Boisterous men grabbed at her arms and legs or tried to snatch her dress as she marched along, picking her way through the disorder. The rowdy soldiers were but a minor consideration; she simply pulled away, ignoring their mocking calls of love, as she made her way through the throng. When a husky soldier seized her wrist in his powerful grip, yanking her around to a jerking halt, she paused only long enough to loose her power and burst his beating heart within his chest. Other men laughed when they saw him collapse to the ground with a thud, not yet realizing he was dead, but none tried to claim his intended prize. She heard the words "Death's. Mistress" pass in whispers among the men.

She finally made her way through the gauntlet. Soldiers played dice, ate beans, or snored in their bedrolls beside the tents where captives screamed under the agony of torture. Two men lugged a corpse, dragging some of its innards, out of a big tent. They threw the flaccid form in a wagon with a tangle of others.

Nicci snapped her fingers at an unshaven soldier coming from the direction of another tent. "Let me see the list, Captain." She knew he was the officer in charge by the blue canvas cover of the register book he carried.

He scowled at her a moment, but when he glanced down at her black dress, a look of recognition came over his face. He passed her the grubby, rumpled book. It had a deep crease across the middle, as if someone had accidentally sat on it. The pages that had fallen out had been pushed back in, but they never fit right and their edges stuck out here and there to become frayed and filthy.

"Not much to report, Mistress, but please let His Excellency know that we've tried just about every skill known, and she isn't talking."

Nicci opened the book and began scanning the list of recent names and what was known about them.

"Her? Who are you talking about, Captain?" she mumbled as she read.

"Why, the Mord-Sith, of course."

Nicci turned her eyes up toward the man. "The Mord-Sith. Of course.

Where is she?"

He pointed at a tent a ways off through the disarray. "I know His Excellency said he didn't expect a witch of her dark talents to give us any information about Lord Rahl, but I was hoping to surprise him with good news." He hooked his thumbs behind his belt as he let out a sigh of frustration. "No such luck."

Nicci eyed the tent for a moment. She heard no screams. She had never before seen one of those women, the Mord-Sith, but she knew a little about them. She knew that using magic against one was a deadly mistake.

She went back to reading the entries in the register. There was nothing of much interest to her. Most of the people were from around here. They were merely a sampling collected to check what they might know. They would not have the information she wanted.

Nicci tapped a line near the end of the writing in the book. It said "Messenger."

"Where is this one?"

The captain tilted his head, indicating a tent behind him. "I put one of my best questioners with him. Last I checked, there was nothing from him yet-but that was early this morning."

It had been all day since he had checked. All day could be an eternity under torture. Like all the rest of the tents used for questioning prisoners, the one with the messenger stood above the surrounding field tents, which were only large enough for soldiers to lie in. Nicci pushed the book at the officer's thick gut.

"Thank you. That will be all."

"You'll be giving His Excellency a report, then?" Nicci nodded absently at his question. Her mind was already elsewhere. "You'll tell him that there is little to be learned from this lot?"

No one was eager to stand before Jagang and admit they were unable to accomplish a task, even if there was nothing to accomplish. Jagang did not appreciate excuses. Nicci nodded as she strode away, heading for the tent holding the messenger. "I'll be seeing him shortly. I'll give him the report for you, Captain."

As soon as she threw back the flap and entered, she saw that she was too late. The messy remains of the messenger lay on a narrow wooden table affixed with glistening tools of the trade. The messenger's arm hung down off the sides, dripping warm blood.

Nicci saw that the questioner had a folded piece of paper. "What have you there?"

"A map of what?"

"Where this fellow's been. I drew it all out from what he volunteered."

He laughed at his own humor. She didn't.

"Really," Nicci said. The man's grin was what had her attention. A man like this only grinned when he had something he'd been seeking, something to bring him favor in the eyes of his superiors. "And where has the man been?"

"To see his leader."

He waved the paper like a treasure map. Tired of the game, Nicci snatched the booty from his hand. She unfolded the wrinkled yellow paper and saw that it was indeed a map, with rivers, the coastline, and mountains all meticulously drawn out. Even mountain passes were noted.

Nicci could tell that the map was authentic. When she had lived at the Palace of the Prophets, the New World was a far-off and mysterious place, rarely visited by anyone but a few Sisters. Any Sister who ventured there always kept exacting records that were added to maps at the palace. Along with many other esoteric items, all novices memorized those maps in the course of their studies. Even though, at the time, she had never expected to travel to the New World, she was thoroughly familiar with the lay of the land there. Nicci scrutinized the paper in her hands, carefully surveying the geography, overlaying everything on it that was new onto the memorized map in her mind.

The soldier pointed a thick finger at a single bloody fingerprint on the map. "That there is where Lord Rahl himself is hiding-on that dot, in those mountains."

Nicci's breath paused. She stared at the paper, burning the line of every stream and river, every mountain, every road, trail, and mountain pass, every village, town, and city into her memory.

"What did this man confess before he died?" She looked up. "His Excellency is waiting for my report. I was just on my way to see him." She snapped her fingers impatiently. "Let's have it all."

The man scratched his beard. His fingernails were crusted with dried blood, "You'll tell him, won't you? You'll tell His Excellency that Sergeant Wetzel was the one who got the information out of the messenger?"

"Of course," Nicci assured him. "You will receive full credit. I have no need of such recognition." She tapped the gold ring through her lower lip. "The Emperor is always-every moment of every day-in my mind. He no doubt this very moment sees through my eyes that you, not I, are the one who succeeded in getting the information. Now, what did this man confess?"

Sergeant Wetzel scratched his beard again, apparently trying to decide if be could trust her to credit him, or if he should be sure and take the information to Jagang. There was little trust among those in the Imperial Order, and good reason to distrust everyone. As he scratched his beard, flakes of dried blood stuck in its curly hair.

Nicci stared into his red-rimmed eyes. He smelled of liquor. "If you don't report everything to me, Sergeant Wetzel, and I mean right now, I will have you up on the table next, and I will have your report between your screams, and when I'm done with you, they will throw you in the wagon with the rest of the corpses."

He dipped his head twice in surrender. "Of course. I only wanted to be sure His Excellency knew of my success." When Nicci nodded, he went on. "He was just a messenger. We had a small unit of six men doing deep scouting patrol. They went on a circle far to the north, around any enemy forces.

They had one of the gifted women with them to help them remain at a good distance, so they wouldn't be detected. They were somewhere northwest of the enemy force, when by chance they came across this man. They brought him back for me to question. I discovered he was one of a number of regular messengers sent back and forth to report to Lord Rahl."