"I can't believe a knight of the Church could have such views. You seem almost to question the resacaratum itself."

"Not at all," Roger replied. "The cancer of heresy infects every city, town, village, and household. Evil walks abroad in daylight and does not bother to wear a disguise. No, this world must be made pure again, as it was in the days of the Sacaratum."

"Then-"

"My comment was about torture. It doesn't work. The confessions it yields are untrustworthy, and the epiphanies it inspires are insincere."

"Then how would you have us proceed?"

Roger pointed toward the headland. "Most of those you question will end there, swinging by their necks."

"The unrepentant, yes."

"Best skip straight to the hanging. The 'repentant' are liars, and those innocents we execute will be rewarded by the saints in the cities of the dead."

He could feel the sacritor stiffen. "Have you come to replace me? Are the patiri not pleased with our work?"

"No," Roger said. "My opinions are my own and not popular. The patiri-like you-enjoy torture, and it will continue. My task here is of another nature."

He turned his gaze to the southeast, where a light saffron road vanished into forested hills.

"Out of curiosity," Roger asked, "how many have you hung?"

"Thirty-one," Praecum replied. "And besides these behind us, twenty-six more await proving. And there will be more, I think."

"So many heretics from such a small village."

"The countryside is worse. Nearly every farm-and-woodwife practices shinecraft of some sort. Under your method, I should kill everyone in the attish."

"Once an arm has gangrene," Roger said, "you cannot cure it in spots. It must be cut off."

He turned to regard the whimpering man behind him. Roger first had seen him as a strong, stocky fellow with ruddy windburned cheeks and challenging blue eyes. Now he was something of a sack, and his gaze pleaded only for that dark boat ride at the border of the world. He was tied to a wooden pillar set in a socket in the stone of the tower, his arms chained above him. Six other pillars held as many more prisoners, stripped and waiting their turn in the spring breeze.