Free Bastion by Mercedes Lackey

before we fish out all the bits.”
    “For a while, this is going to make the memories very vivid, and you might even dream about them,” Cende warned, tucking her hair behind her ears as Mags made himself more comfortable on the couch. “They’ll fade, though, I promise.”
    :I’ll make sure they do,: Dallen put in, which was exactly what Mags hoped to hear. He didn’t want to have those recollections right up in the front of his mind any longer than he had to.
    “For right now, we are going to concentrate on all of your encounters with the Karsites,” said Nikolas. “Not just the ones when you were captive, but also the ones with the young priest who became your friend. We feel we can learn a great deal about their priestly magic from that—things he would probably be reluctant to tell us directly himself.”
    Mags nodded, as that made perfect sense. Strategically, they needed to get every detail about the Karsites that they could right now. So he settled down, with a pitcher of water at his side, to a session of perfect tedium.
    And that was exactly what it was. He would tell the same story over and over, remembering a new phrase or a new detail, for the first several times. That was Cende’s Gift at work, of course. Only when he simply could not bring out anything new did they move on to another bit of narrative.
    They didn’t even break for luncheon; food was brought to them, though Mags was not minded to complain when it was clear this was stuff straight from the King’s table. The ripe grapes were particularly welcome after all that talking.
    They finally let him go a candlemark or so before supper, and only because it was clear that they intended to discuss what they had gleaned from him. That was fine with him. He returned to Bear and harvested another herb, and he and Bear and Lena went off to supper together.
    Amily was waiting for them, saving them seats. After all that talking, he was much more in the mood to listen to the others than to say anything himself. He had been afraid that going through all those unpleasant memories would put him out of sorts, but in fact, as he listened to the others chatter about nothing, he realized he had nothing to fear. He’d done well, especially for someone with absolutely no resources but the clothing on his back and a single blanket, and by concentrating on that, and allowing himself to feel a bit of pride in what he had accomplished, things didn’t seem quite so horrible after all.
    The next several days passed in the same way, although the topic of the questioning changed to his captors rather than the Karsites.
    Then, after four days, there was someone new with the trio of Heralds, taking the place of the scholar. This was a fellow in the robes of some religious order or other, though nothing that Mags recognized.
    “This is Father Seneson,” Nikolas said, after Mags had taken a seat. “He’s an expert on languages. We’re going to try to get a sense of where your captors came from.”
    Mags brightened at that. He’d been getting a bit tired of being the one giving all the information without getting anything in return. If this Father Seneson could come up with some answers, that would be a welcome change!
    “First, Mags, do you still remember your kidnappers’ tongue?” the newcomer asked.
    “I’ve been dreamin’ in it,” he replied truthfully. “It ain’t likely to leave me any time soon.”
    The priest nodded. “Excellent, the answer I hoped to hear. All right, then. I’m going to give you a word, and I would like you to tell me the same thing in their language.”
    Mags almost snorted. That was child’s play, really. Or so he had thought . . .
    “There ain’t a word for that,” he said, when Sorensen asked him for what seemed extremely odd to him, the word for games.
    “Are you saying they don’t have a word they use for that concept, or that they don’t have a word in their own language?” Seneson asked, looking up from his