None of them replied.

Rafe’s shoulders slumped as he sighed, then he lifted his head and they saw his face clearly. Something more than dejection haunted his eyes.

Logan shifted forward. “You found something.”

Rafe dragged in a breath, glanced back to where his troop were dispersing, nodded. “At one village where the elders had already bowed to the Black Cobra’s demands-did you know he’s taking half-half!-of what they scratch and eke out of their fields? He’s literally taking food from the mouths of babes!”

After a moment, he went on, “There was nothing for us there, but one of the younger men lay in wait for us as we were riding on-he told us of a village further east that was resisting the fiend’s demands. We rode there as fast as we could.”

His gaze on the maidan, Rafe paused. His voice was lower, gruffer, when he went on, “We were too late. The village had been razed. And there were bodies…men, women, and children, raped and mutilated, tortured and burned.” After a moment he continued, voice still lower, “It was hell on earth. There was nothing we could do. We burned the bodies, and turned back.”

None of the others said anything; there was nothing they could say to take the haunting vision, the knowledge, away.

Eventually Rafe drew a massive breath and turned to face them. “So what’s happened here?”

“I returned empty-handed,” Logan volunteered.

Del glanced at Gareth, then offered, “We’ve learned more-been told much more-but it’s all hearsay. Nothing we can put before a court-nothing good enough to take home.”

“That’s the positive side,” Gareth said. “On the negative, Ferrar now knows beyond doubt that we’re watching him. Investigating him.”

Logan shrugged. “That was inevitable. He couldn’t be oh-so-clever and yet miss the fact we’re here, on Hastings’s direct orders, and with no mission we’ve seen fit to divulge.”