"We have a confession, master!"

No sweeter words had ever been spoken. Melcher Fitz's loyal subjects had finally broken one of Giradin's followers. Or maybe it was one of the Templars. Either way, someone would pay for what happened to Mujahid, and the Crows could feel safe under Fitz's watchful eye once again.

Melcher Fitz handed his practice sword over to his attendant, wiped the sweat from his brow, and said, "Lead the way, Gerd."

On the way inside from the practice yard, Melcher grabbed his coat and pulled it over his naked torso, hiding his sweaty flesh from view, though he left it open in the middle so air could still pass through and cool his body down after his hard exercises.

Just before entering the prison under the monastery, Fitz took one of the plague doctor masks from the hands of an attendant and fastened it to his face. He'd not be as protected as he would in the full uniform, but neither did he have any intention of actually entering any of the cells. Just the interrogation chamber.

Strolling down the long hallway, he passed Giradin's cell and a pleased smirk took his lips. It had been his plan, if that boy's fanatics didn't talk, to make them watch as he tortured Giradin. He was thankful he didn't have to, given all the risks involved with hurting someone the Church so foolishly considered sacred.

Around a dark corner, illuminated only by the candle Gerd carried, Melcher beheld the thick, wooden door of the interrogation chamber. Two guards pulled the door open for him, and he squinted as the light from the many torches within struck his eyes.

The room reeked of copper and rotting meat. The torturers had refused to clean the mess from many previous torture sessions from the floor, leaving the cobblestones stained brown, with fresh flecks of red on top. Hooks hung from the ceiling on the ends of thick chains. On the tables along the walls rested all manner of twisted devices. Screws. Knives. Spikes. Cages full of rats. Pokers sat in the furnace on the far end of the room, staying red hot.

In the center stood a large wooden X, and a man hung from it, his hands and feet screwed to the cross. The man was naked, his body criss-crossed with cuts and covered in burn scars and places where rats had chewed at his flesh. Blood still dripped from his brow, adding to the gruesome decor of the torture chamber.

Melcher Fitz approached him, seized him by the hair and forced his head up to look at him.

"Your name," Fitz demanded.

"Adelmar," the prisoner wheezed out, his voice hoarse from all his screams.

"Are you one of Giradin's followers or one of the Templars?"

"Giradin's followers," came his weak reply.

Fitz's smile grew at the sound of his victory. "Did you murder Mujahid?"

Adelmar bit his lip and glanced over at the devices on one of the tables before saying, "Yes."

"Why?" Fitz demanded.

"I don't know," said Adelmar.

Fitz sighed and shook his head. "Gerd, find out why."

"Yes, master," said Gerd, starting toward the cage full of rats.

"Please!" Adelmar pleaded. "Isn't it enough that I confessed?"

Fitz shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

Adelmar feebly flailed against the screws in his hands and feet, causing more blood to pour forth from his wounds. "Dear God, have mercy!"

"God doesn't listen to the prayers of unrepentant murderers, Addy," Fitz mocked.

Gerd picked up the cage swarming with rats and carried it over to Adelmar's stomach. He fastened leather straps around the prisoner's waist as the young man whimpered and cried, too weak to scream anymore. Once the leather straps were in place, Gerd took a torch off the wall and placed his hand on the string attached to the cage's door. If he pulled up, the rats would be released, with Adelmar's guts as their only escape. Gerd brought the torch's flames close to the cage, causing the rats to flee to the opposite end, toward Adelmar. Their nails clawed and teeth gnawed at the bars between them and Adelmar, desperate to escape the heat.

"Last chance," said Fitz. "Why did you murder Mujahid?"

"Because I hate Moors!" Adelmar cried out.

Gerd nodded his head and moved the torch away from the cage.

"Not yet," said Fitz, seizing Gerd's wrist and forcing him to heat the rats' cage again. "Did Giradin or the Templars tell you to do it?"

"No!" Adelmar cried.

"Tell the truth," Fitz insisted, his brow furrowing in disgust. "Did the Templars tell you to murder Mujahid?"

The rats squealed and screamed, their claws already gouging lines in Adelmar's flesh whenever they missed the bars.

"No!" Adelmar wept openly, tears mixing with his blood in pink streaks down his face. "I acted alone!"

Fitz shook his head. "Really wish you'd been more honest. Gerd, open the cage."

"Master, I think he's telling the truth," said Gerd.

"I'll do the thinking, Gerd!" Fitz snapped. "I say he's a liar, and liars deserve to suffer!"

"Master..."

"OPEN THE CAGE!" Fitz shrieked.

"I swear!" Adelmar cried. "No one told me to kill nobody!"

Fitz gave a firm nod to Gerd.

Gerd sighed and did as he was told.

The moment the door was removed, the rats took to chewing and clawing away at Gerd's flesh, trying to escape the heat of the torch.

The sound from Adelmar's throat was closer to a drawn-out croak than a scream as his skin tore away, blood poured over the rodents, and his entrails were exposed little by little.

Gerd winced and stepped back.

Coward!

Fitz seized the torch from Gerd's hand and held the end of it firm against the cage, turning the bars red hot. "This is the fate of all liars!" Fitz shouted over Adelmar's agony. "In this life and the next!"

"Master!" called a voice from the door.

"Busy at the moment," Fitz called back.

"No, master, we're under attack! Vermin have us surrounded!"

Fitz turned away from the cage, giving the Crow a puzzled expression. "No warning? They're just... here already?"

The Crow shrugged and nodded. "Not sure how they got past the watch-towers unnoticed, but they're here!"

"How many?" Fitz asked, walking away from Adelmar as the rats continued to burrow their way through him.

"Several hundred, master."

"Get everyone not in a cell battle ready," Fitz commanded. "And fetch me my sword!"