“We have decided to make another entry into the temple to try out a few techniques. I want to see if they’ll work,” Lorit said. “We’re going to look for a junior priest, one to test my theory on. If it works, then we go after Vorathorm.”
“When are we going?” Chedel asked, taking Rotiaqua’s mug and draining it. The sorceress raised her hand and signaled the girl to bring two more.
“We’re going first thing in the morning,” Lorit said. “You’re not going at all,” he added, throwing the boy a stern look.
“Why do I get left out of the fun?”
“Because you’re too young,” Lorit said. “Because you don’t have enough power to protect yourself.”
The next day, just before Morning Prayers, Lorit and Chihon headed toward the temple. They had dressed casually, as if they were out for a morning stroll. Lorit carried his staff with him but little else.
When they reached the side door that Lorit used on his last visit, they found it locked. Lorit reached inside the lock with his magic and quickly sprung it open, allowing them access.
They walked down the hallway until they came to the room where Lorit had found Kaler. It was locked. Lorit put his hand against it but could feel no one behind it. They continued on, taking a turn down a side corridor until they came to a door with a nameplate next to it. It read “Nyspol.”
Lorit put his hand to the door. Once again, he could sense the dark purple haze of the priest’s magic.
“I think this one will do,” Lorit said. He probed the lock and opened it as he had the side entrance. The room contained a table draped in black cloth, hosting a series of silver turned candlesticks. Each of the candlesticks bore a thick white candle. High up on the walls, round windows with panes cut and leaded in square angular blocks were just starting to show the dawning of the day.
As they took in the room, the door slammed behind them with a resounding thud that made the candles flicker. Lorit and Chihon turned around to see a man in black robes standing beside it. His head was shaved and his robes were outlined with the green piping of an Under Priest in the temple.
“We have been waiting for you,” he said. He took a step toward them, raising his staff menacingly.
Lorit stepped between the priest and Chihon. “Stay where you are,” he warned. He raised his hands and started gathering his power for an attack.
The priest stopped and smiled an almost welcoming smile. “Please, be seated,” he said, gesturing to an upholstered bench near the table. “I’m Nyspol, and you’re a guest in my quarters. I should be demonstrating appropriate temple hospitality, even though you entered uninvited.”
Lorit remained standing where he was. He didn’t trust the smile of the priest.
“We’ve come for Vorathorm,” Lorit said. “You may carry him a message for us.”
“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” Nyspol asked. “He’ll be here shortly, just as soon as he finishes the Morning Prayers.” He gestured once more to the bench. “Please have a seat. No reason to be uncomfortable while we wait.”
Lorit remained motionless where he was, but Chihon sat down heavily. Lorit could feel the pressure of the priest’s magic on his shields. He pushed back and started to probe the priest’s shields. He could feel the imaginary strands of rope that symbolized the layers of the shield. Carefully he separated them, working through layer after layer, until he had a small clear path through them.
He reached inside with his mind and saw the violet haze of the priest’s magic surrounding him within his shields. He probed for a weakness or a thread he could touch to disable or kill the Under Priest.
“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” Nyspol asked. “I’m no junior priest with little ability. I’m the second only to Vorathorm himself.” He stepped toward Lorit menacingly.
Lorit raised his shields in preparation for an assault of fireballs, but none came. The priest simply raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The door flew open, and several large armored temple guards rushed in.
The guards had Lorit in their grasp before he even thought of an appropriate spell.
“Take them to the interrogation room,” Nyspol said.
Lorit felt a sharp pain, and the room went dark.
Lorit woke to find himself on the table under the ministrations of the priest once again. Nyspol stood over him, staff in hand.
“Nice to see you’re awake,” he said. “I was worried that we wouldn’t get to start until morning.”
Nyspol passed his staff over Lorit, muttering quietly. Searing pain followed the staff as he slowly worked his way from head to foot and back.
Lorit strained at the bindings that chafed his wrists as the pain wracked his body. He could feel the pull at his power as the priest tried to separate it from him. There were no questions this time, no verbal jousting, just a straightforward attack, trying to take his power and his life.
He pulled his shields tight and clenched his jaws in agony as Nyspol continued.
“You are strong,” Nyspol said. “That’s good. I can use power like yours,” he leaned down to peer in Lorit’s eyes. “Maybe with your power, I’ll become the High Priest.” He stepped back, leaning on his staff, and straightened out.
“I think we’re finished for the night. I don’t want to tire myself. Or you. I want your powers at full strength when I finally take them for my own.”
Lorit relaxed only a little. He was prepared for a renewed assault in case the priest was trying to get him to let his guard down.
“Oh, I forget my manners,” Nyspol said, stopping and turning back before he reached the door. “I promised you an interview with Vorathorm, didn’t I?” he said almost as an afterthought. “Don’t worry. He’ll be here soon. Until then, I suggest you get some rest.”
The door closed behind the priest, and the room fell silent. Lorit lay there, trying to recover his strength.
“Lorit, are you awake?” came Chihon’s voice. He looked in her direction but couldn’t see her.
“I’m awake,” he said. “Where are you? What did they do to you?”
“They have me chained up, but I can lie down and move around a little. How are you holding out?”
“It’s no joy, but I’m resisting him,” Lorit said. “I don’t know how much longer I can, though. He’s awfully strong.”
“You can hold out,” Chihon said. “You must.”
Lorit heard the door latch snap open and the creaking of the hinge. He craned his neck to try to get a look at who’d entered. He expected Vorathorm, as promised, but he could not see who it was.
“Chedel!” Chihon said. “What are you doing here?”
“Chedel?” Lorit called out. “Is that you?”
The face of the young boy appeared over the edge of the table.
“How did you get in here?” Lorit asked. “Did you sneak past the priests? How do you plan to get us out of here?”
Chedel smiled his blank, empty smile. “I didn’t plan to get you out of here,” he said. “I planned to get you in here.”
“I don’t understand,” Lorit said.
“He’s been working with us since you rescued him from the temple in Mistbury,” came a voice that Lorit could almost place.
“He was already a convert when you rescued him. He’s been reporting back to us about your adventures all along. How did you think we knew you were headed here?” Vorathorm leaned in to get a closer look at Lorit.
“Welcome back to the temple,” he said with a sarcastic smile. “We’re happy to have you with us.”
Vorathorm passed his staff over Lorit. This time there was no pain, just the slight pulling sensation that he felt when Nyspol had done the same.
“Looks like Nyspol has a lot of work ahead of him,” he said.
Vorathorm pulled up a stool. He perched on it, looking at Lorit, bound before him. “Remember I promised you a story?”
Lorit strained against the bindings, but he was stuck fast. “I don’t want to hear wh
at you did to my family. I only want to see you suffer for it.”
Vorathorm motioned to someone out of Lorit’s view. Two guards stepped up and snapped to attention.
“Take the girl down to the holding cell,” he said. “This story isn’t for mixed company.”
“Chedel. Go with her. Keep her company for a while,” he added.
“Yes, Father,” Chedel said and bowed deeply.
“Lorit, hang on. You can resist,” Chihon shouted her encouragement to him as they dragged her from the room.
“That’s better,” Vorathorm said, settling back on the stool. “A story; I promised you a story.
“Your sister was bright and enthusiastic,” he started. “She was pretty, like your mother.” He continued describing how he’d taken her life and that of Lorit’s mother.
“I traveled to your homestead by magic, covering the distance in the blink of an eye,” he said. “I timed my visit so that the men folk would all be out in the fields. I wanted to take my time.”
Lorit tried to shut out the words as Vorathorm continued, but he was unable to silence them.
“She fought well,” he said. “She had a lot of power for one so young.”
“What do you mean, a lot of power?” Lorit asked. “She was no wizard.”
“No wizard?” Vorathorm said in surprise. “Of course she was a wizard. What do you think happened to her when you poured your power into her when she was sick? You put your power into her when she was ill. You saved her. You also made her a sorceress.”
“I did that?” Lorit asked. Had he caused her death by sitting up with her all those nights when she was sick? That idea was worse than listening to the priest describe her death. To think he’d caused it was intolerable.
“I see you grasp the situation now. You created a sorceress.” Vorathorm leaned in to get a better look at the anguish on Lorit’s face.
“This is more precious than I could’ve asked for,” Vorathorm laughed. “You didn’t know that you were the cause of her death. That’s wonderful. I am so glad I could share that with you.”
Vorathorm stood up, using his staff to steady himself. “I think I’ll leave you here to spend the night alone with your thoughts.”
Lorit woke to the sound of a voice. It was Chedel. “Are you awake?” he asked.
“Chedel? Is that you? Where am I?” Lorit was disoriented. The boy had woken him from a dream where the priests repeatedly swooped from the sky like great birds and tore his sister and his mother to pieces with their sharp beaks.
“You’re still in the temple,” Chedel answered.
“Why, Chedel?” Lorit asked. Why had the boy he struggled so hard to save turned against him?
“My family needed money, and the temple provided it. If I had just escaped with you, it would’ve been my family they killed.”
“Surely the free wizards can protect them,” Lorit said. “You don’t have to live your life in fear.”
“I like the temple,” Chedel said. “They’ve shown me ways to increase my power well beyond what I would have by natural ability alone.” Chedel’s face disappeared from view. “Hey. This is a new coat,” he said.
“My favorite one was damaged in a fight,” Lorit said.
“I could use a new coat,” Chedel said. “What’s this?”
The boy appeared over the edge of the table once again. He hopped up onto the stool, holding the clay jar in his hand. It held the cricket that Lorit had been carrying since Mistwind.
“That’s my cricket,” Lorit said. “He’s a champion fighter.”
“Let’s have a look,” Chedel said, removing the cover. He peered into the clay pot. “I don’t see anything.” He shook the pot and peered once more into the dark interior.
“There’s nothing in there,” he said. Lorit could hear the sound of the clay pot break as Chedel threw it against the wall.
The boy hopped down from the stool and walked over to the lamp stand. He extinguished the lamps one after another, plunging the room into darkness.
“Thanks for the coat. I’m sure I’ll grow into it,” he said as he closed the door.
Darkness and silence fell once more. Lorit relaxed and tried to rest. He just kept thinking about his sister and how his act of compassion had ultimately led to her death. The only distraction he had was the sound of the solitary cricket chirping from beneath the table where he was bound.
Lorit came conscious to an intense pain in his chest and arms. The searing of it was almost as agonizing as the fireballs he’d endured during his fight with Vorathorm. His eyes flew wide open to see Nyspol standing over him, bearing his staff.
“Good morning,” the priest said. “I trust you slept well? All rested and ready for another day?”
Lorit craned his neck, looking around the room as far as his bonds would allow. Chedel sat on a stool across from Nyspol. He smiled at Lorit with a silly grin, saying nothing.
“Are we ready to start, then?” Nyspol asked. He raised his staff and passed it over Lorit from head to toe and back. The agony of it wracked Lorit’s body with searing pain. He convulsed, involuntarily straining against the bonds that held him.
“He’s holding up better than the girl did,” Chedel remarked.
Lorit clenched his jaw in an attempt to stifle a scream. He looked at Chedel in anger. He’d protected the boy and risked his own life to rescue him from the temple. Chihon had pleaded with Rotiaqua to help him when the sorceress wanted to abandon him. After all their help, this was how he paid the kindness back?
Lorit drew his magic tightly around him. He reached around the room, looking for any source of power he could draw on to make his assault. He could sense the fire in the lamps burning around the perimeter of the room. He felt the faint violet mist seeping from behind the shields of the priest. He detected a purple aura around Chedel. Apparently, the boy had never learned to shield himself even in the most basic manner.
He reached out and touched Chedel’s magic. It would be so easy to grasp it and pull it from the boy, as he’d tried with Vorathorm in the park. The pain surged once again, and his thoughts blurred. All he wanted to do was to make it stop.
As the pain receded, he probed the boy deeper. He searched for his life force and its connection to the temple. If he could sever that, as he had done with Kaler, he could stop the taunting and put the boy in his place. He plucked at it, but it wouldn’t break.
“Vorathorm has prepared a special defense for us after your little foray the other day,” Nyspol said. “Thanks for the warning. We’ve all learned to defend ourselves.”
Then Nyspol raised his staff. Lorit tried to focus but could not. The pain was too intense to ignore. All he could do was wait for it to cease.
The pain ceased, and Lorit heard someone enter. “Sorry to interrupt you, Father,” said the voice. “I’ve brought you some refreshments. Vorathorm said you would need a rest by now.”
Lorit lay there with his eyes closed, waiting for the next pass of the staff. He felt rough hands poking at his eyelids to open his eyes. The priest squinted, studying him. He released Lorit’s eyelids and allowed him to close them once again.
“I think we both need a break,” he said.
Lorit took the opportunity to probe the boy again. This time, he tried to make a channel, to siphon the force from the boy and direct it against the priest. He pulled with all his might and felt the violet aura start to separate from the boy. He could easily take it into himself and turn it against the priest. It would take almost no effort, and the pain would be over, but that was the path to ruin. It was what Chihon feared the most.
He channeled the energy of the boy tighter and tighter, shaping it into the form he’d prepared. As he started to draw power from Chedel, he could hear Chihon warning him, “Be careful Lorit. Don’t take the easy path,” she said, her voice weak in his head. He knew she was already drained. If he tried to draw power from her, she would surely not survive the fight.
Lorit held the magic from the
boy in check. He probed the priest for gaps, looking for any weakness in his shield. He separated the strands and layers of protection around the priest one by one until he had a small gap. He carefully worked at it until it opened ever so slightly.
The priest stood to resume his torture as Lorit pulled the power from Chedel through the channel he’d carefully prepared. He aimed it into the gap in the shields, shoving the boy’s power through the opening. He thrust it deep into the priest, aiming for his life force.
Chedel screamed in pain and toppled from his perch as Nyspol doubled over, holding his chest. He slammed his staff into the floor to steady himself and leaned against the table where Lorit was bound.
“You cursed boy,” he screamed. “What have you done?”
Lorit lay there, quietly regaining his strength, and searching for another source of power. He could sense that the priest was severely injured. Chedel had died before he fell from the stool.
Nyspol straightened up and hobbled away. “Guard,” he croaked, staggering for the door.
Lorit probed the bindings that held him. With the pain of his torture abating, he was able to free his wrists. He sat up and worked to loosen the straps on his legs, hands and fingers sore from the chafing of the bindings.
Two guards rushed into the room. They grabbed him by his arms, one on each side. Lorit reached out and put them both to sleep as he had done previously in the temple. He knew he had to work quickly before anyone else showed up.
He freed his legs and swung them over the side of the table. He saw his staff in the far corner of the room and headed to retrieve it. His feet and legs immediately erupted in the fire of returning circulation. He fell on his knees and crawled across the floor. If he could only reach his staff, he could use it to help him up and to guide his magic.
As he stood, the pain of a thousand needles almost overwhelmed him. It was agony just to stand, but he managed it with effort.
The door swung wide, and Vorathorm entered the room. He took in the sight, glancing at the sleeping guards and the body of Chedel.
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