by Mark Anthony
In a burst of molten green fire, the suit of armor exploded. The strength of the castellan's swing spun him wildly around. He stumbled, fought to catch himself, then careened backward, crashing into the rack of weapons. Domeck tumbled to the floor. The wooden rack teetered precariously above him. For a second he thought it would hold. Then, slowly, it tipped toward him. A score of glittering sabers plummeted downward. Insane laughter welled up in Domeck's chest. Only yesterday he had given orders for all the weapons in the armory to be sharpened.
Laughter transformed into a short-lived scream as a dozen blades plunged deep into his body.
Wort watched in shock as something dropped from the darkness of the bell and onto the moldering straw. He hobbled toward the thing and picked it up. It was a leather glove, dark and sticky with blood.
Suddenly the bells above him began to ring deafeningly. They rocked wildly back and forth in a cacophony, guided by some invisible hand as they tolled the death of the castellan. All except the newest bell-the bell from the cathedral-which hung still and silent. Wort stared down at the bloody glove clutched in his gnarled hands. Then, low at first, but growing in strength, his own laughter rang out in time with the frenzied music of the bells.
Six
Mika gazed through the window of the ramshackle coach as it rattled down the earthen road. Outside, the somber landscape crept slowly by. Forested ridges, shadowed dells, dark-watered lakes-all seemed to brood under the leaden sky. From time to time Mika glimpsed a crumbling ruin that loomed forbiddingly upon a hill in the distance, like an ancient sentinel keeping watch over the land. She sighed deeply, trying to shake off a presentiment of gloom. Mika had guessed the country would be different from the bustle and splendor of the city. In truth she found the landscape magnificent. She had just not imagined it would be so vast and desolate.
Perhaps it was just as well. It was not as if she were journeying from II Aluk on holiday. She had heard that there were few doctors in the provincial villages and had decided to travel to the hinterlands of Darkon to judge the opportunities for herself. The truth was, in II Aluk she had found it harder and harder to forge a living as a doctor. In the city, men became doctors while women were permitted to become, at best, midwives. Most people held only scorn and mistrust for woman physicians. She could only hope that village folk would be too glad to have a doctor in their midst to bother with similar preju dices. Gazing now at the countryside, Mika could believe that in a dreary land such as this there would be many who would need her healing skills.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out as the coach jounced across a particularly deep rut. She glanced at the other two passengers who sat on the hard wooden seat across from her. One was a rotund man, a merchant of some sort yith ample jowls and muttonchop sideburns, stuffed tightly into a food- stained waistcoat. His eyes were shut, but Mika knew he was only feigning sleep. Next to him was a younger man, too weak-chinned and pasty to be handsome, clad in the gaudy finery of a minor lord. For the past hour he had been fidgeting with an ornate snuffbox. His face bore a peculiar mix of apprehension and longing.
That morning, when the three passengers had climbed into the coach in front of the dismal roadside inn where Mika had spent the night, the merchant had gazed at the other two with wary eyes.
"I suppose you're in league with highwaymen," he had grumbled darkly at the young lord. He turned his mistrustful glare toward Mika. "Or you. There's always one."
Mika and the nobleman had only stared.
"Well, you'll not have my valuables," the merchant had growled. "Remember this-if one of you tries to pull a knife on me, I'll be ready."
Clutching a bulky leather satchel, the rotund man had climbed into the coach and had not uttered a word since. As they had followed the merchant into the rickety coach, the nobleman had thrown Mika a wan smile she supposed was meant to be conspiratorial and friendly. She had shivered, thinking she had also caught lust in his dull eyes.
Now she learned her instincts were right. With a furtive glance, the nobleman moved to her bench and sidled close to her, exuding an odor that was part sickly sweet perfume and part old sweat. He held up the silver snuffbox. The lid was decorated with a grotesque face-a woman with snakes for hair. "This was a gift from King Azalin himself," the nobleman pronounced pompously. "I am high in his favor, you know."
He tapped the snuffbox, and suddenly the face of the woman lifted its silver eyelids, revealing glittering ruby eyes. The snakes sprouting from her head writhed silently. The lid popped open of its own accord, and a tendril of glowing crimson smoke rose from the box. The nobleman hesitated. A look that might have been fear flickered across his pasty face. Hastily he held the box beneath his nose and inhaled, breathing in the glowing smoke. For a moment, a crimson gleam flickered in his eyes, but then it vanished, leaving his gaze even duller than before, sated. The fear was gone.
He held the snuffbox out toward her. "Care for some, my lady?"
Mika recoiled from it. "No thank you," she choked, eyeing the writhing silver snakes. She had heard King Azalin often presented his courtiers with enchanted gifts. She had also heard that these gifts exacted a dark toll on those who accepted them.
The nobleman shrugged. He greedily breathed more crimson smoke, then closed the box. The face shut its silver-lidded eyes once more. He jerked his head toward the merchant. "Come, let us enjoy each other's touch while the old man sleeps." His rouged lips parted in a lewd smile, revealing yellow teeth, as he reached out to caress her cheek.
A minute later the petty lord was regarding Mika from the opposite bench, an abhorrent expression on his features. "I think you've broken it," he whined pitifully, rubbing his hand.
"No, it is only a bruise, not a break," Mika replied crisply. "However, I would be happy to demonstrate the difference to you, if you'd like."
The nobleman's powdered face blanched even further. Nervously, he breathed more glowing smoke from the snuffbox. Then, taking a cue from the merchant, he pretended to fall asleep so as to retreat from conversation. Mika was not exactly devastated.
Turning away from her traveling companions, she gazed once more out the window. For a moment she caught a reflection of herself in the glass. She was a pretty woman. Her cheekbones were high and slender beneath eyes that were the pale purple of wild larkspur. Despite her beauty, there was a hardness about her-in the firm set of her jaw, in the dark severity of her simple woolen dress, and in the manner in which her thick golden hair was pulled tightly back from her forehead. Mika downplayed her pretti- ness. Skillful hands, not beauty, healed the sick. She had learned that lesson five years earlier when she had watched a man with kindly eyes and a girl with hair as golden as her own being laid in the cold earth. The Crimson Death had stolen into countless homes, rich and poor alike, in II Aluk that winter. Why Geordin and Lia had succumbed and she had survived she would never know. They had left the world, and she lived on. That was all. It was cruel, and lonely, and true.
"I miss you, my loves," she whispered softly, reaching up to grip a gold locket that hung about her throat. If only she had been a doctor then… But it was only after she had lost both husband and child that, ignoring the disapproval of others, she had entered the university in II Aluk and began her studies to become a doctor. It was too late to save Geordin and Lia, but there were many others whom she might yet heal.
The wagon shuddered to a halt, jolting Mika out of her reverie. The coach's door opened, and the ruddy face of the coachman poked through.
"This is your stop, milady. The village of Nartok. The Black Boar is just to your left. You can find lodging there."
"Thank you," she murmured, climbing out of the coach.
Her traveling companions shot her looks of good riddance and hastily pulled the door shut. The coachman had already set her luggage on the muddy street-one modest satchel of personal items and the black leather bag that carried her doctor's tools. He climbed back up to the driver's bench and clucked to the four swaybacked horses. The c
oach rattled away, leaving her alone.
Mika picked up her bags and drew a deep breath. The village's half-timbered buildings might have looked quaint, except they were grimy with soot and sagged wearily along the sludge-filled open sewer that passed for a thoroughfare. Grim-faced villagers clad in dull gray clothes hurried by without giving her so much as a glance. Nearby, hanging before a dilapidated three-story building, she saw a peeling wooden sign that might have had a piglike shape if she squinted just right. She supposed that was the Black Boar.
"Well," Mika said briskly to herself. "Here I am."
With a sigh, she began picking her way through the muck toward the inn.
That evening, when she asked the proprietor of the Black Boar if she might set up her practice at the inn, he adamantly refused. "I'll not have a crowd of sick peasants filling up my common room and keeping away customers!" he snapped.
Glancing around, Mika imagined there was little chance of that. The dingy common room was empty save for a single old man who hunkered in a corner, nursing the same mug of watered-down ale he had been drinking for hours.
She regarded the innkeeper. Everything about the middle-aged man suggested a miserly nature, from his threadbare clothes to the emaciated frame on which they hung, as on a scarecrow. Mika decided to try a gambit. "As you wish," she said with a sigh. "It truly is a shame, though." She-looked about longingly. "This is such an ideal place."
The innkeeper's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How so?"
"Sometimes patients must wait to see me," Mika explained nonchalantly. "When they do, they often grow so very thirsty and hungry. It would have been nice if they could tarry at an inn, where they might purchase refreshments." She shook her head firmly, as if resigned to his answer. "But no, I'll bother you no more about it. I'll begin searching for-"
With sudden animation, the innkeeper interrupted her. "I'll not hear of it, milady! I've been terribly thoughtless. You must set up your practice here. I insist. You can use the private dining chamber behind the common room." He began leading her away by the elbow. "After all," he fawned, "it's for the good of the village."
She could almost see him counting the stacks of coins in his mind. "Of course," she murmured softly. "For the good of the village."
The next day, neatly lettered notices had appeared around the village, proclaiming that a traveling physician was now in residence at the Black Boar. While this announcement was remarkable enough, curiosity was heightened as rumors spread that this was no ordinary doctor but in fact a lady from the city. No one could imagine why such a lady would want to journey all the way to a provincial barony like Nartok, stranger still, by herself. By midmorning the common room of the Black Boar was crowded with curious villagers, all hoping to steal a look this most unusual character. in the cramped dining chamber, Mika made certain all her things were in order. Her doctor's tools lay neatly arranged on a white cloth. There was a tin cone for listening to heartbeats, a small silver hammer for testing reflexes, and other mysterious objects. She had scrubbed every surface in the room as best she could, wiping away the dust and mold, and she had polished the grime off the lone window to let in as much daylight as possible. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her white apron and opened the door. A sea of eyes filled the common room, staring at her. A small gasp escaped her lips. She had not expected so many to be waiting. She reminded herself that this was just what she had journeyed here for, then stepped forward, donning her best smile.
"I'm glad you all could come," she began, wincing at the faint trembling in her voice. She tried to ignore it, and pressed forward. "My name is Mika. I am the new doctor." Silence. She cleared her throat nervously. "Well then. Who… who is to be first?"
No one moved. The crowd continued to stare at her, as if they expected her to suddenly transform herself into a toad, or vanish in a puff of smoke.
"Come now," she said gently, realizing that most of these people had probably never laid eyes on a doctor before. "Surely there must be someone who needs my care today, someone with an aching joint, or a fever, or the gout. Really, I don't bite."
The crowd parted as an ancient woman shuffled forward. Her back was bent beneath her dark shawl, and her skin looked as tough as leather. She led a child by the hand, a thin QVA of seven от eight years with golden hair and large blue eyes.
Mika sighed with relief. "What can I help you with today?"
" 'Tisn't me, milady," the old woman said in a cracked voice. " 'Tis my grandchild here. She's simple, she is. Her head isn't all there. Do you think you can help her, milady?"
Mika knelt to study the girl's face. The child continued to stare raptly. "Hello," Mika said. "What's your name?"
"Oh, she won't answer you," the old woman said sadly. "Kaila has never spoken a word in her life, I fear."
"Is that so?" A thought occurred to Mika. She stood and walked behind.the girl, then clapped her hands together loudly. The old woman jumped, but the girl did not shift her intense, blank gaze. This was not the first time Mika had seen a situation such as this. She turned to the old woman.
"Your granddaughter isn't simple. She's deaf."
"Deaf?"
"That's right. I'm afraid she cannot hear."
"Is it a curse?" the old woman asked fearfully.
"Of course not," Mika said emphatically. She knelt again, placing her hands gently on the girl's shoulders. "You aren't stupid at all, are you'Kaila? No, I imagine just the opposite."
Mika smiled warmly. Suddenly the girl smiled back, the expression lighting up her thin face. Carefully, Mika made a gesture with her hands, then motioned for Kaila to do likewise. The small girl hesitated. Then, slowly and deliberately, she copied Mika's gesture. Mika nodded reassuringly and formed the gesture again, then drew the child close in an embrace. For a second, she remembered what it had been like to hold her own golden-haired Lia.
"What was that you just taught her?" the old woman asked, distrustful. "Was it a spell?" A murmur ran through the onlookers.
Mika shook her head fiercely as she stood. "Not at all. It's a way of talking with the hands. Some say the hand-speak was devised by alchemists long ago, so they could trade their secret formulae without fear of being overheard. All I know is that those who cannot hear have found the hand-speak to be a great boon. I just showed Kaila how to say 'hello.' Would you like it if I taught you some of the hand-speak?"
The old woman gasped in wonder. "You mean I… I could learn to talk to Kaila?"
"Yes. I'll need to learn a bit more first, but I have a book that will help. We can start tomorrow, if you'd like."
"Aye, indeed!" the old woman replied. "Thank you, milady!" She bent down to hug the girl. "My, Kaila. Finally I shall be able to tell you that I love you."
As the old woman and child made their way back through the crowd Mika could not help but beam. Maybe this wasn't such a terrible place after all. "Well," she said, holding out her arms. "Who's next?"
Villagers stumbled over each other in the rush to be next.
With feline grace, Jadis strolled into the Grand Hall of Nartok Keep. The airy hall was filled with minor lords and petty nobles, all bedecked in frills, jewels, and gaudy finery, tittering and whispering among themselves like a flock of colorful, vain, and mindless birds. The baron was holding court today. The courtiers were waiting in the hall, hoping to be summoned into the baron's private antechamber to present him with a self-serving petition or ask some favor. A disarmingly absent smile coiled about Jadis's smoke-ruby lips, concealing her disdain. She despised them all. However, it was custom for a visiting lady to attend court affairs. She had to keep up her ruse.
Gasps rose from a group of courtiers clustered around a performing harlequin. A garish red smile was painted across the clown's blotchy white face. The harlequin was some sort of illusionist, for a trio of shimmering colored balls hovered above his outstretched hands. Suddenly each of the spheres of light flashed brilliantly, and in their place three similarly hued doves winged into the air befor
e vanishing in puffs of mist. The onlookers applauded enthusiastically as the harlequin capered about, bowing.
Jadis watched contemptuously. "Simple entertainments for simple minds, love," she murmured softly to herself. She gazed down at her long fingernails and wondered what the courtiers would think if they witnessed a real transformation. It was tempting…
From their constant whispering and sideways glances, she knew the nobles of Baron Caidin's court considered her quite the enigma. As anywhere else, here the baron's supercilious nobles were constantly caught up in their petty intrigues and silly scheming, each trying to rise to the top of their meaningless pecking order. Now all were attempting to determine where Jadis fit in. Should they scorn her as an inferior attempting to gain stature at the expense of others? Or should they fawn at her feet to bolster their own position?
Of course, the truth of Jadis's nature went far beyond anything their little minds could possibly dream up. If she were only to whisper the word Kargat, half the courtiers would faint dead away and the others would soil their fancy garments. Not so Baron Caidin. Without doubt, the baron knew that she belonged to King Azalin's secret webwork of spies. It was she herself who had supplied the information to the baron's agent in II Aluk. As a result, Caidin would imagine he had the upper hand in this game. And in his overconfidence he was bound to make mistakes.
While she had more instinct than evidence, Jadis was certain Caidin's plot to usurp the throne from King Azalin was somehow linked to his inquisition. Through seemingly innocent questions and eavesdropped conversations, she had come to the conclusion that Caidin's inquisition was a complete fraud. Villagers were arrested, tortured, and executed haphazardly. No effort was made to uncover any ringleaders or to determine the scope of any overarching plots. That left Jadis with an intriguing question. If there was no treachery in Nartok, why go to such effort to fabricate the illusion that there was?
And what of the tower on the moor? The court was filled with whispers about the strange spire-how it had appeared one night without warning, as if it had sprung from the soil like some dark mushroom. Surely it was no coincidence that the foundation of the mysterious tower had appeared mere days before Azalin learned of Caidin's intent to usurp the throne of Darkon. Yet what was the connection between the tower and the inquisition? Jadis did not know the answer to that question-yet. She made a mental note to herself. The tower was definitely worth investigating. First, however, it was time to pay a visit to some of Caidin's "guests" in the inquisition chamber below the keep. Who better to answer questions about the baron's false inquisition than the victims imprisoned by it?