“I don’t sell out my friends,” insisted Brakas. “I will tell you nothing.”

Aakuta’s hand shot out and grabbed Brakas by the throat. The Fakaran’s eyes bulged as the mage tightened his grip, cutting off the air to the Jiadin’s lungs.

“You don’t have any friends,” scowled Aakuta, “and if you did, you would sell them for a copper, just like you did to the Zaldoni. And as for Vand’s people protecting you from me, you just need to dwell on what happened to Zygor. I will ask you one more time. Where and when? Answer or die.”

Terror covered the face of Brakas as the Jiadin tried to indicate that he would tell the mage what he wanted to know. His lungs burned, and his eyes felt like they would pop out of their sockets. Suddenly, Aakuta released Brakas. The Jiadin dropped to his knees and gasped for breath.

“Speak,” commanded the dark mage.

“Down near the mouth of the Meliban River,” gasped Brakas. “He will arrive by boat. I don’t know exactly when, but I think it will be soon. Vand has spies all over the place. He seems to know everything that goes on here.”

“Will it be one man alone?” asked Aakuta. “Or will others drop him off?”

“He will arrive in a small boat,” answered Brakas. “He will destroy the boat. Zygor said they never come more than one at a time. That is all that I know.”

“Then you have outlived your usefulness,” Aakuta declared as he grabbed Brakas by the throat again.

Brakas tried to scream for help, but the mage’s grip was already too tight. Aakuta tightened his grip and lifted the Jiadin off the floor. He held Brakas aloft as the man struggled for breath. Eventually, Brakas stopped struggling. Aakuta tossed the body to the floor and strode for the door, a new dense fog already forming before him.

* * *

The morning sky was gray, and a light drizzle dampened the air as Larst, First Minister of Omunga, rode towards the small farmhouse on the outskirts of Okata.