The Magicians' Daughter, page 19
“I say.” Durk spoke from the tangle atop the chest. “Avender, is that you?”
Thinking to take advantage of the stone’s interruption, Avender grabbed Hubley’s wrist in his left hand and reached for his thimble with his right. Sandy, fearing for his mistress, jumped up from his place below the bed and began to bark. But Mindrell wasn’t distracted. His arm swept forward, the ax a bright blur. A burst of pain shot up Avender’s arm, much worse than Ferris’s severing of his finger that very afternoon.
“Return!” he shouted, fighting off the agony long enough to twist the thimble free.
Nothing happened. Numb with shock, both from the pain in his arm and the fact the magic hadn’t worked, Avender dropped the empty cap. Looking down, he saw a pool of dark blood thickening on the bed. Hubley, half-awakened by the noise, rubbed her eyes as she pushed herself up from the pillows.
There was no sign at all of his hand.
Chapter 12
Something Worse
When Avender woke, he found himself in a low cave. Magical light hovered near the walls and roof; he had seen drawing rooms in Malmoret less well lit on winter evenings. Beneath his back a dirt floor ground itself into his hair whenever he moved.
He didn’t move much. His left side, from the shoulder down, felt numb. Evidently Reiffen had seen fit to heal him once again, and had brought him to one of his underground workshops to do it. Lifting his arm, Avender saw it was tightly bandaged from wrist to elbow. He should have known better than to depend on magic to get him out of Castle Grangore.
“Feeling better?”
Rolling onto his right side, Avender looked behind him. Reiffen and Mindrell stood there, the magician cradling something small in his hand. It was Reiffen who had spoken. For once the bard’s smirk had fallen from his face: he almost looked uncomfortable.
“How’s Hubley?” asked Avender.
His reply rasped through the cave. Then his head went faint with the effort of sitting up and he curled onto his side, his cheek resting on the cold earth.
“Thank you for inquiring,” Reiffen answered. “She is fine. I have no wish to murder you but, had you not shown some concern for my daughter after what you put her through, I might not have been able to control my anger. You do understand, though, that because of your rash actions, I shall have to tamper slightly with her memory. It really would not do for her last recollection of you to be that you tried to kill her.”
Furious at Reiffen’s lying, Avender forced himself to speak again, though his mouth was dry as the dirt under his cheek. “That’s not true.”
“No? How do I know where you were going when Mindrell stopped you?”
“I was going back to Valing. I told you, Ferris gave me that thimble.”
“So you say. And so I think you believe, too. But can you be absolutely sure it was Ferris, and not the Wizard pretending to be Ferris?”
“It was Ferris.” Though, as Avender spoke, the tiniest suspicion that maybe it wasn’t wiggled into his mind.
“Perhaps it was.” Reiffen stepped forward, still cupping whatever it was in his hand. “You understand that I cannot afford to take that chance. Should the Gray Wizard ever succeed in extracting Hubley from my care, I would be hard pressed to regain her. Even if I could enlist Nolo and Redburr to help, the way you did for me once upon a time.”
Avender wished he had more strength. His worst imaginings had come true. Reiffen was either completely mad, or had been turned by Fornoch. Either way, he seemed more Wizard than human now.
Reiffen waved a hand in front of Avender’s face to catch his weakening attention. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.
Like a conjuror, the magician rolled his fingers in the air. A small green stone appeared between thumb and forefinger. Though Avender had never seen such a stone before, he knew what it was at once. Dark as jade, the large pebble began to pulse with slow light as the magician brought it closer to his prisoner’s face.
“It’s a Living Stone, isn’t it,” said Avender.
“Yes. Yours.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Are you sure? Without it, your hand will never heal. But you must be quick. Once your body accustoms itself to what you have lost, nothing can ever be regained.”
“Why should I care if my hand heals? You’re just going to kill me anyway.”
“Am I?” Slowly, Reiffen closed his fingers around the dark gem. “If that were my wish, I would have done so already. Dumped you in the privy until you bled to death. This is the second time you and I have been through this. I have no more wish to kill you now than I did twelve years ago in Backford. No, I only want to punish you.”
His bad arm tucked against his chest, Avender pushed himself up onto his knees. A second attack of lightheadedness kept him from rising further. Chest heaving, he took several deep breaths, then looked up again at his old friend.
“If you’re not going to kill me, what are you going to do?”
“I am not going to let you go, if that is what you hope. At least not right now. This matter with Hubley must be resolved first. And I must send a message to the world that I do not wish to be bothered by future rescue attempts. All the same, I assure you, you will be safe enough.”
Avender glanced around at the walls of the low cave. “Your prison has little to recommend it.”
“You will grow used to it very quickly. And how much easier to dig through this soft dirt,” Reiffen scuffed the earth with the toe of his boot, “if you have both hands.”
“How do I know it will work? Ferris’s thimble didn’t.”
“That was because I instructed Mindrell to cut it off you. The magic worked, regardless. Your hand and fingers are now complete, wherever it was that Ferris stored your reliquary. They are, however, of little use without the rest of you.”
In the end it was an easy choice. Much as he hated magic, Reiffen knew he would hate being a cripple even more.
“Very well,” he said. “What do I have to do?”
“Only swallow the Stone. The magic will start to work at once.”
Again the magician offered Avender the small green gem. Like an emerald heart, the Living Stone began to pulse once more. With great effort, Avender balanced himself on his knees and raised his good hand off the ground. Reiffen dropped the Stone into Avender’s palm. Avender expected the rock to shift to a strong and rapid pulse, which was what Ferris had told him had happened to hers, but his continued feebly, its light erratic. The stone was only reflecting his own weakness, he thought, as his heart and body struggled to adapt to the loss of his hand. Maybe he would even die if he didn’t accept the magician’s offer.
He put the stone to his lips. Too dry, his mouth and tongue failed to swallow it. He lacked the strength to make them, his stomach recoiling at the magic.
“Mindrell, a cup of wine for Avender.”
The bard produced a wineskin and a small clay cup. Spitting the stone into his hand, Avender accepted the drink. Stone and cup clicked together as he lifted them to his mouth, the dark wine rich and satisfying to his dry lips. With a third of the liquid left in the cup, he pulled his mouth away. Only after he had swung his right arm up to take hold of the cup did he remember his hand was gone. Stifling the urge to hurl both cup and stone across the cave, he managed to grasp the clay container by crooking his maimed arm against his chest. Stone in mouth, he brought the drink back to his lips and swallowed the last of the wine.
His throat still resisted, but this time he had better self-command. The need to retch retreated. Like a gobbet of meat, the stone descended. He felt it all the way to his stomach, his throat swollen, but it went down easily enough despite its size because of its smoothness.
He felt better at once. Warmth flooded his belly; his lightheadedness lifted. Around him the room came into sharper focus. Reiffen and Mindrell weren’t so very far away. One quick burst, and he ought to be able to get past both of them, though he didn’t see a way out in any of the walls. He was bigger and stronger than they were, and his hand didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had. Perhaps he could even get Mindrell’s dagger away from him before the bard knew what was happening.
As if he could see Avender’s thoughts in his eyes, Reiffen took two steps backward. The bard, finding himself exposed, followed. Wiping the last of the wine off his lips, Avender stood.
“You had better unwrap your bandages,” said the magician. “Otherwise the new hand will be unable to grow.”
“Will it happen quickly, Your Majesty?” The bard watched Avender’s hand closely, with what Avender thought was a hint of jealousy.
“Not fast enough for you to notice, harper,” Reiffen replied. “But the spell does work. You will receive your own reward soon enough.”
“Was that what he offered you to do his dirty work?” Avender shifted his gaze to the bard. “A Stone of your own?
“Something like that. And my lady Giserre didn’t ask me to start a war between magicians, just guard her granddaughter. Which is what I was doing.”
“An excellent idea of my mother’s,” added Reiffen, “sending Mindrell to me. We know from past experience that he does good work. All the same, I shall have to prepare something extra to protect Hubley with, something special, to convince Ferris not to try sending another champion.”
“Ferris didn’t ask me to do anything except talk to you. But now that I see how much you’ve lost control, I wish I had been trying to steal her. If that was what I’d really come here to do, I’d never have botched the job.”
A sudden perverse itching at the end of his right arm distracted Avender from saying more. Quickly he stripped the stained wrappings from his wrist, expecting to find fresh fingers growing out of the stump at the very least. Instead he saw what he had seen once or twice on battlefields, a raw and blackened wound. Thin strips of skin hung off the end of his wrist like threads on a ratty sleeve. Most of the flesh was seared black as a burnt roast where a heated blade had been pressed against the stump to seal the wound. But was that his imagination, or did the outside edge of his wrist look pinker, swollen like a healing scar?
“Enough. I have healed you as I said I would. It is time you began your imprisonment.”
Looking up, Avender discovered Reiffen had half-raised his hands. Behind him the bard was picking up a shovel.
“Back,” intoned the magician.
Avender stumbled backward, his feet moving on their own. But they hadn’t thought to coordinate with the rest of his body, and he soon found himself falling. Reaching out with his good hand, he twisted around to catch himself as he tumbled. A dark ditch loomed in front of him, the air suddenly thick with the scent of fresh digging. Avender fell directly into it, his hand scrabbling at the edge. Though he held his bad arm close against his chest, the pain of landing on his shoulder shook his entire body. Clods of earth knocked loose by his clawing hand fell across his cheek and ear.
Ignoring the pain, he braced his forearms on either side of the narrow grave and pushed himself back toward his feet. Reiffen and Mindrell appeared on the lip above.
“Freeze,” said Reiffen.
No longer able to move, Avender fell back. His arms and legs hung crabwise in the air as he settled on his back at the bottom.
“Bury him,” said Reiffen.
The top of the bard’s figure bent briefly out of sight. Avender heard the crunch of the shovel biting dirt. Then all of Mindrell reappeared and Avender watched as the first load of earth was dumped on his face. Several clumps struck him painfully in the eye, while others dropped straight into his gaping mouth. He tried to cough and shut his eyes: the cough stuck in his throat like an unscratched itch. His eyelids wouldn’t close. Another shovelful followed the first, and a third. Avender realized he wasn’t breathing.
Reiffen’s cloak swayed over the edges of the grave. Another load of dirt and small stones showered across Avender’s vision. When it was clear again he saw his old friend was gone.
It took a long time before Mindrell had shoveled enough dirt into the hole to cover Avender’s face. Avender tried to curse both bard and mage, but his voice stuck in his throat the same as his cough. Dirt swaddled him like a blanket, tucking him tight against his earthen mattress. Unable even to scream, he boiled away inside, every inch of skin and bone ringing with Reiffen’s treachery. Let him live? The magician was burying him alive! Avender would smother beneath his six feet of Grangore earth, buried where no one would ever find him. Already his lungs ached for air, but still his muscles wouldn’t move. Dirt filled his mouth, packed as tight as that around his shoulders. Grit scratched his open eyes.
Only after he stopped feeling the soft thud of fresh earth laid on top of old did Avender realize he had held his breath far longer than was possible. And only then did he realize that Reiffen’s magic was working after all.
And that he wasn’t even going to be permitted the comfort of dying.
***
In the deeper warrens of his workshop, Reiffen returned to his daughter. Much as he would have liked to keep her away from this sort of thing, she couldn’t very well remain alone in the castle. But she was a brave child, as well as bright, which made him proud. Not for her the night terrors of ordinary ten-year-olds. Nor, if he could help it, the nightmares of the more than ordinary either.
He had known Avender was up to something. It had been too long since the two of them had had any sort of serious talk; he had not been convinced that Avender had come all this way, and given up his deepest beliefs about magic, just to try and patch things up between Reiffen and his wife. Avender had to have had a different goal, and it had not been difficult for Reiffen to understand what it was. Ferris had sent their old friend to try and rescue Hubley. Unless the fool had come up with the idea on his own.
The thimble had given it all away, of course. Why else would Avender, who still had not come to grips with the presence of magic in the world, allow Ferris to give him so powerful a charm? He needed a way to make a quick escape, of course. That was why Reiffen had sent Mindrell up to the room with an ax and precise instructions about what he would have to do with it. And then he had been forced to offer certain gifts to Mindrell in order to persuade the bard to do what was needed. “Why,” Mindrell had asked, “isn’t letting Brizen’s captain get away with the child just what my lady would want me to do?” “Not if it would lead me to lay waste to Valing to get the child back,” Reiffen had answered. “Let her be, and Ferris and I will work our quarreling out.” And then he had offered Mindrell the gift he was certain the bard would accept, and the thing had been done. Not that Mindrell would ever get the other prize he wanted, no matter how long he waited.
He found Hubley had fallen asleep on the cot in the small workroom where he had left her. Sandy looked up hopefully from the foot of the bed as the door opened, then settled his head back on his paws when he saw who it was.
“Wake up, dear heart,” said the magician, using no magic.
Scrunching her small face, Hubley opened her eyes. “Did you finish your business, Father?”
“Yes.”
“And Avender’s okay?”
“Yes. The accident has been fixed.”
“Did you punish the man who hurt him?”
“I did. He’s doing his penance right now, filling a hole for me in one of the workrooms.” Reiffen reminded himself that he would have to fetch Mindrell back to the castle when the work was done. No path led from that particular spot to any other.
“That’s good.” Hubley shuddered and shrank back against her pillows. “Whoever he is, he’s lucky he didn’t do anything to Avender you couldn’t fix. Otherwise you’d have had to hang him.”
“Or worse,” added Reiffen. “When people hurt your friends and family, you have to make sure they never do it again.”
“Avender is family,” said Hubley confidently.
“Yes,” her father agreed.
The child shivered. Some of Reiffen’s anger returned as Hubley showed how much Avender’s foolishness had frightened her. All that blood in her bed when the poor child woke up. Well, Reiffen knew how to take care of that particular memory. It was time he got started.
“Come, child. I want to show you something.”
She took her father’s hand. In nightgown and slippers she went with him into the wide stone passages Nolo and the other Bryddin had carved a dozen years before. Dwarf lamps shone palely on the walls, the darkness deep between them. Reiffen prided himself on using no more lamps in his workshops than the Dwarves would have used themselves. At the end of several chambers and passages Hubley had never seen before, they came to a wooden door. Opening it, Reiffen sent a small ball of illumination forward to reveal a low cave, completely natural, that the Dwarves had used as a focal point for their delving. Even before the rock was opened up, they had known it would be there. The roof of the cave was not much higher than Reiffen’s head, but narrowed distantly to the floor on either side. The tallest space was toward the middle of the room, where the stream that trickled across the cave widened into a clear pool. Reiffen’s magical light hovered over the pool, lighting its bottom.
Letting go his hand, Hubley ran toward the water. “Father! Why have you never brought me here before?”
“Careful. The water is cold.”
“What are those black things?” Hubley bent over the pool, her slippers at the very edge, her hands on her knees.
“Mussels,” said her father.
“Like the ones in Valing?”
“No, sweetheart. These aren’t good to eat.”
“What are they good for?”
“Other things.”
Unused to the light, the mussels had closed up tight. Each was nearly as long as one of Reiffen’s hands, their shells black as night. Clustered across the bottom of the pool, they resembled nothing so much as a bunch of upside-down bananas.
“What sorts of things?”
“I will show you.”
