The cry found a different voice, soft and strangled and full as much of anger as fear.
‘It’s a mark on the back of my hand,’ he whispered desperately through clenched teeth. Nothing more than some fancy dye like the old woman downstairs used to colour purses. You could scrub that until the skin peeled and it wouldn’t come off. That’s all it was. That, and a mess of sinister-sounding threats. How could he be put in a crystal, for pity’s sake? It made no sense. A grown man caged in a thing like that. It was ridiculous! How could he not have laughed outright when the words were spoken? Lassner was right, they were tricks, that’s all — tricks. Still, now he really knew why the Kyrosdyn weren’t to be trifled with. They were good at playing tricks — very good. Even Lassner had made him think fo
