Maiden of Pain (8 page)

"That is certainly a possibility, Brother Fox," Hawk said, no hint of humor in his voice. "But if we chose to act, rather than timidly discuss our situation, then we take our fate into our own hands." This brought murmurs of approval and dissent from several.

"Point of order!" Brother Crocodile cut through the growing din. "Point of order. There is old business to discuss first, Brother Hawk." Hawk nodded and took his seat.

"Sister Rat, report."

A woman at the far end of the table, with a long, pointy nose and buckteeth, stood. "Uh, yes. As you know, the Karanoks continue to increase local commerce taxes. My contacts tell me that not only are many merchants ready to pack up shop and leave, but with a little, uh, encouragement, an armed revolt could be triggered." With a quick grin, Sister Rat concluded and took her seat. Excited whispers filled the air.

"Thank you," Brother Crocodile said. "Brother Prog."

"I have been unable to discover more from my contacts at the palace." The man to Therescales' right rose. Several large warts protruded from his chin, nose, and forehead. At mention of the palace, Therescales' eyebrows arched, and his heart beat a little faster. "While I can confirm that Saestra Karanok has been responsible for an increase in burnings at the stake over the past few tendays, I cannot identify with any certainty that the victims were known practitioners of the Art. It is possible the Karanoks are now targeting those that merely sympathize with magic-users... or are political enemies." Many looks of concern flashed across the faces of the members, and some nodded thoughtfully at this grim news. "That is all I have, Brother Crocodile." Frog took his seat.

"Very well," Brother Crocodile acknowledged in his deep voice. "On to new items."

"Just a moment," Therescales said, standing.

"Yes, Brother Asp."

"What about my suggestion to seek help from a wizard outside Luthcheq? An alliance with the Red Wizards or the Simbul would surely give us the strength we need to topple the Karanoks."

Therescales looked around the table for support. Many refused to meet his gaze or glared back.

"I couldn't have asked for a better segue into the new item I wanted to bring up for discussion tonight," said Brother Hawk. He was standing again, and he motioned for Therescales to take his seat.

Therescales gave a half-bow and sat down.

"Brothers, I have made contact with a foreign ally, a wizard, who wishes to aid us in our struggle against the Karanoks." Brother Hawk could not keep the excitement from his voice.

There was stunned silence for a moment; then everyone began shouting at once. Therescales' mind raced with the ramifications of the announcement. This was not how things were supposed to have happened. When he had first suggested the idea of bringing in a powerful wizard to aid them, he never imagined one of the members would take it upon themselves to pursue this course of action. No, he was supposed to be the one who announced the discovery of a mysterious benefactor. He would be the one to arrange a meeting.

It would be a meeting that would ensnare the Mage Society and grant Therescales the power he was promised.

"Order! Order!" Brother Crocodile's voice roared. Immediate silence followed. "Please continue, Brother Hawk."

"I know this is sudden, and many of you felt there was more to discuss before a move was made, but as I said earlier, the longer we wait, the more control we relinquish over our fate.

"So, I made some discreet inquiries. Only yesterday did I receive word that a meeting could be arranged. It is my recommendation that we accept this invitation."

"Are you going to tell us who this wizard is?" Brother Fox inquired.

"I would," Brother Hawk paused for a moment, "if I knew who it was. I was contacted through a middle party." The words came out in a rush, and Therescales could see Hawk's shoulders slump. They both knew what was coming. Amid shocked gasps, Brother Deer jumped up.

"You want us to meet with someone who you've never seen or whose identity you can't confirm. How do we know it isn't a trap?"

"What about Brother Crocodile's suggestion to investigate the rumors of a hidden cache of artifacts buried in the ruins of Adder Swamp?" Others chimed in, and chaos erupted once more.

Therescales decided it was time to leave. He still had a report to make, and he needed some time to determine how best to turn this development to his advantage. In the commotion caused by heated arguments, Therescales slipped from his seat and slinked out of the room. If anyone questioned his disappearance when the society met again, he'd have a suitable excuse prepared.

Exiting through the trapdoor, Therescales made a snap decision not to leave the way he came in. No sense in having a witness to confirm his early departure. Nimbly, he scaled a stack of crates under one of the skylights. He leaped onto a rafter beam and pushed on the pane of glass with his hand. It was unlatched and swung open easily, but there was nothing to hold it. Grabbing the sill with his other hand, he lowered the glass so it rested on his knuckles. He pulled himself up and pushed his body between the sill and the skylight, grabbing the pane as he rolled out and lowering it back down gently without a sound.

At the edge of the roof, he paused. It was a long drop down. Fortunately, Therescales had memorized one of his most powerful spells before coming to the meeting tonight. He pulled a small loop of leather from a pocket on the inside of his cloak and waved his hand over it while uttering a few Draconic words. Then he stepped off the roof... and hovered in the air.

With a thought, he lowered himself to the ground. He returned the loop to his pocket and quickly moved south down the street toward the palace of the Karanoks. He stuck to the shadows, darting into doorways and alleys whenever a guard patrol walked by. It was not that he had anything to fear; it was just that old habits died hard. As an apprentice to Master Haraxius, he had spent the past ten years avoiding the guards when he ran errands smuggling various components or items in and out of the city for the old mage. Unbidden, the memory of the last errand he had ever run for Haraxius pushed forward in his mind.

A gull screamed, and Therescales flinched, nearly dropping the purse full of coin. He smiled sheepishly at the dockhand who snatched the purse from him and shoved the package into Therescales' chest with a sneer then walked away. Therescales stood in the middle of the pier for a moment, clutching the soft bundle.

"Is everything all right?"

Therescales started at the voice. He turned toward the tap on his shoulder and came face to face with a pair of the harbormaster's guards. Remembering the package clasped to his chest, he slipped it behind his back.

"Oh, yes, officers. I was just on my way. Have a good evening." He bobbed then strode off.

The crowds on the wharf were starting to thin with the setting sun. Therescales hurried through the streets, anxiously looking over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. If he were caught with what was wrapped in the burlap he carried, it would mean his death. He was proud that Master Haraxius trusted him with these supply runs, but Therescales wondered if the risks were worth it. Why didn't they just leave Luthcheq and go somewhere wizards were tolerated or even worshiped?

Therescales tucked the package under his arm and picked up the pace. He was supposed to be back before dark. There was another meeting of the Mage Society tonight. This would be the second time Master Haraxius brought him along to the clandestine gatherings. Therescales had no idea there were so many practitioners of the Art in the city. He didn't know who any of them were—they all went by animal names, and Master Haraxius said most of them used magic to disguise themselves. Therescales wondered what his name would be once he was fully initiated.

A crowd was forming as Therescales approached the street Master Haraxius's house was on. He shouldered his way through, intent on reaching the safety of home. However, when he was almost clear, he froze.

A large group of men were leaving the building. The white K of House Karanok with a burning branch above it was emblazoned on their uniforms. They were led by a middle-aged man with black, curly hair that contrasted sharply with the pale skin of his square face. In their midst, bound and gagged, was Haraxius, barely able to keep his feet. One eye was swollen shut, and the side of his face was bloodied.

Therescales backed into the crowd, a surge of panic-driven bile climbing up his throat. He barely made it to a side street before he pitched the contents of his stomach. He sat on the curb until the wave of nausea and dizziness passed, only to be replaced by despair. It was difficult to hold back sobs as he rested his head in his hands.

How had this happened? Everyone knew that the Karanoks had started raiding the homes of suspected wizards, and Master Haraxius had always stressed the need for caution and secrecy. Yet it seemed the Karanoks had discovered Master Haraxius's secret regardless of the precautions he had taken. Now they were dragging him off to be tried and executed.

Therescales' head was starting to clear, and the crowd was dispersing. He knew if he tried to enter the house now, someone would spot him and turn him in to the Karanoks. With nowhere to go and no idea what to do, Therescales started walking.

Twilight fell while Therescales still wandered the streets aimlessly. He considered going to the Mage Society meeting by himself. Surely they had already heard of Master Haraxius's capture and would help. He remembered the location of the warehouse where they met, but what would he do once there? He didn't know any of the passwords. Master Haraxius had not yet shared those secrets with him. If only there were some way he could prove to them who he was, they would let him in.

Perhaps he could show them something that only Master Haraxius would have. Yes, that was it. They would have to grant him entry then.

With a plan firmly in mind, Therescales made his way back to Master Haraxius's house. He clung to the shadows, dashing from doorway to alley while keeping an eye peeled for passing patrols. It was just after midnight when he finally reached the house. He stood across the street, watching for several minutes. There were no guards standing outside or movement inside. In the silence, his heart pounded like the hooves of horses at a chariot race. Knots began to form in Therescales' stomach as fear and doubt ate away at his resolve.

Finally, when waiting any longer meant never

going, he darted across the street. He fumbled through his pockets for the key, but as his hand pressed against the knob, the door creaked open. At that moment, Therescales almost fled. Yet, with eyes wide and mouth dry, he stepped inside.

Light from the waxing moon shone only a few feet past the entry, forcing Therescales to feel his way through the dark. He had lived in this house for the past two years, though, and Master Haraxius had kept everything in the same place since Therescales had first arrived. It would be a simple matter to navigate around any obstacles as he moved toward his mentor's private study.

Therescales turned to his left and entered the living room. It was sparsely furnished—Master Haraxius did not do a lot of entertaining—and Therescales took long, swift strides with confidence.

Halfway through the room, something smacked Therescales in the shin and he grunted in pain.

"Well, what do we have here?"

A light flared in front of Therescales. He closed his eyes and brought up a hand to further protect them from the sudden brilliance.

"Looks like Lord Jaerios was right." A new voice answered the first from behind Therescales. "The 'prentice 'as returned to 'is master's 'ouse."

Squinting in the light, Therescales could make out a figure sitting in a chair to his right. He held a lantern in one hand, and his legs were propped up on an ottoman. A spear lay across his lap. Therescales had run into the outstretched shaft of the weapon.

Panicking, Therescales dashed for the front door but was grabbed from behind. He struggled but could not break the grip of the arms encircling him. The man in the chair got up and stood in front of him, leering. Something struck Therescales in the stomach, and all the air whooshed out of his lungs. He looked up in time to see the shaft of the spear streaking toward the side of his face.

Therescales awoke stiff and sore. The side of his face throbbed where he had been struck by the spear shaft. His shoulders ached, and he could feel something biting into his wrists. He tried to move his hands, hoping to lessen the pain, only to discover they were bound. Awareness began to creep back through the fog of his mind. He realized he was on his knees, leaning forward with his arms pulled behind him and wrapped around a wooden pole. With effort, he rocked back onto the balls of his feet and tried to rise. His footing was unstable—he was standing on a pile of chopped logs—and it took a few attempts before he was standing. He leaned back against the pole, drawing ragged breaths as a result of the exertion.

"Ah, our other guest has finally joined us."

The resonant voice drew Therescales' eyes up and across the room to a balcony where five figures stood, three men and two women. They all wore sleeveless robes of white and gold circlets in their hair.

"Where am I?" Therescales, still a little groggy, asked no one in particular.

"You stand in the Burning Room." The same voice that had first spoken answered. Therescales could see that it belonged to a middle-aged man on the right, the same man he had seen escorting Master Haraxius. It had to be Lord Jaerios Karanok. "You have been found guilty of vile acts of wizardry."

"Bah," spat someone to Therescales' right. He turned to see his master, Haraxius, standing next to him, bound to another pole. "There is nothing vile about the Art. Rather, it is you and this—" A guard strode up onto the small stone platform on which Therescales and Haraxius were held and punched the old man in the mouth with a mailed fist, silencing the outburst.

"The sentence for this crime," Lord Jaerios continued, "is death by burning. Guards, bring in the witchweed." Two pairs of guards each carried in a basket of dried leaves between them and began dumping the contents on top of the wood piles then spreading them around the feet of the prisoners.