Wizard Pair (Book 3) (11 page)

He lowered his gaze, knowing what trouble he could get into just for looking at her. It was a fear he lived with since they had first spoken many moons ago.

She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. "You're getting tall."

He flinched as she touched him. He knew she wanted him to look at her, but he kept his eyes averted.

"Guard," shouted the Baroness.

Zhimosom turned to see the Baroness looking at him in rage.

"Take that man to the stocks. No commoner looks at my daughter, much less touches her."

The Guards grabbed him and knocked him to his knees. Zhimosom hung his head, avoiding eye contact with the Baroness as she raged on. "How dare you look at my daughter, you filthy swine? You will sorely regret taking that liberty by the time the sun goes down."

"Mother!" Rotiaqua stomped over to the Baroness. "He only saved me from getting hurt. He did nothing wrong."

"I'm done arguing with you." The Baroness turned to the Guard. "I said take him to the stocks and lock him there until dusk. That should give him time to think about touching his betters."

She turned back to Rotiaqua. "You get on your horse. I've planned a pleasant ride and you're not spoiling it, not over a dress, and not over a stable hand who doesn't know his place."

"Mother, please," Rotiaqua begged. "He did nothing wrong."

"I said I was done arguing with you. Get moving." The Baroness reined her horse and headed out of the stables.

"Please don't do this," Rotiaqua begged the Guard.

"Orders, Your Ladyship." He jerked Zhimosom to his feet.

"You don't have to do this," Rotiaqua said. "Please."

"Sorry, My Lady. The Baroness will check to see that it was done. You know that."

Rotiaqua turned to Zhimosom. "I'm sorry. Truly, I am."

Zhimosom lowered his eyes to the ground without a word. The Guard pulled at his arm, dragging him out of the stables.

The trek to the market was punctuated with jeers and cat calls from the onlookers. Zhimosom tried to keep his head down and subservient throughout the walk of shame.

They placed him in the stocks, slamming the heavy wooden clamps closed with a thud. The Guard placed a peg in the stocks to lock them shut and laughed. "Have fun today, son. We'll be back to get you at dusk. Unless we get distracted by some fair maiden."

"Don't forget me!" Zhimosom shouted.

The Guard laughed. "Don't worry, boy. Someone will take pity on you and let you out. They always do."

Zhimosom pulled at the rough wood, but it was no use. He was held fast. His back was bent and his legs cramped as he was forced to stoop.

A young boy and girl were the first ones to pass his way. The boy looked up at him and nudged his sister. She giggled and turned her head away as they hurried by.

A boy of about eight summers came along next. He stopped before the stocks and put his hands on his hips. "You, there!" He picked up a rotten tomato from a nearby stall and threw it at Zhimosom. It struck the stocks and splattered red juice across Zhimosom's face. The boy searched the ground, looking for another missile.

A woman in simple dress appeared from behind the stall. "Don't waste food on the likes of that." She grabbed him by the ear and pulled him along.

As the day wore on, the ache in Zhimosom's legs become intolerable. A few youngsters had come by to kick at him or spit in his face, but most were quickly hauled off by their parents, or lost interest when he didn't react.

Zhimosom used the time to practice his shields until he was able to protect himself adequately. Early in the afternoon, a crowd of youngsters arrived, milling around a boy of about ten summers in age. The youth separated himself from the crowd and approached the stocks.

"What'd you do?" he demanded. "Did you get caught having relations with a swine?"

Zhimosom remained silent. He hoped the youth would go away, but it didn't look like he would. Zhimosom raised his shields in preparation for whatever the youth had in mind. He steeled himself and waited.

The youth stepped back and looked around. He found a stone, about the size of his closed fist. He hauled back and screamed at Zhimosom.

"Didn't you hear me? I asked you what you did. Do you want me to throw this rock at your head?"

Zhimosom remained silent.

The other boys taunted the youth with the rock. "Throw it. He's just a stable boy. Throw it. That's why he's here, so we can have a little fun."

Zhimosom looked at the boy. He hardened his shields and focused his attention on the rock the youth held. He envisioned it getting hotter and hotter. He saw it as red hot and hissing, sitting there in the boy's hand.

The youth suddenly dropped the rock. He shook his hand as if it had been burned, and stuck it in his armpit. He looked back at Zhimosom with fear in his eye, then down at the rock. He reached down to touch it, only to have it sizzle and hiss as his finger came in contact. He pulled his hand away quickly, sticking the finger in his mouth.

"Come on, throw it," taunted the other boys. The youth looked at his friends and shook his head, then turned and walked slowly away.

Zhimosom breathed a sigh of relief. He was able to tolerate the occasional clod of dirt or spoiled fruit, but rocks were another matter. He raised his eyes to watch the boys run off, pushing and shoving as they taunted the youth who had dropped the rock.

Off in the crowd, Zhimosom caught sight of the black robes of the Priest he and Rotiaqua had been observing. Sulrad turned to look at him and Zhimosom knew that Sulrad had sensed the magic when Zhimosom protected himself from the boy.

Sulrad turned and strode towards Zhimosom.

Zhimosom struggled in the stocks. He reached out with his magic to pull the pin that secured them shut. He wanted to run, to get away from the Priest. He felt the pin wriggle loose and fall to the ground just as a young girl dressed in ragged clothes with a yoke around her neck and two pails of water crashed into Sulrad.

It was Brill!

She turned her head to him and motioned him to run while she apologized profusely but kept Sulrad focused on her and the water that was turning the ground beneath him to mud.

Zhimosom pulled free of the stocks and ran off into the crowd, silently thanking the girl for interfering on his behalf.

Temple

Rotiaqua had watched as the factor's lot was cleared and the new structure rose. It was a grand Temple with room for hundreds of followers. There were as yet few, but word was getting around that those who embraced the new god Ran had found fortune in their business and were plagued by fewer illnesses.

"I want you to go see what the Priest is up to," the Baron told Rotiaqua when he heard the news. "I understand that he holds audience mid morning on alternate days. It is said that he grants favors in health and good fortune for the faithful."

"I don't like him." Rotiaqua wanted nothing less than to witness what the Priest was doing to the people, but the Baron had often said that he was pleased with Sulrad's performance, both in battle, and in increasing his Golds through Temple offerings.

"One does not need to like every business partner one has. However, this one has proved to be valuable indeed. I would like your opinion on these supplicants."

"Father, you know all he is doing is robbing these folk. Why do you support him so?"

"He has saved me dearly by his actions against King Omrik, and he serves a purpose in transferring Gold from the wealthy and the merchants into our treasury. You know how they scream and threaten revolt if we even hint at increasing the duty they pay, but they are flocking to this new Temple, happy to hand over their Gold."

"He's no better than a charlatan."

"Be that as it may, he serves my purposes. Go and see what he's up to and bring me back the news." The Baron dismissed her and Rotiaqua knew there was no arguing with him.

Rotiaqua arrived at the Temple just before the audiences were scheduled to start. The new building was framed up with sturdy wooden beams and covered with drapes in areas where the walls had not yet been completed. Rotiaqua wondered at the size of the structure. There was nothing to compare to it except the castle itself.

The Temple was huge and from what she could see of the completed areas, it was going to be opulent. The windows were large and richly decorated and those rooms that were complete showed furnishings of the highest quality and candlesticks decorated with gold. Surely, Sulrad was doing well with the Nobles and merchants.

"Welcome, My Lady," Sulrad said when he saw her arrive. "I am honored to have you here today. Is there something you need?"

"No, nothing. I came here to witness your audience this morning. I hope it's not an inconvenience for you." Secretly, she hoped he would throw her out and she would have a complaint to carry back to her father.

"No inconvenience." Sulrad raised his arm and a young woman came scurrying. "Please bring my guest suitable seating."

"Right away, Father." She bowed her head and departed to return with a chair. She placed the chair off to the side, where Rotiaqua could witness the proceedings.

As the first supplicant arrived, the attendant leaned over to Rotiaqua and whispered, "That's Anelm. He's a cloth merchant. He supplies the best tailors in the region. He's very wealthy."

Anelm approached the Priest. "Father, I beseech your blessing. I have a daughter who has fallen ill. She has the flux, and has grown weak. I fear for her life."

"How old is your daughter?" Sulrad asked.

"She is seven summers."

"How long has she been ill?"

"Half a moon."

"She is too far gone. You should have come to me sooner."

Anelm dropped to his knees and wrung his hands. "Please, I beg of you, Father. I can pay you double. Please try to help her."

"I have no need of your cloth. What would I do with more cloth?"

"I ... I have something else. I have a servant girl I just purchased. She is yours if you help my daughter."

"A servant girl?" Sulrad asked. "I could use one of those. Can she cook? Clean?"

"I have had her training in my kitchens since I purchased her. She mostly fetches water and cleans up after the cooks."

"I will see your daughter. Bring her to the Temple after the noon meal, and bring this servant girl, too."

The parade of supplicants were ushered in one by one to present their petitions to the Priest. They ranged from requests for minor success in business to serious family illnesses and even one death.

A family arrived with a young boy in tow. He was around fourteen summers in age, with unevenly cut hair and a freckled face that matched his mother's. She wore a patched and ill fitting homemade dress that obviously only came out for special occasions.

"Father. Our son has had the dreams we were instructed to watch for," she said bowing.

"What dreams are those?" Sulrad asked. He looked indifferent, as if the family was beneath his notice.

"Fire, Father. He dreams of fire and it comes true. He almost burned down the homestead with his dreams." She swatted the boy across the head.

"Fire?" Sulrad sat up and took notice. "You dream of fire and it comes to pass?"

"Yes, Father."

Sulrad motioned the boy forward. "Please come here."

The boy hesitantly took a few steps towards the Priest and stopped. He turned to look at his mother, who made a shooing motion urging him forward.

"Come, boy. There is no reason to be afraid. Come here so I can get a look at you." Sulrad put his hand on the boy's head and held the other, palm up, before the boy's face, as if cupping something invisible.

"Please imagine fire. Right here in my hand. Imagine the flame centered on my palm, a few digits tall and blue."

The boy closed his eyes and concentrated. Rotiaqua felt the spark of magic in him, but it was weak and undefined. He might be a Wizard, but not much of one.

Suddenly, a flame burst forth from Sulrad's hand, and quickly extinguished. Sulrad had added his own magic to the boy's in order to make the flame appear.

"Very good. You have the gift." Sulrad patted the boy on the head. He turned to the young girl who had brought Rotiaqua her chair and motioned her to get the boy.

"Go with her." Sulrad pushed the boy towards her.

The boy hesitated and turned back to his mother. The woman made the same shooing motion, urging him to comply.

When the boy disappeared from view, Sulrad looked back at the woman. "Is there anything else?"

The woman coughed into her hand and hid behind it as she timidly said, "The reward?"

"Reward? I'm relieving you of a mouth to feed. I'm removing a potential danger to you and your family. How well would things go if the boy dreamed of fire when you were all sleeping?"

"We are poor, Father." The woman bowed her head but held her ground.

Sulrad reached into his robe and fished out a battered silver. He tossed it to the woman. "Here. This is for the boy, less what I deserve for saving your family a lot of trouble."

"Thank you." The woman caught the coin, pocketed it, and turned to leave.

They filed out without their son. Rotiaqua was saddened by the fact that neither father nor mother had looked back to see what had become of the boy.

That afternoon Rotiaqua was sent back to the Temple to witness the healing of Anelm's daughter. She arrived to find Anelm and the girl in a small room adjacent to the audience chamber.

The girl was small for her age, with long sandy hair that mirrored her father's. She stood beside him, holding his hand.

"This is your daughter?" Sulrad asked.

"Yes, Father. She has the flux. You can see for yourself. She has a fever and coughs. We have tried the healing herbs but they have done no good."

"Bring her to me." Sulrad motioned the girl over.

Anelm encouraged the girl forward. He led her to the Priest and helped her kneel before him.

Sulrad placed his hand on the girl's head. He looked at Anelm. "You have brought payment as we agreed?"