“That is a fair argument, but I have my doubts.” Layric looked at Zya, and from the corner of her eye she saw Mavra tense at being ignored. “What say you, seer?”
”There is nothing to tell me that this is a rash course of action. Handel, you tread a fine line between damning others and damning yourselves.” Zya said coolly.
Handel smiled. “Who said anything was easy?”
Chapter Eight
“Do you feel it?”
Obrett strained his senses, trying to force as much of his awareness as was humanly possible through the rock beneath his hands. “To the South?”
“A little, but also to the East.”
Obrett changed the direction he was searching. His awareness passed through pure rock as he searched the foundations of Raessa for weaknesses. Over the last passing of the moon from shadow to full and then back again, they had explored every nook and cranny of the foundations of the city. A by-product of this exploration gave him a much better understanding of healing and its relationship to the art of focussing. As he delved ever deeper into the secrets beneath him, so he became healthier. Even the most limited of use provided him with benefits in his weakened state, allowing him to test the limits of the regeneration at both ends of the scale. This was not the only good point about his incarceration. He had learned the art of speaking through a focus, as he now did. ”There it is. The tunnel that leads to the focus. I must thank you for your help so far, Brendan.”
“It is not I alone that has guided you, my friend. Under your tutelage I have developed skills that supplement my Earth Guild training. This city has so many hidden passageways that it is difficult to keep up.”
“Not for general use, I'll bet,” Obrett agreed. “This city stinks of paranoia. I think we have a master that is worried about being seen. This city is old. Our records say it has been here in one state or another for as long as anybody could remember, as far back as they go. Somebody had made a home in the lower cliffs of the mountains, and from there the city had expanded. From what I read, it appeared as if Garias has had a part in all of it. Records describe a man with great power who drew people to him as if possessed.”
“So where is he?”
“I don't know, and I am glad of his lack of presence. I believe he does not know what to do with us. The man seems to be stewing in self-doubt. The creature visited me again this morning.”
“Yes, we noticed. It is hard to not break down when that much evil passes your door.”
“The trembling cries of fear and anguish echo through my mind still, and I cannot blame you all, but what can I do? It just stood there, looking at me as always. This creature was born of a magic that had been lost for generations untold, and it hungers. Such is the way with evil. It always hungers for more, seeking to devour everything. It will only lead to one end: annihilation. If unchecked, this creature will eventually become too powerful to restrain, and will consume all life on the continent in its mindless rampage.” He knew it was only a matter of time before he was consumed, and to that end, Brendan had been aiding him in searching for routes out of the city.
It was easier than expected, as everybody within the city not willingly serving the Witch Finder was under the sway of the powerful focus that held the entire region in thrall. That too was a work of evil, and Obrett suspected that it was connected to the creature in some manner. For the present, they were sending their consciousnesses through the stone near sewers, and pathways that had not been used in at least ten years.
“I see it.” He replied mentally to Brendan's urging. There was a pathway that was almost directly beneath their own cells, and he was willing to bet that it was once used for maintaining the sewerage tunnels, when the city had been a more open place and the air had not stank of fear and compulsion. The only reason that any of them had been able to fight off the geas that desired them to fear everything, leaving most of all, was the mental conditioning that it took to focus. From careful probing, Obrett and Brendan had managed to contact most of the prisoners on their level. A bedraggled lot though they were, they all had power and skills that defied their wretched state. Jacob, of the order of life, a sect that followed the teachings of the High priest of Jettiba, the God of Life, had such skills that Obrett had never heard of before, empathic in nature. He was able to soothe the mind, and he put every living creature before himself. He had admitted that he had been having some reservations about certain beings, which Obrett took as the furthest he would go to siding with them. One other was Ispen, a disciple of the order of Rivers, a derivative of the Order of Panishwa, the sea God. As rocks were initially laid down as sediment, so was he able to draw on the properties of such stone. He was not much help in their present situation, but he was willing to try. The rest, for there were maybe another half dozen at this point in time, were either unwilling or unable to contribute to what was becoming a team effort.
“What do you think?” Came Brendan's thought through the rock.
“I would say that we have ourselves a way out, my friend.” Obrett replied, as neutrally as possible.
“Don't get excited, the emotive magic feeds on positive as well as negative energies.”
“Objectivity is called for.” Obrett repeated their newfound motto. As a result, the four wizards had become dispassionate about everything. The guards tried their very best to scare them, but they refused to be cowed. Beatings led to nothing, as they could heal themselves, and starvation had little effect. They became the ignored prisoners, only those letting their emotions show on their defeated faces got the attention of the guards. The four of them became resolute. Even the creature had ignored them until now, the lack of emotion leaving it no source to hunger for. As they had got to know each other, their places became more defined. As guildsmen, they all shared the same beliefs, and followed to more or less extent, the Old Law. Being from the Order of Law, Obrett became the unofficial leader. He decided what they would do, and when. He in turn taught the other three his knowledge of focussing, thus broadening their skills. They reciprocated, and between them, they built up such knowledge of the arts of focussing as had not been shared in the lifetimes of any of them.
“So when do we make a move?” Brendan's thought wafted through the cell wall like a wraith.
Obrett sent out a mental shrug. “There's no time like the present, but why don't we wait until later tonight? That will give us time to send one little barb into the focus.”
A spike of malicious glee was the only response, and was echoed from a couple of places where the other two were 'listening' to the conversation.
“Be mindful of your feelings, my friends. They might draw unwanted attention.” Obrett cautioned them all. They had started with subversion. They had sent messages through the focus that kept the city folk and the increasing population outside. At first it had been nothing more than simple things, making them put charms outside their houses. Later on it had become more involved as they tested the limits of the focus by sending subversive messages to the sprawling mass of people outside. Raessa had had to send forth its army to calm the unrest caused when they all suddenly started mooing like cattle. The noise had reached the prison, and caused them to smile in grim satisfaction.
“Tonight's will be the best message: storm the city. The plan is that while the guards are doling out food and changing bedding, we will use the riot that the message will cause to escape down one of the many tunnels that lead out and under the city.”
“What about the danger?” Asked Jacob.
They had discovered tunnels leading through the mountain, but there was a danger there. Some life that Jacob could not fathom. Some creature he had never seen before.
“The way East would serve us better, even if it is the more obvious route to take. We do not know anywhere near enough to take the route under the mountain.”
“Guards.” Came the warning from Ispen, who had a cell across from the corridor. They all broke contact, taking hands away from chosen stone, and sitting w
ith a bored, lifeless look on their faces. The thump of hard-soled boot heels announced that there were more guards than usual, which was strange to Obrett. The reason was apparent, for the cell doors were opened, and each of them dragged out. The four of them, along with the rest were lined up and held by the guards. Down the corridor with soft footsteps came Garias. The Witch Finder looked angry, a cold rage had settled in his eyes, one that was twisted by his lust for power, more specifically theirs. Obrett did not like the look of this, for he had seen that look in too many younger men during his novitiate. They had all turned bad, or been kicked out of the order. They paled into insignificance with what Obrett saw now. He walked up and down the prisoners, his jaw clenching, and the muscles in his forehead twitching as he did so. He stared at them all, one by one. Obrett did not see what the responses were, but when Garias stood opposite him, he faced the man down. Nobody would bully him into submission, and his defiance kept his emotions in check.
“You have one last chance to tell me of your three wizards, Obrett Pedern of the Order of Law. Tell me what they were doing, where they were going, and their intentions, and I shall be merciful.”
Obrett tried to stay neutral, calm, but his thoughts betrayed him. He felt an emotion for the first time in days, and the emotion was amusement. Obrett tried to hide it, but he broke into a grin, and then chuckled as the irony of that comment hit home. “You? Merciful? I think not, Witch Finder.” He emphasised the name with such sarcasm that the man was taken aback for a moment, before his eyes blazed with red-hot anger. “You will not take the skills of those three for yourself. You are misguided if you believe that you could coerce any one of them, let alone all three into serving you.”
“Think about it while you consider the days you have left.” Garias replied, his arms reaching out for the Old Wizard, clutching for something. “They would serve me rightly, if they knew I had you as their guarantee of good conduct. If they are found they will be given a simple message: Serve me, or you will be tortured. Slowly, subtly, until you relish the thought of any lesser torture as a relief. You will not be allowed to die. I have guildsmen that can prolong your life indefinitely. You will undergo agony unlike any this world has ever experienced, and all the while you will service my magic.”
Obrett gained control of his emotions once more, becoming unreadable. “Never. You will never find them, and they will never serve you.”
“You are wrong. They will serve me.” Contradiction was the simplest form of argument, but there was something in the man's voice that hinted at a hidden agenda. “To show you of my intent, I will give you a little demonstration. You there.” He pointed at one of the guards, a brutal looking fellow that had been itching to get his hands on one of the prisoners; He used to sit there and talk about what he was going to do to them. “Take one of these prisoners, any one, and show our friend here what we mean.”
The guard grinned sadistically, and walked up and down the line, making a show of choosing. He stopped behind Brendan, who did not bat an eyelid as the guard grabbed his shoulder and pushed him towards the cell. One brief glance from Brendan said everything. 'Do not give up.' The look was as plain as daylight. Two others joined the brutal-looking guard in dragging him back into his cell.
“Now, for every day you hold out on telling me everything that you know, one of these will get this treatment.” He pointed at the others, lined up between the guards. “They will suffer, and it will all be on your conscience. Can you handle that? Is that acceptable to you?” Obrett just stared forward, into the eyes of a madman. Getting no reply, Garias looked towards the cell. “Guards, do your duty, and the rest of you get back in your cells.” Punches and kicks were heard as the prisoners were shoved back. “You will serve me one way or another, wizard.” He hissed as a guard shoved Obrett back towards his cell. As he sat down, the sounds of flesh being struck echoed around the prison cells. Wet slaps and thuds, but no cries of pain. Brendan was one tough cookie, but also had the secret of withdrawing into himself so as not to feel pain. Obrett knew that, and he guessed that Garias did not, or the beating would have been worse. In moments it was over, and the guards left at the bidding of the Witch Finder. Obrett would have felt sick for what had happened, had the four of them not made a pact. They all knew the risks involved. They were in perhaps the most dangerous place in the world at this time, and they would do what they had to in order to escape. Obrett's chain of thought was broken suddenly, as a feeling forced itself into his head. Two words formed in his mind: 'Don't stop.' Obrett marvelled at the willpower it must have taken for Brendan to endure a beating and yet send out a message through the stone. “Those earth wizards must have the endurance of granite,” he said aloud.
“Enough.” Spoke a voice that he had not heard since just before he had been captured. His stomach contracted, and if he had had any food within, he might have vomited. His entire body went cold with a chill as he realised who was talking. Obrett edged towards the door to hear more clearly.
“It will do you no good. He is too stubborn and filled with blind faith as far as his acolytes are concerned. They will not be found by any means as long as you ask him.” The voice was dry, as dusty as a sandstorm, and carried the weight of authority. It was a voice that had plagued Obrett since his first days as a novice.
“He will give us the key.” Garias maintained.
Obrett searched about his person, finding they key he had discovered long ago in the blackened shell of Belyn's ruined quarters in a hidden pocket. What would they want with that key?
“He will not give you any key, information or otherwise. Any wisdom that you gain from him would be folly to use, I tell you. We have taught them as much as he. Let us find them for you, and we will deliver them unto you for your more delicate ministrations.”
Obrett was stunned. For the first time since his capture all those months ago, he was truly genuinely speechless. As if the creature had arrived and sent him reeling with a rock-fisted blow, he was stunned. Looking in at him through the barred window of the cell was Caldar, the head of the guild in Eskenberg. The old man, so often weak and bored looking appeared as if reborn, standing tall and hale. His ragged grey hair had grown to cover the balding spots, giving him an apparently new lease of life. He looked younger than he had in seasons, and glared in with a fire in his eyes. Obrett stood to face him. He was not about to be looked down at by a man that had bullied and cajoled almost every member of his guild.
“So, brought to your true standing at last, as a rat in a cage.” Caldar said with more than a hint of triumph.
“Better a rat in a cage than the witless follower of a madman.”
Caldar laughed. “From where I am standing, I have definitely got a better lot in life. Your time grows short, and I feel great pleasure in bearing witness to this. I only wish your stinking students were here to witness this with you.” Caldar leaned against the bars of the cell. “So morally superior to the rest of the guild. Look where that has gotten you.” He said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “I only wish that upstart Raoul Za were here to share your fate. He thinks he knows the Law. He knows nothing! He would be the ideal man to bear witness to my rewriting of history!”
Obrett had not known that Caldar had borne such a grudge against them, but it came as no surprise. The man was petty to a fault, always scheming when he should have been running the guild. He was the reason that it had become so stale, and his motives were unveiled now. Obrett wanted to leap for the bars, and bring the face outside crashing against it in fury, but he would not. There was now more at stake here than before. “You are the man to do that? A tired old wizard who can do no more than keep himself alive?”
Caldar cackled. “You know nothing, little man. You are nothing. From your cell you will witness the rewriting of the Law.”
“I can't believe you are in league with Garias. If the rest of the order knew that you were here, they would expel you without a second thought.”
“Would they now?”
/>
Something in Caldar's voice made Obrett take notice. The empty corridors, the apparent forcing of Raoul, Belyn and Keldron from the order, the shadowed whisperings in niches and corners where once the order had been full of vibrancy. “The guild?”
“Are here with me in Raessa.” Caldar finished for him. “Well, with the exception of three, almost four ex guild members.”
“But why?”
Caldar sneered at him, as if it was beneath him to even respond and explain himself. “You have seen the state of our order. The Law is an ass. In cities, the Old Law does not exist. You have to go a dozen leagues into the countryside to find any muck spreader that might try and follow it. We are going to change things. There is a new Law arising, one that bestows riches and power upon those that follow it. We will shape that with anybody who will join our cause. Will you join it?”
“I won't demean myself by answering that. How you ever became head of our order with the blackness festering in your heart I will never know. Rewrite the Law indeed. Only a fool would think such a thing was possible. The Law is bigger than any one person, than any group of people. You could not change things, not forever.”
“Yes, forever,” Caldar countered. “We are going to make the Gods sit up and take notice. Do you hear? The GODS!”
“Come away from there, you cretin,” Garias barked.
The Path of Dreams (The Tome of Law Book 2) Page 24