Sworn To Transfer (10 page)

The innkeeper from the night before was among them. Her face was streaked with blood, her hair disheveled, and she had two young children clinging to her skirts.

Fear must have consumed her, and yet she didn’t hesitate to step forward with her chin proudly raised. She would not beg.

The Shadow Mage watched her walk toward him impassively.

“You’ve done something so horrible, child,” she said, her voice dipping in pain. “How could you destroy your home? Your community?”

“This was never my home.”

He turned away from her and began to count off how many villagers stood before him.

“Ninety-five,” he said.

Looking back at the older woman, he continued, “Do you remember how many lashes I got for stealing that bread? How many days I was locked in that dank hole in the ground while the butcher boys stood over the grate at the top and pissed down on me?”

The carpenter stepped forward, dragging his leg. “I remember, Timmoris.” If he hoped for leniency the Weather Mage knew he looked at the wrong person.

Before he could continue, the innkeeper inserted, “We were wrong for that. So harsh a punishment for a young boy, but we had to set an example. You understand? An example for all the boys left behind without parents or guardians during the war. We could not just let you run wild.”

“How many?”

With a nervous and miserable glance at the innkeeper, the carpenter spoke, “Ten lashes and twenty-four days in the hole for what you stole.”

“Yes, for
one
loaf of bread.”

“An example had to be set.”

“An example?” he said, laughing cruelly. “I was always the example for failure in this town. Never good enough to have a family take me in, never good enough for my brother, never good enough to go to war.”

And then he stopped laughing. “Thirty-four. It looks like thirty-four is all I need.”

“Fire Mage, come forward,” commanded the Shadow Mage. And another man who the Weather Mage hadn’t seen before appeared from the shadows as if transported there. With a sweep of his hand, the Shadow Man ordered his creatures to finish off those not needed.

The shadow creatures stepped forward and the people were culled until only twenty-four men and ten women and children still stood. The innkeeper had been the last to die—she did so with dignity. Silent to the end, with eyes that judged the Shadow Mage for his crimes even in death.

He turned to the Weather Mage with Fire Mage by his side “Now, my pets. It’s your turn. Let’s see what you can do.”

“No, no!” shouted the Weather Mage. “I’ll have no part in this.”

The Fire Mage stood silently as if all life and resistance had been drained from his body.

“You’ll do as I say,” shouted the Shadow Mage. Reaching out with his power, he swamped the Weather Mage’s mind in living darkness, taking over every ounce of his control and inserting his own will.

Cringing as he felt the torment of the villagers wash over him in their agony, the Weather Mage watched while locked within his own mind as he called forth thunder and lightning side by side with the fire-calling mage. There was nothing he could do to stop it. To stop the torture and the pain. So much torment that they were sure to pass to the afterlife with the pain locked in their soul.

No one deserves to die like this.

And when the Weather Mage finally gave up trying to resist and sought to retreat into his thoughts—to block out the sounds of screams throughout the air, the smell of burnt skin and the taste of charred flesh on his tongue—he found that he couldn’t. He was forced into his experiences just as much as he was locked into his mind.

No wonder the Fire Mage had looked like the living dead if this is what he had experienced day after day under the Shadow Mage’s control. It was enough to shatter a person’s soul.

Before the day had ended, ten bodies lay on the ground in an orderly fashion with piles of ash just behind them. And the Weather Mage lay sobbing on the ground at the acts he had committed.

“Very good, my pets,” said the Shadow Mage soothingly, “I have one more task for you though.”

“We must build a signal. A signal to all of Algardis that they will never forget. But it must be special and it must be timed for effect,” he said with a cruel smile while reaching down to tilt up the head of the crouched Weather Mage.

Marcus looked up into the face of his tormenter with fury bright in his eyes as he clenched an angry fist.

What could he possibly want now? I’ve already tortured for him.

“What I want is an ever-burning fire, an inferno that will not die,” he said softly.

“I can’t do that,” the Weather Man said honestly, turning to look over at the convalescent Fire Mage.

“Oh, I know,” the Shadow Mage said with glee, “but here is what you
can
do.”

When he finished his instructions, the Weather Mage closed his eyes.

A
s they left the party and walked into the court gardens side-by-side, Ciardis couldn’t let the peace of the moment slip into her consciousness. Oh, she wanted to, how she wanted to, but all she could think of was the woman named Lily and what could have possibly forced her to give up a life as magnificent as the one Ciardis had now—death threats aside.

“Why would she leave?” Ciardis questioned with fierceness. “My mother had to be forced to. She
had
to be.”

The duchess chuckled. “My dear, your innocence—your
love
—of the Imperial courts is charming. The glamour, the politics, the history – it is all glamorous. You’re too young to see it, but the life here is a monstrous beast that will consume you. You think you have troubles now? They’ve only just begun.”

She paused and looked over at Ciardis. Brushing an errant curl back from the girl’s face, she gave her a smile that a mother would give her daughter. It was a sad smile, the kind of smile that said hope for the best, but expect the worst.

“Your mother had been planning to leave for years,” she said. “I should know—I was going to go with her.”

Ciardis stared at her, disbelieving. Recognizing her disbelief, the duchess said, “Let me tell you a story. A story of life in the courts under Emperor Cymus. The late emperor was a large man. Robust in his taste for life and his taste for women. His courts were magical for a young noblewoman. Parties every night until dawn, extravagant dinners for every occasion, and salons for just about everything you could think of.”

She sounded wistful. Ciardis couldn’t blame her; it sounded wonderful.

“Court then was very different than it is now. Emperor Cymus ruled with a lax hand; nobles did as they pleased, mages knew no restrictions, and the court treasury was like the emperor’s treasure chest. He would gift loyal friends with gold and jewels in the morning and hand them titles at night. It was because of this lax hand that Algardis is in so much debt now, and I think the reason for the current emperor’s tight-fisted rule. But that is not of concern right now.”

She cleared her throat and continued, “Your mother, Lily, was born into this world of extravagance. She was the last, at that time, of a long line of powerful Weathervanes with a talent that made others green with envy. Her beauty, her power, and her grace made her the first on the list for every invitation and soirée. When she officially debuted at the courts, she was requested and accepted a position as lady-in-waiting to the empress, the current emperor’s mother. I, at the time, was Mistress of the Robes for her household and in charge of all of the ladies-in-waiting. Your mother was a vivacious young woman. We became inseparable. Even with our fifteen-year age difference we understood each other in many ways.”

Looking off toward Swan Lake, she said, “And in many ways, we didn’t.” The salon was still in full swing and laughter rang out over the lake.

“What do you mean?” prodded Ciardis in an attempt to get the Duchess of Carne back on track.

“Your mother wanted to leave the Imperial courts from the moment she got there. To put it simply, she detested it: the fakeness, the frivolity, the life of a spoiled noblewoman. She wanted adventure. At least, that’s what she always said,” the duchess continued with a chuckle. “Make no mistake, she was a consummate actress, charming all of those who met her and making them feel as if they were the only person in the world when she spoke to them. She made sure her feelings about her life here were well hidden, and only discussed them in private under the cover of darkness.”

“Would it have been so bad?” Ciardis whispered. “If people had known? And she had left for a season or two?”

“Oh, my dear,” said the woman beside her as she resumed walking. “You sound so young. You
are
young. But Lily was your age when she joined the courts, and she knew well what the dangers were. But growing up in the Courts of Sandrin, she had to.”

Firmly, she continued, “You have to understand two things. The first is this: Your mother would have never done anything to disgrace her family name and leaving court, particularly the service of an empress, would have done that. And second: Emperor Cymus was a lax, generous, and bountiful ruler. But he was also spiteful, selfish, and ornery. He didn’t like it when his courtiers strayed too far from his side—what he liked to call his ‘orbit.’ If all of the noblemen and mages were present in court, drunk and satiated, it was easier for him to keep an eye on them. To make sure they weren’t plotting against him.”

She pursed her mouth in distaste. “I can’t say his plan didn’t work. Throughout his rule, he never had any trouble with uprisings or conflict. Not from the wealthy, anyway.”

“Soon, like everyone else, he began to fall in love with your mother,” she said with a heavy sigh. “And that’s when her troubles began.”

“Your husband mentioned something about another dragon,” Ciardis said.

The duchess gave her rueful smile. “I had not forgotten, child.”

“But the dragon—the dragon I know less about. He came to court and set it a flurry with his surprise visit. He was beautiful, the kind of elegance you see only in stone statues. A living tribute to the gods. His eyes were different than the Ambassador’s but brilliant in their own right. A vibrant golden with green specks.”

Pausing, she asked thoughtfully, “Do you know what those specks mean? What their eyes say?”

She didn’t wait for a response. “All male Sahalians have those eyes. When born, their eyes are a warm brown color. They slowly lighten as they grow into the golden hue. Sometime during childhood is when the green specks appear.
He
told me that.”

No need to ask who “he” was. From the tone of her voice, Ciardis could assume it was the beautiful male dragon.

“But he also mentioned a lot of other things,” said the duchess with a shudder. “Things I will not mention here. But know this: it is rare for a Sahalian dragon to consider humans as their equal. Then and now they are our allies. But you can hear it in their voice, see it in their stride; they consider us beneath them. Mere playthings for their entertainment, and that was what the dragon considered your mother: an entertaining diversion.”

Her tone dipped into a coldness that Ciardis didn’t think the duchess was capable of, “But your mother didn’t want to play. Unlike the courtiers who constantly surrounded her, the dragon could read her emotions, and, she told me, hear her thoughts, as well. As much as she tried to avoid him, he still knew when he saw her that she was lying, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He couldn’t see why she wouldn’t worship him as all the others did, and he poked at her, trying to push down the barriers she was erecting before him. That same season, she disappeared.”

“Well, what happened?” Ciardis said.

“All I know is one night she came into my room in tears,” the duchess said. “She wouldn’t wait the three months until the ship we had planned to run away on was coming to port. She was leaving that very night and nothing could stop her. I couldn’t leave so soon...I wouldn’t leave so soon. She disappeared that night, and I never heard a word from her after that.”

Ciardis sighed. Another dead end.

“But,” said the duchess, “before she left, she gave me something to give to a minstrel who played in a local tavern frequented by the wealthy noblemen of the court.”

“What was it?” said Ciardis breathlessly.

The duchess looked at the young girl standing before her. Eager and smart but naive. The Duchess had a look on her face as if she was seeing a vision – a vision of the past.

“You know you look very much like her and you’re so much less cautious. You should be wary,” she said while staring at Ciardis, “But this is what you seek.”  She raised her right hand and called in her magic. In her palm appeared an oval locket. It was simple and carved of wood.

Ciardis took it tentatively from the duchess’s outstretched hand. The outside was glossy and she could see hinges on the side with a straight line running along the curve of the oval. She tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Who was this minstrel?”

“A friend—a friend of your mother’s who still plays at The Blue Duck Inn on the east bank of the Sandrin River,” the duchess replied. “Every night,” she added significantly.

“Thank you,” said Ciardis.

As the girl walked away cupping the locket in her hands, the duchess thought,
Don’t thank me yet, child. I’ve given you more questions than answers. More mysteries than resolutions. If only you could see that.

Ciardis quickly went to her room and changed into something more reasonable. Head rushing with hope she grabbed the first tuk-tuk she could find and instructed them to take her to The Blue Duck Inn. It was dusk now and night was falling. The minstrel who played there should be preparing for his performance.

As she walked in the door, the old dark wood creaked between her feet and rafters soaring above her head. What looked like a three-story building from the outside was actually just one large room. On the main floor were chairs and round tables strategically placed to face the large main stage. Along the wall was a huge bar that curved the length of the room, with three bartenders strategically placed to take orders.