Deep magic second coll.., p.7
Deep Magic - Second Collection, page 7
part #2 of Deep Magic Collection Series
“Surely you’ve asked the gladiators and gleaned from their experiences?”
Gervase gave him another one of his condescending looks. Brandis had realized the man thought so quickly he became easily frustrated by others who could not keep up with the pace of his mind, let alone the pace of his walk. “Of course. Each story varies. I have found no commonality between them to link a cause. The cycle repeats itself over and over, as I’ve told you already.”
Brandis turned to follow him into a cell where some guards were posted in front of an iron door.
The chief sentry, in his crisp tunic and armor, snapped to attention. “This one was brought in this morning. Turned in by his wife. She was a sobbing mess, horribly frightened, and hiding behind the guards as they took him away.”
“Let me see him,” Gervase said.
One of the guards opened the eyehole. “He’s whimpering in the corner.”
Gervase nodded curtly. The guard opened the heavy door and it groaned on the hinges. Brandis’s pulse was quickening with excitement yet again, the thrill of facing danger. Beyond the iron door was a series of silver bars, as Brandis had seen before. The victim of the lycanthrope attack was sniveling. He was short, wiry.
Gervase touched a stone on his bracer, activating a magical ward. He stood at the bars imperiously. “What is your name, friend?”
“Moughton,” said the man between sniffs. “Are you the sorcerer?”
“I am. Your wife turned you in?”
The man wiped his tears away. “She did. I tried to keep it secret.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t kill anyone, I swear it!”
“Not yet, anyway,” Gervase snorted. “When were you bitten?”
“A month ago. I think. My memory is hazy now.”
“That’s usual. You thought you were sleepwalking at first.” Gervase tilted his head to one side. “Then you woke up out of doors, without your clothes. You should have turned yourself in. The madness only grows worse without disciplined training.”
Gervase had told Brandis earlier about the military regimen in the area underground.
“Am I going to go mad?” the victim hiccupped.
“Eventually,” said Gervase without compassion. “Being here in the catacombs will help prolong your sanity. You’ll be fighting in the arena, of course.”
“I don’t want to fight!” Moughton wailed.
“You don’t really have a choice, now, do you? You’re thin and quick. You’ll do better than you think, especially as you get more used to the transformations. Some of the bigger ones will have a hard time catching you. That gives you an advantage.”
Moughton sniffed. “Can you get me out of here, Sorcerer? I’d pay you. I’d pay you anything you ask.”
“You cannot possibly pay me as well as the coliseum does, I assure you. Show me the mark where you were bitten.”
Brandis edged closer to the bars. Gervase touched his chest and pushed him back. “He may look docile, but don’t let it fool you. He can become savage in an instant. If you are within reach, he will try to attack you.”
“Has that happened to you before?” Brandis asked softly.
Gervase nodded. “They’ll try to trick and deceive a victim to get close. Sympathy is a powerful lure. Never succumb to it.”
Moughton rolled up his sleeve and revealed a half-moon scar on his forearm. He twisted his arm around to show the other side.
Gervase stroked his goatee. “Most bites are on the forearm or the calf muscle. The calf if running away. The forearm if facing the creature and cowering. As you learned for yourself, it is very difficult keeping your presence of mind when one transforms.”
“How do you do it?” Brandis whispered.
Gervase pursed his lips. “I’ve trained myself not to fear. The bars protect us. The distance protects us. The scent from the torches protect us. Fear is an irrational thing anyway.”
“How did you master it?” Brandis asked, genuinely curious.
Gervase turned and started away. Brandis watched Moughton gazing at them. Just as Brandis turned to go, the young wiry man launched at the bars, reaching through with his hands, trying to snatch at Brandis. Steam began to hiss from the bars, and Moughton recoiled, scalded. He gave Brandis a cunning look. “You’ll be one of us soon. Don’t you see what he’s doing to you? You’ll be the next one in this cage.”
Brandis backed away swiftly and exited the doors just after Gervase. The young sorcerer lifted his eyebrow. “Did he threaten you?” he asked.
Brandis nodded, feeling his skin crawl. He suppressed a shudder.
“They always do that. Don’t mind it. They want to get into your head. You can hear a lie without believing it. You must have a will as strong as iron. Never let another think for you. Come to your own conclusions. Don’t rely on me or anyone else. It is possible to break this curse despite what everyone says. The simplest remedies were once thought outrageous. We must tolerate the discomfort of not knowing.”
Brandis followed him down the hall, nodding as they walked. Gervase was impressive. His mind was rigorous and disciplined. He was a genius, and he had fixed everything within himself on solving this problem. He sometimes missed eating for days as he pondered a problem. Food just wasn’t important to him, which explained his gauntness.
Several days later, over supper, Brandis stared across the table at Estenna. He loved listening to her talk, the passion of her arguments in defense of the imprisoned gladiators. Gervase tolerated her discourse, but Brandis could see that the brother’s thoughts were somewhere else. He sipped slowly from a goblet of wine, his eyes gazing into the hearth and its dancing flames.
“Sometimes I think he’s not listening when he looks like that,” Estenna confided to Brandis with a wry smile, “but then I ask him what I just said and he always surprises me by knowing the answer. He just thinks differently than anyone else I know.”
“I like listening to you,” Brandis said, feeling his cheeks flush with heat. “You’ve certainly inspired your brother’s work. I asked Gervase a question, but he didn’t answer it. How did he learn to conquer his fear?”
Estenna nodded and traced the rim of her goblet. Her lashes were incredibly long. “He’s been bitten many times,” she answered.
Brandis leaned forward, staring at her in surprise. “By werewolves?”
“No, of course not,” she answered. “He’s not that rash. Most people instinctively fear serpents. There is something about them that make us wriggle with horror inside. Well, Gervase said that fear is simply pain of the anticipation of something evil. We fear a snake because we fear being bitten. So he purchased snakes. He learned to handle them, to control his fear. After he had done so, he began handling poisonous ones. He was bitten sometimes, but always had a curestone handy. He conquered his fear of pain by willingly enduring the pain.”
Brandis was more than impressed. “That takes phenomenal courage.”
“Although it is powerful, fear is just a feeling,” she said. She glanced away a moment and then met his stare. “There are other powerful feelings as well.” She blinked at him, smiling openly. Then she scratched the side of her neck and rose from the table.
His mouth went dry. Her look was a little flirtatious, an invitation to follow her. Was he reading it right? Was she returning his interest at long last? His palms became sweaty.
Brandis leaned back in his chair, wondering how he could dismiss himself without rousing suspicion. Gervase was watching him, his brows needling in subtle vexation. That was the only mark, and it was very obscure. A flush of guilt crept into Brandis’s chest.
“Is something wrong, Gervase?” Brandis asked him.
The young sorcerer’s eyes did not meet his. No, he was looking across the room, not at an object, but at something within his mind. Then a brightening came, then a quivering smile. “It cannot be this easy. But perhaps . . . perhaps . . . but that does make sense. The moon. The stone gaze. All of them, it starts in the ocular recess. The eyes. Yes, the eyes. Is that it?” His fingers fidgeted on his lips. He was mumbling to himself, gazing down at the table, growing more and more agitated.
“I don’t understand you,” Brandis said, shaking his head.
“No, of course you don’t. Of course you don’t see it. See it.” He rose suddenly from his chair and started to pace. “It’s one of the philosopher sayings.” He snapped his fingers in repeated fashion. “Yes! That might be it.”
Brandis stared at him. He’d never seen Gervase so animated, so enthralled with himself. And while he was muttering under his breath, he strode out of the room in a hurry, heading toward his private study, the enormous library. That left the young man alone in the dining hall. It was Roshaun’s evening off, and he was likely at a tavern enjoying his freedom. Brandis glanced at the door to the study and then to the door that Estenna had departed from.
He pushed his chair away from the table and followed the girl.
There was no one in the corridor beyond. The lamps were flickering and no servants were present. The house was quiet. Disappointment stabbed through him and he shook his head and started toward the stairwell to the row of guest rooms. Noises from carriages could be heard outside—the city of Vaud was always in high dudgeon regardless of the hour. He trod up the stairs, holding on to the wooden bannister, and climbed up in the dark toward the next level. As he reached the turn of the first landing, he heard a small noise behind him and turned back to look while his hand groped for the sculpted banister knob. When he set his hand on it, he touched skin instead, a hand already there.
Estenna was waiting for him on the midlevel plateau around the corner. Her sudden arrival had surprised him, but the jolt of fear quickly turned to more pleasant sensations.
“Is he distracted?” she whispered. Her breath tickled his cheek.
He was startled, pleased, and enthusiastic. “He just went into the study.”
She took her hand away from the knob and then wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up on her toes, kissing him. It was not the kiss of long experience. It was one from a girl who had been imagining what it might be like. Despite the brazen ardor, she was still shy and pulled away, giving him a hopeful look.
“Did you . . . did you like that?” she asked breathlessly.
Brandis pulled her close and leaned down, kissing her instead. He felt her lips pull into a smile as he withdrew. “Very much,” he mumbled, his throat tightening as his feelings tugged loose and began running rampant in his chest. He watched her, mesmerized. The emotions were overwhelming and so exquisite. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. He wanted to savor it.
After that small smile, she gave him another shy look. “I wanted that,” she said. “Gervase is going to send you away. I just wanted to know what it felt like.” She traced her finger down his chest.
“Why?” Brandis asked, shaking his head. The thought of leaving was painful. “I want to help with his work. With your work.”
She smiled but glanced down. “Gervase doesn’t want to share the credit of his discoveries with anyone. It must always be him. You’re very clever, Brandis. I would like to visit the Black Forest someday. But that would not be possible. I will dream about you when you are gone.” She pressed her cheek against him, pulling him into a possessive hug.
He was torn, the warm feelings dissipating like smoke. Conflict raged inside. “He cannot make me go,” Brandis said, smoothing her wildfire hair, his voice rising in anger. She held her fingers to his lips to quiet him. He composed himself and lowered his tone. “If I cannot stay here, I will stay elsewhere. I want to be near you.”
She looked up at him, pleased by his words. “It would be difficult to see each other,” she said, biting her lip. “We couldn’t keep it a secret long.”
“Why should we?” Brandis asked. “I want to be your suitor, Estenna. I’m surprised you don’t have several, but with such a guardian as Gervase, maybe it’s not a shock. I will send Roshaun tomorrow to find other lodgings. This is a vast city. Surely he’ll find something. I will not be far away.”
She brightened. “I wasn’t sure you felt the same way I did,” she said, flushing. Then she leaned up and kissed his cheek and the dimple by his ear. “Send Roshaun to the coliseum. I’ll leave notes for him where we can meet next.”
Brandis’s heart was racing with wonderment. “I’ll come. I promise.”
And he kissed her again.
And again.
* * *
Brandis’s sleep was blissful. The bed cushions cradled him like feathers, and his dreams were of a soft mouth and eyes as shining as stars. Then his sleep was violently ripped away. A leather hood was dragged over his face, and burly men grabbed his ankles and wrists. He tried to wrestle, tried to yell, and a fist slammed into his stomach, doubling him over. Chains were fixed to his wrists and ropes bound his legs to the knees. He wriggled and struggled, panting, frightened out of his wits.
“He’s a strong one,” coughed a voice.
“All of the ’thropes are strong,” breathed another.
Brandis felt the suffocation start because of his lack of air under the hood.
Then he heard Gervase’s voice. “Take him to the coliseum.”
He lost all sense of direction except that he felt them jogging down stairs. Was it night? Was it day? He hadn’t been able to tell before the hood made it impossible. The bindings secured him and he finally quit struggling as his strength exhausted itself. The men abducting him were curt and uncommunicative. He was bundled away in a cage. He felt the metal floor and the bars pressing against his back. Then the cart jolted as the cage trundled down the road. Terror writhed inside his chest. He tried to banish it, tried breathing slowly. It was no use.
Hours later, Brandis found himself in a cell. The hood was finally ripped away and he glared at his captor, one of the coliseum guards who looked at him in disdain.
“You’ll make a great one in the arena,” the guard said coldly. “You’ve got the build.”
“I am not a lycanthrope,” Brandis said, his voice leathery. “What examination have you done? What pretext is this? Free me at once.”
“A lycanthrope is easier to capture before he’s bitten,” the soldier sneered. His eyes were knowing. There was a stadium of spectators to appease. “Send word to the sorcerer that he’s secure.”
Brandis’s stomach had compressed to the size of a walnut. He was hungry and fearful, his plight beyond imagining. Who would believe him in a city accustomed to werewolves in captivity? Even the legend of the founders of Vaud had been about werewolves. It permeated their culture. There were laws for such arrests, he’d been told. Was that merely deception? The gladiator games were a business, and men like Gervase held sway. Brandis had been utterly foolish and completely unprepared for the malice.
More time passed. The bonds chafed his arms. His resentment and fury built. It was murder. Sending him into the arena was murder. Putting him in a cage with a werewolf was just as vile. How was Gervase capable of something like that? How had Brandis not seen it in his eyes?
Time meant nothing in the dark. But eventually, there was the sound of locks and then Gervase stood outside the bars, staring at him as yet another specimen. None of the guards were there.
“Why are you doing this?” Brandis said.
Gervase’s brow wrinkled. “Are you so daft as to even utter that question? There are two reasons and both are equally compelling. My sister, strangely, has fallen in love with you. Well, what she considers that emotion to feel like. She was sobbing at the manor for a while this morning. Quite hysterical. Her lover from the Black Forest was a werewolf in disguise. It couldn’t be. Now she’s determined to free you. She’s at the gate right now with your servant trying to bribe one of the guards to admit her into the underground. They won’t, I assure you. They’ve tolerated all her little speeches because of my work.” He gave Brandis a cold smile. “But then last night I had the epiphany. Watching the two of you look at each other. Watching the bud of the flower open as you gazed adoringly at each other. It’s rather sickening to an observer. But watching that, now I understand what causes lycanthropy. And it was you who taught me.” He shook his head in amazement. “Not wittingly. You lack the knowledge and education. As I saw the way you looked at each other, it came to me. One of the philosophers’ quotes. One I heard as a child. I haven’t thought on it for years. The light of the body is the eye. If the light in your eye is darkness, how great is that darkness!” He started pacing in front of the cage. “Don’t you see it, princeling? I couldn’t deduce why some were spared and others not. It was in their eyes all along! It is always in their eyes! That is the key. How does a medusa turn someone into stone? Why was a weaver turned into a spider? Because she made things more beautiful than a goddess’s! Jealousy, fear, lust—all exist in the eye. That is the answer to the riddle. A lycanthrope devours the good. It spares the evil.”
Brandis was horrified. “I am not evil. What I feel for Estenna cannot be called that!”
Gervase shrugged, impassive. “What are feelings anyway? Truly, do you know? Can anyone know? We are controlled by them, like leashes. Except for me. I know the cure for lycanthropy now. I tested it on Moughton. The silver no longer burns him. The bite mark is gone. But what good will it do to overturn this order now?” Gervase stopped and stared down at him coldly. “I’ve spoken to the coliseum masters. They grow weary of the mundane, are always seeking something more exciting. And so I will give it to them. Wolves are not the only creatures that man can be transformed into. It wouldn’t work for you anyway. A lycanthrope would devour you if I put you in a cage with one. Your motives are not the same as theirs. No, you will be the best gladiator in the arena when I am finished with you. What beast causes fear in all others? You wore the crest on your lapel when I first met you. A lion. That is what you really are, princeling. And you will rule this coliseum and rid us of the mad wolves.”
