When she reached the bar, there was nowhere to stand or sit. A tall, husky man with a clean-shaved pate and a gold hoop in his right ear shoved another patron who had passed out on a stool. A puddle of drool had formed around his head as it lay on the bar. The push sent the unconscious drunk to the floor, where he continued to snore. Ythnel nodded and took the seat, ordering a tankard of ale from the scruffy bartender.
"So what brings a pretty lady like yourself to this fine establishment?'' the husky man asked.
"I'm meeting someone here," Ythnel said, avoiding the man's gaze by searching the crowd.
"Ya shore ya in da right place?" the tavern master asked when he returned with her drink.
"Actually, no," she replied, turning to look at the round face covered in splotches of short, bristly hair. "Is Lord Naeros here?"
"I ain't seen 'im," the bartender said, a knowing grin growing on his mouth, "an' I don' reckon 'e gonna be 'ere tonight." Ythnel nodded, set down her untouched tankard along with a few coins, and got up to leave.
"Where you goin', pretty?" The husky man was suddenly in front of her, his stained vest and the barely contained flesh underneath filling her view. "Just 'cause your 'lord' ain't here don't mean you gotta leave."
"You're quite right," Ythnel said, smiling. "I could certainly enjoy myself with such a fine specimen as yourself." She leaned in, her eyes smoldering, and wet her lips with a lick of her tongue.
"Now, that's what I'm talking abouuhn." The man grunted as Ythnel delivered a blow to his solar plexus, followed with a heel to his left knee. She gave him another fist just under his sternum, and the man crumpled to the floor on his side. Ythnel stepped over him, ignoring the gaping jaws of the remaining patrons, and left the Vampire's Tooth.
The Black Mercy was only a few blocks west of where Kestus had dropped her off. It was a flat-roofed, single-story building of white stone from which rolled the sounds of merrymaking to mix with the noise of the crowds in the streets outside. Ythnel stood across the street for a few moments, watching well-dressed men and women coming and going from the tavern. With its strategic position near the palace and the apparently higher class of clientele, Ythnel was certain she would find her prey here. She made her way through the celebrants and entered the tavern.
A minstrel played upon a stage to the left. There were tables spread across the center of the taproom, booths on the right wall, and the bar in the back. She spotted Naeros almost immediately. Dressed in a fur-trimmed cloak over a black tunic with the Karanok crest embroidered on his left breast, he sat at a table on the far side of the stage near the bar. A wench snuggled in his lap while he drank and joked with three of his thugs. Ythnel let her gaze stay on Naeros long enough to make eye contact when he finally looked her way. Then she casually looked away and headed for the other end of the bar, feeling his eyes on her the whole way. Ordering a tallglass of wine, she turned to watch the minstrel's performance, keeping track of Naeros from the periphery of her vision. In predictable fashion, he unceremoniously dumped the wench as he stood and sauntered toward her, waving off his henchman when they rose hesitantly to follow. Ythnel continued to ignore him until he spoke.
"I don't believe I've seen you around before. My name is Naeros Karanok." He offered her a smile she was sure he thought was his most charming.
"I know who you are," she said, sparing him a quick glance before taking a sip of her wine and returning her attention to the stage, a coy smile on her lips.
"Well, then, you have me at a disadvantage, and I hate being at a disadvantage. Might I know your name?"
"I am Reary."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Reary." He took her free hand and brought it to his lips. "Would you care to join me?" He motioned to the wall of booths.
"They are all full, my lord."
"Something I will remedy immediately." Naeros moved to the nearest both and cleared his throat. The occupants looked at who was standing before them and quickly vacated. Naeros smiled at Ythnel and offered her a seat first; then he sat opposite her. A serving girl appeared, and Naeros ordered a bottle of wine for them. When the serving girl returned with the bottle and an empty tallglass, Naeros refilled Ythnel's glass then poured his own. He sniffed the bouquet then clinked his glass off hers and took a sip.
"So I haven't seen you before, and your name is not common to this region. I'm guessing you're a visitor to our fair city. Is this your first time to Luthcheq?"
Ythnel took a sip of her wine and smiled. The man was quite astute. She would have to be careful and not give herself away. "No, my lord. I've been here once before."
"And what brought you back, business or pleasure?"
"A little of both. Truth be told, you're the reason I came back." Ythnel knew she was taking a gamble. Being this forward might put him off or make him suspicious.
Fortunately, it appeared his ego was quite large enough to accept that a beautiful woman would come back to Luthcheq just to meet him. He arched his eyebrow at Ythnel and leaned toward her, placing his hand over hers.
"Really? Why would that be?"
"You have quite a.. reputation. I wanted to see such a man for myself." Ythnel smiled through her eyelashes, her foot rubbing against Naeros's calf under the table.
"Well, you've seen me now. What do you think?"
"That there is more to you than I could possibly learn about sitting here in this tavern."
"That, my dear, is certainly true, but I think I have a solution. Why don't we spend the rest of the evening at my tower?" Without waiting for an answer, Naeros slid from the booth and held his hand out for Ythnel. She smiled and accepted it.
They walked out of the Black Mercy alone, Naeros having dismissed his men. His arm and cloak were draped over Ythnel's shoulder as they maneuvered through the crowd. She half-listened as he went on about himself, going over in her head what she wanted to happen next. So far, everything was moving in the direction she had planned. For a moment, she wondered what Kestus was doing and if she would see him again.
That train of thought was interrupted by a sudden crawling of the skin between Ythnel's shoulder blades. Someone was watching them. She glanced behind them but couldn't see anyone suspicious amongst the revelers.
"What is it?" Naeros asked, stopping.
"Oh, nothing really," Ythnel lied. "I'm just amazed at the enthusiasm of the people. It must be freezing out here, yet no one seems to care."
"Chessentans do love their celebrations, and the citizens of Luthcheq even more so." Naeros smiled and led her on again. They crossed the manicured grounds of Naeros's tower, the sounds of the Midwinter festival suddenly distant as they passed under the great trees that formed a semicircular barrier between the Karanok home and city. They stopped before a single wooden door at the base of the tower. While Naeros fumbled for his key, movement back in the trees caught Ythnel's eye. She studied the shadows but couldn't make out anything except thick trunks and leafless branches. A click signaled Naeros's success at unlocking the door, which he held open for Ythnel. Shaking her head at whatever phantoms her nerves were conjuring, Ythnel turned and walked inside.
Therescales weaved his way through the celebrants, his cloak wrapped tightly around him, his focus straight ahead. It was time to leave Luthcheq. Jaerios had been dropping some not-ssubtle hints that Therescales' usefulness to him was quickly waning. With the Mage Society gone, that left Therescales as the only remaining wizard within the city, and Jaerios was ready to concentrate his efforts on purging the arcane elsewhere. He did not want to have to worry anymore about its presence at home.
So, always trying to stay one step ahead of the madman, Therescales decided to make his exit. Tonight, under the cover of the citywide festival, was the perfect opportunity. There were just a few things to pick up from his home first.
He climbed the steps to the front door of the house once owned by his former mentor. The irony of the choice to live here after Haraxius was executed by the Karanoks had always amused Therescales, thou
gh in hindsight, he was surprised it had never aroused suspicion among the society. With a shrug of his shoulders, Therescales unlocked his door and walked inside. It was nothing he had to worry about anymore.
Lighting a candle at the entryway, Therescales headed down the hall to his bedroom. He grabbed a couple of changes of clothing and shoved them in a pack. He went to the kitchen next and stuffed some bread and dried meat into an empty sack. All that was left were a few items to gather from the study. He crossed the living room and spoke the command that opened a secret panel in the wall.
"Hello, Brother Asp."
Therescales whirled back to the living room, searching for the source of the voice, but no one was there. Then he heard chanting, and a figure appeared before him. He reached for his dagger, but his limbs felt like lead. In seconds, he was unable to move except to breathe, paralyzed by the intruder's spell. Forced to look straight ahead, he studied the man who now stood before him. The face, with brown hair, a square jaw, and intense, dark eyes, was unfamiliar. He wore a gray, undecorated tabard over a robe of purple. Most striking, however, was the gray tint to the man's skin. Whoever he was, he had to be a mage. That was the only way he could have known Therescales' secret identity.
"I doubt you recognize me," the man said, "but you know what I am, don't you." He walked toward Therescales as he spoke. Therescales could see the hatred, the vengeance, burning in his eyes. Realizing this man meant to kill him, Therescales struggled in his mind to overcome the enchantment that held him.
"How could you betray us to the Karanoks?" The man circled Therescales, his arms folded into the sleeves of his robe. "Were the rumors true? Did you turn in Haraxius as well? No, it does not matter. There is still the blood of the society on your hands. I am here to see that the cries of those who died because of you are answered."
The mage stopped and brought up his hands. He began to weave a pattern in the air with them, his voice intoning Draconic syllables. Therescales recognized the incantation, and his adrenaline surged. By sheer force of will, he broke the spell that held him and in one motion, grabbed his dagger and flung it at the spellcaster. The mage didn't even flinch as the blade struck him in the chest with the chink of metal against stone and bounced harmlessly away. A ball of fire began to grow in the air between the man's hands. Therescales crouched, searching for some way to avoid the coming attack. The mage finished his spell and sent the growing fireball hurtling toward Therescales. At the last moment, Therescales leaped backward, and the fireball rushed over his diving form, singeing the front of his clothes as it passed. Seconds later, it impacted on the far wall of the living room, exploding in a shower of flames and creating a hole big enough for a man to walk through to the outside.
Dazed and his ears ringing, Therescales scrambled to his feet, bracing for another arcane blow, but the Shockwave of the explosion had knocked the mage prone as well, and the man was^ust now struggling to get up. Taking his chance, Therescales dashed through the still-burning hole in the wall and out into the street, running for all he was worth and not looking back.
Kestus stood and cursed. The man was as slippery as his Mage Society namesake. Through the flames licking the far wall, he could see Therescales fleeing down the street and knew the man had too great of a head start.
That wasn't about to stop him.
From a pouch on his belt, Kestus produced a licorice root. He had hoped to save this spell as a means of escape should things have gone bad, but now it was his only hope of catching Therescales. Reciting the incantation, he waved his other hand over the root before tossing it into his mouth. It dissolved on his tongue instantly. Then Kestus took off running.
The feeling was exhilarating. Crisp winter air rushed passed him as he sped after Therescales. Once again, the magic made him feel alive. He laughed with the pure joy of it.
Therescales must have heard him, for the man looked over his shoulder and gave a startled cry when he saw the mage closing the gap between them. He darted down a lane to their left, but Kestus followed right behind. Kestus rounded the corner and found himself at the edge of a sea of revelers. Therescales had already waded in and was about halfway through.
Not about to give up now, Kestus shoved his way through, earning sour looks from those he jostled. He didn't bother to apologize. By the time he broke through, Therescales had reached the end of the street. Kestus growled in frustration. He could feel the magic that granted him the extra speed starting to dissipate. If he didn't catch up quickly, he would lose Therescales for good.
That's when a patrol of city guards appeared from the cross-street Therescales was nearing. Upon spotting them, the rogue shouted at them and began pointing back down the street at Kestus. The guards looked his way and began marching toward him. Therescales once more ran off into the night without looking back.
"Azuth's beard," Kestus swore. Several nearby citizens gave him odd looks at the mention of the patron of mages. When they noted his stony skin, they gasped and backed away. "If they think that's bad," he muttered, "wait until they see this." Pulling some dried bat guano and a pinch of sulfur from his pouch, Kestus began casting the same spell he had used in Therescales' home. The ball of fire formed in the air before him, and he sent it hurtling toward the approaching guards. The crowd behind Kestus gasped when it exploded as it reached the patrol. When the smoke cleared, four charred bodies lay in the middle of the street.
"It's a wizard," someone cried, which brought several screams from individuals in the crowd. The reaction was not unexpected, but it still caused Kestus's heart to ache. Why couldn't they realize what he already knew? On an impulse, he decided to show them. He turned to the crowd.
"Don't be afraid," he called out to them. "Magic is not evil. That is a lie propagated by the Karanoks. It is a tool, like a smith's hammer or a carpenter's saw. It can create beautiful things." Kestus evoked a cantrip he had learned long ago and sent a dazzling flare of light high up into the night sky where it burst like a falling star. Murmurs of appreciation rose from the crowd.
"I was born and raised in this city," Kestus continued, drawing the crowd's attention back to him. "I have been persecuted by the Karanoks because of my ability, my craft." He was working them now. A glance at the buildings around him had reminded Kestus that he was practically in the center of the merchant district of Luthcheq. Sister Rat's report on the tension between the city's business class and the Karanoks sprang to mind. Perhaps he could get the anger seething just under the surface to finally erupt.
"I am tired of that persecution, and I'm making a stand. The Karanoks can no longer impose their tyrannical will on me. And you should stand up to them as well."
"Why?" someone shouted. "We're not wizards." That brought a few nervous chuckles from the crowd.
"No, but you are oppressed just the same. The Karanoks have increased the taxes they levy against you in order to fund this crusade of theirs. They fear magic, and they are desperate to be rid of it. If we got rid of them, however, not only would those taxes be lifted, but it would no longer be illegal to use magic or trade with those who do."
Kestus could hear the gathered citizens start to talk amongst themselves. His heart raced. Had he gotten through to them? Were they going to follow him against the Karanoks? He held his breath.
The tromping of metal-shod feet echoed from down the street. Kestus turned to see a large contingent of city guards appear, bristling with crossbows and spears. Swept up by the idea of leading a rebellion, he called to the crowd once more.
"Now is our chance to rise up and throw off the chains the Karanoks have wrapped around our necks. Are you with me?"
A couple of errant crossbow bolts whizzed over the heads of the crowd and bounced off nearby buildings. As one, the crowd screamed and ran the other way. Kestus swore. He looked back to the approaching guards. There were too many to take out before they reached him. Kestus sprinted after the crowd, his speed back to normal now that the spell had worn off. He made it back to the street where
Therescales' house was and paused, trying to decide what to do. He wondered how Ythnel was faring. Even though his personal quest for vengeance had failed, perhaps he could find her and help her still.
First he would need to lose the guards. Word of a wizard loose on foot in the city would spread quickly. He needed a better way to get around.
He spotted an unattended carriage parked by the curb another block up.
The sounds of celebration spilled from the building as Kestus approached. No one was standing around outside, so he climbed into the driver's seat and took the reins in hand. As he slapped the horses into motion, a man stepped from the alley next to the building, frantically lacing up the front of his britches.
"Hey, stop! Where are you going with that carriage?"
"Consider it your Midwinter present to me!" Kestus hollered over his shoulder as he sped down the street.
"And these are my chambers." Naeros swung the ornate, wooden door inward, revealing a large, four-poster bed draped in silk sheets of dark red. He let Reary enter in front of him, pausing in the doorway to watch her as her eyes swept across the room. He smiled at the thought of how undoubtedly impressed she had to be with his collection of handcrafted furniture; a matching armoire and desk completed the set he had had imported from the forests of the Great Dale. He closed the door behind himself with a soft click and came up behind Reary, putting his hands on her now-bare shoulders. Her creamy white skin was smooth and warm to his touch. He leaned in to inhale the fragrance of her hair, but she pulled away, striding over to one of the stone walls.
"What's this?" She asked, examining a loop of braided leather attached to a six-inch handle hanging on the wall. Every few inches along the braid, a metal bead was embedded.
"That is whip. I collect them," he said proudly, sweeping his arm out to encompass the room. He studied Reary for a reaction as she noticed for the first time the various whips hanging at intervals on the walls of the chamber. "It's a hobby of mine."
Maiden of Pain p-3 Page 20
