information. The old woman, he was now sure, would have been a trove of information. If not for his loathsome sister, he would have had it.

"How many horses, Lord General?" Galtero whispered.

Brogan watched his sister staggering to her feet, regaining her composure as she cleaned blood from her cheek. He should kill her. This very moment.

"Three," Brogan growled.

Galtero extracted a cudgel from the interrogation tools before he glided through the door, silent as a shadow, and vanished down the hall. The guards obviously hadn't seen her, although with banelings that didn't necessarily mean anything, but it was always possible the old woman could still be around. Galtero didn't need to be told that if she were found she was to be taken alive.

Impetuous vengeance with a sword would gain no benefit. If she were found. she would be taken alive, and questioned. If she were found, she would pay the price of her profanity, but she would tell all she knew, first.

If she were found. He looked to his sister. "Do you sense her anywhere near?"

Lunetta shook her head. She wasn't scratching her arms. Even if there weren't a couple thousand D'Haran troops around the palace, with the storm raging as it was it would be impossible to track anyone. Besides, as much as he wanted the old woman, Brogan had a quarry of greater profanity to go after. And then there was the matter of Lord Rahl. If Galtero found the old woman, fine, but if not, they couldn't spare the time for a difficult, and most likely fruitless, hunt. Banelings were hardly a rarity; there would always be another. The lord general of the Blood of the Fold had more important work to see to: the Creator's work.

Lunetta hobbled to Brogan's side and slipped an arm around his waist. She stroked his heaving chest.

"It be late, Tobias," she cooed intimately. "Come to bed. You have had a hard day doing the Creator's work. Let Lunetta make you feel better. You will be pleased, I promise." He said nothing. "Galtero had his pleasure, let Lunetta give you yours. I will do a glamour for you," she offered. "Please, Tobias?"

He considered it only a moment. “There be no time. We must leave at once. I hope you have learned a lesson this night, Lunetta. I won't tolerate your misbehaving again."

Her head bobbed. "Yes, my lord general. I will try to do better. I will do better. You will see."

He led her up out of the lower levels to the room where he had talked to the witnesses. Guards stood before the door. Inside, from the long table, he picked up his trophy case and strapped it to his belt. He started for the door, but turned back. The silver coin he had left on the table, the one the old woman had given him, was gone. He looked to a guard.

"I don't suppose anyone came in here tonight, after I left?"

"No, Lord General," the stiff guard replied. "Not a soul."

Brogan grunted to himself. She had been here. She had taken back her coin so as to leave him a message. On his way out he didn't bother to question any of the other guards; they, too, would have seen nothing. The old woman and her little familiar were gone. He put them from his mind and focused on the things that needed doing.

Brogan wound his way through the corridors to the rear of the palace, where it was a short crossing of open ground to the stables. Galtero would know to gather the things they needed for a journey, and would have three of the strongest horses saddled. There were sure to be D'Harans all around the palace, but with the darkness and wind-driven snow, he was sure it would be possible for him and Lunetta to make it to the stables.

Brogan said nothing to the men; if he was to go after the Mother Confessor, it cou!d only be the three of them. With the storm, three might be able to slip away, but the whole fist would not. That many men would surely be seen and confronted, there would be a battle, and they would probably all be killed. The Blood of the Fold were fierce fighters, but they were no match for the D'Harans' numbers. Worse, from what he had seen the D'Harans were no strangers to battle. Better to simply leave the men here as a diversion. They couldn't betray what they didn't know.

Brogan cracked open the thick oak door and peered out into the night. He saw only swirling snow lit by the dim light coming from a few of the second-floor rear windows. He would have extinguished the lamps, but he needed the little light they provided in order to find the unfamiliar stables in the storm.