Sorceress of Faith (6 page)

“The
Singer foretold that the second Exotique is to bond with someone here and it
should not be Alyeka. She should not be present. Even
she
listens to the
Singer, now.”

“Ah,”
Jaquar said, smiling and gesturing to himself. “Well, I am here and the lady
can come with me.” Time to get out of here, before any other Circlets showed up
to try to take the woman for their own apprentice. He’d paid for the Exotique,
now he should take his prize and leave.

He
strode to her and curved his right arm around her. The quiet notes stringing
between them deepened and took on a richness. The Exotique took a step away,
but stumbled, so he kept his hold. Her blue eyes narrowed and her mouth
thinned. Her innate, powerful magic flared and set the gemstone lamps on the
altar chiming. She stared at them and shivered.

Bong!
The gong
thundered, announcing another presence traveling into the closed sphere of the
pentacle.

Venetria
materialized inside the star, along with a pile of books and two magical
weapons. She glared at Jaquar. Though his ears still rang with the sound of her
arrival, he heard her shouting.

“Jaquar
Dumont! You will not claim this Exotique as your apprentice. Doubtless she will
relate better to a Sorceress.” Venetria tossed her head, gave the woman one
quick, penetrating look, then offered her hand to the Exotique.

Eyes
wary, the woman touched Venetria’s fingers. A clash of tones echoed in the
round Temple as the women’s hands met. Venetria dropped the Exotique’s hand,
flicking the incompatible energy from her fingertips, then converted the
gesture into a wave as she spoke to the Marshalls.

“The
books you requested—the ancient spellweapons at my disposal, and instructions
to use them.”

Clang!
This time the
altar crystals rang and the sound ran around the outstretched steel of the
Marshalls’ swords in a bone-shivering scale.

Inside
the pentacle, the two women stumbled against Jaquar. Chalmon appeared in the
north point of the pentagram.

Jaquar
set his teeth, shouldered Venetria aside and steadied the Exotique, enduring
the sensual and powerful string of notes rapidly deepening into a melody. They
were already forming a connection.

Chalmon
glared at them. Beside him was a stack of books and four weapons.

“This
is ridiculous,” Swordmarshall Thealia said, sheathing her broadsword. The other
Marshalls followed suit. She studied the gifts in the pentacle and her smile
was as sharp as her sword. Her lip curled. “I see that those of the Tower are
cooperating as usual, which is to say, not at all.”

Jaquar
grasped the Exotique’s arm. “As you can see, our energies do not clash. I sent
payment for the Summoning yesterday. On behalf of the Tower, I again thank the
Marshalls.” He glanced at Venetria and Chalmon, who stood in opposite points of
the star. “I claim this Exotique woman as my apprentice.”

Chalmon
scowled. “No.”

No
price was too much to pay to find and destroy the master and avenge Jaquar’s
parents. “Then you challenge me. Tests of Power or a duel of sorcery. The
Marshalls can set up a procedure and officiate.”

Swordmarshall
Thealia made a disgusted noise. Chalmon stiffened in outrage.

The
Power in the pentacle was incredible, radiating from four strong mages. Jaquar
sensed that the Exotique was merging all the energies, changing them until they
melded into a single Powersong that he could use easily. She was inherently a
strong Sorceress. He couldn’t wait to mold her raw power into focused magic.

Sunlight
shafted through a high stained-glass window, framing the voluptuous woman by
his side in a pointed arch, painting the pale skin of her face, hands and feet
in jeweled colors, illuminating her like a fine vellum manuscript. Her aura
glowed vibrant silver and turquoise, indicating strong and unusual Power. The
tune between them was distracting. She was beautiful beyond compare in body and
spirit.

A
pity she might have to be sacrificed to stop the sangviles from leaving the
Dark’s nest.

Time
to leave. Jaquar looked around the large round stone room of the Temple—at the
Marshalls who seemed to be communing and approaching a decision; at Chalmon and
Venetria who stood in the pentagram with him and the Exotique woman, but in
opposite points; at the Exotique herself who appeared less dazed.

Definitely
time to go. He began gathering Power.

Bong,
Bong, Bong!
Suddenly the ringing of all the glass in the room—from the windows, the storage
crystals in the rafters and chandeliers, the chime crystals on the
altar—resonated through his head.

A
few seconds later his ears stopped buzzing and he saw the oldest and strongest
Sorcerer of them all, Bossgond, holding a satchel. Chalmon went to Venetria,
protectiveness radiating from him.

Jaquar’s
stomach tightened and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl as
he anticipated failure. There was no way he could best Bossgond. Disappointment
seared him. He wanted the Exotique, he had plans for her.

What
Bossgond’s plans were, he couldn’t imagine.

The
greatest Sorcerer wore a stained, shabby robe that didn’t disguise the
sticklike, knobby bones of his body. His full head of hair was golden except
for a small streak of black in the middle—denoting his great Power.

He
put his satchel down. Ignoring the rest of them, he bowed slightly to the
Exotique, then touched his fingers over his heart. “Bossgond,” he said in a
deep, rich voice that sent a small hum through the gong.

He
took two steps and held out a swollen-jointed hand. She placed hers in it. A
white flash of their auras merging sent a single, resonant note from the silver
gong. The Exotique blinked, then her lips curved. The Song between the old man
and the young woman must be comforting to her.

Jaquar
ground his teeth. His prize was slipping from his grasp.

With
gentleness and grace the old man raised the Exotique woman’s hand to his lips,
then loosed it. Jaquar wondered what sort of music had spun between them—notes,
or more. Then he remembered the songs that had linked him and his parents,
resonant from the moment they’d found him. He’d been their apprentice, too.
Grief gripped him. To distract himself, he watched the Exotique.

Standing
close to Bossgond, the Exotique was his height.

She
wet her lips, then placed her hand above her breasts and said, “Marian.”

It
was a good name—a name everyone could pronounce, unlike the first Exotique’s,
Alexa
.
Jaquar wasn’t the only one who released a soft sigh.

Bossgond
reached down and took a large crystal orb from his satchel. He sang two notes
and color whirled inside it, forming a picture.

The
scene in the sphere-crystal solidified into Alf Island, Bossgond’s home, and
his tall, stately white Sorcerer’s Tower. A small image of Bossgond walked with
Marian, obviously instructing her. Marian was dressed in a beautiful velvet
robe and carried a staff of deep mahogany inlaid with twining silver and gold
leaves.

Then
the image turned to night. The tower’s outer wall disappeared, showing the top
ritual room as dark; the level beneath was Bossgond’s suite, lit with mellow
crystal lights. He worked at a desk. The next floor down was richly appointed
for a woman. Papers, books and jars of herbs cluttered a beautiful desk. Marian
sat at it, looking intense. Her staff leaned against the wall, glowing the same
deep red as her hair.

With
a hum from Bossgond, the scene inside the globe faded. He set it back into the
satchel, then spoke one carefully pronounced sentence. It wasn’t in a language
Jaquar knew.

Marian
did. She smiled at him. A sincere smile. She looked around the room, her
expression turning wary. She nodded stiffly to Chalmon and Venetria. Marian
studied the Marshalls who stared back at her but she didn’t move from the
center of the star or indicate she wanted to be with them.

Jaquar
thought she meant her glance to slide over him, but it snagged and they gazed
at each other. Her blue eyes held intelligence, focus, determination. She would
have been perfect for him—no, for his purposes. No chance of wresting her from
Bossgond, even if she’d been willing.

The
old Sorcerer looked at Marian and repeated his line.

“Yes,”
said Marian, and it was close enough to the Lladranan
ayes
for Jaquar to
know she agreed.

Bossgond
turned to the rest of them. “The apprentice, Exotique Marian, is coming with
me. I anticipate that she will graduate from apprentice to scholar in two
weeks.”

Venetria
gasped. Bossgond sent her a chill look and she made a strangled noise. Chalmon
set an arm around her shoulders. Now they looked like a couple again.

Bossgond
met Jaquar’s scrutiny. “Does anyone here in this Temple challenge me?”

4

S
ilence filled
the Temple at Bossgond’s words. The old man grinned. “I didn’t think anyone
would want to engage in a sorcerous duel with me.” He held the gaze of
Swordmarshall Thealia. “Please open the pentacle so the others can leave.”

Swordmarshall
Thealia drew her baton from her sheath, stepped to the Power lines and sang an
opening spell. The flow of Power bent back on itself, allowing egress from the
pentacle to the rest of the Temple.

“Clear
out of the star and circle,” Bossgond ordered.

Chalmon
strode out, head high, body tense. Venetria followed, and from the sour look on
her face as she glanced at the new Exotique, Jaquar knew she recalled that
Marian’s energy didn’t mesh well with hers.

Neither
Chalmon nor Venetria had suffered anything except a little scraped pride from
this debacle. Unlike himself—his plan was a shambles.

Bossgond
stared at Jaquar and raised an eyebrow. “Go,” he repeated.

Slowly,
Jaquar complied.

“We
would like the additional books and weapons,” Thealia said. “The Summoning was
not as hard as that of our Exotique Marshall Alyeka, but it was done at our
risk and with our Power and in our Castle Temple.”

The
old man inclined his head. “Agreed. If the Tower Community was disorganized
enough to pay you three times, then you should take advantage of it.”

Jaquar
stood outside the circle and watched helplessly as the old man handed
Venetria’s and Chalmon’s offerings to the Marshalls. He’d wanted to ensure the
new Exotique was trained in plane-walking, focus her studies on what he needed
her to do, and what she would have to learn to make the journey and, if
possible, return.

Thealia
glanced dubiously at the six weapons. “All the spellweapons of the Tower
Community were promised.”

“I
have no weapons.” Bossgond stared at Jaquar. “I trust you will ensure the
Marshalls receive the remaining payment from the rest of the Towers.” He
examined the two swords, three knives and a pair of gauntlets the Marshalls
claimed from Venetria and Chalmon. “I believe the last inventory of all the
Towers stated we had twenty weapons.”

So
the old Circlet had been studying the reports after all, just not commenting.

Swordmarshall
Thealia laid a hand on her baton of Power.

Jaquar
nodded shortly at her. “As Bossgond says, I’ll ensure the delivery of all the
weapons, except…” He glanced from Bossgond to Thealia and swept a quick look
around the rest of the Marshalls. “I was gifted a knot-weapon when I raised my
Tower, too powerful for me to handle.” He grinned with all his teeth. “Should
you wish to send someone for that weapon, I’ll be pleased to relinquish it.”

“Not
me,” said Bossgond.

Thealia
fingered the end of her baton but stepped back. “I’ll discuss it with Marshall
Alyeka. We know nothing about knot-weapons.”

Bossgond
reconnected the pentacle’s Power lines with a small wand of polished turquoise.
He raised his head and sniffed, as if testing the flavor of the Power. “Very
good,” he said, raising the Exotique’s hand to his lips.

After
he’d finished the elegant gesture, Bossgond placed Marian in the center of the
pentacle and began the chant that would whisk them from the Castle Temple to
the pentagram in Bossgond’s Tower on Alf Island.

M
arian listened
to the old magician sing what she thought was a spell. It was amazing. She drew
the cloak around her. Her hands and feet were cold. She’d agreed to go with the
old man and it looked like she was going by magic.

Still,
she could feel the pressure of energy, magic, whatever, gathering. Was there
any chance that it might send her back home? Was this a dream about how to find
her teacher? She’d like to believe it, but the bruises she had on her body
ached with all-too-real pain. In an hour or two the marks would show on her
skin.

With
every moment that passed, Marian felt her hope fade that this was a dream.

She
looked at the oldest mage again. She should have been watching her new teacher
all along, paying attention to what he was doing, but there was too much going
on. And he’d made it clear he would be her mentor, she’d learn. She hoped.