Victim of Fate (4 page)

"So you're saying he'll be able to tend to
the needs of his superiors that much quicker?" Kar glowered at the
man.

Tristam laughed again. "While we wait, let's
gather our gear for the road. Winter's all but upon us; be ready
for some cold days and colder nights where we're going."

"Aye, the one thing I hated about Holgasford
was the winters," Namitus said.

"It's no farther north than my father's land.
Why's it so cold?" Alto asked.

Kar took a drink from the cup of water in
front of Alto before saying, "You had hills and trees to stop the
wind. It's open land near the seas, and then there's the seas
themselves. Current runs from the northern waters along the Kelgryn
coast; it brings cold water and air with it."

The door opened to admit Karthor. He shut it
behind him and looked up to see everyone staring at him. "Uh, did I
interrupt something?"

"Talking about the fine weather ahead of us
in Kelgryn lands," Tristam said.

Kar caught his son's eye and reached up to
scratch away an imaginary stain on his lip. Karthor frowned and
reached up, searching for a similar stain. He brought his fingers
away and looked at them, and then looked at the grinning wizard. He
scowled.

"I don't get it?" Alto asked, looking back
and forth between the two men.

"An inappropriate joke at the expense of my
church," Karthor said.

Namitus and Tristam snorted. Alto laughed to
fit in but found himself more confused than ever. "Are we ready to
go?" he asked to change the topic.

"Yes, let's be off. We've been too long with
nothing but straw dummies to beat on," Tristam said as he rose up
from his seat.

"About that," the priest interrupted, "I've a
favor to ask."

"A favor?" Tristam frowned.

"To the southeast there's a village, it's not
on our way but they've run into problems and the troubles to the
north has the army too busy to help. They've sought help from
Leander."

"What sort of problems?" Kar asked.

"Can they pay?" Tristam followed.

Karthor's brow furrowed at the warrior's
question. He turned to his father and said, "There's a grove nearby
they claim is filled with fey spirits. People have been lost in it
and been missing for days before coming out with no memories. Now
something is terrorizing them. They've found signs of battle and
even blood, but no bodies. The villagers think whatever's in the
grove is taking them."

"And the pay?" Tristam reminded him.

Karthor sighed. "Yes, they've offered gold
for help, but they don't have much."

"Beats the promise of nothing, so long as we
don't lose any horses or equipment this time." Tristam turned and
pointed his fingers at the two youngest members of the Blades. "And
nobody's to be dying either!"

"I'm good with that," Namitus said. Alto
grinned and stood up. Helping people plagued by monsters was fast
becoming his specialty.

"You've taken to the magic remarkably well,"
the wizard said to Rosalyn from where she stood in her magical
cage. Her cell was shaped like a birdcage, the bars made of golden
motes of magic. "So well that you've become resistant to it. My
dear sweet Rosalyn, what shall I do with you?"

Rosalyn stood still. She could sit or lay
down, but that wouldn't do her any good. He'd punish her, and
punishment from the wizard was something she'd learned to avoid.
"Whatever you wish," she whispered.

His eyes narrowed. He snapped his fingers and
triggered the magical tattoos he'd crafted into her skin. Rosalyn
clenched her jaw as the arcane artwork writhed in her flesh. It
burned and stole her breath. She'd lost track of time but she knew
that many weeks had passed and only now was she growing strong
enough to keep from dropping to her knees. Forcing her breath
through her constricted throat, she wheezed out, "Whatever you
wish, Master Therion."

He twitched his wrist and the pain stopped.
Rosalyn had to catch herself to keep from falling. "Much better,"
he praised her. "You're getting stronger and more willful. That's
ironic. I broke you quickly, yet your willpower increases. Just
goes to show you needed to have your foolish pride freed up to
allow you to use it in other ways. I wonder..."

Rosalyn stood still while Therion turned and
strode away into another room. Once she was sure he was gone, she
allowed herself to relax. She looked down at the lines of ink that
were dormant now. They looked no more harmful than mud or paint
that depicted fanciful vines that wound around her torso. Therion
had painted the magical symbols on her using ink that smelled foul
and burned. All the while he chanted words that made a strange
sense to her, even though she couldn’t understand them. They lulled
her into complacency and stilled her skin even though her body
tried to cringe beneath the agony.

The end result was artwork that screamed of a
scandal. To paint such things upon her flesh, an artist would have
painted them directly upon her breasts, stomach, and even farther
below. Not that her current situation, being imprisoned naked and
ogled constantly by the wizard, was any less scandalous. She now
itched day and night as the hair that he'd used his magic to burn
away grew back. She hated Therion, but she feared him, too. She
wondered if the day would ever come that her hatred grew greater
than her fear.

"Admiring my artwork?"

Rosalyn jerked her head up. He was grinning
as he stared at her. "I was more than a little impressed myself.
I've never been much of an artist. You inspired me."

He made a gesture and a full-length mirror
floated out from the other room. It came to rest next to him and
just outside her cage. She gasped when the mirror shimmered and
instead of showing her own reflection, it depicted a man wearing a
tabard over a suit of chain mail walking into a building. The sign
next to the door showed a sword and axe crossed in front of a
blazing sun.

"The pathetic people of Fairhaven have sent
for help. Is this man, perhaps, your savior?"

Rosalyn gasped as the man turned to open the
door. She saw a holy symbol of Leander hanging from his neck.
"Master, why do you torture me?" Rosalyn whimpered.

"It pleases me," Therion said with a chuckle.
His laughter died as he watched her study the man entering the
building. Her eyes lit up as she saw him greet four others. He
turned, following her gaze to the young man who looked out of
place. He chuckled again and then turned back to her.

The man was tall and thick, no doubt stronger
than even the blacksmith's son that had tried to court her. His
eyes were what drew her; he searched out everything he could with
them and she saw an intelligence that was captivating and
frightening at the same time. The priest was handsome but this man,
this warrior, he was a man who would make things happen.

"The villagers have begged for help but no
one has listened to them. The army is busy and the church has
little interest in non-religious disturbances. So it has fallen to
this ragged crew. An unlikely collection of rabble," Therion said.
"But you may watch them come and fail. This is my gift to you."

"Why would you do this? Have I not given
everything to you?" she said. She grimaced, realizing she'd
forgotten to address him properly.

"No, you haven't," he said.

"Then take it, Master, please," she begged.
She didn't want him to have anything but she didn't want the pain
and anguish any more. She hoped that once he'd had enough of her,
she might yet be released. Life as the wife of a dull farmhand
didn't seem so bad to her anymore.

"I have plans for you, child. But you're not
ready. You still hold out on me. Only when you've fully become mine
will you be ready."

"What must I do?"

He laughed in his cruel and wicked way that
still sent chills down her spine. "There are many things you must
learn to do. Things you must offer and give freely of yourself. But
a part of you must also die before you will be ready." He turned to
stare at the mirror. One man with a beard and mustache stared up
into the air, his eyes searching for something that he could not
find. Therion frowned until the man turned his gaze back upon his
comrades that were rising from the table. "I think watching these
fools die will be the first step in your journey to becoming my
apprentice."

Rosalyn jerked her eyes from the mirror to
him. His apprentice? She couldn't be an apprentice; she was a
woman! Women couldn't be wizards and even if they could, it
required a brilliant mind and the legacy of demons, dragons, or
faeries. Or so she'd been told. Her parents were honest and pure
peasants. Her vision grew blurry as her chest tightened at the
thought of her parents. Living a simple life seemed like a
wonderful thing. Why did she have to be so stupid and go to the
stream in the forest instead of the one closer to her home?

She took a breath and squared her shoulders.
She'd just proved how stupid she was. His apprentice? Never! She
couldn't learn to use magic and even if she could, she'd never be a
witch. Witches were evil women. They were hated and hunted down
whenever they were found. What sort of life would that be? No
better than what she had now. No, she had to find a way to escape,
and if that meant doing whatever it took to make him believe she
was truly and fully his, then she would do it.

"Yes, Master," she said to him. "Whatever
your wish is, I will obey."

"You're a crafty one, I think," Therion said
as he watched her. "But so young and beautiful. I look forward to
this battle of wills and of wits."

She nodded her head and dropped to her knees
with her head bowed.

"No, no," he said. "Watch the show. I'll have
no further tasks or experiments for you, at least not until you see
what happens to them. I'll return with some food in a little
while."

Rosalyn lifted her head to the mirror and
watched the men mounting their horses and heading out the gate of
the city. Were they days or weeks away? She had no idea, but she
had to watch. Failing to please him would be failing herself as
well.

The hamlet of Fairhaven reminded Alto of
Highpeak when they discovered the city after it had been sacked.
The only difference was the lack of destruction and dead bodies. It
was small even as villages went, with a single inn and a general
store. A nearby smithy that tended to shoeing horses and mending
plows looked abandoned. Aside from a handful of houses, the only
other building was a lumber mill built next to the stream that ran
alongside the town.

"Seems we're too late," Tristam mused as they
crossed the bridge over the stream and rode into town.

Baldwyn, the man from Fairhaven that had
sought their help, shook his head. "They can't all be gone!"

"Where's this enchanted wood?" Kar asked.

"To the west; the river flows through it and
comes here on its way to the sea."

"The sea is near here?" Alto turned and sat
up on his horse to look to the east.

"Several days’ travel," Kar said. "Even by
horse."

"What about my people!" Baldwyn asked. "They
can't all be gone."

"Stick together; let's see what there is to
be seen," Tristam ordered. He spurred his horse forward and into
the center of the hard-packed dirt road that ran through town.

Alto studied the countryside as they rode,
looking for signs of disturbance. He nearly jerked himself out of
his saddle when Tristam yelled, "People of Fairhaven, show
yourselves!"

Alto gave up on his search of the grounds and
looked to the shops and houses. The buildings looked well
maintained if basic until he saw boards stripped away near the
roofline of the general store. He studied the rooflines closer and
saw a house missing a board along the roof. The same house, he
realized a moment later, was missing the window on the second
story.

"This town's been attacked," Alto called out
to the others. He pointed at the house and then at the ground where
a broken shutter had fallen. He turned and spied logs lying near
the lumber mill with white strips showing along their lengths.

"What's that?" Namitus asked, following his
gaze to the logs.

Alto frowned and shook his head. "I've seen
it before, but never that large."

"Seen what?" Tristam asked as he turned his
horse around.

"The stripping of logs like that. The bark's
been chewed off."

"Chewed? Are there beavers to blame for this
then?" Tristam chuckled at his own joke.

"Wasps," Alto said. "But never so large. It
must be something else."

A scream burst out of the house with the
missing window. A moment later, someone started shouting as a baby
began to cry. The Blades turned, as one, and stared at the house.
From the open window, a stick emerged and then bent to grab onto
the edge. Removing any doubt about what the stick was, a baby was
thrust into the open air. The screaming infant was held by the
pincers of an oval face with two segmented eyes. Long feelers
emerged from the head, and then another leg came out and allowed
the enormous wasp to leave the opening behind while it clung to the
side of the house and crawled up onto the roof.

"Saints preserve us!" Alto whispered at the
sight of the thing. The wasp was at least three feet long.

A woman, barely more than a girl herself,
rushed to the open window and reached up in vain. The wasp had
already climbed too far away. She looked down and spied them and
cried out, "Help!"

Alto scrambled to get his bow off his back.
He leapt off his horse and bent the weapon to fit the string to it.
"Hold, you'll hit the child!" Kar warned.