The image faded from view and Lorit was left alone in the cell once more.
“Get up,” the guard yelled, poking Lorit in the ribs with the blunt end of his spear. “Can you believe this? The kid can sleep in the dungeon!”
The other guard unlocked the shackles from his feet, then his wrists. They brought out a short chain and shackled him again. The only way to proceed was for Lorit to shuffle along, stooped over, taking short steps that came up sharply, as he reached the limits of the chains binding his feet.
They proceeded down the hallway Lorit had seen the previous night. They turned part way down the hallway and entered a chamber lit with a single torch in a holder on the wall. In the middle of the room was a table with more shackles fastened to either corner.
The guard freed Lorit from his chains, bound him to the table and left him there exposed.
Soon a priest entered the room and bent over Lorit. “Good Morning son, my name is Danthon. What’s your name?” he asked in a smooth voice.
Lorit remained silent, glaring at the priest.
“How impolite,” Danthon said. “I’m sure your mother would be disappointed in you.” He raised his staff placing the knobby end next to Lorit’s head. There was a warm, tingly feeling in his temple, and Lorit felt a slight tugging sensation.
“Yes, Shyenn would be so disappointed in you, Lorit. Wouldn’t she?”
Lorit struggled against the bonds that held him to the table. All he accomplished was to bruise his wrists.
“Who’s been helping you, boy?” Danthon demanded.
“What, you can’t pull that from my head?” Lorit asked. He’d feared that his every memory was exposed to the priest. Now he knew that some were still safe.
“Not at the moment, but there’s always tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that,” he remarked. “I’m a patient man.”
Danthon pulled up a stool. He leaned on his staff and peered into Lorit’s eyes. “We’re going to have plenty of time together.”
He raised his staff and passed it over Lorit from head to toe. As the staff passed over him, Lorit felt waves of excruciating pain, as if he were being seared with a red hot iron.
“I may not be able to pull it from your mind,” he continued, “but I wager I’ll eventually get it through your parched lips, if only to relieve the pain temporarily.” Once again, he passed the staff over Lorit’s body and again the wracking pain followed its course.
Lorit bit down hard and stifled the scream he wanted to release at the pain. He knew that showing weakness was not going to help him, and would probably just cause more pain.
The torture went on for the entire morning, until Lorit lay there twitching and convulsing from the pain and the anticipation of more. Suddenly Danthon pushed he stool back and rose. He turned to the guard and spoke, “Clean him up and feed him. See that he gets decent food and plenty of water. I want him recovered by this afternoon, so we can begin again.”
He strode from the room without looking back.
The guard released Lorit from the bonds. He helped him sit up and offered him a cup of cold water. It tasted like the finest wine Lorit had ever had.
They escorted him back to his cell where a table had been added beside the bench. This time the guards shackled his feet, but left his hands free so he could eat. On the table was a platter of fresh bread and roasted fowl with a few boiled root vegetables.
Lorit ate eagerly. They had not fed him before the morning’s session, and he was famished. He finished the bread and fowl and most of the vegetables before they came to re-shackle his hands and take the food away.
The guard closed the heavy door, plunging him into darkness once again. Zhimosom instructed him to examine the structure of his prison. He did so as he sat there, recovering from the morning’s torture.
The temple was shielded, that he already knew. There was a long avenue lining the entrance to the temple where the supplicants arrived. It was lined with torches, large bowls on top of sturdy stands. Each bowl was filled with oil and lit at sundown.
Lorit pondered these things. How could these be the key to his escape?
He recalled the lesson Rotiaqua had taught him in the inn. He could draw on the fires along the avenue to strengthen what he conjured. But what was he supposed to conjure that would be the key to his escape? He worried that the anticipation of the evening’s session was clouding his thoughts.
He examined his prison carefully. There was a hole in the bench near the back wall. The bench was splintered and rotted with the knothole almost all the way through it. The chains were embedded in the between rocks which were cemented together. The shackles locked to his wrists and ankles were made of iron, and each was locked with a sturdy brass lock. When the guard entered the cell, the keys jingled from his belt.
They came for him while Lorit was contemplating his prison. They hauled him to the room again and bound him to the table. It was dusk now, turning to full dark. Lorit could hear the priest calling out the Evening Prayer, when the idea hit him. The key he was seeking was indeed there already. It hung from the guard's belt, jingling as he walked. All Lorit had to do was make a copy of the keys and he could free himself.
Lorit reached out with his senses. He could feel the fires burning in the torches along the avenue. He could feel the fire burning in the kitchen not far from where he was bound. He focused his attention on recalling the knothole in the bench in his cell. He visualized the keys to his cell and shackles forming in that knothole. He connected his effort to the fires both along the avenue and those in the kitchen. He felt a surge of power that quickly subsided and he knew he was successful.
From his perch on the tower, the priest might have noticed a slight blinking of the fires along the avenue, but Lorit hoped that he was otherwise occupied.
Shortly after Evening Prayer ended, Danthon returned. He once again pulled up the stool and sat.
Danthon raised his staff once more and passed it over Lorit’s body. The pain was no less severe, for his having endured it all morning.
Lorit screamed in agony as the staff passed over him time and time again, but he held his peace. He was not sure how many times he could endure this without being compelled to divulge everything he knew, but by the end of the session, he felt he’d scored a victory for today.
When they dumped him in the cell, he reached inside the knothole with his senses and found the keys. He tried to reach the key, but came up short as the shackled didn't permit him that much movement. He reached for the key with his senses, slowly lifting it from the knot hole. As it approached the lock, he excited and lost his focus. The key fell to the floor with a pronounced clatter. He breathed quietly, calmed his nerves and tried again. Slowly the key rose from the floor as he guided it to the lock. It inserted itself and gave a quick, sharp turn. The shackled sprang open freeing his wrists. He reached down and unlocked his legs and rubbed them to restore the circulation. He waited until he could be sure it was night outside before he retrieved the door key he had conjured and carefully unlocked the door.
He found one guard asleep with his back to the wall next to the door. Carefully he closed the door and raised the shield that would prevent anyone from seeing him as he made his way out of the temple.
He stopped at the chamber where Danthon had tortured him. Sitting there, in the corner, were his staff and pack. He shouldered the pack and leaned on the staff as he made his way out of the temple. He rounded the corner that led toward the exit only to stumble upon a guard. The guard was lying across the hallway. Lorit, in his haste, had not noticed him until his foot came in contact with the supine form.
The guard woke with a start. Lorit tried to maintain his shield, but felt the power drain from him. The guard looked straight at him as he came fully awake. Lorit panicked and reached for the power to renew his shields. He pulled from the flames that lit the avenue and the fires in the kitchen. He pulled the power with all of his might and raised a shield that would make him invisible an
d protect him from the guard.
The guard shook his head and lay back down. Lorit carefully stepped over him and headed for the door. He stepped outside of the temple to a darkened street; the fires that normally illuminated it had all been extinguished. He grasped his staff as he headed out into the chill night air.
Strotailye River
Chedel followed Rotiaqua through the dense woods. Chedel was gazing up into the trees and bumped solidly into her when she raised her hand and stopped abruptly. She caught her balance and recovered before she tumbled to the ground beneath his spindly frame. She pointed to a small clearing in the woods and said, “This is where we’ll make our camp.”
Chedel dropped his pack and spread out his blanket. He sat heavily down and looked up at Rotiaqua. “What are we going to eat?”
“Lessons first,” she replied, following suit. She shook out her bedroll and gracefully lowered herself to the ground. She faced Chedel directly and stretched out her hands, palms facing him.
Chedel was looking off into the woods aimlessly. She reached for her staff and gave it a slight twitch. Chedel responded as if he’d been hit solidly on the head with her staff. He turned to look at her.
“Have your attention, do I?” she asked.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Maestra,” she reminded him.
“Yes, Ma’am... I mean Maestra,” he replied, lifting his hands to match hers. He held them palms out, about two digits away from hers.
“Focus, Chedel. Clear your mind and imagine a cool mist in front of you.”
“I’m trying.”
“Quiet, I said clear your mind, not talk,” she scolded him.
Rotiaqua strained to feel his energy as he attempted to clear his thoughts. She was just able to discern the power rising as he focused. When she felt it was strong enough, she softly whispered, not wanting to break his concentration.
“Form a pillar of mist between our hands, just like on a rainy day after the storm is over and before the sun shines full. Just a light mist is all you need.”
She projected some of her own power into him to encourage him. Slowly, a light wisp of mist formed between their outstretched hands. “Good, now try to focus on the image of a small leaf, just like the ones you see around you all day,” she continued.
The mist congealed into a rough outlines somewhat like that of a leaf, before it dissipated entirely.
“That was very good, Chedel.”
“Really? I thought I could feel it this time.”
“You did well,” she said. “Now let’s try again.”
They practiced a while, making several more attempts. Eventually, Chedel was able to conjure something like a small leaf shaped object that stayed solid long enough to flutter to the ground, before vanishing.
The city of Ruton End appeared on the prairie that replaced the forest. Ruton End was larger than Mistbury Tye or even Moriver Tye. It housed several thousand residents and provided the main trade route for the lake boats. Larger ships sometimes made their way upriver and into the lake to dock there.
The wharf district was almost as large as the entire town of Mistbury Tye. It was populated with sailors from all over the Southorn, Gritton and lands farther away. Along with the sailors, were dock workers and merchants. They were so thick; it was as if every day was market day.
As Rotiaqua and Chedel made their way through the crowded streets, she reminded him, “Stay close to me, there are a lot of folks down in this area of town that would take advantage of you faster than you’d notice something was wrong.”
“Yes, Maestra. He stuck close to her as they pushed through the crowd of loud and raucous dock workers heading home or to their favorite inns for the noon meal.
“Here’s a likely place,” Rotiaqua said indicating a weather stained building with a faded sign out front. The sign showed a chipped and faded image of a dog sitting at a table, drinking from a large mug. She opened the door leading into the dark interior of the inn, and gestured for Chedel to enter before her.
They located an empty table off, in the corner, near a window with broken glass and a stained ragged curtain. Chedel took the seat with his back to the door. Rotiaqua pulled out the rough bench and sat with her back to the wall next to the window.
The serving girl appeared and took their order. When she’d departed to fetch their lunch, Rotiaqua turned to Chedel and cautioned him, “Stay put and stay out of trouble. I have arrangements to make.”
She rose from her seat and headed out the back door of the inn. When she returned a few moments later, the food was already at their table, but the boy was gone. She looked around the room for him. It was dark and smoky inside the inn. Finally, she found him sitting at a table on the far side of the room.
He was seated between two dock workers that towered over him. They were dressed in outland style, with leather vests decorated with tiger claws and trimmed in fur. They drank and laughed, elbowing Chedel who sat motionless between them.
Rotiaqua made her way through the crowd to the table where her charge was seated. “Chedel!” she demanded, “What are you doing?”
One of the men turned towards her without rising from his bench. “He’s our new friend,” he said in a menacing tone. “Leave him alone.” He turned back to his flagon and took another drink, slamming it on the table as if that should have ended matters.
“Chedel!” she said, raising his voice.
Chedel sat there motionless.
“What have you done?” she demanded of the two gentlemen.
“I told you, he's our new friend,” the first man said. He turned to face her. “He’s not going anywhere.”
Rotiaqua looked closer at the boy. There was a thick ribbon of dirt-stained green about his neck. At the end of the ribbon, was a river stone tied in a leather thong. There was a small hole drilled through the center of the stone where a wooden peg pierced it.
“An amulet of dur?” she asked, looking back at the man. “Where ever did you get that?”
He rose from his seat to tower over her. “I have one for you too,” he said and reached inside his vest. He pulled out another of the ribbons. He grabbed her by the hair, throwing it over her head. It tingled as the ribbon settled down around her neck.
He brushed his hands off and said, “That should take care of you. Too bad you’re not a few dozen summers younger, you might fetch half of what the boy will.”
He sat back down on the bench and indicated the empty bench across from him. “Sit down, woman.”
Rotiaqua felt the urge to obey. She made her way to the bench and sat facing the man.
“That’s better,” he said once again, hefting the flagon and taking a hearty drink.
“What do you think?” he asked his partner. “Three golds for the kid and one for her?”
“The boy will definitely sell well. Her, I’m not so sure about.” He turned to Rotiaqua and asked, “Can you wash clothes, woman?”
“Yes, I can wash clothes,” she said. She felt compelled to answer, mixed with a fear of him and shame for thinking of disobeying.
“Good,” he said. “A washer woman could bring a few coins.”
His companion leaned forward, examining her. “She don’t look strong enough to wash all day.”
“Can you cook?” he demanded of the Sorceress.
“Of course I can cook, you dolt,” she replied. She stood quickly, grasping her staff in her hand. The first man started to rise and froze mid-rise when she spoke.
“Stay where you are!” she commanded.
She reached over and lifted the ribbon from around Chedel’s neck and placed it over the head of the second man, then pulled the ribbon from around her own neck and placed it over that of the first man.
“Now, sit down and remain here quietly,” she commanded. They both sat still. Their eyes darted back and forth, settling on Rotiaqua with a look of fear.
“Any more amulets? Put them on the table, along with any coins you have on you.”
Both men searched their pockets. Between them, they had a small fistful of coins. The first man pulled out another amulet and placed it on the table.
Rotiaqua nodded her head towards the loot catching Chedel’s eye. “Pick that up and let’s get going.”
Chedel scooped up the coins and the amulet, and stood slowly, stepping over the bench to avoid his captors. He turned and headed back for their table.
Rotiaqua leaned her head in between the two men. “I have spelled these to lose their power just before nightfall. Until then, you two are to sit here quietly and behave.” She reached up and patted the cheek of the man who had accosted her. “Next time you try to use a cheap street-grade amulet on someone, make sure they’re not a wizard of the first order, honey. That was really a foolish move.”
She stood and looked them over once again. “You boys enjoy the rest of your stay.” She reached out and tousled the hair of her would-be captor before turning to join Chedel at their table.
“What happened there?” she asked the boy as she sat down to rejoin him.
“I don’t know,” Chedel answered. “I was waiting here, like you told me to, when that man came over and sat down. He did something, and I felt all tingly. Then he ordered me to follow him.
“I tried to fight it, but it was too strong. I tried everything you showed me about visualizing a knife to cut the ribbon or levitate it off of my neck.” He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Nothing worked.”
“Remind me to add this to your lessons tonight,” Rotiaqua said as she dug into the roast fowl the serving girl had deposited there in her absence. Chedel flinched and picked at this food.
After Evening Prayer and sunset, the streets were empty. Not even the most unsavory characters were out at this hour. Lorit made his way down the quiet street towards the forest, where he made his camp for the night. He was so exhausted that he fell immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next morning Lorit awoke feeling more refreshed than he’d expected to, after his ordeal. He followed the trail through the forest until late afternoon, when he arrived at the river bank.
Foundling Wizard (Book 1) Page 9
