Reign of Madness (Revised Edition) (60 page)

Tieran and Wesson both silently watched their friend scale
the wall with no aid of ropes or ladders. Finally, their gazes landed on each
other. Wesson shrugged and said, “I could blow up the wall so we can walk
through, but I do not believe that is what Rezkin intended.”

Tieran groaned again and heaved a sigh. He collected his
thoughts and focused on the source of his vimara. He was out of practice, but
the power
wanted
to be released. He found the root system of several
nearby trees and encouraged the roots to grow rapidly and unnaturally beneath
the lawn between them. Once the roots reached the wall, they bent and thrust
from the soil like craggy brown and white snakes. They twisted and thickened as
they ascended, finally terminating at the roofline. The young man withdrew his
power and released a pent up breath.

Wesson smiled in appreciation of Tieran’s talent. “That was
most impressive. You would make an excellent life mage, I think.”

Tieran grumbled something incoherent as he tested the
strength of the root rope. “You have to get rid of it, though,” he tossed over
his shoulder as he began to climb. Wesson’s smile faded.
Of course
he
would be asked to
destroy
the living construction.

When the two men finally pulled themselves onto the roof,
Rezkin was waiting for them. He simply nodded in approval and then ordered
Wesson to remove the evidence. From the courtyard where they entered, it was
only a short distance to the room where Rezkin first discovered the warded
entrance to the underground chamber or passage. Few guards were stationed
within the estate, and none were patrolling this particular section. The duke
probably felt he had little cause for concern with his heavy usage of wards.

Squatting around the sealed portal in the floor, mage stone
in hand, Rezkin pointed out to the mages what he had detected. “You are quite
right,” Wesson remarked. “There is definitely a strong ward here, and it will
alert the caster if disrupted.”

“But you can do something about that, yes?” Rezkin asked.

Wesson scratched his head and looked up thoughtfully. After
a few moments of contemplation he said, “I think I can.”

“You
think
?” the warrior pressed.

“Well, it
should
work, if the ward is designed the
way I believe it to be. I can disable the ward, but I cannot guarantee the
caster will not be alerted. I would say there is ...oh…about a seventy percent
chance this will work,” the mage clarified.

Rezkin shook his head. “I do not need you to disable the ward.
I only need you to prevent anyone from receiving the alarm.”

Sighing heavily, Wesson said, “It would be easier if I knew
how you intended to get
through
the ward without disabling it.” He
pondered the conundrum for a few more minutes. “I believe I can manipulate the
detection spell to loop back into the ward. It is independent from the warning
spell. So long as the ward exists, the detection spell will not active the
warning. Nobody would consider safeguarding against such a manipulation since
people cannot simply pass
through
wards,” he finished with a pointed
look at the young warrior.

“If Wesson does not disarm the ward, how are he and I going
to get through?” Tieran inquired.

“I have never tried it, but I believe I can get you through.
It may be possible to extend my focus shield to the two of you,” Rezkin stated.

Wesson scowled and argued, “Mundanes cannot make shields,
but even if you could, there would be no way to extend it to someone else.
Your
focus is within your own mind and body and is not in any way related to the two
of us.”

Rezkin waved a hand and said, “No, no. You are looking at it
backward. The ward is dependent on the caster’s
will
, and that
will
is dependent on the ward’s
perception
. With
my
focus, I can
change the ward’s perception so the three of us can pass.”

Wesson shook his head adamantly, and Tieran’s face was a
mixture of disdain and confusion. “That makes absolutely no sense!” Wesson
exclaimed. “You are saying the ward is dependent on the
will
and the
will
is dependent on the ward. It is circular…a paradox. And, spells do not act on
perception. They do not make decisions. They follow a certain set parameters
and that is it!”

Rezkin shrugged. “We will see.”

Five minutes later, all three of the intruders were standing
in a dark subterranean corridor, and, to their knowledge, no one had received
an alert. Wesson’s confidence was shaken, since everything he thought he knew
about spellcraft seemed to mean absolutely nothing in Rezkin’s presence. He
felt as though he had somehow missed something vital in his time as an
apprentice. If this was the way magic truly worked, then he had no business
contemplating mastery anytime soon.

Tieran was disturbed, as well. With how discouraging and
disappointed his father had been with his
apparent
lack of talent,
Tieran had never cared much for his mage skills. Rezkin’s ability, however,
completely undermined not only his basic understanding of magic, but also his
confidence in mage wards and his sense of security. If any mundane could learn
the skill, what good would wards be? Never again would he be able to sleep
comfortably when his safety was dependent on such a barrier.

The tunnel was lit every few paces by small mage stones.
Even with the miniscule light, the haunting blackness was daunting. The passage
branched off once, but Rezkin guided them straight ahead. The floor began to
slope downward, and the corridor eventually ended at a flight of cracked and
broken stone stairs. The fissure in which the stairs ended was no longer part
of the manor. The walls, floor, and ceiling were those of a natural cavern, and
from its depths emanated echoed cries and wails of tortured souls.

Gripped by sudden terror, Tieran wanted nothing more than to
turn around and run back to the relative safety of the city. Whether he sensed
the young man’s faltering resolve or heard the gurgling whimper of fright that
slipped up the noble’s throat, Rezkin recognized Tieran’s distress and lent a
comforting grip upon his shoulder. Wesson stared intently down the poorly lit passage
hoping that if he stared hard enough, nothing could reach him.

Rezkin squeezed both men’s shoulders and then led the way
down the passage. The air was cool and damp with a light, malodorous breeze.
The first of the cells came as a surprise upon turning a corner. The trio gazed
across the vast expanse of the twisting cavern and saw another world –
one that should not exist.

The terrifying wails and cries were not of tortured spirits
– not exactly. They were the agony of people –
living
people.
The inhabitants were mostly women, but some men and children sprawled amongst
them. They were trapped in cells and cages and chained to the floor or walls
with thick iron manacles. Human waste was smeared across every surface, but it
was not as thick as would have been expected. The reason for that was evident.
These people were little better than cadavers. Their bodies were so wasted and
emaciated that they were surely dead and their souls did not yet know it.

Tieran spied a skeleton close to his side. The bones still
bore pale, nearly transparent flesh, but only a few strands of long, faded
brown hair remained upon the skull. The mouth hung slack, and within the gaping
maw, he could see that only a few teeth remained. The jaw moved. A pale tongue
slid past withered lips. The eyelids slid back and bulging yellow orbs rolled
in his direction. Tieran’s knees buckled and struck the floor hard as he
wretched. Not a skeleton – a person trapped inside a dying shell.

Rezkin frowned down at the evidence of their passing. He
tapped Wesson on the shoulder to gain his attention. Wesson turned startled,
vacant eyes on the warrior. It was simply too much for the sensitive, young
mage to handle. The warrior shook the mage and patted his face firmly. The
young man’s eyes finally focused, and he whispered, “Is this a dungeon? Are
these prisoners?”

“Not of the criminal sort. This is something darker,” Rezkin
replied. He stopped the mage from speaking further by raising a finger to his
lips. The warrior pointed to the mess on the floor and made a sweeping motion
to indicate it need to be removed. Wesson nodded and then cast a simple spell.
At least, it should have been simple. It took few moments for the mage to
gather his focus enough to perform the entry-level spell.

Rezkin helped the young lord to his feet and made sure he
was steady before pulling the two along. They made a steady circuit of the
cavern. It was not an open, clear space. The cavern twisted and turned around
shallow pools, natural columns and massive mounds of stalagmites. Wesson struck
his head on one particularly long stalactite, even after their leader had
warned him of the danger.

After completing their survey, Rezkin determined that, of
the several dozen bodies, only about thirty were still breathing. Of those, perhaps
ten or twelve had a chance of survival if they received immediate care. A
dark-haired young woman, who looked to have only been there for maybe a couple
of weeks, was in better condition than the rest. She whispered pleas for help,
her pale skin and sunken cheeks belied her apparent strength as her large brown
eyes looked on and begged. When the trio passed her by, she simply collapsed
and lay with her face pressed to the cold, hard floor.

Rezkin led the others into another dark corridor. Tieran
protested as they left the dying people behind. “We cannot just leave them
there!” he hissed.

“Silence,” Rezkin ordered with a cold glare. When Tieran
looked about to argue, the warrior spoke in a hushed tone, “We must finish our
reconnaissance. What could we do for them now? Where would we take them? How
would we get them there? Those people cannot walk in their condition, and
taking them up through the duke’s manor is not an option. We will continue
ahead and then plan our actions accordingly.”

As they plodded along the corridor, they began to hear the
steady drumming of the sea. Inspection of a dark recess to one side revealed a
wooden door. The door was heavily warded, but between the mage and Rezkin, they
were able to pass. In addition to subverting the ward, Rezkin had to pick the
lock on the door, which earned him a couple of raised brows. Most wholesome
people did not know how to pick locks.

Once beyond the door, the trio of intruders found themselves
in a small office. Several chests and drawers contained incriminating items.
“What is this?” Wesson asked. “Some kind of trade logs?”

“Slavers’ logs,” Rezkin replied as he sifted through a stack
of parchments. “Apparently, the duke has been running a profitable slave trade
under the Council’s nose. Rezkin tapped one of the more recent entries and
said, “It looks like business has run dry recently. He has not logged any sales
in a couple of weeks. It explains the starving
inventory
. It could be
due to the tournament, but I think it may have more to do with Caydean’s
machinations.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tieran.

Rezkin shook his head. “I am not sure. Caydean has been
antagonizing all of the other kingdoms. He has cut off trade and increased
trade levies, and he is building up troops, including a sizeable navy. More
military vessels are patrolling the area, and Caydean’s informants are
scrutinizing each noble’s every expense. The duke may be having a difficult, if
not impossible, time operating his business under the current circumstances.”

“So he just left these people here to starve to death?”
Tieran scoffed.

Rezkin shrugged. “What was he supposed to do with them? He
cannot let them go, and he probably did not kill them in hopes that he still
might get a bit of coin in a last minute deal. Since he has obviously neglected
to feed or care for them, he must think his chances of selling them at this
point are pretty poor.”

“They are not
products
, Rezkin. They are
people
!”
the young noble protested.

“Of course,
I
know that and you know that. I was only
speaking from the duke’s perspective,” Rezkin assured the young man.

“So what are we going to do?” Tieran asked.

“We are going to finish our search of this tunnel,” the
warrior replied.

The search did not take long. It was only a few dozen paces
to the end where the cave opened to a small, rocky beach that curved around an
inlet that was blocked from the wind and prying eyes by jagged cliffs. “This
explains how they are able to move people in and out without being seen,” the
mage remarked.

“We will need to commandeer a ship,” the warrior said as his
eyes slid over the black expanse of rock and wave.

The mood was somber as the three men sought their beds that
night. On the way out of the estate, they had to evade two separate groups of
guards, which Tieran and Wesson thought odd, since they had encountered none
upon entering. With Rezkin’s expert guidance, they were able to escape without
detection. Before they left, though, the intruders found a few bent tin cups
and carried water from the cave pools to those captives who were still alive.
Rezkin intended to return several times over the next few days to provide the
survivors with food. Anything he did, though, had to be unnoticeable to the
duke, and Rezkin was dependent upon the captives’ gratitude and desperation to
keep them quiet. He was already formulating a plan for their escape, but he
could not implement it until the end of the tournament. With any luck, Ytrevius
would be so busy with tournament business that he would simply forget about the
abandoned slaves for a while.

When morning came, the companions found their way to the
arena to witness the second half of the first round of the Melee. Sergeant
Millins, who had taken the night shift, remained at the inn. Since Jimson was
out of the competition, he resumed his guard duties, and he and Lieutenant
Drascon stayed close to the group. The Jebai guards hovered around Shiela,
since she was the one most likely to instigate trouble and was unable to defend
herself. A couple of Tieran’s guards kept watch along the perimeter. The group
was large, but they kept a low profile in the crowds.

Tieran had even foregone his usual ostentatious finery for a
fine, but simple, charcoal surcoat over a white shirt and dark trousers. He had
scorned his manservant’s assistance that morning, and when he finally emerged
from their room, even his guards looked at him strangely. One look at the young
man’s haunted eyes, though, and everyone opted to let him be. Only Wesson and
Rezkin knew the cause of the young lord’s distress, and neither deigned to
share. For his part, Wesson was not much better. As they walked through the
crowded streets, his eyes lingered on the poorer citizens, those already
begging for scraps, and he said little.

 “Jimson, I have noticed a sharp increase in the
military presence in the city in the last few days. What do you know if it?”
Rezkin asked.

The captain shook his head and replied, “I do not know. I
noticed, as well, and asked around. If there is a good reason, none of the
officers with whom I spoke know of it. It seems that information is being kept
on a need-to-know basis. Perhaps they have received reports of threats to the
city?”

Rezkin frowned. He did not like being blind to such
important information as troop movements, particularly in the city in which he
and his friends were staying. Since he had no time to investigate, he hoped Kai
came back with some intelligence on the matter. This city’s thieves would not
be particularly useful in getting information, but perhaps some of the employees
of the brothels could help.

“This city is overcrowded as it is with all the travelers
and merchants. Why do they not keep these men on the ships if there is a
threat?” Rezkin pondered.

Jimson furrowed his brow and said, “Because they are not
keeping the ships at port. The ships come in, drop off the troops and leave,
only to return with more troops.”

“They are divesting the mainland of its troops, only to trap
them on an island?” Rezkin asked in dismay.

“It seems so, but I would not be too concerned for the
mainland. Apparently, the forts are filling up, and numerous temporary posts
have been erected, much like the one at Port Manai, I presume,” the captain
stated.

“The muster,” Rezkin observed. “All of these troops and
still Caydean wants more. The draft has gone to vote as of yesterday.”

Jimson started in surprise, “Has it? I had not heard,
although somehow it does not surprise me that you know of it already. Still, I
cannot imagine the Council approving a draft without a formal declaration of
war.”

“Two of the councilors have been removed and replaced with
Caydean’s supporters,” Rezkin informed.

“What? But how?” Jimson exclaimed.

“Caydean accused them of embezzling from the kingdom’s taxes
and restricting the travel of potential recruits. He also stated his belief
that they were plotting some sort of coup, but he did not provide any evidence
of the latter.”

“And the former?” Jimson asked.

“Unfortunately, the first was true only in the sense that
the lords refused to tax their subjects any more because their people are
already beginning to starve. From what I understand, they did not so much
restrict travel as they encouraged the young men to stay and work their trades
and farms to keep the economy functioning and food in the markets,” the warrior
explained.

“And what of these new councilors?” the captain asked.

“Caydean’s men. He appointed them, himself, without allowing
the Council to vote on the matter.”

“He oversteps his bounds,” Jimson protested.

“That he does, but right now the other councilors are all
too busy looking out for their own interests to mount any kind of organized
protest, not that they could hope for much success. One thing upon which
everyone seems to agree is that Caydean is not altogether sane, yet he has an
immense amount of power. Not only is he a powerful mage in his own right, he
has also garnered the support of a number of like-minded and power-hungry
Houses. Many of these Houses see this as their opportunity to step up in the
tiers when the larger Houses begin to fall. Of course, Caydean also has the
support of the strikers and the army,” Rezkin said with a pointed look.

Jimson cleared his throat and refused to meet Rezkin’s gaze
as he said, “Yes, well, the army serves the kingdom, and Caydean
is
the
king.”

“What of my father?” Tieran quickly asked. “What has he to
say of this?”

“Your father is no longer in Kaibain,” Rezkin answered.
“None of the dukes are in the capital. They have all retreated to their country
estates.”

“So the Council is in turmoil, and he just
left
?”
Tieran scoffed.

Rezkin frowned as he replied, “It is probably for the best.
If the dukes intend to put any pressure on the king at all, they will not be
able to do so from within the Council. It is obvious that Caydean does not
intend to heed the words of the Council for much longer, if at all, and Kaibain
has become a dangerous place. With these latest blows to the Council, I think
it will not be long before the dukes are forced to either fall in line and support
their king or declare their intent to divest the king of his crown. You can be
sure the dukes’ fallback is a calculated military maneuver.”

“You are saying there will be civil war in the near future?”
Tieran asked in amazement.

“Events are progressing much faster than I expected,” Rezkin
replied quietly as the crowd pressed in to squeeze through the outer portico of
the arena. The companions did not talk more about the kingdom or anything of
import during the Melee competition.

The Melee that day garnered an even larger crowd since the
news of the event’s brutality passed quickly through the city. Spectators were
drawn by the gory and quite deadly event, and Rezkin hoped it was a matter of
morbid curiosity and not an intrinsic desire for blood.

No one died in the first few matches, but one man lost a
hand and another was nearly cleaved in two. Luckily, the skilled healers were
able to put them back together. Frisha asked, “What do you think of the
competition, Rez? I did not get to hear your thoughts on it yesterday, since
you were…indisposed.”

“It disturbs and sickens me that anyone would celebrate the
mechanisms of destroying life. Killing is sometimes a terrible necessity. It is
not a form of entertainment to be enjoyed,” the warrior answered.

“I did not think to hear you say that with your liege
participating,” the young woman replied.

“He does not compete for the sake of the competition. He has
other motivations,” Rezkin replied as he watched a spear-wielding dark-skinned
Pruari dance circles around a rough-looking Jerese with a long, spiked club.
Both men carried shields. The Jerese’s was a wooden buckler with an outer iron
ring and shield boss, and the Pruari’s was longer and made from the carapace of
some kind giant shelled creature. Rezkin had never seen anything like it, and
he hoped to have the opportunity to compete against the man so he could get a
better look.

The tiresome gossiping of Shiela and her new friends broke
through his analysis when he realized they were talking about
him
.

“His name is Rezkin, and he is a
close
friend of the
family.
He
is a Swordmaster,” Shiela bragged, “and his body is absolute
perfection.”

Malcius cringed and glanced at Rezkin with an apologetic
look. Rezkin tried to ignore the impertinent girl’s remarks.

“Who,
him?
Gutterspit! He is too young to be a
Swordmaster,” one of the young men scoffed.

Another with a nasally voice interjected, “And, he seems
awfully close with your cousin.”

Shiela sniffed. “Well, he will not be marrying her. Our
uncle put a stop to that. He knows that Rezkin is way out of Frisha’s league,
so he refused the match. Really, he was doing Rezkin a favor. I think he only
wanted her because he sees her as some kind of charity case.”

Rezkin made to stand and confront the woman, but Frisha
gripped his arm shaking her head adamantly. Her face was flushed, and moisture
glistened in her eyes. Rezkin held his seat and gripped her hand in what he
believed to be a comforting gesture. Malcius, however, was not inclined to
allow the conversation to continue. He was ashamed to admit, even to himself,
that he still had his misgivings about his commoner cousin, but he respected
Rez and was exceedingly frustrated with his sister’s unladylike behavior.

“Please, Malcius, just let it go. I do not wish to make a
scene,” Frisha implored.

Malcius clenched his jaw, but seeing the threat of tears in
his cousin’s eyes, relented. “Fine, but I will be having strong words with her
this evening. I will restrict her to her room for the rest of the tournament if
I must.”

Another conversation broke the uncomfortable moment, this
one from a group of strangers nearby. “Who, Dark Tidings? He obviously doesn’t
have the stomach for bloodshed. Sure, he has the skills, but I doubt he has the
fortitude for battle,” a rotund man in a sweat saturated silk shirt announced.
Gold chains hung from his neck, and various colored gems flashed on his
fingers. He appeared to be a very successful merchant.

“What are you talking about?” a smaller but no less garishly
dressed man exclaimed. “He defeated every one of his opponents, and he never
even got a scratch! He didn’t even need to
injure
his opponents!”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. He doesn’t have it in him
to injure them, much less kill them! He is obviously weak,” the heavy man
replied with a self-satisfied grin.

“What does you be saying?” came a powerful bass voice from a
few rows away. The giant of a man stood towering over those around him. It was
the great ax-wielding mountain chieftain who had competed in the Melee the
previous day. Rezkin had not had the opportunity to fight the man, but he knew
him to be a formidable warrior. He, too, had won all of his matches.

“Stay out of this, barbarian. We were not speaking to you,”
the rotund merchant retorted.

“I am not liking your disrespect of a worthy opponent,” the
mountain man firmly stated in broken and heavily accented Ashaiian.

“
You
, a mountain barbarian known for excessive
violence and brutality, would defend the honor of a man who dares not even draw
blood?” the merchant scoffed in dismay.

The mountain chieftain stood straight, a broad, white smile
gracing his thickly bearded face. “I am thinking he is not taking of blood to
be showing that he can win without. It is like being fighting against young
children. You are not cutting off their arms or they will be having no arms to
fight with when they grow bigger.”

“So, he’s toying with them?” the thinner merchant
questioned.

“No, he is not needing to be taking blood to win. For my
people, to be taking of blood in combat is for to have honor, but we are strong
and sturdy, not soft like these lowlanders,” the hulk replied. The merchants
started to protest, but the chieftain continued, “He is being skilled with
these light lowlander weapons. I am thinking I would like to be seeing if he
can lift a great ax. Then, he would be being a truly worthy opponent.” The
chieftain’s proposal was met by raucous cheering from his mountain comrades.
The merchants muttered to themselves, and the chieftain returned to his seat
amongst boisterous tales of battle-axes and glory-filled combat.

“I mostly agree with the merchant,” a young noble man seated
in the row closest to Rezkin’s group stated.

“Why?” asked a younger boy who appeared to be his brother.

“Because he won all those matches by underhanded tactics. He
tripped them or knocked them in the head or some such. Not once did he win the
bout using his actual weapon. He either does not know
how
to win a fight
with a weapon, or he is unwilling to hurt people,” the young man remarked.

“Is that such a bad thing?” asked the little brother.

The young man shrugged. “Perhaps. I guess it depends on why
he leaves them unscathed. I hear he is competing in the Fifth Tier. He will
have
to use his sword to win, so we will see how well he performs, then. I think
that will be the true measure of his skill.”

It was actually Malcius who interjected this time. “You
think a sword duel with strict rules is a better measure of the man’s skill
than a battle with no rules and any number of various weapons?”