Maiden of Pain

by Kameron Franklin

  “I’m … I’m sorry, Mistress. I’ll clean it up right away. It’ll be—”

  “You will touch nothing. I cannot believe your incompetence. I thought having you as a personal slave would be of some benefit, but it is obvious Father was just being generous rather than sending you to the stake. You are useless. I am going to have to waste precious time training you, it seems. And your first lesson will be to learn the consequences of failure.” She came around the desk so fast that Iuna barely had time to get up on her hands and knees. Mistress Kaestra picked her up by the collar of her brown, woolen robe and slapped her. Sparkles of light danced before Iuna’s eyes, and she staggered backward when Mistress Kaestra released her.

  Her rage was not quenched so easily.

  “Ruined! Do you know how long it took me to write this?” She stared at the stained parchment then turned back to Iuna and punched her in the stomach. Air whooshed out of Iuna’s lungs, and she doubled over.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress,” she cried. Tears welled in her eyes, and she started to sob. This wasn’t how it was supposed to have turned out, Iuna thought as she gasped for breath. They were just supposed to take the governess and leave Papa and her alone. Instead Papa was dead now. Mistress Kaestra had almost gloated about it when she told Iuna last night.

  Mistress Kaestra’s fist slammed into the side of Iuna’s head, and she fell to the floor. She lay there, curled up in a ball, whimpering. Mistress Kaestra stood over her, her chest heaving as she breathed heavily. Then her shadow moved away, but Iuna refused to open her eyes and look up. She wasn’t sure she could even open the left one. She just wanted to sleep.

  “When you’re done feeling sorry for yourself,” Mistress Kaestra’s cold voice called out from somewhere distant, “you can get up and finish your chores.” Iuna wondered what would happen if she didn’t. It was hard to keep awake, and her thoughts were fuzzy. She wondered if she was dying. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad. She had never paid much attention to any of the lessons on religion that her many governesses had tried to teach her, but she thought there was some sort of life after death. Maybe she would get to see Papa. That would be wonderful; it certainly would be better than life as a slave to Mistress Kaestra. Anything would be better than that. Why, Iuna thought as she slipped into unconsciousness, she’d even rather have that Ythnel woman as a governess again than live like this.

  The wind picked up as the night wore on. It wrapped around the temple in howling gusts, winding its way from off the bay, deeper into the swamp. The steady patter of raindrops beating against the bricks created a soothing counter-rhythm to the rise and fall of the wind’s cries. It made it hard to stay awake. Several times, Kestus watched his companions nod off, only to start awake when their heads drooped to their chests. He seemed to be rubbing his eyes as much as he was staring at the tome in front of him.

  For hours they had been pouring over the spellbooks Kohtakah brought. They were rich with arcane lore, and Kestus quickly began reading through the texts, more interested in spells that would free them than divinations that would unlock the secrets of the werecrocodiles’ artifacts.

  Kestus looked up from his studies to gaze at the werecrocodile. He noted the subtle shift in his own thinking. The man was no longer Brother Crocodile to him. The revelation in the swamp had turned him into a stranger, an unknown, no longer an ally. Doubt had crept in and displaced the trust that had once been there.

  Had he ever really known him? It wasn’t the first time Kestus pondered the question. At first it had been an angry response to his feelings of betrayal, but this time Kestus turned the query over in his mind, examining it from different angles. Secrecy had been an integral part of the functioning of the society back in Luthcheq. How much did he really know any of his fellow mages?

  This is not the same, Kestus argued with himself. And yet, Kohtakah had never worked against the goals of the society. He hadn’t been the one to betray them to the Karanoks. Kestus snarled soundlessly as an image of Therescales sitting silently at the table, listening to their plans to free Ythnel, flashed through his thoughts. Kestus swore once more to himself that that man would pay for his crimes.

  “Sounds like quite the storm brewing outside.” Muctos pushed back from the pages of the book lying in front of him and glanced nervously at the walls and ceiling of the vault.

  “Been a while since we’ve had a real good one this winter,” Kestus replied. He stretched, scratched his backside, and strolled over to the doorway, where he leaned against the jamb. He had barely crossed his arms over his chest when he jerked upright, twirled around, and strode back to the table.

  “Someone’s coming.” The echoed sound of someone shuffling down the steps immediately followed his warning. Muctos and Kohtakah stopped what they were doing, and all three men peered ahead curiously. A shadow appeared at the base of the stairs, growing in eerie coordination with the intensity of the wind outside. At the height of the howling crescendo, a man appeared. His receding hair was plastered to his scalp, and water dripped from his hooked nose. As the man entered the vault, Kestus could see tiny gashes laced his arms, and there were dark spots on his soaked tunic.

  “The city is under attack,” the man said in a rush between panting breaths. “Lord Mulkammu sent me down here to protect—” An arrowhead burst through the man’s chest before he could finish. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he toppled to the dirt floor. Kestus watched him fall then looked up to see Ythnel standing at the base of the stairs, a bow held up in her left hand, her right hand still poised at her shoulder where she released the bowstring.

  “Come on! We don’t have much time,” she shouted to them.

  “Grab what you can,” Kestus ordered immediately. Muctos scooped up some wands while Kestus grabbed the book he was studying and the black orb that had first caught his attention upon entering the vault. As he turned to leave, his eyes locked with Kohtakah’s. The werecreature was just standing there, his brow furrowed as though he were locked in some sort of great internal struggle.

  “Are you coming?” Kestus asked. Kohtakah’s eyes widened, surprised perhaps that Kestus had assumed that he wouldn’t try to stop them, let alone made the offer. Kestus was a bit taken aback himself, but it had been a gut reaction, and even now he knew he wouldn’t take it back even if he had the chance.

  “We need to go. Now,” Ythnel insisted. It appeared that was enough to decide Kohtakah. He nodded at Kestus and grabbed the staff of dark, twisted wood from where it rested on the rack against the left wall. Kestus followed, taking a torch from its sconce beside the vault door. Then they were running up the stairs and into the main chamber. Ythnel paused at the entrance to the temple, opening the door only partway and peering out into the night. Kestus came up next to her and glanced out.

  “What’s going on? What happened to you?”

  “The wererats are attacking. There was a werecrocodile raid on their settlement. They think I was taken. I slipped away when the guard assigned to me was killed. I followed the wererats here.

  “We have to move quickly, though. I don’t think the attack will last much longer. The wererats are unorganized, and the werecrocodiles are stronger. We have to make it to the bay before they realize you’re gone. Are you sure you trust him?” Ythnel jerked her head slightly in the direction of Kohtakah. Kestus nodded.

  “All right, then. Follow me.” Ythnel darted out into the darkness and the rain, leaving Kestus with his mouth open and more questions swirling in his head. He ran after Ythnel, the torch he carried hissing as droplets of water struck it. He could hear Muctos and Kohtakah sloshing through the muck after him, but he didn’t risk looking back on the chance he might lose sight of the Loviatan’s dim shape weaving through the buildings ahead. Occasionally, screams and shouts rose above the fury of the storm on their left or just ahead of them, pinpointing the clashes between the werecreatures.

  The group turned a corner and ran right into the middle of one such clash.

  The
wererats had transformed into their hybrid ratmen forms and were clawing at the armored and better-armed humanoid werecrocodiles. Ythnel, several feet ahead of the mages, careened into the retreating backs of the wererats. They parted, a few of them tripping over her, and she stumbled into the outstretched arms of a stunned werecrocodile. Before anyone could react, in one motion she slammed her right elbow into the nose of the werecrocodile holding her, drew back the string of the bow she carried, and released the arrow she had nocked. It flew point blank into the face of the wererat right across form her, and as the dead body fell, transforming back into a human, she dived over it to rejoin Kestus and the others.

  “That was impressive,” Kestus breathed, helping Ythnel up.

  “We should run,” she said, herding them back the way they came. Sure enough, Kestus could see over Ythnel’s shoulder that both groups of werecreatures were shaking off their momentary surprise and starting after them.

  Kestus tossed his torch to Kohtakah, sidestepped Ythnel, and set down the items he was carrying.

  “What are you doing?” she called back, pausing.

  He was tired of running. He had never been the biggest or strongest kid growing up, and neither of his parents were fighters, so no one had taught him how to defend himself. His father’s advice had been to run whenever Kestus found himself in a situation he couldn’t handle.

  While sound advice, following it had never sat quite right with Kestus. He hated being called a coward whenever he ran. More important, though, something inside of him wanted to stand up to the bullies. He longed for a different, better way.

  Magic became that way for him.

  He readily admitted he practiced the Art for the power it gave him. Kestus had never been the scholarly type. It was not that he wasn’t bright; he just didn’t get excited by pouring over obscure writings, trying to uncover long-lost lore. He suffered the studying because it was necessary to gain the power.

  Fortunately, he had just spent the past few hours engaged in such studying.

  Kestus brought his hands up and cupped them around his mouth, forming a funnel that would amplify his voice. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he coughed out the single word he had read earlier from the book that now lay at his feet.

  A circular ripple formed in the air inches from of his mouth. It expanded and pushed outward, followed by another circle, then another and another, until four concentric, circular ripples filled the entire street and were hurtling toward the werecreatures. When the first ripple hit, a loud boom was released, knocking several of the wererats to the mud. The following ripples produced similar results, until all the werecreatures lay on the ground. Blood trickled from the ears and noses of several of them.

  Kestus scooped up the book and the orb and followed after his fleeing companions. They didn’t get too far. A column of armored werecrocodiles was marching down the center of the avenue, heading straight for them. Kohtakah pointed to an empty street to their left, and they rushed for it. The column turned to follow. Muctos paused at the corner and fumbled a wand out of the bundle at his belt. He glanced at it for a moment before pointing it at the column and barking a harsh command. Lightning lanced out from its tip and raced through the column, turning the werecrocodiles into a mass of smoking, charred flesh.

  “That was a dangerous risk,” Kestus shouted at Muctos when he finally caught up. “You had no idea what might have happened.” Muctos smiled and pointed at the handle of the wand. Engraved in the metal was the Draconic word for lightning. Kestus laughed and patted his friend on the back.

  Kohtakah was in the lead now, steering them through the maze of half-formed buildings. Shouts of alarm and brusque commands rose from all around. It was apparent that the tide was turning against the wererats. Their assault had been beaten back, and now the werecrocodiles were systematically hunting down any remaining enemies. Kestus worried that they would be caught in the slowly closing net as well.

  They ducked down a narrow lane between two huts and came face-to-face with a group of ratmen slinking away through the shadows. Both groups stood facing each other, the tension palpable. The lead wererat noticed Ythnel, and its eyes narrowed.

  “You,” it hissed.

  “Torgyn?”

  “So you escaped. And are these your wizard friends?” An evil grin split his narrow muzzle. “You will come with us.” He motioned for his comrades to surround them.

  “No,” Ythnel said firmly. She gripped a mace she had picked up from a fallen werecrocodile in her right hand. “We’re leaving—by ourselves.”

  Torgyn snarled and lunged at her with the short sword he wielded. Ythnel took a step to the side and batted his blade down and away from her with the mace. Kohtakah spoke and a fan of flame shot from the splayed fingers of his hands to engulf two wererats that were trying to flank them on their right. The wererats dropped to the ground, thrashing in the mud until the flames were extinguished. Patches of missing fur exposed seared flesh; the two wererats scrambled backward and fled to cower in a corner nearby.

  Ythnel and the wererat leader continued their duel while the mages kept the remaining wererats at bay. Torgyn slipped past Ythnel’s guard, but the Loviatan brought her left forearm down, deflecting his sword from its intended target and receiving a nasty gash from her wrist to her elbow. She followed up with a blow to the shoulder of his sword arm. Kestus expected to hear the crunch of bone as the metal-studded head of the mace made contact, but there was only a soft thud. Torgyn grinned.

  “Your simple weapon can’t hurt me. You’ve caused me a lot of trouble. I’ve lost half my men coming after you. You’re not worth that, not even four of you, but I can’t let the werecrocodiles have you either. So I think instead of taking you prisoner, I’m just going to kill all of you.” He advanced on Ythnel, his menacing look a promise of death. Emboldened by their leader’s words, the other two wererats closed in as well.

  Kestus heard someone speaking behind him and turned to see Muctos holding what looked like a wispy piece of thread between his finger and thumb. Kestus recognized the words his fellow mage was chanting and shouted at Kohtakah and Ythnel, who were standing in front of him.

  “Duck!”

  The pair dived to the muddy street as Muctos completed his incantation. The threadlike substance that he had been holding shot out in a stream toward the three wererats, expanding into thick webbing that entangled the werecreatures. The momentum of the spell forced them back, slamming them into the wall of a nearby building and pinning them there.

  “I’ll kill you, Ythnel!” Torgyn screamed as they ran past him. Kohtakah paused long enough to put the torch to the webbing and set it afire.

  They continued to make their way through the werecrocodile city. Kohtakah led the way unerringly at a swift pace that soon had Kestus and Muctos panting for breath. As they crossed a large street, someone shouted out Kohtakah’s name, and he stopped. The entire group turned to see Lord Mulkammu not a hundred feet away, with at least ten bowmen behind him.

  “I am very disappointed, Royal Sorcerer. You put these humans before your own people. If you stop now, though, and return them to me, I will forgive you.”

  “I am sorry, my lord. I cannot do that. They have become as much my brothers as you.”

  “Then I label you a traitor, and you will die with your new ‘brothers.’ Archers, fire!” No sooner had the command been given than Kohtakah began to chant, his hands moving almost frantically in the air before him. The archers let loose their arrows. No one could move as the missiles flew toward them. Kohtakah was still casting, and Kestus couldn’t help but wonder if this would be their end.

  The wind suddenly picked up, rushing with a howl from all directions. Kestus’s robe and hair whipped about him, forcing him to turn his head protectively. From the corner of his squinting eye, he watched for the arrow that would pierce his heart. It never happened. An invisible curtain of wind rushed up in front of the party, deflecting the arrows upward. None of them struck their intended targ
et.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Kestus shouted. Ythnel and Muctos eagerly obeyed, but Kohtakah stood rooted in his spot, eyes locked with Mulkammu. Kestus grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along.

  Finally, they broke from the ruins into some brush not far from the edge of the island. Ythnel paused for a moment, and the mages all bent over, their lungs heaving as they tried to replenish their supply of oxygen.

  “Quiet,” Ythnel said in a hoarse whisper.

  Their labored breathing slowly subsided, leaving only the sound of the bay waters lapping at the shore, and the splash of raindrops. A rustle snapped all their heads to the right. Kestus signaled Kohtakah to hold the torch up high, and he took a step in the direction of the sound.

  From out of the brush lunged a massive crocodile, its jaws snapping relentlessly at Kestus. The mage backpedaled, but he caught his heel on a root and tripped, stumbling backward to land on his rear. Both the orb and the book he was carrying went flying off into the night. He scooted away, his arms and legs flailing to keep out of range of the pursuing crocodile’s crushing bite, but he was losing ground. Kohtakah threw the torch at the reptile’s head, but the brand bounced harmlessly off its rough hide and landed in the mire, extinguished. Sure he was about to die, Kestus uttered a prayer to Mystra.

  A buzzing sound rushed toward Kestus, and he threw his arm up defensively, bracing for whatever was about to happen. Through squinted eyes, he saw a swarm of black beetles fly between him and the charging crocodile. In an instant, the creature was entirely covered in dark, crawling carapaces. It began to thrash about, trying to dislodge the stinging and biting insects, its original prey all but forgotten. Kestus rolled to his feet and ran back to the others. Kohtakah was lowering the staff he had taken from the vault.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Ythnel said, and they all jogged to the water’s edge.

  “There are some old fishing boats beached along here,” Kohtakah offered. They moved along the bank, searching. It was hard to see in the darkness, but as they got closer, Kestus could make out the shape of a flat-bottomed skiff. There were no paddles, but Muctos found a couple of old planks lying nearby and tossed them in. Once everyone was aboard, Kestus pushed the boat out into the bay and hopped in.