by Cheryl Dyson
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Davin watched the others until they were escorted out and then he turned to Reed, who watched him without expression. Davin said nothing. At last, Reed got to his feet.
"Accompany me, if you will," he said and strode out. Davin shrugged and followed, puzzled at the man’s tone. He wasn’t treating Davin with the same condescension he had shown the others. The two of them passed through the entry hall and mounted the marble steps. Two of the black-clad men made as if to follow but Reed waved them away. On the second level, they turned right and walked through an open door into a massive library. Davin was shocked to see two large glass windows, one on each outer wall. The early afternoon sunlight streamed through the southernmost window, falling on the floor in a pattern of squares. Reed followed his gaze.
"One of the Kerricks was appalled at the glass. I believe it was Terryd, the Warrior-King. He ordered the bars installed. It rather ruined the aesthetics, but most warriors do not appreciate beauty anyway." Each window had been covered with horizontal and vertical iron bars. Reed laughed shortly. "The bars do keep the melancholy from leaping to their deaths after reading a particularly tragic poem."
Davin was not amused. "What do you want?" he asked.
"You are definitely a Penk," Reed said with a sigh. "Capable of sustaining only one thought at a time."
Davin waited. Reed sighed and walked to a mahogany table set near one wall.
"Brandy?" he asked and lifted a crystal decanter. Davin shook his head. Reed poured a splash of the liquid and downed it in a single gulp, then replenished the glass and raised it slightly in salute to the painting that hung on the wall above him. Davin looked at the portrait for the first time. It was an image of a young king with a golden crown set atop his long, curly locks that blew in the wind. He held a strange, pale sword clasped in a fist that was covered by a silvery, jeweled gauntlet. The painting was magnificently done and very old. Davin thought there was something fey about the image of the slender king—the eyes, perhaps.
"Kerrick, himself," Reed supplied, confirming Davin’s suspicion. "They say he died in a fall. A rock-slide. His body was never recovered." Reed laughed shortly. "I say he staged it all and disappeared to escape the duties of kingship. They are more tedious than I had imagined."
Davin still said nothing and Reed turned.
"I know what you are, Davin. You have Vai blood in you. Quite a lot of it, I would imagine, and power that most men can only dream of." Davin schooled his features into impassivity and Reed strode forward. "You are well-known in parts of Penkangum. There is a high price on your head. They say you killed several people with magic." Reed stopped a handbreadth away. "How did you do it, Davin?" His eyes were bright as copper coins, fixed eagerly on Davin’s face. He went on in a hushed voice. "Did you turn into a wolf and tear their throats out? Was it exciting to smell their fear, to feel it in the air? Did they beg for mercy? Was the blood hot on your lips, salty and pulsing? How did it taste, Davin; did you drink their life’s blood while they watched you through dying eyes?"
Davin’s face contorted and he shoved Reed away, hard. Reed spun and went down, though he caught himself on one hand and knee. The brandy glass hit the floor and rolled; liquid seeped into the fine carpet. Reed looked at the growing stain as he regained his feet, and then he turned his amused gaze to Davin, who struggled to contain his rage.
"Ah, you are squeamish! An unusual quality in a Vai. I fear you have spent too much time with the Falaran and his misguided ideals. Life is a vicious mistress. She rewards only those who take what they want from her. By whatever means they possess."
"Am I here for a reason or do you merely enjoy hearing yourself speak?" Davin asked.
Reed picked up the glass and returned it to the table. "I see you do not have a speculative nature. That is good. I grow tired of those who rant and rave about my sins. But enough of that. I need you to help me, Davin." Davin’s jaw tightened, but Reed continued, "I need you to teach me the ways of your power. I must learn how to change my shape as you do."
Davin stared at him for a moment and then burst into laughter that he quickly stifled. "You do not know what you are talking about," he said with a sneer.
"I know precisely," Reed retorted. "My father was a full Vai—his blood flows strong in my veins. I can already distance-shift. You and your companions were witness to that. I know how to turn men’s minds inside out. I have been taught many things."
"Then go back to your teacher and ask him to show you," Davin said. The statement obviously touched a nerve.
"He will not." Reed hissed in frustration. His eyes narrowed as he realized what he had disclosed and he picked up the brandy glass once more to hurl it into the huge fireplace. The shattered glass seemed to calm him as he took a steadying breath. "It matters not. I do not need him any longer. I have fulfilled our bargain." He turned to Davin. "And I have you to teach me, now."
Davin shrugged. "I can teach you nothing and would not even if I knew how. You are vile. I can no longer pity myself now that you have shown me the depths to which a human can sink."
Reed’s eyes glittered and he smiled maliciously. "I do not recall asking for your knowledge. It would be foolish to beg for something I can take." With that, Davin felt as though his head had been seized in a huge, invisible hand. It gripped him while something else bored into his mind and sucked at his memories like some horrid, unseen leech. Davin cried out and flailed at the air with his hands. In panic, he nearly changed shape, but realized at the last moment that it was exactly what Reed wanted.
He forced himself to concentrate on Reed’s presence in his mind. Davin allowed rage to flood his senses and he sent it back to Reed at full force, using a mental strength he had not known he possessed. It was almost like beating at a fly—one moment Reed was in Davin’s mind, clawing and scratching for information—the next he staggered, trying to keep Davin out. Unable to penetrate Reed's hastily-erected mental shield, Davin instead grasped Reed’s presence in a large mental fist and shook it like a dog shakes a rag doll. Reed crashed into the table with a shriek and knocked several decanters and glasses to the floor. They landed in a tinkling wet mass and Reed clung to the wood. Davin released him and took great care in crafting his own impenetrable mental wall, something he had not done since he was a child. It was almost comforting to know he had not forgotten how, especially when Reed recovered with a snarl and turned on him, lashing out in a full-force attack.
Davin deflected it with a minimum of effort and Reed gasped, staring at him with eyes wide and full of rage.
"Perhaps you should find someone else to train you," Davin suggested.
Reed pulled out his sword with a fluid motion. His face was red and mottled. At that moment, several black-clad men appeared at the door with weapons held ready.
"My lord?" one questioned.
Reed, after a long, tense moment, recovered himself and sheathed his sword.
"Take this man away," Reed said slowly. "Take him to the north antechamber. I want two men with him at all times. Do not take your eyes off of him for a moment. Are you all wearing your medallions?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Keep them on. This man is very dangerous," he said and added, "and worth a great deal of money in Penkangum."
The men, six in all, ringed Davin. Before they could escort him out, a servant appeared in the doorway.
"My Lord King," he announced, "The Bodorii delegation has arrived."
Reed swore mildly. "Put them in the Great Hall. I will be down shortly."
He glared at Davin and departed, leaving him with his escorts. Davin was manhandled down the hall and into a windowless room with a single entrance. Two of the men accompanied him inside. The room was furnished with a table and several chairs. Tapestries adorned the walls—scenes of Ven-Kerrick’s history, Davin assumed. He calmly seated himself in a chair and watched the two men watching him.
After a moment, he sent out a tentative mental probe, amazed at how difficult it was
. He had honed some of his abilities to a high level of skill while others had rusted away. What he encountered made him draw back, amused and grudgingly impressed by Reed’s knowledge. The guards were wearing medallions that blocked mental abilities. Davin could not access their minds in any fashion. He wondered who had taught Reed the secret of the medallions’ creation—they were not easy to forge, nor were the ingredients common. Platinum was used in quantity. The men likely had no clue as to the value of the medallions they wore, or they would have smuggled them out and pawned them for gold.
Davin waited a quarter of an hour before he got to his feet and casually examined the tapestries. They were large weavings, stretching from floor to ceiling. Davin doubted there were any concealed doors in the small room, but he lifted a tapestry and stepped behind it, causing an immediate uproar from his guards. Before they could properly react, he shifted.
The familiar exhilaration filled him as parts of him melted away and others compacted and changed. It took only an instant and then he raced on mouse feet around the perimeter of the room, avoiding the guards as they searched the tapestries frantically. He flattened his furred body and slipped easily under the closed door. Once in the corridor, he paused for a moment, blurred into an unobtrusive orange cat, and bounded down the stairs. He lurked outside the Great Hall, trying to determine where Brydon and the others had been taken.
A cat-hating guard aimed a booted foot at him, so he dodged it and scurried toward the kitchens. Catching a particular scent, he paused and then sidled down two long corridors until he reached a staircase that spiraled into both upper and lower levels of the castles. He chose the descending stairway and eventually entered a damp, rough-hewn cavern. An excess of unpleasant odors in the air made Davin sneeze and he quickly changed back into the less-fastidious rodent. He crawled unseen past the feet of a sentry and inched beneath an ironbound door. Perfect. The dungeon. He crept past several cells until he found Brydon Redwing. Davin squeaked in relief as the blond man raised his head and then uncoiled from his cross-legged position. Brydon seized the bars eagerly.
"Davin," Brydon breathed, "Is it you?"
Davin leaped back in surprise and nearly shifted back in reflex. How could Brydon possibly know? Davin retreated and scurried under the door once more and then scampered back to the guard. He shifted into his usual human form in the blink of an eye and threw an arm across the man’s neck in a stranglehold. The guard thrashed and tore at Davin’s arm, but he simply squeezed tighter until the gaoler went limp.
Davin plucked the keys from the man’s belt, unlocked the door, and dragged the unconscious man into an empty cell. Brydon grinned as Davin unlocked the iron gate to his cell.
"We have to hurry," Davin said. "By now, Reed knows I’m gone. Keep your mental shields tight, if you have them."