Apprenticed to Pleasure

by Brandon Fox

  Nicolai started toward the arch. “Seems safe enough—”

  A piercing mental shriek cut him short.

  Ander clenched his teeth. The screams were ten times worse than the clamor the seraskier had raised at Lady Tayanita’s house. A rush of energy coursed through him. “Hurry! We might still have time to get what we came for.” He ran into the adjoining crypt, leaping over the guard and surveying the room with a glance. Nicolai was close behind.

  The leech stood at the far end of the room. The smell of blood and charred flesh hung heavy in the air. Although his stomach churned at the stench, Ander ran across the chamber and jumped onto the metal rack where they had seen the victim manacled. The leap kicked up ashes from the pit below, and the rack swayed beneath him, almost throwing him off balance.

  “Steady me while I pry one of those crystals loose.”

  Nicolai stood next to the charcoal pit and seized his waist, holding him firmly. The circular grid full of crystals was beyond his reach. He pulled out his knife and managed to wedge its point between one of the gems and its mounting. A sharp twist popped the crystal loose. It flew through the air, threatening to fall to the stone floor and shatter, but Nicolai stepped back and deftly caught it. He slipped it into a shirt pocket while Ander jumped down from the swaying rack.

  “That way,” Nicolai said, pointing to the far end of the chamber. Its recesses were shrouded in shadow. “I see stairs. The sooner we can get out of the crypts, the better.”

  They sprinted for the stairs with the alarm howling in their minds. Nicolai pounded up the stone slabs first, his sword drawn. Faint shouts of guards coming from the direction of the prefect’s citadel echoed behind them. The stairwell plunged into darkness as they rushed upward.

  “Faster, Nicolai! They’re almost—”

  A heavy thud was his only warning before he crashed into the northerner.

  Nicolai grabbed his arm to prevent him from toppling backward. “There’s a trapdoor blocking the stairs. Hold this.” Fumbling in the darkness, he grasped one of Ander’s hands and thrust the sword’s hilt into it. Ander panted, listening to the rapid tread of approaching men and trying to ignore the painful alarm as Nicolai swept his hands over the door.

  “Hurry! They’re almost here!”

  “Found it!” Nicolai twisted an iron ring mounted at the trapdoor’s edge. Then he planted his shoulders against the thick door and lifted. It moved ponderously, but its hinges were well oiled and silent. He staggered upward a step at a time, the heavy door pressed against his back as he opened the passage enough for Ander to slip through into the room above.

  “Prop it open,” Nicolai said, gasping. “I can’t get through while holding it.”

  Ander dropped the sword and crouched at the lip of the stairwell, using the strength of his back to hold the door up. Its edge bit painfully into his shoulders, but he managed to take the weight.

  Nicolai scrambled through, then spun around and grabbed Ander around the torso. With a quick tug, he pulled Ander backward, and the trapdoor crashed shut.

  Ander glanced around while Nicolai retrieved the sword. They were in the Basilica of Yataghan, as expected, but not in some back room. A dome spanning the apse soared above them, the giant golden scimitar of Yataghan suspended overhead. In the dark, the harsh architecture of the militant god was more oppressive than usual. Then Ander’s gaze fell on the stone block used for dispatching sacrifices; it rested just a few feet from the edge of the trapdoor. An idea took shape.

  “That block. Could we move it over the trapdoor? There’s no way they could lift it from below.”

  Nicolai looked at the stone slab. “It’s our best chance.” They quickly positioned themselves and pushed. Stone grated across stone, and the slab slowly yielded to their combined effort. One corner of the block pushed over the edge of the trapdoor mere seconds before the men below slammed against it. Curses and pounding followed, but the door held fast.

  “This won’t buy us much time,” Nicolai said, panting. “They’ll send in guards from the street.”

  “Then we’ll stay off the street.” Ander sprinted over to the high altar positioned against the back wall. A thirty-foot statue of Yataghan occupied the central area, surrounded by niches containing figurines of the god’s wives and disciples. Above the altar, narrow windows filled with red glass circled the base of the dome. The tops of the windows were pointed like spears.

  Ander started climbing, using the niches for handholds and footholds. Nicolai followed without hesitation. Delicately carved statues crashed to the floor as they fled upward.

  The carved screen began to sway as they neared the top, but Ander grabbed a piece of molding beneath a window. Pulling with all his strength, he held the screen steady while Nicolai pulled the sword free and swung it against a window.

  The glass shattered, red shards raining past them and crashing to the floor. Then Nicolai was out. He grabbed Ander’s arm and pulled him through the opening. A gently pitched slate roof spread before them, and beyond that lay the sleeping city’s jagged skyline. Shouts of guards drifted up from the plaza, and people were emerging from nearby buildings to see what was going on.

  “To the back,” Nicolai said. “There should be downspouts. We can get down that way.”

  Ander was grateful for the dry weather as they scrambled across the tiles. Ice or water would have made the roof deadly to traverse. They reached the edge. Lead gutters around the roof’s perimeter connected to thick iron downspouts. He peered over the edge. The height was daunting.

  “Don’t look down,” Nicolai said. “Just climb.” He helped Ander lower himself over the edge, holding on until he got a good grip on the downspout. Cold metal scraped Ander’s hands and soiled his clothes. But he took Nicolai’s advice and made it to the bottom almost as fast as the acrobat.

  They huddled together at the mouth of the alley and peeked around the corner. Clamor from the plaza was growing. An excited stir ran through the crowd as guards succeeded in breaking open one of the basilica’s massive doors.

  “Now’s our chance,” Nicolai said. “While they’re all watching the doors. Don’t run, it’ll attract attention.”

  They stepped out from behind the basilica and started down the cobblestone street. The crowd on the plaza ignored them, intent on the spectacle of the prefect’s guards storming the basilica. They picked up the pace as soon as they rounded the corner onto a side street and soon arrived at the stable. They had paid the ostler to watch their possessions before leaving for the banquet, and it took little time to be on their way.

  “At least Fochelis isn’t walled,” Ander said as they rode out of the city. “They can’t trap us by closing gates.”

  “No. But they’ll have patrols on the streets soon. The prefect’s guard must know by now that we escaped from the basilica.” Nicolai rubbed his sweaty forehead. “And I want to get out of the city fast anyway. I’m not feeling so good.”

  They concentrated on riding, staying off the main avenues and soon passing the farms surrounding the city. Ander had taken the lead. Once they reached the forest beyond the farms, he twisted in his saddle to congratulate Nicolai on their escape.

  What he saw shocked him. The northerner slumped in his saddle, clutching the pommel grimly, his face awash with pain. He sat up when he saw Ander turn but couldn’t conceal his distress.

  “Nicolai! What’s wrong?”

  He licked his lips, straightening painfully as he came alongside Ander. “I don’t know,” he rasped. “I’ve never felt like this, the aches and soreness. It might be a reaction to dispelling the cantrip in the prefect’s kitchen. I feel so tired.”

  “We’ll stop and rest. It should be safe enough when we get to the forest.”

  Nicolai shook his head and urged his horse back into motion. “No. It’s too risky, and we don’t have the time. Soon the zamindar will know there are rival mages strong enough to defeat his best protections.” He coughed weakly. “Besides, if we stop, I might not be abl
e to get started again. We’ll keep going. You should stay in the lead. That’ll help some.”

  Ander’s entreaties went unheeded. Nicolai pressed doggedly ahead, refusing to rest even after they were well into the forest. While his resolve was heroic, Ander still kept close watch on him and was alarmed by the ever-increasing pain evident on his friend’s face. By dawn, Nicolai was drawn and pale. His teeth clenched as if stifling a cry.

  The trail began to rise as they entered the coastal range, making their way toward the pass leading to Thane’s estate. Fatigue and hunger weighed Ander down. The peaks on their left and right, shining brilliantly as morning light fell on their snow-covered slopes, failed to invigorate him. He twisted around in his saddle to check again on Nicolai. What he saw confirmed his worst fears.

  The northerner slumped forward with his arms draped around his horse’s neck. His body was starting to slide to the left. Ander reined in sharply, then leaped from his saddle and ran to Nicolai’s side. He took the dangling reins and brought the animal to a halt.

  Nicolai was breathing raggedly. His face was tight with pain even in unconsciousness. Ander reached up and put a hand on his shoulder, fearful that he was about to fall.

  Nicolai’s eyes snapped open at the contact, a feeble cry tearing from his throat. He struggled weakly, twisting away. Ander jumped back, his heart hammering.

  “Nicolai? What’s wrong?”

  “My shoulder,” he croaked. “I must have twisted it in the basilica.” He paused, clenching his teeth against pain before continuing. “I don’t remember doing it. But it feels like it’s coming out of the socket.”

  “Let me see. You’ll never make it back to the lyceum like this. Maybe I can help.”

  Nicolai looked like he wanted to protest, but his body betrayed him. He began to sway in his saddle, and his face was ashen. Ander realized that he must have fainted from pain earlier. He helped him down, shocked at the athletic youth’s sudden weakness. As soon as he was off the horse, Nicolai sank to the ground and began to shiver, grimacing as the movement shook his left shoulder.

  “Gods,” he groaned. “How could I have hurt myself like this without noticing? I’ve had plenty of bruises and sprains doing acrobatics, but never anything this bad.”

  Ander crouched beside his stricken friend and reached forward hesitantly. He touched the left shoulder with the lightest possible pressure. Nicolai groaned and pulled back.

  “I know it hurts. Maybe a bone was cracked and now it’s broken. Hold still and let me see if I can feel anything. I know it’s bad, but we’ve got to try.”

  Nicolai shuddered and nodded. “Go ahead.”

  He put one hand behind Nicolai to help steady him and then brought his other hand to within an inch of the injured shoulder. He waited for Nicolai to relax, then ran his hand over the shoulder as lightly as he could. Nicolai closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

  Ander felt a slight itch as his hand grazed over the cloth. At first he ignored it, trying to feel for irregularities in Nicolai’s flesh. Despite his efforts at concentration, a vague impression flickered on the edge of his consciousness. Startled, he stopped and grasped to recapture the fleeting sensation. It tugged at him like the whisper of a familiar voice. Then he placed the sensation. He looked up in surprise.

  “Lucian?” he whispered.

  Nicolai opened his eyes. “What? Did you say something?”

  “No, never mind. I was just thinking out loud. Try to relax while I finish checking your shoulder.”

  Nicolai nodded wearily. Ander passed his hand over the shoulder again, his mind racing. Could it have been Lucian? And if it was, what was he trying to say?

  Again the feathery touch of a foreign thought brushed his mind. “Magic, Ander. Feel the kei.”

  Then silence. But he was sure he hadn’t imagined the fleeting contact. The ethereal advice didn’t seem helpful. He still hadn’t learned how to sense the kei.

  While his mind was distracted with questions, his hand continued to glide over the black cloth covering Nicolai’s shoulder and chest. A diffuse sense of tenderness filled him, as if he were caressing a lover instead of searching for injuries. Irresistibly, his mind was drawn to the recollection of Lucian’s love for Thane, of how it had felt when he talked with Lucian in the memorial. The more he focused on the sensation, the more intense it became, until he felt like he was riding on a tide of warm benevolence. Conscious thought faded, and he became part of a seamless web. There was only one distraction, a dark point of pain in an otherwise sparkling sea of contentment. His hand came to rest on Nicolai’s chest. A tugging sensation, like a whirlpool, seemed to emanate from the dark point.

  Nicolai moaned softly, then opened his eyes. Ander was awash with calm and barely noticed. His hand was warm against Nicolai’s chest, and a faint blue glow outlined his fingers.

  Nicolai’s eyes went wide. “Ander! What are you doing?”

  Ander took a sharp breath and blinked in confusion. He saw the blue glow and gasped, jerking his hand away.

  “I felt something! I don’t know how, it’s like something was leading me. And… I was being led here.” He touched the place where his hand had rested against Nicolai’s chest, over the uniform’s breast pocket.

  A sudden conviction seized him. Reaching into the pocket, he took out the crystal they had removed from the leech. Icy cold bit his fingers. He dropped the crystal on the pine needles covering the trail.

  “That’s what was hurting you. I’m sure of it. Didn’t you feel it?”

  Nicolai shook his head. “All I felt was pain.” He touched his shoulder and winced. “And it still hurts. Whatever it was doing to me, the damage is done.”

  Ander poked at the crystal with a stick. “Maybe it won’t get any worse now. This crystal didn’t hurt me. Maybe it takes some time to harm you.”

  “We can’t leave it behind. It’s too important.”

  “I’ve got an idea.” Ander scrambled to his feet and ran to a scraggly tree near the trail. He selected a stick about six feet long and twisted it off. Returning to Nicolai’s side, he took the talisman from around his neck and untied the thong that held it together. Its contents spilled out on the ground, the red crystal glittering brightly. Then he used his stick to prod the zamindar’s crystal onto the leather patch and tied it up again before tying the other end of the thong to the stick.

  “This should keep it far enough away.”

  Nicolai picked up the red crystal from the talisman and put it in his pocket. “I hope that stick is long enough. If you start to feel bad, we’ll have to try something else.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not eager to go through what you did.”

  Ander helped him mount, and they continued their journey. Hunger gnawed at his gut for hours, but finally numbness set in. He concentrated on keeping an eye on Nicolai and pondering what he had experienced while exploring for injuries. The sense of Lucian’s presence had been surprising enough; the feeling that followed was more thought-provoking. Was it the kei? Had Lucian shown him the way? He was tempted to tell Nicolai what had happened, but the urge to protect Thane from the secret of Lucian’s ephemeral existence was more powerful. He kept his silence.

  Nicolai didn’t seem to be getting worse, but the injury was severe, and hours on horseback took their toll. By nightfall, when they reached the edge of Thane’s estate, he was struggling to stay in his saddle. They rode slowly and arrived at the lyceum in another hour.

  Nicolai managed to dismount in the castle’s courtyard, though he seemed ready to collapse. He put an arm around Ander’s shoulders and accepted his help as they shuffled to the tower. His clothes were drenched with acrid sweat, and he shook with fatigue. “Find Sorel,” he whispered. “I need him.”

  They crossed the entrance hall, and Ander opened the library door. Katy lounged on a sofa near the fireplace with a thick volume open in front of her. She leaped off the sofa and ran to their side.

  “Careful,” Ander warned. “His left shoulder’s h
urt. By magic. We need Thane’s help.”

  “He’s in the main workroom. I’ll get him.” She ran out the door and sprinted up the stairs.

  Ander helped Nicolai across the room and gently lowered him to the sofa. He groaned as his shoulder adjusted to a new alignment, then closed his eyes. His breathing was shallow and rapid. Sweat streaked his face.

  Ander squeezed his hand and then straightened. “I’ll find Sorel. Don’t worry. You’ll be all right now.” Ander hoped he was right. The northerner’s exhaustion, no longer concealed, was more profound than had been revealed during their long ride.

  “Wait,” Nicolai whispered. “He’s coming. I feel him.”

  “How—”

  “Nicolai!” Sorel careened through the doorway, his features stricken. He reached the sofa in four long strides and knelt at Nicolai’s side. Tentatively, he put a hand behind Nicolai’s head and rubbed his neck.

  “Rest now,” he said. “Thane’s coming too. It won’t be much longer. Whatever it is, he can fix it.”

  Nicolai managed a weak grin. “Since when did you become an optimist? What have you done with the real Sorel?”

  Sorel snorted, then leaned close and brushed his lips against his partner’s. The pain on Nicolai’s face seemed to ease at the gentle touch, and Ander sensed the energy flowing between them. He realized that the need to be with Sorel was what had kept Nicolai going, like the beckoning of an oasis in a blazing desert. Sorel began to caress his lover’s hair, quietly sustaining him on a level Ander couldn’t comprehend.

  Pounding footsteps interrupted the momentary tranquility. Thane arrived at the door and had brought half a dozen initiates. An air of power radiated from him, a strange contrast to his youthful appearance. His eyes were narrowed to slits.

  “You reek of corruption! Whatever you discovered has set its teeth into you.” He went to Nicolai’s side, his expression softening as empathy replaced his disgust at the reek of the zamindar’s magic. Sorel moved aside, keeping a hand on Nicolai’s arm as Thane knelt to examine his friend.