“We have to get out of here!” Ythnel screamed. Kestus looked at her grimly but nodded. He sent the sphere at the creature once more before turning to run. Ythnel glanced back to see Brother Crocodile helping Muctos up and supporting him as they tried to flee. The plant monster’s tentacles were snaking after them, however, and Ythnel knew they wouldn’t make it.
Exerting all the skill and strength she could, Ythnel forced her horse to charge between the escaping mages and the tentacles. Sensing a new target, the monster turned to grab at the approaching animal. As the two leafy limbs wrapped around the horse’s neck and its haunches, Ythnel leaped from its back. She tumbled to the ground and rolled to her feet. Swinging under Muctos’s other side to aid Brother Crocodile, Ythnel looked back to see the plant monster lift the horse into the air, grab on with another tentacle, and pull it in two.
At a signal from her scout, Kaestra brought the patrol to a halt. All seven guards fingered their crossbows and cast furtive glances around the clearing where they had stopped. Kaestra slid off her mount and walked over to where the scout crouched. She hoped he had found something that would indicate they were closing in on their quarry. The idea of traipsing about in the swamp after dark was not especially appealing to her. It felt as if her skin were covered in layers of slime so thick she could peel it off with a knife, and the sooner she could return home, the sooner she could take a bath.
“What have you discovered?” Kaestra finished tugging off her riding gloves and tucked them behind her belt.
“It appears there was some sort of battle here. There are two sets of hoofprints leading off in different directions.”
“So, our fugitives have split up?”
“No. There are a group of footprints heading north together. I think they’re on foot now.”
“Hmm, that should make it easier to catch up with them. But how does that indicate there was a battle?”
“It doesn’t. It’s these strange scorch marks that make me think there was a battle.” The scout rose and pointed to a pair of scorched paths leading from the middle of the clearing to a hillock on the west end of the clearing.
“What I can’t figure out,” he continued, tracing the paths to their endpoints, “is what they were fighting.”
“Was anyone killed? Injured?” Kaestra followed the scout, eager to hear that one or more of their prey had been eliminated from the hunt.
“Well, there is some blood on the ground.” The scout stooped yet again, fingering some dark, sticky fluid spread across a few dried leaves.
One of the guards yelled something behind Kaestra, and she turned to look, only to see him pointing in her direction. She swung her head back, and her eyes widened as she witnessed the scout struggling furiously against a vine twice as thick as her forearm that had wrapped around his midsection. It lifted him up into the air, and Kaestra saw that the vine extended out from the hillock.
Another vine lashed out from the opposite side of the hillock. With lightning speed, it whipped around Kaestra’s upper torso, pinning her arms to her sides. As it lifted her, too, into the air, she watched the front of the hillock split open to reveal a gaping maw of thorns and jagged branches.
“Guards, do something! I command you! Shoot it!” Kaestra screamed. A couple of the men fired their crossbows, but the bolts just disappeared under the layers of vegetation that covered the monster.
With a sickening crunch, the plant monster impaled the scout on its wooden teeth. The monster withdrew its tentacle then tossed its head. The body of the scout was thrown into the air and swallowed whole.
Kaestra knew her turn was next if she didn’t do something fast. She couldn’t think of any spells she had prayed for that would affect a living mound of vines, grasses, and shrubs. However, she could still use one of those spells, twisting it from its original purpose to directly channel the Power of Entropy instead.
Calling upon her goddess, Kaestra recited the words to the prayer, slightly altering the intonation of certain syllables. Still able to bend her arms at the elbow, she brought her right hand up. A black haze began to form in the center of her palm then spread until it encased her entire hand. She exalted in the blessing of her goddess, the ability to hold pure chaos, anathema to all living things.
Smiling with confidence, Kaestra pressed her entropic hand against the vine that held her. Instantly it withered away, breaking the monster’s grip on her. She dropped to the ground, rolling away from the creature and springing to her feet.
Without hesitation, she ran to her horse and leaped into the saddle. Her men were already turning their horses, spurring them away from the clearing, back the way they had come. Kaestra let them go. They would pay for their cowardice once they returned to Luthcheq, but she was done with the swamp. Father wouldn’t be happy that they returned empty-handed, but even if the mages had survived whatever that monster was, she doubted they would make it through the night. There were things far worse than snakes and living plants that dwelt in Adder Swamp.
CHAPTER 8
Jaerios lounged in the velvet-cushioned chair, his fingers steepled before him, as he gazed down upon the line of prisoners being led in. The balcony overlooking the Burning Room was one of his favorite places in the palace. It was a metaphor for the divine appointment that had been bestowed upon the Karanoks, and the family’s elevation above those who practiced abomination. From its height, judgment was meted out upon those who had joined themselves to the arcane, while the purity of the judges was maintained by preventing contact with the guilty.
It was time to pass judgment.
The guards escorted the first of the prisoners to a tall alcove that resembled a cylinder with the front cross-section removed. At the base of the alcove, a pile of wood surrounded a blackened pole the width of a tree trunk. The pole rose almost to the top of the alcove, ending just below a metal grill that would allow smoke to be drawn up through it then expelled from the mouth of a grotesquely stylized humanoid face. Finally it was permitted to drift out a chimney in the ceiling that led to the outside.
“I shouldn’t be here. This is a mistake. She wasn’t a witch,” the prisoner mumbled as the guards shackled his ankles and wrists to the pole. The acoustics of the Burning Room carried the plea to Jaerios’s ears, but he had long since stopped hearing the cries for mercy, as well as the screams of pain that inevitably followed.
Another prisoner was being marched to the next alcove, but Jaerios waved them off. There were enough alcoves for all five of the condemned to be judged at once, but Jaerios preferred to let them watch the fate of the one before them as additional punishment. The pair of guards who had brought the first prisoner carried in a basket of witchweed and dumped it at the feet of the chained man.
“She’s a Loviatan, I tell you, not a wizard!” the prisoner screamed as a guard set a torch to the dried leaves and tinder. “You have to believe meeeee!”
Jaerios sensed someone behind him and turned his head from the shrieking and writhing to see his daughter standing in the archway that led to the balcony. He had been informed during dinner that she had returned. From her cleaned robes and damp hair, it appeared she had freshened up first before coming to the palace.
“Come. Come, Kaestra.” She hesitated before entering and sat stiffly when he offered the seat next to him. “How did your patrol fare?” From the sullen set of her jaw, he was fairly sure he already new the answer.
“I lost them, Father. We were ambushed by a tendriculos. The guards fled, and my scout was killed.
“We tracked them to that same clearing, and there was blood along with other signs of a fight, so I’m sure they encountered the same creature. If there were any survivors, they fled deeper into the swamp. We can consider them as good as dead.” She looked at him, a question in her eyes. He leaned back in his chair, considering the news. From the corner of his vision, he saw his daughter wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Good. It was important that she feared failure, feared failing him.
Kaestra had alway
s done her best to please him, however. She had earned the position of high priestess and worked diligently in her duties, though of late, she seemed more interested in the divine abilities that Entropy had recently begun to grant rather than their crusade against the arcane. He was going to have to say something to her about that eventually. Putting the cart before the horse only created more work for those driving the cart.
But now was not the time for such discussions. Now was a time to enjoy the fruits of their labors. The city was finally cleansed. The information Therescales provided had allowed the family’s forces to lie in wait for the members of the Mage Society who were to position themselves on the rooftops along the procession route to the execution yard. Those who were captured now waited their turn below, watching the poor fool who had hired the cleric of Loviatar burn for his mistake. It was mildly frustrating that the rest escaped, but they were no longer infesting Luthcheq, and that was what mattered most.
“Yes, you’re probably right,” Jaerios turned back toward his daughter and let the smile that had been growing in his heart spread across his face. “Wizards and their ilk are weak; easy prey once you remove them from their sanctums. I’m sure the swamp will take care of them. A tendriculos, did you say?” Kaestra relaxed visibly, and Jaerios turned back to the proceedings of the Burning Room.
“You’ve done well, daughter. Let’s celebrate this victory by watching those who sought to defile our city receive their just fate.
“Guards,” Jaerios ordered, raising his voice slightly to be heard above the crackling fire that continued to consume the blackened husk still standing in its midst. “Dispose of the remains and bring forth the next prisoner.”
Ythnel stumbled over something sticking up out of the ground. It could have been a root or a stone; in the fading light, small pools of shadow obscured most of the ground. She would have sprawled face-first, but Brother Crocodile caught her up by the arm and steadied her.
“Kestus, we have to stop. We’re lost, and wandering around in the dark isn’t going to change that. When the sun comes up in the morning, we can—”
“In the morning, we could all be dead,” Kestus said, his voice strained with frustration.
“We could die tonight by stepping in quicksand because we can’t see a foot in front of us.” Brother Crocodile tried to reason with him.
“Or we could trip over a rock and break our necks,” Ythnel chimed in sarcastically.
Kestus sighed and turned back to the others.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s foolish to push on.” He looked around them for a moment, as though coming to a decision. “This spot is as good as any. We’ll rest around this tree.” He pointed to a thick, gnarled trunk with black, corrugated bark. “I’ll set up a few wards that should give us ample warning if anything comes too close.”
As Kestus strode off to set his alarms, Ythnel plopped down onto the soggy ground and leaned back against the base of the tree. The rough ridges irritated the raw skin around the knife wound on her shoulder. The linen dress she had been wearing was little more than rags now and did nothing to protect her from direct contact with the elements. She shifted so that most of her weight was on the other shoulder, but the position was just as uncomfortable as the bark bit into her bruised muscles.
“Those are some nasty wounds,” Muctos commented as he ungracefully lowered himself next to Ythnel. “You’re a cleric, right. Why don’t you heal yourself?”
“Loviatans seek to embrace pain, not avoid it.” Ythnel grunted as she shifted once more. “The Maiden of Pain doles out mercy sparingly, and frowns upon those who are too quick to seek escape from suffering when endurance will suffice.”
“That sounds like you’re reading straight from your creed book.” Muctos raised his hand and smiled wearily at Ythnel. “Hold on, I’m not trying to start a fight. I was under the impression that Loviatans dealt suffering and pain to others, not themselves.”
“No one is exempt from the torments of this life,” Ythnel replied. “By understanding pain, I become a better instrument in teaching others how to endure it.”
“Understanding is one thing, but I don’t see the point of running yourself into the ground. How is that serving your goddess?”
Muctos’s words reverberated in Ythnel’s head, echoing back the doubts she had entertained while in the hands of the Karanoks. Why was she subjecting herself to needless suffering? Had she not proven herself able to endure? Would it not be appropriate to let herself heal now?
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ythnel wondered if perhaps she should continue to suffer as penance for her earlier lack of faith. However, even Headmistress Yenael had said that there was a time to relent and give kindnesses.
“You’re right,” Ythnel said slowly, still unsure of the decision she had reached. One thing she did know was that she needed to be by herself right now. Pushing herself up off the ground, Ythnel walked a few yards away from the tree.
“So, you know my name.”
Ythnel started at Kestus’s voice and turned her head to see him approaching. “Yes. Viulvos told me.” Her voice caught at the dead mage’s name, and she saw Kestus’s face harden for a moment.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter now, anyway,” Kestus said with a shrug. “Don’t go too far. I’ve set wards about forty feet out, so if you go beyond that, you’ll trigger them unless you say ‘ssorpa.’ ”
With only the barest nod to acknowledge she had heard the mage, Ythnel changed direction, deciding to go where Kestus had come from. The thick night air closed behind her like a heavy curtain while the chirps and hisses of the swamp rushed in to carry her off to another world. She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly afraid she had wandered too far, but she could still see Kestus’s back as he approached the two dark forms of the other mages huddled around a tree.
“Ssorpa,” she whispered, just in case.
Feeling sufficiently isolated, Ythnel knelt down on the spongy turf, crossing her arms over her chest and placing her hands on opposite shoulders. She drew a deep breath and released it slowly. With another breath, she closed her eyes and prayed. As the words left her lips, tiny lashes began to sting Ythnel, indication that Loviatar was pouring out the Power to her. The stings flared into a wave of burning, a cleansing fire that scorched away all the aches and pains and soreness in its path. In its wake, Ythnel was renewed.
She opened her eyes with a gasp and was almost surprised not to see burnt husks in the place of trees, with a layer of ash covering everything. Ythnel rubbed her shoulders, trying to get out that last little bit of ache. Her fingertips brushed across a small patch of hard, smooth skin just above her right shoulder blade. Curious, she moved her hand to her cheek and traced two rough lines running down from the corners of her right eye. Loviatar had left her the scars to remember the pain she had endured.
Ythnel stood, ready to return to the others. She was tired, and with the edge taken off her injuries by the healing, perhaps she could get an hour or two of rest before they had to move on. She took a step, and a thought surged from seemingly nowhere to stop her in her tracks.
Pray.
It had likely been days since Ythnel had last performed her nightly ritual of prayer to Loviatar. She had lost all sense time while in Naeros’s care and hadn’t thought to ask the mages what day it was. Going more than even a day without praying was unwise. The ritual strengthened the link Ythnel shared with her goddess and bolstered her faith.
Ythnel hesitated for a moment as she realized she didn’t have her scourge medallion. The symbol served as the focus of her prayers, and a conduit through which she could channel the Power. It was an integral part of being a Loviatan, and Ythnel, her dress hanging in tatters that barely concealed her flesh, felt naked for the first time, knowing the medallion was not hanging around her neck.
Do not let your medallion become a crutch, Headmistress Yenael’s voice called out from Ythnel’s memories. It is only one means of focus. Anything can be used as a repr
esentation of your faith in the Willing Whip.
Ythnel scanned her surroundings. It didn’t take long for her to find what she needed. She strode over to one of the rough-barked trees nearby. Standing on her toes, Ythnel reached up and grabbed one of the bare branches. She tested several of the thin offshoots, bending them this way and that until she found a suitable one of the right length. She twisted the piece off near its base and came away with a switch just shy of a foot long.
Kneeling once more, Ythnel began her chant, the rhythms punctuated with a swat of the stick over her shoulder or around her side. Each small sting brought euphoria, a sense of closeness to her goddess that made her swell inside. The connection continued to grow stronger, and Ythnel felt herself being pulled away somehow, detaching from her physical body and slowly drifting higher and higher.
The sun shone brightly upon the white stones of the courtyard. Ythnel thought she recognized the buildings that surrounded her, crammed together so they looked as though they were simply one expansive unit. The flat roofs reflected the light in such a way that all the edges of the structures were blurred, even when Ythnel squinted.
Gazing at the stairs in front of her that lead to a nondescript wooden door, Ythnel realized she was standing before the entrance to Master Saelis’s home. Somehow, she was back in Luthcheq. The thought did not disturb her and quickly flitted away. It seemed as natural as the eerie silence she now noticed: in the center of a bustling city of tens of thousands, not a sound carried in the air or echoed off the buildings.
Ythnel turned the handle, opened the door, and stepped inside without hesitation.
“Master Saelis? Iuna?” Even before the echoes of her call died out, Ythnel new the house was empty except for herself and the furniture. She glanced around the living room. Everything looked as she remembered, except that all the edges seemed fuzzy. Ythnel blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes, thinking they were still adjusting from the brilliance outside. She looked again, but nothing had changed …
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