The Wizard's Heir (4 page)

A few moments later the cart came into view, bumbling along a well-worn path commonly used by thieves. Tybolt pulled his sword and Auriella readied an arrow.

“Tybolt,” a voice called.

Tybolt squinted. “Griffon?” He sheathed his sword. “What are you doing out here? This is thieves’ territory.” Griffon was a tall man with broad shoulders. His brown hair had started to grey around the temples and the lines on his face spoke of years lived. He was firm but level headed and Tybolt couldn’t help but like him.

Griffon reined his horse in and glanced at Auriella. “My lady.” He inclined his head.  “I was picking up a new batch of spirits. My distillery is not far from here.”

“Really?” Auriella scowled at him, not lowering her arrow.  “We’re quite familiar with this area and have not come across any distilleries.”

“As Tybolt said, my lady, this is the thieves’ forest. I would hate to return and find my livelihood vanished. It’s well hidden.”

“Headed back to the city?” Tybolt glanced over the barrels in his cart.

“The docks. I’m in need of some trade goods.”

“I’ve tasted your spirits, Griffon.” Tybolt said. “What ship would be crazy enough to trade for that?”

“I see you’ve found another traitor for the Hold.” Griffon motioned towards the wizard.

“We did,” Tybolt said, aware of the change of topic.

“Well done.” Griffon tipped his hat. “With your leave.”

“Of course.” Tybolt motioned in front of them. “Lead on.”

Griffon slapped the reins. The liquid in the barrels sloshed and the wagon wheels squealed and groaned as the thin horse struggled to pull the weight. Tybolt waited until the wagon was out of sight before looking at Auriella. She was scowling.

“No way he has a distillery hidden in there,” she said.

Tybolt nudged his horse forward.

“Have you ever seen him out here before?”

“No.”

The trees thinned as they dropped into the valley. Below them Eriroc came into view, surrounded by rough-hewn brick walls forty feet high. Years ago the walls had been covered with climbing vines that flowered in the spring and turned Eriroc into a riot of color. Now even the dead remnants of the vines had turned to dust and crumbled away.

Two large oak doors were the only way into the city and were always manned by at least one guard. Tybolt found it ridiculous. Although wizards always had blue eyes, just as Hunters had green, villagers had blue eyes as well. You never knew for sure who was a wizard until you witnessed them doing magic. Considering that no wizard in his right mind would go anywhere near Eriroc, the guard was nothing more than show.

The horses leaned back on their haunches and half slid down the steep path. They passed by plots of land that had once grown a variety of fruits and vegetables but were now empty. The ground was parched, barren, and spider-webbed with deep cracks. A few plots closer to the city held fragile and sunburnt bean plants—one of the few crops this land had been able to support before the wizards’ arrival and had, thus far, barely survived the drought.

They approached the main gate and the guard sprang up from his chair, desperately trying to appear awake.

“Matthew.” Tybolt pulled Widow Maker to a stop. “How many times have I said that you can’t properly guard a door while asleep?”

Matthew’s shoulders fell forward as he breathed a sigh of relief.  “Master Tybolt, it’s you.”

“Lucky for you.”

“Lady Auriella,” Matthew said, bowing a little too low for a little too long. “You look stunning as always.”

“Open the door, Matthew,” she snapped.

Auriella had no patience for being drooled over. Which, incidentally, happened a lot now that Tybolt thought about it.

Matthew jerked back to reality, and the telltale glaze of a mental fantasy fell from his eyes. “Of course, my lady.” He ran to the gate and fumbled with his keys to unlock the door. When it finally clicked he grabbed the iron handle and leaned back, using his weight to pull the door so the trio could pass.

Tybolt snapped the reins. Before the Fracture, the city had wound its way down to the docks on the north side of the island. After the Fracture nothing but rubble remained. King Rowan had ordered the homes rebuilt in a circular pattern around the castle, making it easier to rebuild the wall.

Even with the houses stacked nearly one on top of the other, the wall took years to complete. The bricks were a testimony of their haste—rough, bumpy, and misshapen. The mortar was applied generously to fill in gaps and level rows.

In order for the city to accommodate everyone, the homes were built tall, thin, and close together. Three stories high and so tightly packed that one could pass items from the windows. The small alleys in between were covered in shadow.

They’d paved a path from the entrance all the way to the Hold in carefully constructed cobblestones. But that was before water became too precious a commodity to waste on the making of bricks, so the rest of the streets were dirt.

“It’s quiet today,” Auriella said, looking up at the darkened windows.

“Most are probably closer to the castle, hoping for breakfast.”

As they came closer to the square, the streets began to widen and little carts and shops lined the sides. The lesser vendors were forced to try to do business here while the wealthier ones held the nicer stalls in the square.

People milled about, haggling with shop owners, or sat there wishing they had money to haggle with shop owners. A crowd had also gathered at the east gate to the palace, hoping to procure a bit of the meager supply of food the king allowed to be distributed. Maybe a quarter of the crowd would be lucky enough to grab a heel of bread or a half-rotten apple.

Tybolt refused to watch as the younger Hunters threw food to the crowd, laughing as grown men fought children.

It didn’t take long for the whispers of “wizard” to move through the crowd. Heads popped up and necks craned to get a look at someone they could blame for their misery.

“We’ve been spotted. Let’s move.” Tybolt urged Widow Maker into a trot. The people began shouting slurs, and the first rock arched over his head, slamming into the street on the other side. Auriella whirled around on her horse to find whoever had thrown it.

“Come on,” Tybolt said, “before they send more.”

The growing buzz of the crowd alerted the servants stationed at the Hold. They swung open the two great iron gates on the west side of the palace. Each gate bore meticulously crafted swirls of fire and smoke scrollwork. Such deceptive finery for what lay behind. The gates creaked and groaned under their own weight.

The crowd pushed in behind them, shrieking accusations at the bound wizard.

“Demon spawn!”

“You should rot in hell for what you’ve done to us!”

“We’re starving!”

The gates slammed shut with a bang behind them, separating the Hunters from the mob. The twang of vibrating metal rang high and clear over the shouts. Still, the villagers pushed themselves against the iron, their gaunt features twisted in hate. They wrapped their hands around the bars and continued their tirades.

Tybolt and Auriella dismounted and handed their horses off to two servants. Tybolt undid the knots, freeing the wizard’s legs and torso. He pulled the wizard from the pony and set him on his feet, and Auriella pushed him toward the Hold. The wizard leaned back on his heels.

“After your little stunt in the forest, I would not test me,” Auriella said through clenched teeth. “Walk.” She grabbed one arm and Tybolt took the other, forcefully steering the wizard to the door.

The Hold was a deceptively simple stone outbuilding, long and rectangular. There were no windows, only roof vents where the stale air was slowly exchanged and light could enter. Of course the vents were much too small, which meant the air did not exchange fast enough, and the light was fickle.

A Hunter who was too young to go out on his own stood by the door, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You got one.”

“We did,” Tybolt said.

“Terric returned an hour ago empty-handed.”

Wonderful. Just what they needed, Terric in a bad mood. “You might not want to repeat that, for your own safety,” Tybolt said. “Terric does not appreciate his failures being announced.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Do you think you could let us in…” He trailed off and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, William. My name is William.” He opened the first door to the Hold, and Tybolt and Auriella pulled the wizard inside.

In between the first door and the second door was a small room lit by a single torch. William shut the first door behind them and locked it. The second door was then unlocked from the other side and swung open. The smell rushed towards them and Tybolt gagged, despite being ready for it. A mixture of human waste, rotting flesh, and death.

The wizard’s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground with a muffled groan.

“Come on,” Tybolt said, jerking him up. “On your feet.”

The aisle between the cells was too narrow for them to walk side by side. Tybolt moved to the front, still firmly gripping the wizard’s arm, and stepped over a stream of urine coming from a cell.

The first stone cells contained gagged wizards sitting on piles of moldy straw. Some laid down, others slept, some stared blankly into space. Only a few bothered to peer at the new arrival through the iron bars.

The captives were not given the privilege of bathing and they reeked. Their hair hung in greasy, lank sections, and the threadbare clothes they wore were stained from excrement, sweat, dirt, and mold. More than half were sick from the filth they were forced to live in. Puss oozed from scabby sores in the corners of their mouths, caused by the constant rubbing of the gag.

The next cells held wizards who’d made the unfortunate decision to slip their gags. A difficult task considering how tightly they were tied. The punishment for that offense bypassed the need for a gag by physically stitching their lips shut using thick black twine. Horrific x’s crisscrossed their lips, leaving only a small hole through which they could eat and drink from a straw. The liquefied food caused diarrhea, the stench of which your nose would not be rid of for hours after you left.

The Hold was laid out from least horrifying to most, with the interrogation hall at the back. It was built that way deliberately—to show the wizards exactly what would happen to them if they didn’t cooperate, or tried to fling spells.

The wizard’s knees buckled again and he whimpered.

“Come on,” Tybolt said. “We’re almost there.”

The last set of cells held the most determined wizards. They’d ripped their stitches from their lips—leaving a mangled, shredded mess. The Hold had been rocked more than once by a wizard who’d pulled their stitches and tried to escape.

Their powers seemed to be diminished from malnourishment, and with so many Hunters in the vicinity, all attempts had failed. Rather than sewing up what was left of their shredded lips, the king ensured the wizard couldn’t speak by cutting out his tongue. These wizards sat defiantly in their own filth, glaring at Auriella and Tybolt as they passed.

The wizard who occupied the cell next to the interrogation room was the only one who had his tongue removed before he’d even been placed in the Hold. Aja was the one who had caused everything, the one whose abuse of power had fractured the world.

Tybolt rarely felt fury, but looking at this wizard made his ears hum and his stomach tie in knots. He still saw his mother in his dreams, heard her shout Aja’s name as she plummeted to her death in a boiling ocean. Because of him, Tybolt had lost everything.

Aja stood as they approached. His shoulders were thrown proudly back, and he curled his fingers around the bars. His steely blue eyes followed their every step until they passed through the door to the interrogation room.

This room was positively sterile compared to what they’d just passed through, but the Hunters who interrogated the new wizards never bothered to clean up the blood they spilt. Brown stains sprayed across the walls, splattered the ceiling, and pooled on the floor—an immediate notification to all wizards of the torture they would endure if they failed to talk.

A single chair sat in the middle of the room, and Tybolt and Auriella forced the wizard to sit, strapping his hands and ankles down. The wizard twisted and turned, pulling violently against his restraints.

Tybolt stood and glanced through the small window on the door, looking for the interrogators. They were on their way, laughing loudly in their excitement for a new prisoner. He didn’t have much time. Infuriated with himself for the incessant pity he felt for all who suffered, Tybolt crouched down in front of the chair and grabbed both the wizard’s arms.

“Listen to me,” he hissed. “If you don’t want the life beaten out of you, stop moving. They are looking for
any
excuse to use you as a punching bag. Do you understand?”

The wizard became very still, his wide eyes searching Tybolt’s.

“Tybolt,” Auriella warned.

He shoved back from the chair and pushed the door open. Auriella followed. They passed the interrogators just outside.

“Tybolt.” Auriella seethed as they made their way towards the exit. “If your little pity antics earn us an audience with the king, I will never forgive you.”

Tybolt said nothing. If his pity bothered her that much, she would’ve reported him to the king herself. Once outside, he gulped the clean air, trying to rid himself of the putrid odors. They stayed close, waiting for payment.

They split the ten gold pieces between them. Ten gold pieces was a month’s pay for some, two months for most. Tybolt pocketed it, knowing that most of it would be spent by the time the week was out.