Page of Swords (The Demon's Apprentice Book 2)

by Ben Reeder

  “So, you only kill when you have to, is that it?”

  “Only if I have no other choice. At all. Then, yes, I do. Without hesitation.” He stood up.

  The room we were in looked like a private dining room with the tables gone. The walls were a comfortable beige color, with tastefully bland paintings of the city decorating them. Now that I was looking around a little, I saw T-Bone sitting in a padded, straight-backed chair with his back to a floor-to-ceiling window. Behind him, I saw the lights of the city laid out like a net of stars. With the lights down, and no one waiting for the order to kill me, I could see it being a nice place to take a girl. Cross' last comment had pretty much been a conversation killer for me, so I leaned back against the wall and waited.

  It was only a few minutes later that a soft tap came at the door.

  “Once upon a midnight dreary,” I whispered.

  Cross cracked the door a little and blocked it with his body.

  “Master Draeden wants to speak to the warlock,” a woman said from the other side.

  Cross nodded, closed the door, then turned back and gave T-Bone a nod. I was on my feet before I knew it, and out in the hall. They led me through the kitchen then up a set of stairs, and a minute later, I was being ushered into another dining room. This one was a lot bigger, with a bar off to my right as I came in, and a raised section in the middle of the room. Brass railings went around the edge of the raised part, and fake green plants around the base set it further apart. Draeden was sitting in a pale green chair on the dais, looking comfortable and in charge. A covered round table sat on his right, and one of the straight-backed dining table chairs faced him.

  “Thaddeus, I think we can trust the boy far enough to remove the spellbinders,” he said. Beside me, T-Bone growled, but he didn't move.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I don't think that's wise,” Cross replied.

  “Your concerns are duly noted, Todd. I am, however, the head of the Council. I believe I can be allowed a little hubris in thinking that I can handle a teenaged warlock.”

  The manacles came free. Draeden raised his eyebrows and gestured at the door. Both of them grumbled at that, but they stepped back, and I heard the door close behind me. Somehow, I felt more vulnerable with the two of them gone.

  “Come on up here, son. We have a lot to talk about.” He took a sip from a glass of wine as I stepped up onto the dais with him. “Have a seat.”

  “I'm not your son, and I'll stand, thanks.”

  “As you wish. Well, I must say, you do present a man with quite the dilemma. Your soul is as black as they come, but if I'm to believe what I read from two wizards of otherwise sound judgment, you aren't evil. Rumor speaks of you defeating your demon Master, a feat of which even I am not capable. Yet, you seem no better trained than the worst apprentice. Most of the Council is screaming for your head, but the sentiments of a few have changed due to your youth. And they don't know what they want to do with you, either.”

  “What am I supposed to do about it?”

  “Give me a reason to keep you alive.”

  “Give you . . . okay, let's try this: I didn't ask to be sold to a freaking demon!”

  “So, you weren't a willing apprentice?” The tone in his voice caught me up, and I wondered where the trap was.

  “Technically, I was a familiar. A slave kept for doing magickal work.”

  “The version your old master tells has him releasing you for being a poor student.”

  “Yeah, let's go with that. Cuz demons are so honest. But why are you so interested in saving my ass? You don't know me like Dr. C does.”

  “Two reasons. First, but hardly foremost, I do know both Chomsky and Corwyn, and they have expressed their faith in your character. Both of them are well respected, if not entirely well liked, which also tends to endear them to me more than a little. The second is a bit more complicated. Do you know what a weird is?” he asked.

  Finally, a question I had a snappy comeback for.

  “I prefer startlingly odd, myself.” I only got a frosty smile at that, so I knew I’d dropped a bomb. Draeden got up and went to the table. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the white tablecloth covering it billowing away. My stuff was spread out in front of him, and several books lay open at the end of the table. Suddenly, I felt like I was standing in the room with no clothes on. My TK wand and new touchstone were there, and the last three of my cinnamon candies. The Page of Swords card was under my wallet. My amethyst scrying stone lay next to them. Draeden picked up my touchstone and smiled.

  “My first touchstone gave me fits. It took me a month to get one to hold. How long did it take you?”

  “Nine weeks,” I admitted.

  He reached for the tarot card. “It's a noun,” he said casually.

  “Huh?” I can be a brilliant conversationalist sometimes.

  “A wyrd. Spelled with a Y. A thread of destiny that affects the past from the future, and the future from the past. All time and fate is interconnected, but sometimes, certain strands of Fate exert a stronger influence on one particular life than they do on others. Your fate is touched by a particularly strong wyrd. One that is connected to all of our fates in turn. I can use that to delay the Council's vote, but only until the spring equinox.”

  “That’s less than a week.”

  “The wyrd's influence only extends until then. By then, you will either have fulfilled the task set before you, or you will not.”

  “If it's destiny, won't it work out either way?”

  “A wyrd only influences your fate. It does not control it and it in no way guarantees success. Rather, it points the way to a desirable outcome. If you take up the task, then it can become a guiding force. Very little can stand in the way of a man who accepts his wyrd. The Norse had a saying. 'Wyrd often saves the un-doomed man, so long as his courage holds.' So the question becomes, do you have the courage to face your wyrd, and take up the task given you by fate through this Council?”

  “Dude, I've faced a werewolf and a demon. I think I can handle whatever this is.”

  “Bold words. I can take them as assent then?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Excellent. Now, we'll go out and—what now?” He snapped as someone knocked on the door.

  A young mage in a brown robe stepped in.

  “Master Draeden, a supplicant. She wishes to address the Council.”

  “Why are you asking me? She has the right to address the Conclave and the Council any time it convenes. You know that!” he snapped at the mage.

  The mage looked meaningfully at me, then back at Draeden.

  “But . . . the warlock, sir.”

  “The Council is capable of dealing with more than one issue in a single night. She'll just have to be patient, and wait until after we've dealt with him. Now, go and let her in.”

  The mage bowed out and closed the door. Draeden frowned and shook his head, a lot like I'd seen Dr. C do after dealing with idiots.

  “You were saying something about going out and doing something?” I prompted him.

  “Are you in such a hurry to risk your neck, Mr. Fortunato?”

  “I've got a curfew.” That got a smile from him.

  “Well, we should hardly keep your mother waiting, should we? Now, we must delay the vote until your wyrd has run its course. Master Polter will no doubt be leading the charge to have you executed post haste, and Corwyn alongside you for harboring you. Many fear his influence. It will be up to you to inspire more sympathy than fear in the hearts of the Conclave as a whole.”

  “Up to me?” I asked. “You might not have noticed this, but I'm not the best at the whole hearts and minds thing.”

  “Two wizards have vouched for you, boy. They did so based on your actions, not your words. Play to your strengths.”

  The doors to the room opened at his gesture, and T-Bone turned to face us.

  “About damn time. You better get the hell out there. The natives are gettin' restless.”

&nbs
p; We heard a low murmuring from outside.

  “Damn that Polter,” Draeden hissed. He nodded to T-Bone and strode off down the hall.

  T-Bone grabbed my arm and dragged me along.

  “C'mon kid. You all right?”

  I gave him a curious look. What the Hell did he care? If things went bad, he was going to have to kill me tonight.

  “Yeah, I guess.” He nodded back and pushed me ahead, into the center of the big room we had first come into.

  The middle of the room was clear now. They'd set tables end to end in a semi-circle facing the stairs, leaving a broad open area. There was an opening at the mid point of the tables, right across from the door I had come out. I turned to look behind me.

  Draeden was making his way up the sweeping staircase on the left. Sentinels lined both staircases, and I saw twelve hooded mages in white robes along the rail at the top. Draeden took his place at the open spot in the middle of them, making it thirteen. Polter's girth was unmistakable on his right. Draeden shrugged a set of black robes into place, and pulled the hood up and picked up his staff. I was left staring at the purple-edged opening of his hood, my most powerful ally now hidden and anonymous.

  “The High Council of the Conclave is convened,” Draeden's voice boomed.

  The whispered conversations behind me stopped, and T-Bone moved to the bottom of the stairs on the left. Cross stood across from him at the bottom of the right hand stairway. That left me alone in the center of the room, facing the whole Conclave, High Council and all, on my own.

  “This special session is called to deal with the matters of the loss of the Maxilla, and the matter of the warlock Chance Fortunato, captured this night and brought to face the justice of the Council,” one of the Sentinels read from an unrolled scroll.

  “Justice is the Conclave's highest priority,” Draeden said after he'd finished. “Chance Fortunato, you are brought here to face serious charges. That you did knowingly and willingly enter into the apprenticeship of one of the asura, to wit, the demon Dulka, a Count of the Second Order of the Fifth Circle of Hell, and did knowingly and of your own free will, assist your Master in the enslavement of not less than forty seven innocent souls. That you did also, at the behest of your Master, use dark sorcery to break the Laws of Magick, to wit, the frequent use of spells to bend the will of another, and the use of magick to bring profit at the cost of the cowan. You stand also accused of the setting of no less than two hundred curses. There is no doubt that you did perform these vile acts. What say you in your own defense, bearing in mind that your own testimony may be brought to bear against you?”

  “I didn't 'knowingly and willingly' enter into anything,” I started.

  “Oh, were you tricked?” Polter mocked. “Poor little warlock, he didn't know he was trading his soul to a demon!”

  A few people laughed at that, and I felt something break open in my head.

  “I was SOLD, you stupid son of a bitch!” I screamed. The words came out raw, and I couldn't stop them. “My own father pulled me out of bed the night before my seventh birthday, took me out to the garage and threw me into a circle with the demon he'd summoned! I was his price so the demon wouldn't take his soul until he died! He got rich, and I got shafted, and now you assholes are trying ME for what HE did to me.”

  “You could have refused him,” a woman to Draeden's left said in a harsh, reedy voice. “Death was always an option.”

  “The boy was only seven, Master Hardesty,” another woman said, this one near the right end of the line of Council members. “He was young, impressionable, and we can clearly see the impact it made upon him.”

  “The choice was his, and he chose to protect himself, Morrigan. I believe the forty-seven souls he enslaved would agree with me on that.”

  “I wasn't trying to protect myself, lady. He threatened my mother.”

  “And we're supposed to believe that you did what you did out of some kind of noble self-sacrifice?” Polter sneered. “That you profited nothing from your deal with your Master? We know the temptation of dark magick, warlock. We know all too well the lure of its power. You can say nothing that will convince me, or any member of this Council, that you did not enjoy every spell you cast, and secretly thrill to every bit of control you exerted, every moment of pain you inflicted on those innocent souls.”

  I was so angry I could barely even put words together. This bastard looked like he'd never met a menu he didn't like, and he was accusing me of enjoying what Dulka made me do. I saw Draeden's hand move to his face, and he brought his index finger to his lips like he was shushing me. His advice from earlier came to me. Actions, not words. Play to my strengths. Courage.

  “You want to see just how much I enjoyed doing what I did? All the rewards I got for being a good slave?” I spat.

  I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and pulled it up. The hem caught on something, and I yanked against it. Fabric ripped as I tore it away from my body and threw the scraps on the floor in front of me. A dozen gasps came from behind me, and a woman gave an anguished cry. I looked down at the scars on my chest and upper arms, then back up at Polter before I put my arms out and turned around to show them the roadmap on my back. I turned a complete circle and gave Polter the full weight of my stare.

  “You lied to me!” I heard a woman sob behind me, and my blood froze in my veins. There was one thing I feared more than death, more than the High Council, even more than being taken back by Dulka, and it was happening right then and there.

  My Mom knew I was a warlock.

  Chapter 6

  ~ Even Demons flee before the just wrath of the Romany. ~

  Mage proverb

  “Mom, I'm sorry,” I told her as she walked into the cleared area with me.

  I felt terrible about lying to her, but then, her knowing the truth had seemed worse at the time. Now, she knew it all, but only as a spectator. If I should have told anyone, I should have told her. But if there was anyone in the world I didn't want to know about my past, it was also my mom. Even though she was crying, she looked pissed. But then, I figured I deserved that more than a little.

  “We'll discuss this later, Chance,” she said.

  I shut up.

  When she spoke again, it wasn't to me. “I came to you eight years ago about this. You told me that there was nothing you could do. You told me my son was safe!”

  “We told you that your son had not been abducted, and that your husband was not doing him any harm at the time,” Draeden said. “We spoke the truth. There was nothing we could do to return him to you. He had not been abducted, and no harm was being done to him at the hand of his father. Unfortunately, we did not know the circumstances of his service to the demon at the time. In fact, we did not know he had been forcibly sold into servitude until this very night.”

  “We failed them,” an older sounding man said. His voice seemed tired. “We failed you both, miss.”

  “Nonsense!” Polter said. “We can't let ourselves be swayed by sympathy over a few scars and a sob story. The boy would tell any lie to save his life. And his mother would say anything to save her child!”

  “I'm not sure which I find more disturbing, Andrew,” Morrigan said. “That you would accuse this woman of lying, when Master Draeden has just corroborated her claim, or that you are still so eager to kill this boy when it's possible he may be as much a victim here as anyone.”

  “There is another issue to consider, ladies and gentlemen of the Council,” Draeden said.

  Polter's mouth closed so fast I could almost hear his teeth click together.

  “With any issue of justice, I seek guidance through divination. What was revealed to me gives me reason to do a thing unheard of in our history. First, there is no record of an accord between this young man and the Red Count. Given his testimony and the ample evidence we have seen etched upon his flesh, we cannot rightfully accuse him of being a true warlock. Secondly, this decision is currently not in our hands. This boy has a wyrd attached to him.” Draeden
pulled the tarot card from inside his robes and tossed it.

  It spun slowly toward me, until it finally landed on the floor at my feet.

  “Are you certain, Master Draeden?” Polter asked.

  I reached down and picked the card up. The Page of Swords stared up at me, frozen in place as he offered a sword to someone unseen. I looked up to see Draeden skewer Polter with a look that even his hood couldn't hide.

  “Quite certain.” There was enough ice in just those two words to stop global warming. “The wyrd, combined with the claims the boy has made, are enough to give me more than a moment's pause. My scrying indicates that the wyrd will run its course, for good or ill, by the Equinox. Given the new evidence we have, I propose that we allow the boy to prove himself, through an Ordeal. None of us can say this was his choice…not with any credibility, at any rate. All we can know is who is he is now, and if his desire to follow the right path is sincere.”

  “Master Draeden,” the tired sounding old man said, “we have never set an Ordeal in such a case before. Warlocks are judged by vote of the Council alone.”

  “Would you have voted for immediate execution of this boy at the beginning of this night, Master Moon? I believe all of us would have, without hesitation. Yet now, how would you vote?”

  “I would vote . . . with my conscience, Master Draeden.” I got the sense from the tone of his voice that he was trying to say he’d vote in my favor without saying it out loud.

  “As would we all, Lazarus. My friends, we have served for many years as members of this Council, and in all our time, we have not seen a case such as this. If we are to vote as our morals dictate, we must know the heart of the young man before us. This boy has a task to perform, and by it, I think his true character will be revealed. I put it to this council that Chance Fortunato must be allowed to complete the task set before him by the Fates. Only by this can he be judged fairly, and Fate be served as it demands. Who among us favors setting this boy's task as his Ordeal?”