Blood Of Kings: The Shadow Mage (6 page)

Inside the temple was dark. There were no windows or any other doors to give access to sunlight and all of the torches and lanterns lining the walls of the entrance hallway had been extinguished. The air was thick with the heady scent of burning incense. Normand pushed forward as men lit his way, rushing ahead with flaming torches. The duke glanced in the direction of the mage several times, making sure the practitioner of magic, and his only defence against the dark arts of the priestesses of Eor, was still at his shoulder.

The long corridor opened into a wide, circular chamber, the high roof supported by towering columns. Men quickly filed into the chamber, putting flame to the sconces on the wall; their shadows danced across the marble floor. Their echoing boots broke the eerie silence. Normand stopped suddenly, letting his sword drop by his side as the flickering torches bathed the chamber in orange light. Lying, in a circle, with their eyes closed and their arms by their sides, as if in peaceful slumber, were the priestesses of Eor.

“Are they?” he began, but a knight answered for him.

“Dead, my lord.” He moved to each one, putting his cheek to their faces before touching his hand to their cold skin. “All of them.”

“How many?” he asked irritably, even as he heard the mage’s mumbled counting behind him. Cautiously he stepped towards the bodies, the lifelike eye tattoo on each of their foreheads made him shiver involuntarily.

“Thirty-two, my lord,” the mage answered.

“One missing,” Normand answered, unable to shake the feeling of being watched by thirty-two false eyes branded onto thirty-two foreheads. “Make sure they are all really dead,” he said to the knight moving among the bodies. He drew his sword and plunged it into the heart of the first, before moving to the next. The duke then swung back towards the mage. “There is one missing!” he growled.

“Aye, the high priestess herself,” the mage answered.

“Find her!” he growled at the mage, before turning to his knights. “Tear this place apart brick by brick, until you have found her. Pull the city down if you have to, just find her!” He stormed from the chamber then, with the mage hurrying behind him.

“Calm yourself, my lord. She will be found, and in the meantime you have my protection. She will not harm you,” the mage panted.

Normand stopped and whirled around. “And is your magic powerful enough to protect us all? Can you guard the dreams of my men too?”

“No, my lord, I cannot,” the mage answered, dropping his head.

“She must be found! Tell me, why did they take their own lives?”

“There is power in death, my lord. Especially if a life is freely given.”

“She sacrificed them all to make good her own escape? Be on your guard, Mage,” Normand said and then barked an order to one of his knights. “Should I fail to wake from sleep, at any time before the high priestess is caught, slit his throat.” He pointed at the mage before turning to face the smaller man. “On your guard, Mage, the stakes are high!”

The mage swallowed hard and nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

“A purse of gold to the man who brings me her head, attached or not to the rest of her,” Normand bellowed to all within earshot.

All around him was devastation and mayhem as his army put the Thieves Citadel to the sword. The blemish, for so long, staining the honour of his family would finally be eradicated, and the brigands and whores, thieves and assassins who populated the city would suffer badly at the hands of his soldiers. But the High Priestess of Eor had escaped. His greatest fear, literally his nightmare was loose, and likely thirsting for vengeance.

“Find her!” he barked again and strode from the devastated city.

 Tomas: Woodvale Village

T
he sun sank below the distant mountains, draining all light from the sky. Any sign of the trailing smoke had disappeared with the inky backdrop of the night sky. Tomas led the small group of men to the edge of town where they were met by Rorbert, a village elder, whom Tomas knew had once served in the King’s Lancers. The loss of an eye and a severe limp that made him grumble in cold weather was proof that he had seen action.

“Tomas,” the grey-beard began, unable to meet the blacksmith’s eye. “I’m sorry, Tomas.”

“What has happened, Rorbert?”

“The magistrate came. He…” Rorbert dropped his head. “Aliss…”

Tomas heard no more. He was off and running as words drifted on the wind. He was unaware of the doors and windows being barred as he ran past, of husbands pulling wives, and wives pulling their children from the street.

At the far end of the village the blackened carcass of his house stood stark in the moonlight. Behind his ruined home, his blacksmith’s workshop bore the scorch marks of the flames, but at least still stood relatively untouched.

“Aliss!” he cried out, twisting this way and that, looking for his wife. “Aliss!” he yelled until his throat was raw and his voice hoarse.

“She’s gone, Tomas. They took her,” Rorbert said softly, coming up behind him, panting.

“Why?” Tomas asked, the anguish he felt in his heart clearly evident in his voice. In truth he was still in shock as he tried to fathom what had happened while he was gone. As he stood amidst the destruction of his home tears glistened at the edge of his eyes. “What happened here?” His eyes bored into those of the shorter man, searching for answers, searching for truth.

“The magistrate was sent for, to report the missing babe. He and his soldiers were only a short distance away dealing with a matter in Dortia. He came straight away.” The grey-beard paused, rubbing greasy hands into his tunic.

“Go on,” Tomas encouraged as he became irritated with Rorbert’s nervousness.

“The story of the missing babe was related to him and he asked to speak with Marjeri. She… she,” Rorbert stumbled over his words.

“Tell me.”

“She denounced Aliss as a witch. She said, it was your wife who had stolen her baby to use his blood to make potions, and feed the demons she summoned.”

“What nonsense is this?” Tomas could not believe his ears. It was true, Aliss had often made potions and elixirs, but from plants and herbs she collected in the forest, and only to help folk. People came from miles to visit her with their ailments. She was certainly not a witch, at least not one who would cause mischief. “Marjeri called her witch? Why would she even think such a thing, let alone voice it? Who was it she called when her other boy took ill last winter and almost coughed up a lung? Aliss cured the lad,” he spat out the last part.

“Her mind is addled with the loss of her child. She doesn’t know what she is saying.” Rorbert shrugged, half-heartedly defending the accuser.

“I spent the day searching for her child! Aliss aided in the birth of the babe!” Tomas could feel his anger building up. He picked up the crossbow he had left leaning against a blackened post.

“What are you going to do?” Rorbert asked, suddenly anxious.

“I’m going to get her back,” he answered and headed towards his stable. He kept two horses there, a luxury he could ill afford, but Aliss loved to go riding whenever she could and he could never deny her anything.

“Tomas… they were not gentle with her,” Rorbert called after him, dropping his head as he did so. “The magistrate’s eyes were filled with lust when he saw her.”

Tomas growled as hatred darkened his face. “Did not one among you try to help her?”

“I’m an old man, Tomas. The rest of the folk were scared. What could we do?”

Tomas spat his contempt into the scorched earth at his feet and strode to the stable. He led a dun-coloured gelding by the reins, and quickly tacked up his horse. “Which way did they go?” Tomas growled.

Rorbert pointed east away from the setting sun. “Have a care, Tomas. He has half a score of armed men with him. And he is the law in this part of the country. Do not throw your life away.”

Tomas scowled at the older man as he hauled himself into the saddle. “He has not the right,” he said before urging his mount forward.

“Aye, but he does,” Rorbert said sadly, as the sound of hoof-beats disappeared into the darkness.

Tomas was wary of pushing the horse too hard in the darkness. One misplaced foot, or a divot on the well travelled road and it would be disaster. He needed to catch the magistrate before he made it back to his keep or it would make rescuing Aliss so much harder, but a horse with a broken leg or neck would be of no use to him.

As it happened, he was hailed on the road far sooner than he had imagined. In his mind, the magistrate and his entourage were hurrying to get to the safety of his walls, eager to put to trial and pronounce judgement on his prisoner. In his mind, the magistrate was fleeing. Not so, the king’s official had taken a leisurely pace and had made camp by a small stream a short ride from the village.

“Halt and identify yourself!” Tomas was challenged as he approached the camp by two liveried guardsmen. Both wore shirts of chainmail and round helms with a long nose guard protecting the upper half of their face. Although both were armed with swords, neither had drawn their weapon.

“I wish to see the magistrate,” Tomas declared impatiently. In the distance he could see a small campfire glowing in the darkness. Several dark shapes huddled around the fire, but he could not identify anyone. The stream gurgled over stones behind them, as the fire crackled sending sparks into the air.

“And who might you be then?” one guard answered.

“The magistrate is busy,” the other said. His companion chuckled.

Just then a scream pierced the night. Instinctively, Tomas kicked his horse forward between the two guards, catching them unawares. He guided the mount towards the cry of distress as the two guards picked themselves up while shouting warnings to the camp. The shapes stirred from the around the campfire. The sound of steel being drawn from sheaths filled the air.

Tomas unslung the crossbow from his back and fumbled for a bolt from the quiver on his belt. Guards rushed forward from the darkness startling his horse. The beast reared up on its hind legs and threw Tomas from the saddle. He hit the dirt with a thud he felt travel up his spine to the base of his skull. The horse screeched and scrambled to safety as Tomas groaned on the ground. Rough hands hauled him to his feet.

“What is the meaning of this?” a voice bellowed. Tomas saw an older man approach. He wore a thunderous expression on his face, his expensive cloak fanned out behind him as he marched towards the blacksmith. “Who are you? And what in The Hag’s Dark Pit do you want?”

“The magistrate asked you a question. Answer his lordship!” Tomas felt the sting of a gauntleted fist connect with the side of his head. He would have fallen again if he had not been held between the two guards. “Valley scum,” the guard added pushing Tomas to the ground at the magistrate’s feet.

When he looked up it was not the magistrate he saw. Staring straight at him, through tear-filled eyes and bruised face, was Aliss. She had been tethered to a tree, her dress was ripped exposing one breast. Her lips trembled and she was shaking her head, mouthing the word, ‘no’. Tomas felt his rage burning inside him. He spat a stream of blood onto the ground and turned an icy glare towards the magistrate as he looked up at the king’s official. The magistrate took an involuntary step backwards from the intensity of the stare. “What,” he began levelly, “have you done to my wife?” Although the words were spoken softly, the threat lacing them was clear.

“The witch is your wife?” one of the guards chuckled. He wrenched Tomas back by the hair. “You’ll not satisfy her again now that she’s tasted a real man.”

“Aye, and more than one,” another guard added, laughing.

A smirk spread across the magistrate’s face. “She will face the flames before the week is out. Find another.” With the dismissive uttered, he turned his back on the stricken Tomas and walked away.

The blacksmith glanced over at his wife and saw the shame written plainly in her eyes and in every mark, every bruise on her face. She looked away unable to meet his eyes, knowing that he now knew. It broke his heart. Then the mist descended. Working as a blacksmith had developed his upper body muscles, giving him the strength of a horse, but Tomas had speed too, and surprise. The guard was still chuckling when Tomas leapt up and punched him so hard in the face that he fell to the ground and lay still. He grabbed the second by the throat, effortlessly throttling him and flinging him away where he heaved and gasped in an attempt to suck in air. Tomas followed through with a kick to the side of his head. It knocked the helmet of his head and sent him sprawling to the ground.

The magistrate whirled around at the commotion and fumbled for the sword at his belt. Tomas grabbed his wrist and squeezed until he heard a crack. The man who would judge his wife and brand her witch, screamed at the agony of his broken hand. The big blacksmith drew his head back before whipping it forward. His forehead connected with the magistrate’s face with a spray of blood. His legs buckled and he collapsed to the ground beside his guards.

“Tomas!” Aliss screamed. Pain exploded in his shoulder driving him to his knees. The rest of the magistrate’s compliment of guards were roused now. One was pointing a crossbow at Tomas. The blacksmith clawed at the bolt protruding from his back, but could not reach it.

“Run, Tomas! Please, just run!” Aliss screamed at him. The guards approached warily, swords drawn. Tomas pushed himself to his feet, grabbing the magistrate’s fallen sword as he did so. “Run!”

Tomas hefted the blade. He would give his life for his woman, but if he died, who then would be left to help her? “I’ll come for you,” he said. All he saw were her tears.

He turned then and ran for his horse, ignoring the burning pain in his back. Time ceased to exist for him then, as he fled into the darkness. If pursuit came he did not know, nor how he had lost them. He kicked the horse and let it take him away, his mind clouded by the memory of his wife tied to a tree, surrounded by men who had abused her and named her witch. And he had left her with them. He had no idea when the darkness came and took him.