I was numb with horror and shock, while at the same time filled with a cold heartless rage. Walking over, I bent down to pull the dagger from Devon Tremont’s belt, which was already partly undone. From the looks of things he hadn’t had time to bring his crime to fruition. It hardly mattered, Penny was dead. Her virginity or lack thereof would not bring her back to life, would not make her smile at me again. I knelt beside the bed, and though I cannot remember feeling anything but a cold numbness, tears ran down my face.
Carefully, I brought the dagger to bear, directly over the bastard’s still beating heart, careful not to prick him with the point, lest it wake him before I made the final plunge. I held it there for a timeless moment. My only worry was that it was too clean a death, better than he deserved. That momentary debate was all that saved his life.
A sudden sound broke my train of thought, an incongruous noise, too improbable to belong there. Penny was snoring. If it had been a light snore I might have missed it, but this was no delicate thing, it was a deep rumbling vibration. The sort a fat farmer might make after having too much ale and passing out in his bed. It led me out of the dark place that had replaced my heart, and improbably I began to laugh.
It was an awful laugh as such things go; when it started it was terrible, a wretched gibbering sound. It was the sort of laugh to make townsfolk shutter their windows and lock their doors. As it stretched on though, my stomach relaxed, and I began to laugh more naturally, a deep belly laugh, interspersed with gasps as I struggled to catch my breath. Eventually the laughter faded into tears, and I cried quietly ‘till I got control of myself.
Easing myself up from the floor, I began to think. Carefully I drew the splinter from Penny’s leg, which caused it to start bleeding again. I watched her face to see if she might waken, but I had put a lot of power into the spell, and she hardly stirred. Reaching down I cut a long strip from the bed sheet and used it to bind her wound. Then I straightened up and surveyed the room.
It was a mess to say the least. Jewelry lay scattered on the floor, interspersed with oaken shards. The sheets were stained where Penny had bled upon them, and two people lay sleeping in varying degrees of disarray. It was too much to deal with all at once, so I did the most important thing first. Bending down, I slipped my arms underneath Penelope, easing one arm behind her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. It was not the best angle to stand up from, and I staggered for a moment, nearly stepping on Devon’s head. Aww, that would have been a shame, to ruin those pretty features, I thought sarcastically. I couldn’t risk waking him though. Penny was not a slight girl, she was nearly as tall as I was, and hard work had given her plenty of muscle, yet she felt light as a feather in my arms. Adrenaline I supposed, but I didn’t bother to think about it.
I walked out into the hallway and made my way to my room as quickly as I could. Hers might have been better, but I had no idea where she kept her quarters. Gently I laid her upon my bed, taking a moment to cover her with the blankets. I returned to the hall and recovered the book where I had left it leaning against the wall and went back to stow it safely with the others in my room. Each trip took several minutes, and I worried constantly that I might meet someone in the halls. It was past midnight, and my luck held, the corridors were deserted. I still had several problems.
I needed help, and there was only one person I could trust at this hour. Fifteen minutes later I was standing outside the door of the Thornbear household. Lord Thornbear was the seneschal for Castle Lancaster, and accordingly his family lived in the large bailey overlooking the main gate. The night air was damp and a light rain had begun, so I was a little wet when I got to their door, which suited my mood just fine. A sleepy servant opened the door, a man I knew from my previous stays with the Thornbear family. I’m not sure if he had a surname as I had only ever heard him addressed as ‘Remy’.
“Mort, what in the name of the gods are you doing out here at this hour?” He kept his voice lowered to keep from waking the family.
“Remy, I know this seems odd, but I want you to wake Dorian for me, quietly if you can. I need to speak with him.” I tried to put as much sincerity in my voice as possible.
“Fine, fine, let me see...” he turned and promptly ran into the door frame. “Damn!” he cursed quietly, “Nobody cares if Remy gets any sleep now do they? No, of course they don’t, Remy don’t need no sleep do he?” He was muttering to himself as he stumbled back into the Thornbear family rooms.
I waited anxiously for several minutes before Dorian appeared at the door. “Mort, I don’t mean to be rude, but it is really late...” he started. Then he saw my face. Something there must have tipped him to my desperation. “Hang on, let me get my cloak.”
A moment later we were hurrying back across the courtyard to the castle proper. I should mention that Dorian is one of those rare individuals who sleep wearing a long stocking cap. He had forgotten to remove it in his haste, and I didn’t have the heart to remind him. Some things are better left unsaid, and I needed all the humor I could find that dark night.
As we went, I tried to explain to him what had happened, but I don’t think it sank in properly ‘till he saw Penny sleeping in my bed. With the covers drawn, she looked like an angel lying there.
“Do you know where her chamber is? I need to get her back to her own room before she wakes.” I told him.
“Sure, but I doubt we can get her in there without waking the other maids,” he replied.
“Leave that to me.” I moved over to stand at the side of the bed, preparing myself to pick her up again.
“Do you need me to carry her?” he asked. I considered his offer for a moment, but something inside of me snarled at the thought of anyone else touching her. Something had broken inside when I found her in that room, and I didn’t yet even know to mourn for my lost innocence.
“No, no, I have her. If you could just help with the doors and lead the way.” I drew back the covers and lifted her from the bed. This time I could feel the strain in my back, exhaustion and lack of sleep were beginning to take their toll.
The air hissed between Dorian’s teeth as he drew a sharp breath, seeing her state. The torn dress, the blood, I couldn’t blame him. I felt much the same. I cradled her in my arms and looked into his gaze. Fury dwelled within him, and I wondered what he might do once we had put her safely in her bed. “Who did this Mordecai?” His voice held dark intent.
“Not yet Dorian, we have to take care of Penny first.” I prayed he could keep his calm.
“I said… who did this Mordecai?!” He wasn’t in a mood to wait.
“Listen Dorian,” I started to say, but he interrupted me.
“No you listen! I want to know who did this, and I want to know now!” He was shouting.
“Goddammit!” I yelled back, “Shut the fuck up and think for a second!” I believe that was the first time I had ever raised my voice to him. He closed his mouth, startled, so I went on, “What do you think will happen to Penny if someone sees her like this? She’ll be ruined! Her father is destitute, she has no dowry. She’d never be able to get married. No one would take her! Whether she’s been ‘spoiled’ or not won’t matter once the rumors start flying.” I took a deep breath and calmed down. Looking at Dorian, I could see he was still listening.
“Now are you going to help me get her to her room, or do I have to do it by myself?” I said, starting toward the door. Dorian was there before me and got it open.
He led me down several flights of stairs to the lowest floor of the keep; staying ahead of me the entire way, checking each doorway to see if anyone was up and about. We got to the maid’s quarters without incident, yet when he opened the door someone stirred. It was fairly dark, but a woman’s nervous voice called out, “Who’s there?” Dorian ducked back from the entryway quickly, and I didn’t waste any time.
“Shibal,” I put as much strength into it as I could still muster, not bothering to focus it in any particular direction. Again I noticed that Dorian was c
ompletely unfazed. I would really have to look into that one of these days, but now was not the time. I stepped inside and looked around.
It was too dark to see, so Dorian lit a lamp after I assured him none of the occupants would be waking up anytime soon. The room contained five small beds; all but one held sleeping women. Dorian drew the sheets back while I placed her carefully on the empty bed. Then I began the difficult process of getting her clothes off.
“What are you doing?” Dorian hissed at me.
“Turn around if it bothers you. I’ve got to get rid of the evidence. In fact, turn around anyway, it bothers me.” When had I developed this jealous streak?
I wasn’t having any luck with her dress, so I drew my knife and began cutting it away. It was already in tatters, so it didn’t matter. Once I had it off, I couldn’t help but look at her for a moment. Say what you will, but I’d like to see you pretend not to notice the most beautiful woman in the world lying naked in front of you. If you said you hadn’t stared, even for a moment, I’d call you a damn liar.
Regardless, I was very focused on making sure Penny was safe. I drew the covers over her and stood back up. Glancing around I noticed a plain nightdress neatly folded under her bedside table. I quickly dismissed the thought of dressing her in it. I didn’t see how I could manage it properly, so she would just have to figure that part out in the morning. I also took a moment to make sure she had a second uniform. It turns out she had three, well—two now. That was one thing less to worry about at least.
I balled up her ruined outfit and rummaged about the room for a moment till I found a scrap of parchment and a charcoal pencil. I hastily penned a note:
Say nothing. We’ll talk later.
~Mort
I tucked the note under her nightdress and hoped she would find it in the morning. Then we went, leaving the room much as we had found it. It was near three in the morning now, and I worried that Devon might have woken up while we were about our business. I needn’t have worried though. He was still sleeping like a babe when we got back to his room, the bastard.
I turned to find Dorian staring at the scene, “Where’s the door Mort?” He looked at the splintered wood on the ground and then saw the look in my eyes. I had never seen fear in my stalwart friend’s face before, but I saw it flicker there now. It made me feel old and tired; a strange sensation to have at sixteen. “Did you?” he motioned at the shattered wood with his hand.
“Yeah,” I answered. What else was I going to say? Then I heard Devon stir, as if he might wake. “Shibal” I put as much strength as remained to me into it. A wave of dizziness swept over me, and I nearly fainted then, but Dorian caught my shoulder as I swayed and helped me sit down on the bed.
I looked at the floor for a moment, trying to think, when I heard the sound of steel being drawn. Dorian was moving toward Devon now, cold murder on his face. “Wait!” I said.
“Why?” he asked in return.
“Honestly I don’t know, but if we kill him now we’re both dead men, and I don’t think that would make Penny very happy. If we’re going to give this bastard his comeuppance we’ll have to find another way, but not now, not tonight. We’re too tired to think straight,” I said. That sounded entirely too logical to be coming out of my mouth. Someone else must have been talking when I wasn’t looking.
Dorian struggled with himself for a moment before finally sheathing his sword, “Alright,” he said, “what do we do about the door?”
“Well there’s no way to fix it,” I replied. “Would one of the other doors fit?”
“Wait here,” he answered.
Dorian looked like he knew what he was doing, so I laid back on the bed and waited. I must have dozed off for a bit, because it seemed like only a moment before he returned carrying another door. He had a hammer and a couple of other tools tucked into his belt.
He soon had the new door on the hinges, and I had to admit it looked a lot like the original. I wasn’t sure if anyone would notice the difference, but I was too tired to care. Dorian went off again and came back with a broom. I swear he was getting positively domestic. He cleaned the floor without my help, but I like to think I supervised. He got all the wood up he could find, being careful to leave the jewelry where it lay; then in a stroke of pure genius, he plucked up a bottle of red wine from the credenza.
“Wha’?” I asked intelligently, as he smashed it on the floor next to Devon’s head.
“Maybe the fool will think she brained him with it. At the very least his clothes will be ruined, he should count himself lucky.” He helped me up and half carried me to my own room. You can never have enough friends like Dorian, but I was grateful for him. I never could have finished our night’s deception without his aid.
I sank slowly into the soft feather bed, but as I drifted off I couldn’t help but wonder, what would Devon think when he discovered his key no longer fit the lock on his chamber door? That made me chuckle for a second, then I was asleep.
Chapter VIII
FOR THE SAME REASON MAGES eschew purely mental methods for channeling their abilities, use of the common tongue for that purpose is generally avoided. The best tool for controlling aythar is usually considered to be a dead language, one acquired by deliberate learning after reaching puberty. It is also believed that languages which have been used for this purpose over many generations serve best, as the words and phrases gain a certain amount of power in their own right. Because of this, even individuals with a moderate to low emittance are sometimes able to effect minor spells by using language and symbols that have absorbed some inherent power due to long use by mages past.
~Marcus the Heretic,
On the Nature of Faith and Magic
Devon woke early the next morning, only two hours after Mordecai had at last fallen asleep. He was careful not to move at first, uncertain what had happened. He was lying on the floor, fragments of glass scattered about around him. He listened for several minutes before deciding he must be alone, so he sat up and assessed himself.
It didn’t look good. His clothes were beyond saving, soaked through with dark stains. For a moment he thought he had been stabbed, ’til he realized it was wine rather than blood on his clothes. The door was closed, but the girl was gone. He was fairly sure he hadn’t finished his business with her... unless he had some memory loss. Had someone hit him with the wine bottle? Was it her—or someone else? Either possibility was disturbing.
He stripped his clothes and used some water from the pitcher to clean himself up before donning fresh attire. If someone else had struck him, then that meant he had an unknown enemy, one who had managed to get into his room while he was unaware. If the girl had done it, then he had a gap in his memory, for she had been quite beyond such things at his last recollection. It must have been someone else. He would not have been so incompetent as to let that slip of a girl get away so easily.
The door... he checked his pocket, the key was still there. If she had used his key she had replaced it. Unlikely, he thought. Her fear had been too great, she would have run, and kept the key. Devon Tremont knew a lot about fear and its effects. He checked the door, and sure enough it was unlocked.
“Someone’s been interfering,” he said to himself. The real question was who? What would they do with the knowledge they had? Nothing. If they were planning to use last night against him, they would have done so already, bringing guards and witnesses while he lay unconscious. If anyone accused him now, he could easily deny it. Why? That’s what he would have done. Whoever it was had sacrificed a large advantage. They took nothing, his money and possessions were intact, only the girl was missing.
The girl was the key. The only reason to hide last night’s crime would be to protect her reputation. But she was a common maid, he thought. No one would care about her. Almost everyone within the castle would be more concerned with justice; only a select few would care more for her than destroying him. What had she said last night? He’s the blacksmith’s son. “He’s also a ma
ge,” muttered Devon. He had seen a strong golden aura about the man each time they had met. It was the first thing that had piqued his interest.
She had held out against fear for a remarkably long time, and still had told him little. She must have strong reasons to protect him; likely enough she was in love with him. “And his room is only a short walk from here... and one corridor over.” he said to himself.
Devon Tremont had always been decisive, he did not waver now. Rising, he buckled on his sword, left the room, and locked the door behind himself. At least he tried to... the key would not turn in the lock. Another mystery, he thought. He shook his head and headed for Mordecai’s room at a casual pace.
When he reached his destination, he was dismayed to see a large guard standing outside the room. What is his connection to the Lancasters? Nothing made sense; they were clearly complicit in his deception. The man was a commoner, yet they had given him a room fit for a king. Marcus was obviously quite attached to him. And he is a mage, he thought. That was the lynch pin, the key everything revolved around. The Lancaster family needed a mage. Did that mean they knew something regarding his plans for the future? If so, the Lancasters might well be seeking magical power to bolster their position.
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