The Echidna's Scale (Alchemy's Apprentice) (23 page)

He caught up with the others.  No one had any breath left to talk, he could tell as he saw their gaping mouths.  He saw a fragment of a broken wall off to the side of the road, and a small opening among the trees.  He saw a wolf running parallel to him as well.

Marco pulled his bow off his shoulder and strung an arrow, then aimed it to the side and fired, knowing that the shot was impossible for him to make, but hoping to scare or slow the pursuers.  He heard paws padding on the road not far behind him, and with a quick decision he pulled his sword free again, then stopped, turned, and began to swing the blade, while also using his bow as a club.  He killed three wolves, then started running again.

There were more ruins of old structures around them now, and more wolves howling around them.

Marco stopped for a third time and fired an arrow, then pulled another arrow out and fired it too.  Both shafts miraculously struck animals, killing one, and wounding one badly, so that the wolf yelped in pain as it fell to the ground.

But another wolf filled its spot in the posse that was chasing the humans, and Marco rose to start running again.  He wanted to run; he wanted to make it to the gate safely, to avoid the defeat that the fiery vision foretold.

The trees were thinning out rapidly, and suddenly Marco saw a broad open space, and gray walls beyond.  He had caught up to his friends again; they were running with labored strides, as their leg muscled burned painfully with overexertion, and Marco saw that in order to give them needed time, he was going to have to try the last maneuver, the last battle against the wolves that he had lost in his vision.

With a sob, just as he saw men with spears come running out of the gate, Marco stopped and turned and held his sword out.  The wolves hit him in a snapping, growling wall of furred fury a moment later, so closely had they gained in him.  They ignored the others, and the entire remaining members of the pack, over half a dozen, bowled him over, one or two yelping in pain as the sword tried to fight the battle even while the numbers overwhelmed Marco.

He swung the sword, and heard another howl of pain, then he felt a pair of teeth clamp onto his wrist and the animal’s weight pulled the sword down to the ground.  Another set of fangs bit deeply into his thigh, making him scream in pain.

This is it
, he had time to think, as he saw a wolf fly up into the air above him, then come straight down, mouth open and teeth bared as it aimed for his throat.

There was a clanging sound, as the wolf’s teeth struck his solid gold marriage collar, and then a flash of light and a burst of intense heat occurred.  Marco smelled burning flesh, and the wolves collectively joined in the beginnings of a death keening, before they all were silenced by the magical power embedded within Marco, which flared out and killed the entire pack of assassins.

And with that, Marco passed out.

Chapter 17
– Adventure at Clovis

Marco awoke in a plain gray room, one that was warm on his right side.  He started to roll over as he awoke, in order to see where the warmth came from, but his motions stopped, both because they caused pain in several parts of his body, and because he found that he was strapped securely to the bed he lay upon.

His clothing had been changed, so that he wore a loose, black robe, one that he didn’t possess as his own, and one that he didn’t like, because it looked too much like a sorcerer’s robe in his opinion.

“Hello?” he called.   “Pesino?  Cassius?  Kate?”

He hoped they all were safe.  His mind suddenly began to recall the confused details of the last moments he had been conscious before awakening in his strange surroundings.    The battle w
ith the wolves had occurred precisely as the vision in the fire had shown it; he just hadn’t seen the ending of the vision he realized, a happier ending than he anticipated, since he was alive.  Sore, but alive.  The vision had been true, but incomplete, not revealing the final ending of the battle.

There was a sound to his left.  “My lord?” a voice called from the left side, and an elderly man came into his field of vision.  The man wore a black robe, just like the one Marco was outfitted with.  “It’s so good to see you awake, my lord,” the man said.  “How do you feel?”

“Why am I tied down here?” Marco asked.

“We have you tied down for your own safety, my lord,” the monk replied. “Your wounds are very deep, and were bleeding profusely. Our barber-surgeon felt that your humours had been adequately vented by the blood loss the wolves created, and he wishes for you to be kept as still as possible
to prevent the injuries from re-opening and causing further loss of blood.”

“Where are my friends?” Marco asked, setting the matter of his binding aside for the moment.

“They are relaxing now.  They have been shown their rooms, and they are recovering from your journey.  It’s very impressive that the four of you have traveled so far in this season of the year,” the monk told Marco.  “We seldom have visitors from the outside world, and never in the winter time.”

“I’d like to see my friends.  Can you untie me and allow me to go join them?” Marco asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

“My lord, the barber feels that you should be kept as still and as calm as possible, so we do not wish to move you, to put you at risk.  And with such a beautiful wife, I fear that your passions would be excited and you would fall into the way of danger,” the monk said calmly.

“Wife?” Marco asked in confusion.

“Your wife, the lovely one named Pesino,” the monk answered with a slight inflection in his voice.  “She said she was your wife; is that not true?”

“It’s true; yes, it’s true,” Marco remembered.

“There are many brothers who are upset at the presence of these women in our halls, but the prior has insisted that we will provide hospitality to our guests, especially,” the monk paused.

“Especially?” Marco asked.

“Especially given the great power you exhibited in destroying the wolves who attacked you,” the monk told him.

“Then you should know that if I cannot see my friends, I will possibly be driven to use my powers again,” Marco told the monk.  He was bluffing; he was beginning to suspect that there was a way he could come to control the power that dwelt in his golden right hand.  It would take time for him to consider and practice and analyze, but the eruption of the powers in his hand at certain, extraordinary times when he needed supernatural assistance seemed to indicate to him that there was a way for him to learn to use the powers for what he needed.

The monk’s eyes grew large.  “My lord, I will ask if it is possible for your wife to come visit you briefly – briefly, while the barber is here to supervise your condition.  Would that satisfy you for now?”

“That is a beginning,” Marco said.  “How long am I expected to be held like this?”  He was starting to feel sleepy.

“I will ask the barber that as well,” the monk answered.

“Brother, what is your name?” Marco wanted to know.  The man had only been doing his job, Marco knew.  He suspected that the arrival of the visitors in such a dramatic fashion had caught the attention of everyone in the city and made handling his own care a sensitive position.

“I am Brother Padreag,” the monk replied.

“Thank you brother. You’ve been very kind to
me.  Can you turn me so that my other side gets warmed by the fire before you go?” Marco asked.  He was starting to feel tired from the conversation.  “And ask, my wife,” he stumbled over the term, “to please bring my pack with her when she comes to see me.”  He had in mind some simple alchemical formulae he could mix – or ask Pesino to mix – to address his injuries and pain.

He closed his eyes, and felt his bed moving.  The bed moved easily, as if it were on wheels, and he felt the warmth of the fire move from his right side to his feet to his left side, and then he fell asleep.

When he awoke again, he smelled the scent of Pesino in the room.  It was odd that he would notice that first, he thought.  The smell was the faint tang of salty sea air.  “Are you here, my wife?” he almost swallowed the phrase as he spoke it, but managed to propel the words out of his mouth.

“Darling,” he could sense the extravagance that Pesino was investing in the world.  “My beloved boy – dear heart!” she called, and then he saw her, standing at his side, her hands fluttering in
the air momentarily before they came to rest on his upper arm.  She wore one of the black robes as well, one with a hood that was draped around her shoulders, and she had the strap of his pack slung over her shoulder as well.  Her face was strangely lit, he thought, her neck and lower face seemingly bright, but then he blinked his eyes and the illusion was gone.

“Are you feeling okay?  The barber is here to check on you, and to make sure I don’t tire you,” she warned.

“I feel better now that you are here,” Marco answered.  “Are you okay?”

“Now that my heart has slowed down after that chase, and seeing you being mauled by those wolves, yes, we’re all okay,
” Pesino told him.  “Kate and Cassius are fine as well.  They’ve gotten us hidden away in a tower where seeing women won’t offend so many of these – what do you call them? – monks.

“Kate has already asked if we can use the library you are looking for; they told her only Cassius can go – Kate and I must stay out of sight,” she told him.

“It is time for the visit to end, so that our patient may rest,” a man’s voice spoke from nearby.

“I want her to mix a tonic for me,” Marco protested.  “I can speed up my healing.”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” the man said, as he came into Marco’s field of vision.  He was a frail man, tall and elderly and stooped over.  His eyes were alert however, watching Pesino carefully.

“My marriage torq saved my life,” Marco looked at Pesino.  “I heard and felt the wolves
’ teeth hitting it when they were trying to rip out my throat.”

“See how good I am for you,” she almost purred the words to Marco. 

“Are you sure I can’t help him to relieve his pain?  I’m sure it will only take a few minutes of time,” she turned and spoke to the barber, and Marco could hear the change in her voice, as it assumed a different texture.  It became a rich, full contralto voice that ached with a sense of longing.  She was employing her siren abilities to try to wheedle more time out of the barber; her eyes were no doubt also suddenly large and hypnotic, her lips fuller and redder, her hair thicker and more desirable.

“My lady, perhaps you may stay a few more minutes with your husband,” the barber answered.

“Why don’t you just sit down over there and we’ll call you in a few minutes when we’re done,” Pesino directed, and the barber disappeared.

“They really don’t like having women around here.  We’ll need to do whatever we do, and then leave as quickly as possible,” Pesino mumbled quietly as she began to open Marco’s bag of alchemical supplies.  “And I don’t think they much like having you here either,” she added.  “I heard the term warlock used to describe you.”

“That one,” Marco told her as she held up a vial of crystals.  “Set it aside to use.

“No, not that, not that, yes that,” he responded to each item she raised for him to scrutinize, as she formed two piles of items.

“Now, take the dried red leaves and the green crystals, and grind them together in the blue bowl,” Marco began to instruct her through the steps of preparing a healing salve, one that he thought would dramatically hasten the healing of the bites and tears in his flesh.  He wanted to end the pain he felt, and he wanted to be freed from the shackles he was constrained by.

“Take the two and blend them together, then spit in it,” he told her a half hour later.

“Spit?” she looked at him incredulously.

“It would be better with blood, but I think spit will be good enough,” he grinned at her.

“I’m sure it will be,” she hastily agreed, and she noisily deposited her moisture in the bowl.

“Now, mix it all together,” then start rubbing it into all my wounds,” Marco directed.

“My lady – can I help you my lady?” the barber’s voice asked from the corner.  “You’ve been with your husband for quite some time now.”

“Just a few more minutes,” Pesino spoke without moving away from Marco, using her alluring voice.  Marco felt the compulsion her tone conveyed, the desire to please her, and he looked up at her with adoring eyes momentarily, until she realized the effect she had produced.  “I’m sorry, dear husband,” she said fondly, without the allure, and reached into his collar to rub the potion around his neck.

Her hands pulled his robe open before they moved across his body, rubbing him in places that he hadn’t even realized were injured until she touched them and he felt the sting of the wounds, then she very gently stroked his thighs lightly with the potion, and held the bowl up for him to see.

“It’s all used up.  I didn’t treat a few small scratches, but everything else is taken care of,” she told Marco.  There was another momentary illusion of a glow that illuminated her face, and Marco cocked his head in confusion, then decided it was simply his eyes playing tricks on him once again.

“My lady,” the barber called.  His voice was less syrupy than it had been before.

“I’m all done here,” Pesino replied, pulling Marco’s robes loosely over his body.

“I’ll be back to see you soon,” she said as she bent over and kissed Marco on the cheek.  “Will you be healed soon?” she asked, as Marco heard the barber’s footsteps approach.

“It should only be a couple of hours,” he assured her.  “I’ll see you soon,” he said, and added, “my love,” just a second later as the barber came into view.

With a smile, Pesino let herself be led away from him.  He heard the door open and close, and knew that he was alone once again in his room.  He convinced himself that he could feel the potion at work on his flesh, accelerating the healing that was taking place.  The pain was truly lessening, he was sure.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax and wait patiently, so that he would be refreshed and ready to move when the barber next checked on him.

He did fall asleep, for he awoke with a start when a voice spoke into his ear.  “Awaken blessed one!  Your friends need you!  Arise and help your friends!”

“Gawail?  Is that you?” he asked, sure that he knew the answer.

“Blessed one,” Gawail said.  “Are you better now?  Are you healed and ready to
rise?  Your friends need you!”

“I’m tied in place,” Marco replied.  “What’s the problem?”

“The men of this place – they do not like having women here, and now they have arrested Pesino.  She is accused of being a witch; they say she has enchanted and corrupted men.  They took the others with her as well, and have locked them all in a dark room under the ground,” Gawail explained.

Marco was struck by the irony – he had encountered so much trouble on Ophiuchus for being a male in the female culture, and now Pesino was encountering the opposite problem.  Both were unnatural efforts to create a separation that made no sense, he though
t.

“Can you help set me free?” Marco asked Gawail, as his mind reverted to the problem at hand.

“I will try, blessed one,” the pixie flew out of sight and disappeared.

“You!  You were with Pesino when she was here visiting, weren’t you?  I saw her face light up – it was your glow,” Marco suddenly comprehended what had been occurring during the siren’s visit.

“That is how I knew where to come find you.  Your lovely mate suggested I join with her so that I would be able to relocate you if needed.  She was very clever, it seems,” the pixie said.

He gave a grunt.  “There; try to move your hand,” he said, and Marco’s left hand swung easily upward, an untied leather thong wrapped loosely around it.  Gawail needed only moments to set Marco’s other limbs free, and the former captive carefully swung himself up into a sitting position, chaffing his wrists and ankles to improve the circulation of his blood through the formerly restricted veins.