“Thank you for not telling me,” Seagryn said sardonically. “But if this is happening in your stables, why won’t you witness it?”
— Oh, by that time this House will be asleep. Dark informed Nebalath of that as well.
“Dark has a big mouth,” Seagryn mumbled to himself as a new wave of grief swept through him. First Nebalath, and now the Imperial House, too? Why? Seagryn pictured in his mind the face of the son of Paumer, the wretched lad who had caused all this, and plotted all manner of retribution against him. Then his thoughts returned to that breakfast-table conversation about the nature of evil. Was there some single, malevolent power binding together the horrible influences of all the other powers and holding a vast majority of the world’s persons in thrall? If so, Seagryn hated it.
He hated it much worse when, sometime later during this timeless night, the Imperial House dropped off …
Chapter Fifteen: TRAITOR’S EXECUTION
SEAGRYN couldn’t make fire.
He’d not always been able to make fire, of course. In fact, only within the last year had he learned he could create small balls of multicolored flame to light his way through the darkness. Still, once he’d mastered the trick he’d used it often. Realizing he could no longer do it came as a shock.
He had awakened to find his circumstances unchanged. He was still in a pitch-black dungeon, his wife was still missing and — he presumed — kidnapped by Sheth, a dragon he’d helped make that still burned the world, and the Imperial House of Haranamous slept on. He spent a few moments pondering the fate of Nebalath. The old wizard couldn’t be dead, surely — didn’t he have the ability to disappear instantly to any spot he chose? Seagryn had seen him burning, true, but certainly sometime before he hit the water on the far side of the castle, Nebalath had departed — hadn’t he?
Or had he? After all, Nebalath had reported that the powers were leaving this region and had complained of his own diminished shaper ability during yesterday’s battle. Was that why the old wizard had fought so ineffectively — because even as they struggled to drive the dragon from the skies over the city, the very powers they shaped were departing? That would mean Seagryn could no longer perform many of the feats he’d become accustomed to doing — like turning into a tugolith at will. Obviously the magic that had brought this House to life had gone, or the walls would still be talking …
Seagryn tried again to make a flame — and again he failed. He pictured himself as a tugolith in an attempt to take his altershape. He failed in that, too.
Now he shivered, and not because this dungeon was all that cold. Seagryn had just fully realized that he was in serious trouble.
He got to his feet and stepped tentatively forward, holding his hands out before him. He found the wall with his fingertips, then walked sideways, tracing its outlines first into one corner, then to a second, then to a third, then past the door into a fourth. The cell was small and windowless, and just knowing that made him feel stifled. Until this point he’d not been afraid. Why should he be? He was a wizard! But a powershaper without powers to shape was as helpless as any other prisoner in this dungeon. And the castle’s last few words had assured him of his own doom.
With some desperation Seagryn thought of Dark. Hadn’t the young prophet told him that the plan to destroy the dragon would be successful? Yes, but the boy had also said they would drive the twi-beast from the city without detailing the cost to Nebalath. Seagryn now understood the old wizard’s mood as they’d prepared for battle. What had Dark not told them about the ultimate success of Sheth’s plan? Hadn’t he said specifically that Seagryn would seek Sheth out? And hadn’t he promised that Seagryn would see Elaryl safe again? Yes — yes, he had!
But for the present, Seagryn stood in an utterly dark dungeon with no means of escape, at the mercy of the powers that be. Then it struck him: Hadn’t he always been so? Had there ever been a time when he controlled events, rather than being controlled by them?
“No,” he told the surrounding black. And he remembered in that moment something he had himself often said to congregations in Lamath in his days as a rising cleric. “The One beyond powers is power to the helpless.”
“That’s the trouble with magic,” Seagryn told himself aloud. “It makes you self-dependent, and that robs you of all peace …”
By feeling the dungeon floor, Seagryn found his way back to the pile of straw where he’d slept and lay down again. He had no control, but he did have hope. Somewhere between the two themes of impotence and promise, he discovered a place of peace, and he settled down into that spot and relaxed. He might as well. He had no other choice.
He woke again when the door slammed open and the room filled with torchlight. “The stake pit is ready for you!” someone announced cheerfully as Seagryn was dragged to his feet.
“Better not torment him,” another voice warned. “He’s a wizard, you know.”
“If he’s such a fine shaper, how come he’s still here in this dungeon?” the first voice demanded as the group of guards hustled him through the door and down the corridor. “He’s no shaper!” the fellow answered himself in a derisive tone. “He’s nothing but a traitor who’s gotten himself in good with the dragon!”
“He won us the battle of Rangsfield Sluice,” the guard on Seagryn’s left argued. “I was there.”
“Nobody’s ever proved he had anything to do with that victory! For myself, I think it was old Nebalath in disguise who won us that battle! This mudgecurdle just served him as a useful dodge! Come along, you,” the guard on Seagryn’s right growled, jerking on his shoulder and twisting it painfully.
“I think you’re wrong,” the other guard muttered. “I think everyone’s wrong about him, including the king.”
“Yeah? Well, you’d better keep your mouth shut about it or you might get tossed into that pit right after him!”
This was evidently sufficient threat to silence the other man’s protests. There was no more conversation until Seagryn was thrust out of a tunnel into the sunlight of the stables. So, he thought to himself. They plan to execute me at high noon.
The small enclosure off to one side of the castle’s entry way was surrounded by cut-rock walls four stories high, so the sun could only shine into the stables around midday. Its light hurt his eyes, and its heat immediately stuck his shirt to his back. The smell of the animals, the buzzing of flies, the humid air — what an unpleasant way to end his life, Seagryn thought to himself. He clung to Dark’s promise that he would see his Elaryl again, hoping he’d not once more misinterpreted his friend’s words. But as they marched him to the edge of the hole and he got his first glimpse of the sharpened stakes thrusting up out of the rich, black earth, Seagryn doubted.
A dozen purple-clad warriors surrounded him. “Pitch him in,” one of them ordered, as if he were so much garbage to be disposed of, and Seagryn responded by trying again to take his tugolith form. Nothing — and now he was slung between four Haranian guardsmen, each holding one of his limbs. This couldn’t be happening! Fear and disbelief tingled through him, causing his body to quake. “He’s shaking now,” someone snickered — what did it matter who?
“One,” they all said in unison. “Two.”
“Stop.”
Chaom! He recognized the voice. General Chaom had come to rescue him!
There’d been not a hint of emotion in the command. Nevertheless, it was instantly effective. They stopped swinging him, and those holding his arms immediately let him go. He might have wished it had been the pair holding his legs instead, but as his head hit the soil it was his sense of relief he paid attention to, not the pain. The two who held his legs followed suit, and he had the chance to draw a deep sigh before they once more dragged him to his feet and turned him around to face Chaom. Then Seagryn grunted in surprise. The burly general wore the gold and purple robes of royalty! Seagryn smiled in recognition of the fact, but the new king did not smile back.
“Take him to the rooftop,” Chaom grunted. It took a mome
nt for Seagryn to register the fact that the former general — now the king — was not going to address him directly. “Too many people want to witness this execution,” King Chaom announced, “and I’m not about to deprive them of that joy in my first act as ruler.” The big man never even looked at Seagryn as he turned his back and left the stables.
“Come on,” a voice behind him growled as Seagryn once more was wrenched into motion. Chaom had betrayed him!
The guards pushed him inside and down the main hallway. Seagryn had not taken much notice of this corridor since his first visit to the Imperial House — usually right along here he’d been engaged in conversation with the walls. But they were silent now — as dead as he was soon to be. He couldn’t remember ever feeling more lonely.
They passed the wreckage of what had been the great hall. Rubble was still piled at least a story and a half high in the middle of it, brightly illuminated by the sunlight streaming down through the hole in the roof above. Seagryn was allowed one long look, then he was propelled up the winding stairway to the site of his most recent — triumph?
The half of the roof that remained was crowded with dignitaries. That seemed rather foolish to Seagryn, since he doubted the remaining structure could stand the added stress, but at this moment he didn’t have a high degree of concern for Haranians anyway. They’d all obviously gathered here to celebrate his death, for as soon as he appeared they hushed their chatter and began whispering to one another gleefully. For these people he’d risked his life at the Rangsfield Sluice? For these grinning ghouls he’d battled a dragon?
Like the prow of a ship parting the waters to either side, Chaom led the contingent through the crowd to the battlements and climbed up onto the charred wall. There he ceremoniously turned around, and pointing his finger directly at Seagryn, he trumpeted loudly, “Seagryn Dragonspet, your heinous crimes against the nation of Haranamous are well blown to all of us assembled! You are charged with conspiring against this state! You are charged with —”
Seagryn could take no more of this. “What about you, Chaom!” he snarled back. “What about your own participation in the —” He got no further. A gag was suddenly looped over his face and wound around his head, and before he could reach up to jerk it off another pair of hands were binding his hands behind him.
Chaom never paused. He just shouted more loudly. “You are further charged with making, loosing, and consorting with a beast so monstrous as to rival the very worst of human nightmares. This entire city has witnessed your familiar conversation with the beast, here upon this very spot!”
Seagryn tried to answer this charge, too, through the gag. It did no good. At the moment he wished that very dragon would reappear in the sky and fly off with him in one of its mouths. He really felt less fear than he felt anger at Chaom for so callously betraying him.
“You are further charged with causing the death of the former king,” Chaom continued, “a man greatly admired and respected for decades.”
And one whom you conspired to undercut, Seagryn thought to himself, glowering in rage. He recalled how at one time he’d thought highly of Chaom, considering him one of the more responsible members of the Conspiracy. Now he wished the man nothing but evil. Loyalty was one of Seagryn’s foremost values, and Chaom was demonstrating none at all.
“Still further, you are charged with causing the death of the covering shaper of Haranamous, the wizard Nebalath, who tumbled to his death yesterday at about this time. It is altogether fitting that you die upon this same spot, and that I, in my first act as king, should be the one to slit your throat and push you off these walls!” On these words Chaom drew from his belt a large, curved dagger and flourished it above his head.
The crowd greeted his announcement with a great cheer. Seagryn was hustled forward and forced onto the battlement beside the king. He wondered if he might be able to throw his weight into the man and at least take the mudgecurdle with him, but Chaom was much bigger than Seagryn, and had been a warrior far longer than he’d been a king. He immediately had the bound wizard in a choke hold and was turning him to face the river. As the noise of the throng swelled behind them, Seagryn saw the dagger flash before his eyes and felt its cool blade press against his neck.
“Take a deep breath before you hit the water,” Chaom growled in his ear. Then the big man cut through Seagryn’s gag and pushed him forward.
Seagryn wanted to ask, “What?” as he plummeted toward the surface of the river, but he had the good sense not to do so. Instead he inhaled deeply —
Cold! Deep! Drowning! Seagryn struggled in vain to get his hands untied, but they were bound together too tightly. Then suddenly he felt something grab him! A huge fish or some kind of water monster had seized him around the neck and now wrestled him down deeper into the murky dark! He would have screamed in terror, but if this was to be his last breath, he could hold it just a few moments longer. He tried again in desperation to take his tugolith shape, to fight this monster with another —
But now he felt himself being pulled back up! As his head broke the water’s surface, he gasped in a giant breath, then looked around wildly for the thing that held him in its grasp — but it was dark! Where were they? Under the castle? They had to be, for they’d not been below the water long enough to get far from its base. Was this Nebalath? Surely it must be Nebalath who had him! Nebalath had saved him! He tried to roll around and look at his rescuer but couldn’t turn his body, for whoever this was still held him around the neck. Were they heading for some kind of subterranean dock? Since Seagryn’s hands were still bound, he couldn’t help — but then neither could he hinder. He gave thanks to the Power that his rescuer was a powerful swimmer. But could Nebalath swim like this? Could anyone he knew?
Seagryn felt them bump against something solid and tried to throw his body onto it, but he was forced to wait until the one who’d saved him from the river pulled him out. Then he lay shivering on the wet rock shelf, gasping for breath. Safe! Of course, he’d known all along he wouldn’t die, hadn’t he? After all, Dark had promised! He laughed at himself in relief …
“What’s so funny?” the woman who lay beside him asked, gasping for breath herself.
“Fylynn?” he said, almost choking.
“It’s me,” she gasped back.
“How did you —”
“Later!” she grunted, and he heard her rolling onto her back. A sensible suggestion, he realized, and he filled his lungs with fresh air while letting his heart calm. Finally they were both rested enough to talk, and Fylynn began.
“It was Chaom’s idea, but I knew already he would have it before he made the suggestion, because —”
“Dark had told you he would,” Seagryn finished for her when she had to stop for a breath. “I had no idea you were such a strong swimmer!”
“After all those days on the beach at Emeraude Island? What did you think I was doing, getting an all over tan?”
“You did some of that,” Seagryn recalled.
“You’re a Lamathian cleric!” she scolded. ‘You weren’t supposed to be looking.”
“But why did we have to go through all that?” Seagryn pulled. “Why couldn’t Chaom just release me and say I escaped?”
“The people had too much interest in seeing you dead, and Chaom has wanted to be king too long to jeopardize his new standing. If you were said to have escaped, he would have to mount a search, and if he failed to recapture you, he would appear to be incompetent. This way they all think you’re dead. They can celebrate your demise in the streets tonight while we slip off to meet Sheth.”
“Sheth,” Seagryn grunted. “Have you seen him?”
“He visited me in Pleclypsa!” Fylynn said, thrilled. Seagryn remembered then that she was enamored of him. “He’s so beautiful!” she gushed.
Seagryn recalled Sheth’s dimpled sneer and the way his mustache turned up in a snide smile — and kept his opinion to himself. After all, Fylynn had just saved his life. “Do you mind untying my hands
?” he asked, and she turned immediately to the task.
“The knot’s wet,” she murmured. “I have a dagger in my bags. Let me go search them …”
As she crawled away into the darkness, Seagryn tried to piece together where they were. “What is this place?”
“A boat slip under the palace,” Fylynn called back. “There’s a boat over here … somewhere …” Even as she spoke he could hear the sounds of a small rowboat bumping against a dock and of someone climbing into it. “Here it is. We’ll use it tonight, after the sun sets.”
“Is Sheth somewhere in the city?”
“No way,” Fylynn called back to him, her voice echoing around the chamber. “He said his power was diminishing in Haranamous, and that he wouldn’t be back. Of course,” she added with a lusty chuckle, “I diminished his power a little further before I would let him go!”
Seagryn didn’t want to talk about Sheth or his power; he wanted to know about his own lady. “Did he mention my Elaryl?”
There was a moment’s pause, then Fylynn answered sharply, “Why should he?”
Seagryn recognized a jealous edge in the woman’s voice and decided against pursuing it. If they were going to Sheth, he would learn more soon enough. “She’s supposedly somewhere in the Marwilds,” he explained. “From something Nebalath told me I just assumed that Sheth would be there, too. Do you know?”
“I think that’s where he is,” Fylynn replied, placated. By now she’d returned with her dagger and, by working together, they soon had his hands free.
“You’re not certain?” Seagryn asked. “How are we supposed to find him?”
“You’ll see. Here — dry clothes,” she said, thrusting some garments into his hands. “Change into these, then let’s eat. After that you’d better try to get as much sleep as you can. We’ll be traveling all night long.”
They both changed clothes in the darkness, then sat down to eat. Fylynn was well prepared — but then, she’d evidently had the aid of the new king. They lay down then, and Seagryn tried to follow her suggestion and rest — but he found he couldn’t sleep. Elaryl! He would see her in just a few days! He could hardly wait for the daylight to pass so they could slip away into the night …
The Faithful Traitor (Wizard & Dragon Book 2) Page 24