Bek was helping one of the cooks chop vegetables when a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. He looked up, straight into the face of one of the lieutenants.

“Come with me.” The officer ordered. The cook was keeping his head down, quietly slicing away, Bek noticed unhappily. He set down his knife and let the man steer him toward the prison wagons. Once there, the soldier paused and turned Bek around to face him. “I don’t know what you know about Maharia, but let me sum it up for you. All those who practice death-magic are priests and priestesses of the barbarian goddess.”

“Priestesses?” Bek asked, intrigued by the word.

“Yes, the savages elevate their women to the status of priest. Anyway, this girl we captured is a priestess and a necromancer, so she is definitely close to the nobility. We’d like to learn what she knows without resorting to torture, but if this doesn’t work, then we will have to gain the information in any way possible, understand?” Bek nodded, sick to his stomach. Torturing a woman didn’t sound right at all…but it was all for the glory of Piro, he reminded himself.

“Yes sir.”

“Good lad. Now, the girl seems to think you’re on her side. We want you to ask her questions for us, okay?” Bek nodded. “Good. Do this, and you will forever be remembered as a hero.” The lieutenant gave him a list of questions to ask the beautiful young savage. Then the officer opened the door to the wagon and ushered Bek in. The boy climbed up the step leading to the prison and ducked into it, the officer following him in. Once Bek’s eyes adjusted to the semi-light, he saw the girl tied to a chair, still managing to look regal and elegant through her bonds.

“Greetings, Beloved of Maha.” She said formally.

“Uh, greetings.” Bek said, walking across the rickety planks to where another chair had been placed. He sat down and turned to face her. Forcing his face into a smile, he said, “My name is Bek Lukesson. What’s yours?”

“I am known as Theylmoria of Maharia.” She said proudly. Bek nodded, and racked his memory for the first question.

“So, how many soldiers are in your army?” She frowned slightly and looked at the officer.

“Are you sure it’s safe to discuss this in front of him?” She asked. Feeling treacherous and despicable, Bek nodded. “Well, every Mahan adult is trained to fight in case of emergency.”

“How many is that?” Bek asked her.

“I don’t know…many two thousand, twenty-five hundred able adults? And another thousand elders and teens that would fight if desperate.” The lieutenant nodded and scribbled something on a sheet of parchment. Theylmoria noted this with alarm, but did not protest.

“How many are in the citadel right now?”

“Well, there’s about two hundred soldiers patrolling the borders of the Mejin Mountains, so about eighteen hundred to twenty-three hundred?”

“Plus the thousand elders and teens.” The soldier put in. Theylmoria frowned at him and did not answer. Bek sighed and repeated the question. The girl nodded affirmation.

“How many necromancers do you have?”

“About one in ten has at least a small amount of necromantic potential, so about four hundred total, but maybe only forty or fifty really strong ones.” The officer scribbled something else on his paper. Theylmoria watched him anxiously.

“What can necromancers do?”

“The weak ones can only see and hear ghosts. The stronger ones can summon ghosts by using a variety of triads-”

“Triads?” The soldier interrupted sharply. Bek repeated the question for the girl.

“A triad is made up of three things to help a necromancer in their spell. Forehead, lips, and heart; water, wine, and blood; most prayers utilize a triad, and so on.”

“So back to what necromancers can do.” The lieutenant directed the girl. She remained silent until, once again, Bek recited the question for her.

“The stronger necromancers can summon ghosts, and there are legends about necromancers who were able to summon ghosts that actually had flesh and could fight in place of the living.”

“But those are only legends.” The officer said. The girl remained stubbornly silent. Bek sighed and repeated the statement. He was getting a bit tired of her mulishness. Why couldn’t she just answer the soldier’s questions? It wasn’t like there was anything special about his voice.

“No one has been able to raise zombies for over a century. There hasn’t been any need, once the giant wolves and the harpies were driven out of the mountains. And, of course, a strong enough necromancer can keep one from dying.” The girl added nonchalantly. The soldier had many questions about that: how fresh the body had to be, how powerful a priest, and how often this power was used in wartime. The girl could only guess at most of these questions.

The questioning went on for an hour, at the end of which the officer untied the girl’s hands and gave her dinner. Then he and Bek went to the next wagon, which contained the grizzled old man. He introduced himself as Thorn of Nabiha, and gave all the same answers Theylmoria had given. Though, like the girl, he refused to answer anything that was not spoken in Bek’s voice. Then, they went on to the next wagons. The man with a moustache and the wiry woman refused point-blank to answer any of their questions or even speak to them. The young boy was still in the healer’s tent in bad shape.

“Well, I suppose we have enough confirmation.” The officer said at the end of the questioning. “Why don’t you grab some dinner and sleep in my tent?” He showed Bek to a luxurious tent with a real feather mattress laid over the standard soldier’s cot, and delicious, steaming food waiting for him. Bek nodded thanks and dug in with a will. When he finally finished eating, he looked up to see the soldier was gone. Bek shrugged and, pulling off his boots, climbed into bed. He was asleep almost instantly.

The young girl is crying, weeping as though her lungs will burst. She is tied to a metal contraption, with many points and barbs. She is naked, and her flesh shows signs of severe abuse. She bleeds in numerous places, and the blood oozes down the sides of the metal stand that she is bound to. Her long dark hair falls freely down the sides of her face, except where it is matted with blood. A soldier stands over her angrily.

“How many does your army number?” He demands. The girl does not reply. The man grabs up a whip and savages her flesh roughly.

“How many?” He screams at her. The girl yelps in pain, but does not respond. He increases the ferocity of the attack, and the girl shrieks in pain and misery. But she remains firm, and does not answer.

Bek woke with a cry, and was vaguely reassured to see that he was in a nice, warm bed, the best he’d been in for a long time. He lay back down and fell back to sleep. In the morning, he did not remember his dream.

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Author's Note: This one needs a lot of work, I know. But since you made it this far into the story, why don't you drop me a line and tell me what needs improving? Or even just to say where you think the story should go from here.