Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin)
Page 44
Toreg strode from the chamber, his thoughts troubled. No matter what the others thought, as far as he was concerned his doubts of Arcalian had been justified. The man had obviously been a practicing necromancer, perhaps not the only one. He supposed it was possible that the jar had been made elsewhere, and then acquired by Arcalian at a later time. Maybe he was in fact innocent. Perhaps he never knew the true nature of the jar.
In a pig’s eye. No wizard chose to hold onto an object he could identify without doing just that: identifying it. If Arcalian did not know what the jar did, he would have been doing the research to find out. If it was beyond him, he would have given it to Morcallenon. Just perhaps, he might have received the object on the very night he disappeared. That still left the matter of the sceptre. The Sceptre of Morgulan was an artifact of immense diabolical power, yet Arcalian had kept his search for the object a secret. Why? Because he was evil. He was a necromancer, a student of the black path, dabbling in the dark powers of the undead. If the others could not see this, they were fools. How much leeway could one give for a former friend before one must admit to his corruption? Although the diviner had discovered the true nature of the sigils, he probably would not lose faith in Arcalian until the man bound him as a wraith. Regecon, on the other hand, might be coming around. He had looked very disturbed and uncomfortable by the idea of Arcalian’s treachery, but he had not spoken against it. At least there was someone who could be shown the truth. How unpleasant a thought that it might be limited to Regecon. Ambrisia had seemed nearly as doubtful as Morcallenon, while Jacindra had hardly spoken at all the entire night. Only the gods knew what her problem was, fidgeting and looking nauseous all night long, looking as uncomfortable as an apprentice caught skipping class. Looking guilty.
Toreg froze in midstride. Jacindra a necromancer? Was that possible? There had been no air sigils on the jar, but that did not rule her out. If there were others in the guild, why could Jacindra not be one? A secret cult of dark practitioners. Who else might be involved? It could be quite widespread.
Toreg started walking again. Jacindra herself had warned against a devil’s inquisition just a few nights ago. Might that not be an attempt to ward off a rousing of concern? Might that not be an attempt to protect a cult of evil from discovery? Now she was beginning to panic as the evidence of such a presence began to mount. A normally steady woman, her fears were beginning to show through.
Toreg paused at the door to his room, wondering if he should go back and seek her out. She might at this very moment be warning others. No, he was tired. He was not certain of her involvement with necromancy. This all might be the product of a tired, over-worked mind. The best thing to do was to get some rest and approach the problem with a clear head tomorrow.
He opened the door and took two steps inside. Perhaps he might even bring the matter up with Regecon—alone, of course. Regecon might be a fool, but he doubted the man was a necromancer. He could have brushed this whole disappearance under the rug as soon as it had come up, but he didn’t. He wanted to know. Dislike it as much as he might, Toreg felt he could trust Regecon.
There was a squeak at Toreg’s feet, and the water mage looked down. A large black shape darted from his legs to the bed in the corner. A rat. A large one, too.
Toreg scowled, staring at the creature. It stared back with dead grey eyes that watched him with feverish intensity. Something had to be done about these creatures. Obviously, the wards were failing. If he caught this rodent and brought it to the other council members, even Ambrisia would be forced to acknowledge that fact. He took two steps forward and the rat darted beneath the bed.
This was going to be difficult.
He took another step, then knelt down with one hand braced against the bed post. He took a deep breath, grumbling a curse to himself, then reached for the overhanging bedspread and threw it on top of the mattress. He put one hand on the floor and leaned down.
A dark furry shape rushed forward and sank sharp teeth into the crook of his thumb. Toreg pulled back violently, suppressing the scream that threatened. His face contorted in bitter pain and the water mage stared mesmerized by the rat hanging from his hand, attached to the meat of the crook of his thumb like a determined parasite. Two crimson drops of blood dripped from his hand, splattering across the creature’s dark fur.
Wincing from the pain, Toreg reached for the rodent. He knew the spell he’d use. The bodies of most creatures contained an enormous amount of water. It was a very painful process having it all removed.
The rodent squirmed as Toreg’s fingers touched it. The furry creature released its hold and dropped to the floor beneath a small fountain of spouting blood. Toreg cursed as the spell slipped from his mind. He made another grab for the creature, but it darted beyond his reach.
The rat stopped by the doorway and looked back at him. Toreg could have almost sworn the creature smiled. The water mage stumbled to his feet, fuming that he had forgotten to close the door, and the rodent scurried into the hall. He moved to pursue, taking three steps out into the corridor, but all was quiet.
The rat was gone.