Dragon's Tongue (The Demon Bound) (30 page)

“Please…” he whispered. “Please don’t do to me what you did to Ronan the night you killed him…for pity’s sake, please…”

Tane paused. “How did you know I killed Ronan Tey?”

“I…I saw you do it in a dream…your bandits captured him, but you tortured him, and you cut off his hand, and you…”

“You saw all that in a dream,?” Tane reared back, looking genuinely impressed. “You actually dreamed of my killing Ronan Tey?”

“Yes,” Alaric said.

Tane’s free hand cupped Alaric’s jaw, gently drawing his face from one side to the other as though examining a prize gem. “Just what sort of mageborn are you to possess the power to see the past in his dreams?”

Alaric swallowed hard. “One who wishes he’d never been anything but a bard.”

Tane let go and reared back, smiling. “I can see why Ronan chose you,” he said. “You have a fine sense of humor. I appreciate that in a man who is about to be tortured. I will give you another chance to save yourself a great deal of pain, Alaric Braidwine. Tell me what I want to know, and you will not have to suffer.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Alaric said, fighting the urge to sob. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. By all the gods, why had he not listened to Fenelon?

Tane’s deep breath took an eternity before he spoke again. “That’s too bad,” he said and rested his hand atop Alaric’s head as though blessing him. “I fear it really is going to be a long night for both of us.”

Tane began to whisper spell words, drawing essence into the air and conjuring white fire into his thin-bladed knife. Alaric could smell hot metal, much like being in his father’s forge when he was a lad.

The first pain was nowhere near the worst.

THIRTY ONE

At first, the master of Chambers was reluctant to allow Etienne and her companions to use the large conjuring chamber. “Magister Alden has it reserved for two days hence and wishes it be completely cleansed of all magic before then.

“So we will cleanse it when we are through,” Etienne insisted. “This is a matter of life and death. For all we know, it’s too late to save a young mageborn’s life. Would you wish to be responsible for assisting in his death by delaying our need?”

“Your cleansing will leave residue,” he argued.

“Look. I am a magister of First Rank on the Council of Mageborn, and I will go to Turlough himself and report your refusal, and I can promise it will not go well for you when I do. Now give me those keys before I am forced to leave your residue from here to Yewer.” Horns, but she hated to lose control in that fashion.

“All right, all right,” the Master of Chambers said wearily. He opened his mage-locked cabinet and drew forth a ring of keys. “But you really must make certain no residue remains. Magister Alden will be just as unkind as you, my lady, if the chamber is not to his liking…”

“We are doing a simple scry spell,” she said testily. “There will be precious little residue, but you have my word it will be dealt with properly!”

She snatched the keys from his hand before he could change his mind.

The others waited in the corridor. Wendon looked a little worn, but so did her own apprentices. Only Mistress Wallace carried herself tall and alert. On the other hand, she had likely already had a proper meal.

Fenelon, you will owe us a banquet for this
!

Etienne did her best to look cheerful as she raised the keys for all to see then used them to unlock the ornate doors.

Fenelon arrived within moments of their entry, carrying the psaltery under one arm and a ream of bound parchment under the other. His grin flashed over the small party. “Friends, thank you all for attending…you too, Wendon.”

Wendon frowned. “Just why are we here?” he asked.

“Why, we have come together to join our skills and find poor Alaric before he becomes a demon’s supper, of course,” Fenelon said. “Someone close the door and bolt it, please.”

“Join our skills?” Wendon said. “How?”

I knew Wendon would be disagreeable,
Etienne thought as she folded her arms. Tobin stood closest to the door. He eagerly obliged Fenelon who marched into the middle of the huge, concentrically drawn conjuring circle with the four tall elemental menhirs standing like sentries at the cardinal points.

“How?” Fenelon said. “Well, that’s the magic of it all, Wendon, and if you keep your tongue still long enough, you’re likely to learn some magic that will increase your chances of becoming a Master Mageborn much sooner than expected…”

Etienne covered her face with her hands. She expected Wendon to explode with rage and leave. To his credit, he folded his arms and clamped his mouth into a bull terrier grimace.

“All right, listen to me, everyone. This spell is very intricate, and I will need your full cooperation. Anyone who cannot give that, or take instruction without questions should leave now. Poor Alaric is depending on us, and we must work together to make this spell possible.”

No one moved or spoke. A good sign, in Etienne’s estimation.

“Good,” Fenelon said. He removed the psaltery from its sack and placed it on the floor in the middle of the innermost circle, then he flipped open the pages of the ratty parchment and scanned them briefly. “Now, we are going to be creating three circles of power here,” he said. “A prime circle, a secondary circle, and a heart circle.”

Etienne worked her brows together. Three circles? That would require a lot of energy and essence. She cast a quick glance at the four elemental stones marking the cardinal points of the outermost circle.
Let us hope they are in a generous mood,
she thought.

“All right, then. Prime circle must be formed and closed first,” Fenelon said. “Katriona, you shall hold the fortress of air.”

Katriona looked startled to be the first one called, but she took her place before the northern menhir and faced inward, fluttering her hands with excitement.

“Etienne, my love,” Fenelon said. “You will take charge of fire,” Fenelon said.

“But fire is masculine,” Wendon said, clearly disappointed.

“True,” Fenelon agreed with a grin. “But I know of no other woman whose heart and soul could wield fire so well. And since our gender is vastly outnumbered here, Wendon, we must put everyone to their best use.”

“Flatterer,” Etienne said and took her place at the southern stone. Even without scrying it with mage senses, she felt the elemental at its heart grow alert and eager. Another good sign…she hoped.

“Mistress Wallace, earth shall be your domain,” Fenelon said with a bow in the large woman’s direction. “Guard her fortress well.”

“I always do,” Mistress Wallace said with a tilt of her head. Like a proud leviathan, she took her place before the eastern stone.”

“And you, Tobin, shall be water,” Fenelon said. “That way, lad.”

Tobin beamed at being handed such a responsibility. He rapidly took his place before the western stone.

“Now, you four must close the first circle,” Fenelon said.

“Wind and Flame, Salt and Sea,” Etienne chanted with the others as she drew fire’s essence. It raced wildly over her skin, sparkling ruby lights that spread as she directed them around the prime circle’s edge. They met and mingled with the verdant and aqua essence spreading from the stones to her left and right. “Let the circle be closed. We Mote It Be…”

The elemental colors wove themselves into a tapestry of variegated lights around the outermost edge.

“Excellent,” Fenelon said. Etienne detached just enough of her concentration to watch the rest without losing control. “Now, Shona, you will be my sky, so please stand there.” He directed her to a point on the Secondary Circle that put her back to Katriona before he turned towards Wendon. “And as for you, I know of no other whose whole embodiment is as strong as stone.”

“Is that a compliment?” Wendon said, sounding unsure.

“Why Wendon, I have often compared you to stone…stand there please.”

Etienne bit her tongue. The reference usually included a comparison to having not achieved the mental capacity of a pail full of pebbles. Wendon must not have realized this. His expression was one of gratitude as he obliged Fenelon and took a place on the same circle as Shona, putting his broad back to Etienne and blocking her view.

“Now, please close the second circle,” Fenelon said.

Wendon and Shona spread their arms and repeated the incantation. The glow that welled from the circle on which they stood grew soft amber and swirled.

“Very good,” Fenelon said, and Etienne wished she could see Wendon’s face. The rearing back of his shoulders might have been a gesture of deep pride.
Just don’t let Fenelon spoil the moment for him,
she pleaded within herself.

Fenelon placed his parchment on the ground and walked the innermost circle, whispering a closing spell. Gold light sprang up around him. He stepped into the very center, practically on top of the psaltery, so all Etienne could see of him was his upraised arms and his head sprouting like a candlewick of copper over Wendon’s dark, squat frame.

Fenelon’s voice flowed with the words of the spell.

“Fingers that beget songs upon these strings,

Strings that beget music which the golden voice sings

Show me thy face.

Show me thy place.

Where thou be,

Let me see.

I mote it be…”

In the mage tongue, those words sounded so beautiful, Etienne felt her eyes fill with tears. The power she wielded and gathered now drew inward to feed Fenelon’s call. With it, she felt him gently tugging essence from each mageborn who stood within the chamber so their awareness became as one. Power raced through Etienne, singing its sweet song and filling every corner of her physical being with gentle light that purged every shadow from her soul.

The hognose psaltery rose, spinning gently like a lodestone on a string over their heads. Back and forth its narrow end swayed, stopping at last so it was aimed north and slightly west.

Swiftly, images of land and lakes and forest and mountains unfolded. Etienne would have sworn her spirit flew, were it not for the sensation of two feet firmly settled on ensorcelled ground. The flash of scenery made her a little queasy, and she hoped it would soon reveal a place—a structure—something familiar.

But it did not. Instead, the vision faded into a frightening darkness that seemed void of all life.

“No!” she heard Fenelon shout in anger.

His sudden outburst shattered everyone’s concentration. The psaltery trembled and fell. Etienne opened her mouth to shout when Shona broke her place and lunged forward in time to catch the precious instrument before it could crash to the floor and shatter. As she crossed Fenelon’s glowing heart circle, it trembled and winked out. At once, the inner power Fenelon had raised, flickered, then scattered as though a bubble had popped. Only Prime Circle held, for which Etienne was grateful, for inside its boundaries, wind blasted the three mageborn, and the stones rumbled beneath their feet. Etienne tightened her concentration and held on, determined to keep the Prime Circle intact.

Fenelon cursed and banished the raging remnants with a wild gesture that subdued its residue into a single lump. Snarling, he crushed the tight glowing ball with his hands as though it were some insignificant and annoying insect. He sat down where he had stood, and glowered at nothing in particular. Shona timidly watched him, still cradling the psaltery like a newborn child.

Etienne cautiously banished the outer circle of power, gathering it to her to sift it apart and let it fade harmlessly.

Everyone looked exhausted now. The drain of power left Etienne’s own limbs trembling. Wendon sat down where he was, as did Katriona and Tobin. Only Mistress Wallace made it to one of the benches lining the outer walls to sit and rest.

“What happened?” Wendon asked. “Is he dead?”

“No, he’s not dead,” Fenelon growled and lowered his head.

“But…what was that black thing?”

Fenelon said nothing, rubbing his face. Etienne eased down at his side, slipping an arm across his hunched shoulders and looked at Wendon.

“That,” she said wearily, “was a
void
, Wendon, a place where no essence can be found. And so long as Alaric is in there, we cannot find him.”

~

Demons were not supposed to possess even a tiny hint of sympathy, but Vagner felt sorry for the young bard. Tane’s ruthless application of hot pain left Alaric shrieking for mercy, but failed to produce any of the information the bloodmage desired. The sincerity of Alaric’s denial had Vagner wondering if he was mistaken.
No, I clearly heard him say he knew the Dragon’s Tongue Key that night
. The youth could not have held out against such pain if he were lying, but Alaric continued to sob he did not know the song. Tane gained nothing for his wicked efforts, especially after the young bard fainted.

Though angry at this failure, Tane had the sense to recognize it would be futile to continue. Other methods of extracting the information were in order. The bandits unchained Alaric and carried him back to the cell. Tane restored his spell wall, announced his intentions to retire, and left.