Page of Swords (The Demon's Apprentice Book 2) (6 page)

A few people laughed at that, and I felt something break open in my head.

“
I was SOLD, you stupid son of a bitch!
” I screamed. The words came out raw, and I couldn't stop them. “My own father pulled me out of bed the night before my seventh birthday, took me out to the garage and threw me into a circle with the demon he'd summoned! I was his price so the demon wouldn't take his soul until he died! He got rich, and I got shafted, and now you assholes are trying ME for what HE did to me.”

“You could have refused him,” a woman to Draeden's left said in a harsh, reedy voice. “Death was always an option.”

“The boy was only seven, Master Hardesty,” another woman said, this one near the right end of the line of Council members. “He was young, impressionable, and we can clearly see the impact it made upon him.”

“The choice was his, and he chose to protect himself, Morrigan. I believe the forty-seven souls he enslaved would agree with me on that.”

“I wasn't trying to protect myself, lady. He threatened my mother.”

“And we're supposed to believe that you did what you did out of some kind of noble self-sacrifice?” Polter sneered. “That you profited nothing from your deal with your Master? We know the temptation of dark magick, warlock. We know all too well the lure of its power. You can say nothing that will convince me, or any member of this Council, that you did not enjoy every spell you cast, and secretly thrill to every bit of control you exerted, every moment of pain you inflicted on those innocent souls.”

I was so angry I could barely even put words together. This bastard looked like he'd never met a menu he didn't like, and he was accusing me of enjoying what Dulka made me do. I saw Draeden's hand move to his face, and he brought his index finger to his lips like he was shushing me. His advice from earlier came to me. Actions, not words. Play to my strengths. Courage.

“You want to see just how much I
enjoyed
doing what I did? All the
rewards
I got for being a good slave?” I spat.

I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and pulled it up. The hem caught on something, and I yanked against it. Fabric ripped as I tore it away from my body and threw the scraps on the floor in front of me. A dozen gasps came from behind me, and a woman gave an anguished cry. I looked down at the scars on my chest and upper arms, then back up at Polter before I put my arms out and turned around to show them the roadmap on my back. I turned a complete circle and gave Polter the full weight of my stare.

“You lied to me!” I heard a woman sob behind me, and my blood froze in my veins. There was one thing I feared more than death, more than the High Council, even more than being taken back by Dulka, and it was happening right then and there.

My Mom knew I was a warlock.

Chapter 6

~ Even Demons flee before the just wrath of the Romany. ~

Mage proverb

“Mom, I'm sorry,” I told her as she walked into the cleared area with me.

I felt terrible about lying to her, but then, her knowing the truth had seemed worse at the time. Now, she knew it all, but only as a spectator. If I should have told anyone, I should have told her. But if there was anyone in the world I
didn't
want to know about my past, it was also my mom. Even though she was crying, she looked pissed. But then, I figured I deserved that more than a little.

“We'll discuss this later, Chance,” she said.

I shut up.

When she spoke again, it wasn't to me. “I came to you eight years ago about this. You told me that there was nothing you could do. You told me my son was safe!”

“We told you that your son had not been abducted, and that your husband was not doing him any harm at the time,” Draeden said. “We spoke the truth. There was nothing we could do to return him to you. He had not been abducted, and no harm was being done to him at the hand of his father. Unfortunately, we did not know the circumstances of his service to the demon at the time. In fact, we did not know he had been forcibly sold into servitude until this very night.”

“We failed them,” an older sounding man said. His voice seemed tired. “We failed you both, miss.”

“Nonsense!” Polter said. “We can't let ourselves be swayed by sympathy over a few scars and a sob story. The boy would tell any lie to save his life. And his mother would say anything to save her child!”

“I'm not sure which I find more disturbing, Andrew,” Morrigan said. “That you would accuse this woman of lying, when Master Draeden has just corroborated her claim, or that you are still so eager to kill this boy when it's possible he may be as much a victim here as anyone.”

“There is another issue to consider, ladies and gentlemen of the Council,” Draeden said.

Polter's mouth closed so fast I could almost hear his teeth click together.

“With any issue of justice, I seek guidance through divination. What was revealed to me gives me reason to do a thing unheard of in our history. First, there is no record of an accord between this young man and the Red Count. Given his testimony and the ample evidence we have seen etched upon his flesh, we cannot rightfully accuse him of being a true warlock. Secondly, this decision is currently not in our hands. This boy has a wyrd attached to him.” Draeden pulled the tarot card from inside his robes and tossed it.

It spun slowly toward me, until it finally landed on the floor at my feet.

“Are you certain, Master Draeden?” Polter asked.

I reached down and picked the card up. The Page of Swords stared up at me, frozen in place as he offered a sword to someone unseen. I looked up to see Draeden skewer Polter with a look that even his hood couldn't hide.

“Quite certain.” There was enough ice in just those two words to stop global warming. “The wyrd, combined with the claims the boy has made, are enough to give me more than a moment's pause. My scrying indicates that the wyrd will run its course, for good or ill, by the Equinox. Given the new evidence we have, I propose that we allow the boy to prove himself, through an Ordeal. None of us can say this was his choice…not with any credibility, at any rate. All we can know is who is he is now, and if his desire to follow the right path is sincere.”

“Master Draeden,” the tired sounding old man said, “we have never set an Ordeal in such a case before. Warlocks are judged by vote of the Council alone.”

“Would you have voted for immediate execution of this boy at the beginning of this night, Master Moon? I believe all of us would have, without hesitation. Yet now, how would you vote?”

“I would vote . . . with my conscience, Master Draeden.” I got the sense from the tone of his voice that he was trying to say he’d vote in my favor without saying it out loud.

“As would we all, Lazarus. My friends, we have served for many years as members of this Council, and in all our time, we have not seen a case such as this. If we are to vote as our morals dictate, we must know the heart of the young man before us. This boy has a task to perform, and by it, I think his true character will be revealed. I put it to this council that Chance Fortunato
must
be allowed to complete the task set before him by the Fates. Only by this can he be judged fairly, and Fate be served as it demands. Who among us favors setting this boy's task as his Ordeal?”

Five green balls of light floated out over the floor. Draeden nodded gravely.

“And who opposes this course?”

Four red balls shot out quickly, Polter's brightest of all. A sigh of relief died on my lips as a fifth red globe sailed out slowly.

“There can be no abstentions in this,” Polter said. He gave a glance to the two Council members who had not voted, and I saw them exchange a glance, then one more red globe floated out over the floor, and Draeden sent a green globe of his own. Still a tie, and the last vote I could count on had been cast.

“Caleb, you know how you must vote in this,” Polter said, and I saw the remaining mage's hand come up.

“Which one a' you's gonna kill the boy then?” T-Bone's voice cut through the tense silence.

“You know the answer to that, Hand,” Polter answered as he gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I don't think
you
do, though,” Cross replied.

“Silence, Cross. We are weighing an important decision here.”

“A decision you think someone else is going to carry out. Before you cast your final votes, Council, know that you would be best served not do so.” Cross’s voice was as hard as steel.

“
Silence
!” Polter shouted. “Master Draeden, will you tolerate such insolence?”

“Indeed not.” Draeden said. “Shut up, Polter.”

The entire chamber gasped, and a couple of people laughed. Not me, I swear. I had to cough, really.

“What?” Polter gasped. Draeden nodded to Cross.

“You thought nothing of making the decision to kill this boy, Andrew Polter,” Cross said. “But it is not you who would bear his blood on your hands. As the Left and Right Hands of Death, we are the
final
word where such decisions are made. We, and we alone, have the right to carry out a death sentence . . . or to refuse it.”

“And if you all vote to kill him tonight, with a wyrd on his ass, without givin' him a chance to prove himself, we're gonna tell you
exactly
where you can stick it.”

“May this Council ask why you would refuse, T-Bone?” Draeden asked politely.

“ 'Cuz if what this kid says is true, the Conclave couldn't protect him when he needed us to. He may have done a lot of bad stuff, but Hell, he was just a kid! None of you were there helpin' him. When it came down to it, he did what none of you could. He got himself outta some bad shit, and now you're comin' along and tryin' to punish him for stuff he shoulda never had to do.”

“The purpose of the Conclave is to protect the cowan and the mystic population from harm by the misuse of magick, and from the
asura
. Where were you, Master Polter,” Cross pointed at my chest, “when these wounds were inflicted on this boy? What did
you
do to stop this?”

Dead silence met his question.

“Then you will understand if we follow your example in this, and do just as little where you are concerned. The boy deserves the opportunity to prove himself. He's had enough taken from him by our negligence. It's time to let our inaction benefit him.”

“So, yeah, until the Equinox, no one’s dyin’ and the kid gets a shot to prove himself. Any questions?” T-Bone asked.

Silence continued its reign of terror until Cross spoke again.

“I believe the floor is yours, Master Draeden.”

The mages behind us muttered as Draeden pulled his hood back and leaned forward.

“All that remains is to set the task. Chance Fortunato, this Council commands that you return the sword known as the Maxilla and fulfill the fate set by your wyrd. Do so before the Equinox, and you will have completed your Ordeal to this Council's satisfaction.”

“But . . . Master Draeden!” Hardesty said. “The Maxilla is Wizard Corwyn's responsibility! We summoned him to answer for its loss!”

“There is also the matter of harboring a warlock,” Polter said with a malicious glee in his voice.

“We'll just have to wait until the Equinox, then, won't we? By then, I think both matters will be resolved sufficiently to make a final judgment.”

“Chance, don't do this,” Dr. C said from right behind me.

As usual, I hadn't heard him approach. I gave him a glare.

“Already agreed to,” I told him, then turned to face Draeden. “Like I said earlier, Master Draeden, I'll do it.”

“Excellent, Chance. Cross, T-Bone, would you see that his things are returned to him?”

Draeden turned and disappeared into the halls of the upper floor. The rest of the Council followed him, but Polter stayed long enough to give me a lingering glare. His expression faltered when Mom caught sight of him, and he scuttled back from the railing.

“We're going home, Chance,” Mom's voice was tight. I followed her with a heavy heart. It was one thing to face the Council. This was worse. I was pretty sure that death was a lot easier than facing the wrath of Mom. Cross met us at the elevators and handed over my stuff without a word. I slipped my jacket on as I stepped into the elevator with Mom and Dr. Corwyn.

“Mara, I'm sorry you had to find out like this,” Dr. C said.

Mom's hand landed against his face with a crack that made me jump. She barely came up to his shoulder, but he stepped back when she took a step toward him.

“You took my son as your apprentice without my knowledge,
Mister
Corwyn. You lied to me, and you encouraged Chance to continue to lie to me. Enraged doesn't even
begin
to describe my feelings right now. For now, it's best if you didn't talk to me. In fact, moving out of the country for a few years might not be a bad idea.”

“I understand if you're angry with me,” he said. “But don't be angry at Chance. He's the victim here. Any error here is mine entirely.”

“Dr. C, please, don't. Mom, I'm sorry.”

“We'll talk about this when we get home. Not before. As for you, Corwyn . . . just don't talk to me right now.” The doors dinged open, and Mom dragged me out of the elevator and into the parking lot.

I rode back home with my faced pressed up against the window of Mom’s van. Right then, my world sucked about as bad as it could. Dying on the Equinox seemed like the least of my problems.  Mom knew about my past, and I was having a hard time deciding which part was worse, her knowing, or how she'd found out.

All the bad things I had done were out there for her to see. At least, the ones the Council knew about. She knew I’d been a demon’s slave, though. She’d guess the other things I’d done, the things the Conclave didn’t care about . . . the things that had been done to me. If she knew about the Conclave, it was a safe bet she knew how twisted demons could be.

I couldn’t look at her, but I heard her knuckles pop on the steering wheel. She took every corner like a personal insult and every time she stopped, she stomped the brakes hard. We pulled up into the driveway and stopped with a short yelp of rubber on pavement, then Mom was out of the van and heading for the door at a quick walk.

I jumped when the door slammed, but I didn’t move for a moment. Facing Dulka had been easier than getting out of the van to face my Mom. Finally, I opened the door and made my way through the cool March air, shivering as I tried to wrap my jacket around my shoulders like so much shredded dignity. The door loomed closer with every faltering step, and my gut churned. I would rather have done just about anything else as I watched my hand reach for the doorknob. The door pulled away from my hand before I could reach it, and Mom’s brittle voice emerged from the still-dark room.

“Get inside, son.” She still called me ‘son’? I stepped into the darkness and pulled the door shut behind me.

“Mom, I’m sor—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. I struggled for a long moment.

“I didn’t want to stop being your son,” I finally said. The answer surprised me, and it made me feel naked now that it was out there. I heard Mom sit down in her favorite chair in a rustle of fabric on fabric. The silence in the room got heavier and heavier, and finally, I found something worse than being yelled at by Mom.

“Mom, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” she said. “Just . . . don’t.”

The lamp by her chair clicked on, and she got to her feet again. My eyes went to the floor as she came up to me. Her hands touched the scars on my chest, and I followed her fingertips as she went from one ugly line to another, light touches that I had never expected to feel on those wounds. I had never wanted her to see them, never wanted her to know about them, but now she knew, and I could never hide that shame from her again. I fought back tears as she sobbed once.