Children of Fire (26 page)

Keegan noticed a faint mark on her skin resembling the tattoos Rexol had often painted on his own body. After a second it seemed to fade, seeping into Cassandra's flesh and vanishing beneath the surface.

“Why are you helping them do this to me?” the wizard demanded of the young woman who had once been his apprentice. “After all I have done for you, why do you hate me so?”

“After all you have done for me?” Her voice grew cold and she stopped rubbing her arm, as if she had forgotten about the sudden flash of pain she had just experienced. “What, exactly, have you ever done for me, Rexol?”

“I cared for you when no one else would,” he answered. “I took you in. I kept you safe. Perhaps you were too young to remember.”

“I may have been too young to remember but the Pontiff has told me the truth!” Cassandra hissed. “You only cared about me for my talent. You only wanted to exploit my visions! That was why you hid me from the Order. That was why you stole me away when my family sent me to join the Monastery!”

“Your parents never wanted you to join the Order,” Rexol replied. “They tried to send you away to the Western Isles to hide you. But the Order found you anyway. The Pontiff was the one who was going to steal you from your family. I saved you.”

There was a long moment of silence before she angrily replied, “Why do you think I would believe you, wizard?”

“Rexol speaks the truth,” Jerrod said softly. “The Pilgrims came for you, Cassandra, but I was there first. Together you and I fled across the river and into the desert. I brought you to Rexol. What he says is true.”

“I trust the Pontiff far more than I trust either of you.”

Keegan thought he could sense uncertainty in her voice now.

“Try to remember, Cassandra. You clung to my back and we swam across the river. Surely you must have seen this in your dreams.”

A brief flicker of doubt crossed her face, but she quickly masked it with a resolute determination.

“My loyalty is to the Pontiff and the Order! Had I not come to the Monastery I would never have learned to control the terrible power within me. It would have destroyed me.”

“You do not control your power, Cassandra,” Rexol countered. “You deny it. The Order has done nothing but hold you back and keep you from your true potential.”

“Enough!” she spat, then took a deep breath to calm herself.

Turning her attention back to Keegan, she said, “I had hoped you would see reason. But if you will not testify against your master, then you will share his fate.”

With a regretful sigh and a somber shake of her head she turned away and rapped once on the door of the cell. It was opened from the other side and she disappeared through it, taking the lantern with her. The door slammed shut behind her and their prison was cast into darkness once more.

Cassandra walked quickly through the Monastery's halls, rubbing the spot on her arm where Rexol had grabbed her. He hadn't hurt her, but he had surprised her. There was no bruising from his grasp, no evidence he had even touched her at all. Yet she could still feel his fingers tingling on her skin.

She had hoped the young man with them would accept her offer; as Rexol had said, she recognized something of herself in him. Had she not been liberated from the wizard's clutches, she might be the one facing execution now. But he refused to see his master for what he really was. Cassandra, however, knew better. She had no doubt that Rexol had only taken her in because he hoped to exploit her power.

Yet despite this, she found it difficult to hate him. She didn't remember much of the years she spent as a young child with him, but the memories she had weren't necessarily bad.

Her wrist began to itch, and she scratched at it absently.

Rexol had never been cruel to her. He had never been dishonest with her. For several years, he had raised her and cared for her. And despite her insistence to the contrary she knew there was still some bond between them. She had felt it when Rexol had grabbed her wrist.

There had been magic in the wizard's touch, of that she was certain. Some lingering spark, a small remnant of his past power over her. But what was the result? Nothing, as far as she could tell. Which meant there was no reason to tell the Pontiff about it.

Rexol's fingers tingled faintly, a response to the magic he had unleashed. The sensation was so slight he wasn't sure if it was real or if his mind merely conjured it up to give him some false hope in an otherwise hopeless situation.

It had been over a decade since he had placed the spell of binding on Cassandra. He'd sensed the glyph beneath her skin, but would the spell still be potent after such a long dormancy? Would it be strong enough to compel one of the Order to betray her brothers and sisters?

It had been many days since Rexol had consumed witchroot; only the faintest traces of it still lingered in his blood. And the monks had stripped him of his charms before throwing him in prison, so there had been no way for the wizard to augment the power of his original spell.

“Master?” Keegan asked, his voice emerging like a ghost from the absolute darkness of the cell. “What do we do now?”

The young man might have noticed the faint flash of magic. He might suspect that his master had some kind of plan. But he himself had no part to play in it. There was no point in telling him anything. Not yet.

“We wait.”

He had felt the burning sting of Chaos when he had triggered the rune. He knew he had planted the seed. But would the enchantment take root and grow?

Cassandra marched quickly through the halls, heading back toward her room. Despite her efforts to focus on something else—anything else—her mind kept drifting back to Rexol and the others in the dungeon.

They brought this fate on themselves,
she silently assured herself.
They chose the path they are on. Just as you chose to join the Order.

But did she really choose the Order? Had she not been taken from Rexol, would she have been as foolishly loyal to the wizard as his stubborn young apprentice? Were it not for the whims of fate that had brought her to the Monastery, would she now be the one on trial?

Fate does not turn on a whim,
she reminded herself, calling upon the wisdom of the Order's teachings.
We serve the True Gods; we are instruments of their will.

The Old Gods are dead!

The blasphemous words sprang into her head unbidden; she could hear Rexol's voice as if he were standing beside her, whispering in her ear.

Glancing quickly from side to side to assure herself she was alone, she hurried to her room. Once there, she quickly seated herself on mat on the floor, legs crossed. Taking slow, deep breaths she sought solace in the act of meditation.

But instead of peace and tranquility, her thoughts were embroiled in images of fire and flame. In her mind's eye she watched as Jerrod, Rexol, and the young apprentice were burned alive, screaming in agony as their skin bubbled and boiled from the terrible heat.

Cassandra leapt to her feet, the vision so real the sickly sweet stench of melting flesh still lingered in her nostrils. For several seconds she struggled to keep her stomach from disgorging its contents before she finally lost the battle and retched up her last meal.

Heretics deserve no mercy!
she reminded herself, though for some reason the words lacked conviction.

Nobody deserves to die like that.
Once again the voice in her head was that of Rexol.

Cassandra shook her head to dispel the unwelcome presence, staggering backward as her world began to spin.

Something is wrong. I must warn the Pontiff.

Still on unsteady feet, she turned to the door of her chamber. In that instant she became acutely aware of her wrist: The itch was growing worse; it was driving her mad. It felt as if something was writhing beneath her skin, and she dug into the flesh in a desperate effort to burrow it out.

Her nails carved deep red furrows into her pale skin. A second later a single drop of blood welled to the surface and Cassandra's mystical sight was momentarily blinded by a brilliant flash.

In that instant it all became clear. Rexol was right. Everything he said had been true. The wizard hadn't stolen her from her parents: It was the Order that had tried to steal her. The Pontiff had lied to her all these years, he had betrayed her. He was a man without scruples, a man without mercy. Rexol, Jerrod, even the young apprentice were going to be burned at the stake. Unless she saved them.

Cassandra opened the door of her room, moving with quick, sure steps toward the lower levels of the Monastery where the prisoners were kept.

She knew the guards had been given strict instructions to limit all access to the cells holding the prisoners. But they knew the Pontiff had granted her permission to speak with them so she could appeal to Rexol's apprentice. They'd already let her see the prisoners once—they wouldn't hesitate to let her see them a second time.

At her request the two guards at the top of the stairs lit a lantern and accompanied her down into the dungeon, as they had before. At her signal, they opened the cell without a second thought.

As soon as the cell door was open she drove her fist into the soft flesh behind the first guard's ear, a simple move known to all the monks and one easily countered. But surprise gave her the advantage, and he crumpled silently to the ground. The second guard wasn't caught so unawares, however. He blocked her next attack, the still-burning lantern falling to the floor.

Even as he was taking the breath to cry out an alarm Jerrod crossed the cell and fell on him from behind. There was a sharp crack as the man's neck broke.

“You didn't have to kill him!” Cassandra admonished in a loud whisper.

Ignoring her, Jerrod bent down and broke the neck of the unconscious first guard, then scooped up the lantern. Rexol sprang up and hauled his apprentice to his feet.

Cassandra stumbled back as the three men shoved their way past her and out of the cell into the freedom of the hallway beyond. Slowly her mind began to clear, the shock of seeing two of her brothers mercilessly slain breaking the insidious spell that had worked its way into her mind. Her arm still burned but the feeling was rapidly fading now that the enchantment had served its purpose.

“What have I done?” she muttered through the lifting fog.

The words were barely out of her mouth when Jerrod was in motion again. He grabbed her by the waist, spun her around, and shoved her into the far corner of the now empty cell. The door slammed shut, trapping her inside.

They were free. Sort of. Though released from the cell Keegan was smart enough to understand that they were still deep within the bowels of the Monastery, and neither he nor his master had charms with them. The absence of charms, combined with the lack of witchroot in their blood, made even the simplest of spells a trial. If they were going to escape the fortress it would have to be through nonmagical means.

“We have to act before the Pontiff realizes we're free,” Jerrod warned. “Follow me.”

With the monk leading the way the three fugitives scurried down the dimly lit passage, their hunched forms and Jerrod's swaying lantern casting eerie shadows on the stone walls.

They climbed the stairs leading up from the dungeon. At the top they found a heavy iron door. Jerrod handed the lantern back to Rexol then used both hands to push against its smooth surface. The door opened grudgingly, the creaking of the hinges sounding unnaturally loud in the heavy silence surrounding them.

Three members of the Order, two men and one woman, were waiting on the other side.

Keegan froze when he saw them, knowing their escape was over. Just in front of him Rexol began the incantations of a spell, but Keegan could sense only the faintest trickle of gathering Chaos—far too little to have any real effect.

Jerrod held up a hand to stay the spell before Rexol could unleash his feeble magic.

“How did you escape your cell?” the woman asked, though not with the anger or fear Keegan would have expected in the question.

“Cassandra set us free, though I don't think she can be considered an ally to our cause. It seems I was not the only one who staged my capture just to plan an escape.”

Keegan's mind was quick; it only took him a moment to piece it all together. These monks were Jerrod's allies. They must have been coming to release him from his cell. For some reason he had allowed himself to be captured, knowing his hidden followers within the Order would free him before his trial. Except that Rexol's spell over Cassandra had freed them first.

One of the men fixed his blind eyes on Keegan. “Is this the savior?”

“Yes,” was Jerrod's simple reply.

The monks bowed briefly toward the young man in a show of respect. Keegan wasn't sure what to say or do in response. Fortunately they weren't waiting for him to reply.

“We don't have much time,” the woman reminded Jerrod, handing him a bundle of clothes from under her arm. “The others are preparing your mounts. Your only hope is to be miles away from here by the time the Pontiff realizes you are gone.”

“We will do what we can to delay their pursuit of you,” one of the men continued, “but we are outnumbered by twenty to one. Even with the element of surprise it won't take long for Yasmin's Inquisitors to overwhelm us.”

The clothes turned out to be robes of the kind worn by all those who served the Order. With the hoods pulled up, and from far enough away, the three of them would look like any of the other monks within the Monastery. At first Keegan wondered if the disguise was enough to fool the strange second sight of the Order—then he realized it must serve some purpose. If not, they wouldn't have bothered with any disguises at all.

His mind was reeling as he pulled the cloak over his head. It was obvious there was some kind of rebellion or uprising going on in the Monastery, and Jerrod seemed to be at the center of it. Clearly he had let himself be captured, but Keegan couldn't understand why.

And why had they referred to him as the savior? The savior of what? There were too many things he didn't understand, but he was smart enough to realize that now was not the time to start asking questions. The answers could wait until they were safely away from the Monastery … assuming they survived.

“If we are careful we can reach the stables without being seen,” Jerrod said, turning his attention back to his fellow prisoners. “But we have to go right now.”

Rexol, who hadn't said anything since they had escaped the cell, simply shook his head. “No. I'm not leaving without the Crown.”

“What Crown?” Jerrod demanded, but Keegan knew what Rexol meant: The Talisman was somewhere here in the Monastery.

“I know it's here,” Rexol said. “Ezra knew, too, didn't he? Somehow he learned of the Pontiff's great secret. But he warned you never to tell me about it.”

Several seconds of uncomfortable silence passed before Jerrod spoke again. He didn't bother denying the mage's accusation.

“Do you realize what is at stake, Rexol? Whatever ambitions you might have, they must be set aside until we are beyond the Pontiff's reach.”

“No. I came here for one reason: to claim the Crown for myself. I will not allow my purpose to be swayed by any plot or scheme of you and your followers.”

“Even if the Crown is here,” Jerrod hissed, “it is hidden away where no one can find it!”

“I can find it,” Rexol said with certainty. “It is calling to me. I can feel its presence.”

“Then go find it,” Jerrod said with a shrug. “But do not expect us to wait for you. You are inconsequential, anyway.” He pointed at Keegan. “He is the one we came for. The savior.”

Arrogant rage flashed across the wizard's features, an expression Keegan had seen many times before. “Damn your prophecies! He is not your savior, he is my apprentice! And my apprentice will go with me!”

“You are going to your own death,” Jerrod said without a hint of malice or anger. “Your apprentice has a greater destiny awaiting him. He must come with us.”

Rexol gave a cunning smile. “I believe that decision lies with him.”

All eyes turned to Keegan. The young man felt as if his knees were about to give out.

“I … I don't understand what you're saying,” he told Jerrod. “I'm no savior.”

“There isn't time to explain,” Jerrod told him. “A simple choice: Whom do you trust? But whatever your decision, it must be made quickly.”

He knew little about the Order, and even less about this rogue monk and his followers. Rexol, on the other hand, had been his master for a full year. He understood the wizard, and he knew why he was here and what he was after. He wanted the Crown; he wanted to possess the power of the Talisman. True, he had risked Keegan's own life to put himself in a position to acquire it. But the young man would have expected nothing less from his master.