Maiden of Pain: Forgotten Realms (The Priests)

by Kameron Franklin

  “Father could not care less.” Naeros sneered. “If I didn’t know better, Kaestra, I’d say you barged in here hoping to claim some of the credit for capturing this witch by presenting her to Father yourself. Afraid that with our sister’s recent successes, she may earn enough favor to replace you as high priestess?”

  Kaestra’s eyes widened, and her mouth moved as though she wanted to say something. If those eyes were violet instead of brown, and her curves a bit softer, Ythnel realized, Kaestra would bear a striking resemblance to Saestra. Then the impact of Naeros’s words struck her. The three were siblings!

  “I’m leaving, Naeros, and I’m taking the prisoner with me. I’d suggest you don’t make an issue of this.” Kaestra pinned her brother with a look that dared a response. Naeros simply stepped back with a bow. A smug smile spread across Kaestra’s face, and she moved up the staircase. The guards followed behind quietly, dragging Ythnel along between them.

  Outside the tower, Ythnel squinted in the harsh sunlight as the guards carried her to a waiting cart. The back of the cart was enclosed to form a solid box about five feet high, four feet across, and six feet deep. One of the guards opened the door, and the other shoved Ythnel inside, swinging the door shut behind himself as he entered after her. Sunlight spilled in through bars in the door, bathing Ythnel as she lay on the floor. She pulled herself up onto one of the benches that ran the length of each side while the guard sat staring at her from the other bench, fingering the cudgel hanging from his belt.

  “Thanks for the help,” Ythnel said, smiling weakly at her chaperone. The cart took off with a lurch, and she was forced to brace herself with her hands to keep from slipping off the bench. The guard chuckled.

  Ythnel ground her teeth and held back a groan as the pain triggered by her sudden movement finally reached the area of her brain that registered those specific nerve impulses. The particular lesson from her training at the manor where she had learned that bit of information was one she would not soon forget. The sisters had somehow removed the top half of the skull of a goblin while it was still alive in order to point out how the brain and nervous system interacted. Ythnel remembered the goblin’s pain region being relatively small, which meant it could endure a lot of pain before becoming incapacitated. This was one of the few times she wished she had a goblin’s brain.

  A person shouldn’t have to endure this much pain for this long, she thought. There’s no point because there’s no time to heal, to harden. That is the purpose of pain—to make one stronger. She sighed, a long, slow exhalation. And as she emptied herself out, doubt crept in.

  Why is this happening to me? When will it be over? Surely, Loviatar has some greater plan for me. I just need to have patience. Just a little longer.

  It was a reassuring thought, one that she clung to with desperation. But in the back of Ythnel’s mind, a frightened voice echoed.

  I don’t think I can wait much longer.

  Preoccupied as she was, Ythnel did not realize they had stopped until the cart door swung open and a guard reached inside to drag her out. She stumbled onto the white stones that composed most of the roads in Luthcheq, her legs weak but able to support her. They were in a small courtyard adjacent to some sort of outbuilding behind a large, sprawling palace that Ythnel guessed was the Karanoks’. The well-tended grounds, an area easily equal to four city blocks in size, were cordoned off from the general populous by the same thick, towering walls that separated the city from the unsettled wilds.

  The palace itself covered half the grounds. A grand marble staircase rose up to a portico that surrounded the first level. A broad architrave decorated with relief sculpture marked the beginning of the second story, and a great dome capped the center of the structure.

  Ythnel was led to a small door on the south side of the palace. Kaestra took a key from a pouch at her waist, turned it in the keyhole, pushed the door open, and walked in. The guards shoved Ythnel after her. She found herself in a dark tunnel. About thirty feet in front of her, Kaestra stood running her hand up a wall, as if searching for something. Ythnel saw the wall swing inward to reveal the orange glow of torchlight in another room.

  Two men stood at stiff attention next to a rough-hewn wood table with playing cards scattered across its top. Beyond them was a row of barred cells, all empty.

  “We have a new prisoner, Corporal Urler,” Kaestra said. “You know what to do with her.”

  “Yes, High Priestess.” One of the dungeon guards hurriedly saluted then fumbled with the keys at his belt. He unlocked the section of bars that led into the row of cells and waved for Ythnel’s escorts to follow him. The guard paused before one of the cells, a thoughtful look on his face, then nodded to himself and moved to the next one down. He opened that one and ushered the guards and Ythnel inside. Two sets of manacles, bolted into the wall, were fastened to Ythnel’s hands and feet. Their job done, the two escorts withdrew, and the guard with the keys stepped forward, a wad of cloth in his hand. He shoved the wad into Ythnel’s mouth then tied a strip of leather around her head to hold it in place.

  “Don’t want you castin’ none of yer magic while yer waitin’ for Lord Karanok.” He smiled, revealing a few gaps in his teeth, then turned and left, slamming the bars closed behind himself.

  Ythnel watched him walk back to Kaestra, who nodded and left, the two guards who accompanied her trailing behind. The other two guards sat back down at the table as soon as she was out of sight and resumed their card game.

  The manacles prevented Ythnel from doing little more than shifting from side to side, but she was still able to move her head. She could see the entire dungeon through the bars of her cell. All the cells were the same damp, gray stone. And they were all empty.

  Ythnel leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. What was going to happen next? She knew wizards were executed, but she wasn’t a wizard. Surely she would get a chance to prove it. But what if she didn’t? She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought. She pushed everything from her mind and imagined the sea of black filling the emptiness, drowning all worry and cares until finally she drifted in its comforting embrace once again.

  Prisus sipped at his morning tea while Iuna sat across from him happily eating her bowl of oats and maple syrup. Her disposition had turned quite sunny following the arrest of Ythnel. As much as Prisus enjoyed his daughter when she was in these good moods, he knew he would have to find yet another replacement. There was just no way he could run his business and raise Iuna.

  There was a knock at the front door. Prisus continued to drink his tea; Leco would answer. Seconds after the first knock came an insistent pounding.

  “Prisus Saelis? This is the city guard! Open up immediately!”

  Leco hurried past the dining room on his way to the front door. Prisus sat up straighter and set his tea down, his brow furrowed in concern. Iuna glanced at him questioningly, but he motioned for her to stay seated. Prisus could hear heated voices coming from the living room. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin then stood up. Leco appeared at the entry to the dining room.

  “Master Saelis, there is a Captain—” A uniformed guard barged past Leco, cutting him off.

  “Prisus Saelis? By order of House Karanok, you are hereby placed under arrest for the aiding and abetting of a witch.”

  “What?” Prisus’s face paled at the charges. Several armed guards filed into the room and grabbed hold of Prisus and Iuna. Libia entered with a tray, saw the guards, and screamed. The tray slipped from her hands with a clatter as she crumpled to the floor.

  “Papa, what is going on? We didn’t do anything wrong,” Iuna cried as the guards’ hands closed around her arms and lifted her out of her seat.

  “Don’t worry, Iuna. This will all get sorted out,” Prisus said as he was led out, trying hard to hide the strain in his own voice. As he entered the living room, he saw Leco being held by a couple of guards at the door; he had been dragged from the room while Prisus was being arrested. When Leco
spotted him, he struggled violently against the men who restrained him. Somehow he slipped free and charged the guards escorting Prisus. Before he could reach them, though, one of the guards by the door recovered and knocked Leco’s feet out from under him with a sweep of the shaft of his spear. Leco hit the floor with a groan but struggled to get up. The other guard stepped to Leco’s side and kicked him twice in the side. Leco collapsed and lay still, though Prisus could still see him breathing.

  The guards led Prisus and Iuna out into the courtyard, where an enclosed wagon waited, the door of iron bars at the rear hanging open. A guard stood at the back of the wagon like an usher. Another sat on the driver’s bench, twisted around so he could watch the procession, a loaded crossbow set casually in his lap.

  A bellow of rage echoed out across the courtyard. Prisus, one foot in the wagon, turned back toward the house to see Leco charging out the door after the last guard, a fireplace poker brandished above his head. He hadn’t gone two steps when there was a loud twang and something flew through the air.

  “No!” Prisus cried. Leco’s bellow was cut off and reduced to strangled grunts. A crossbow bolt was sunk halfway up its shaft into his chest, a blotch of red slowly spreading across the front of his gray linen tunic. Leco took one more step before tumbling down the remaining stairs to lie in a motionless heap at their base.

  “Get them out of here,” the captain ordered, “and move that body back inside. I’ll send somebody by to pick it up later.” The door closed behind Iuna, and the wagon lurched into motion as Prisus watched his life disappear from view.

  They were taken to the Karanoks’ palace and escorted through a service entrance to a small waiting room on the first floor. A single table and some plain wooden chairs were the only furnishings. A solitary guard was left to watch over them. Iuna huddled next to Prisus while they waited. Every breath seemed like a candle, and with each one that passed, Prisus’s nerves unraveled further. Finally, the door opened and a stern-looking woman with long, straight salt-and-pepper hair entered.

  “My name is Kaestra Karanok,” she said, wasting no time. “Do you know who I am?”

  Prisus nearly cried. The fact that they were speaking directly with the high priestess of the church of Entropy did not bode well. He nodded in answer to her question.

  “Good. You should know that there is a possibility you will be charged with aiding a known witch. Are you aware of the sentence for such a crime?” She continued without waiting for a response. “Burning at the stake.” Prisus gulped, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

  “But we didn’t do anything,” Iuna protested.

  “Shut up!” Kaestra was right in Iuna’s face. His daughter whimpered and tried to hide behind him.

  “You seem to be a fine, upstanding citizen, Master Saelis.” She paused, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “I understand you own your own business. And you have a lovely little girl here.” Kaestra reached out to stroke Iuna, but she ducked away. Kaestra’s face hardened.

  “You will be called to testify against the witch you brought into our city. If you cooperate, I may be able to petition my father for leniency on your behalf.”

  “O-of course, we’ll cooperate,” Prisus stammered, desperate to grasp at any chance of coming out of this situation intact.

  “Good. You will wait here until summoned. Remember what’s at stake here, Master Saelis.” Kaestra smiled, but it did little to comfort Prisus. She stalked out of the room, leaving them alone with the guard. Prisus patted Iuna, hoping to reassure her. He, on the other hand, felt only an empty pit growing in his stomach. He started to chew nervously on a fingernail. There was nothing else to do but wait.

  “Hey! Wake up in there! It’s time.” The shouting was joined by a loud clanging. Ythnel opened her eyes to see the guard Kaestra called Corporal Urler banging on the bars of her cell with a cudgel. He grinned when he noticed her stirring. “Lord Karanok’s ready ta see ya.” He unlocked the cell and swung the door open for two other guards who entered and flanked her. Corporal Urler trailed them, the keys in his hand. At a nod from him, the other two grabbed Ythnel by the wrists and ankles while he unlocked her manacles. They yanked her to her feet then wrenched her arms behind her back. Corporal Urler circled round and clamped something to her wrists. The guards relaxed their hold, but her arms were still bound behind her.

  “She’s all yers, boys.”

  Ythnel was led out of the dungeon to a flight of stairs near the secret entrance they had brought her in by. It was an unpleasant climb. Her legs had not regained their full strength, and the muscles in her thighs were burning by the time she reached the top of the flight. She paused for a moment and got a shove in the back from the guard behind her.

  “Keep moving,” he grunted. Unable to respond because of the gag, Ythnel glared over her shoulder before continuing.

  After the stairs, they followed a hallway that curved to the left. The lead guard opened a door at the end, and they all filed through into a grand hall with an arch-vaulted ceiling that ran the length of the palace. She got little more than a glance before the guards were pushing her toward a set of wood doors decorated with some sort of metal inlay. At a knock from one of the guards, they swung inward to reveal an immense audience chamber at least one hundred feet across and more than half that distance deep. A dais dominated the side of the room opposite the entrance. Five chairs sat upon the second and third tier of the raised platform, one slightly higher than the other four. All but one were occupied.

  To Ythnel’s far left sat Naeros, fidgeting in his chair until the man to the right of him laid a hand on his forearm. That man Ythnel had never seen before. A square jaw, blunt nose, and bushy eyebrows all fought for dominance under a mass of dark, curly hair held back by a thin circlet of gold. There was some resemblance to Naeros, but this face was older, both in years and wisdom. It could only be his father, Jaerios Karanok. That made the elderly man sitting in the middle chair above the others Maelos Karanok, and to the right of him sat Kaestra. The last chair was empty.

  The guards halted a few feet from the bottom of the dais and took up flanking positions slightly behind Ythnel. Kaestra got up from her chair and stepped down to the main floor, stopping in front of Ythnel.

  “You are here because an accusation of witchcraft has been brought against you,” she said in a stiff and formal voice that echoed back louder than she had spoken. “Is there anything you would like to say before judgment is pronounced?” Ythnel nodded.

  “Know this, then. Should you try to cast a spell once your gag is removed, you will be killed before you complete the first syllable.” Kaestra waited, her eyes locked with Ythnel’s. Ythnel did not waver, and Kaestra looked away first, motioning one of the guards to remove the gag.

  “I am innocent,” Ythnel croaked. It was the first time she had used her voice in … she wasn’t sure how long.

  “Innocent? Lies will not help your case. There were witnesses. Lord Naeros saw you cast a spell in the marketplace.”

  “No he didn’t. In fact, your brother and your sister both know that I am a handmaiden of Loviatar.”

  The smug look on Kaestra’s face vanished. Her eyes widened, her lips parted slightly, and she turned to look at Naeros. He returned the look with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “No matter. My brother may not have seen your wizardry, but I have other witnesses.” Kaestra waved at a guard standing near a door on the wall to Ythnel’s right. The door was opened and two figures shuffled out. Their hair was matted and their clothes were in disarray, but Ythnel could still recognize Master Saelis and Iuna. They were escorted up to the front of the dais and halted a few feet from Ythnel. Kaestra strode over to stand before Iuna. She bent over and cupped the girl’s face with her hand, lifting it up until their eyes met.

  “You saw this witch casting spells, didn’t you, little one?”

  Iuna bit her lip and tried to turn her head to look at her father, but Kaestra kept their gazes locked.

&n
bsp; “Uh-huh,” Iuna mumbled.

  “Speak louder, child.”

  “Yes,” Iuna quavered. “I saw her casting a spell in—”

  “She doesn’t know what she’s saying! Be quiet, Iuna,” Master Saelis interrupted. “The woman is a Loviatan. I hired her as a governess. Do you think I would bring a wizard into this city, into my home? I know the penalty. I don’t want to die. Please, you have to believe me. This is all a big mistake.” Master Saelis’s voice quickly rose in pitch as he spoke faster. “I don’t want to die. If you don’t believe me, you can search through her belongings. I’m sure you’ll find something that verifies what I’m saying.”

  “Silence!” Lord Jaerios’s voice boomed out as he rose from his seat. “I’ve had enough.”

  Kaestra looked questioningly at her father as he approached, but he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. She bowed out of the way and took her seat. He reached into his robe and produced something hidden in his fist.

  “Is this yours?” He opened his hand to reveal Ythnel’s scourge medallion. She nodded, a wave of relief washing over her. They knew who she really was. Now they’d have to set her free.

  Lord Jaerios closed his fist and tucked the medallion back into his robe. Ythnel looked up to see his face twisted in contempt.

  “The cult of Loviatar and its practices are as degenerate and corrupt as those of wizardry. I will not have it in this city, and those I find involved in it I will execute.” He returned to his seat.