Maiden of Pain

CHAPTER FOUR

When Ythnel made her way downstairs, she found Prisus and Iuna already seated at the table eating morningfeast. A place was set on Prisus's left, opposite Iuna. Assuming it was for her, Ythnel slid into the empty seat.

"Good morning, Ythnel," Prisus said, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "We wondered if you were going to show." A middle-aged woman in an apron appeared with a plate of steaming sausage and two eggs, which she set before Ythnel. "I don't believe you've met Libia, our cook, yet." Libia gave a small curtsy before disappearing back into the kitchen.

"I apologize for my tardiness, Master Saelis. It seems I overslept. I will submit to whatever penance you see fit." There was no regret in

Ythnel's voice. It had been an honest mistake. She knew the importance of discipline, though, and did not fear punishment. Even a minor transgression like this received some sort of flogging back at the manor.

Prisus waved her off as he lifted a glass of water to his lips.

"Perhaps if you did not stay up all night casting spells, you would be able to get up with the rest of us," Iuna chided.

Water sprayed from Prisus's mouth

"What?" Prisus yelled, all color draining from his face. He turned to Ythnel. "Is this true?" Without waiting for a response, he turned back to Iuna. "I don't care," he continued, "I do not want such things spoken in this house. Ever! Am I understood?" Iuna nodded sullenly.

"I was not casting spells, Master Saelis," Ythnel said evenly. She looked straight at Iuna, but the girl would not meet her gaze. "I pray every morning and evening as part of my daily devotion to Loviatar."

"Be that as it may" Prisus paused, taking a deep, steadying breath, "why don't we all just forget about the whole affair? I'm going to be in my study for most of the morning. I suggest you two finish morningfeast and begin Iuna's lesson." He excused himself and left.

Ythnel and Iuna continued their meal in silence. Ythnel efficiently cut up her sausage and ate each piece with a bite of egg. Iuna lethargically stirred her food with a fork for a few moments then sighed. Pushing her unfinished plate away, she got up from the table. Ythnel stabbed the last piece of sausage with her fork and shoved it in her mouth. She used the napkin to wipe off her face and followed Iuna. They climbed the stairs, Iuna seemingly unaware of Ythnel's presence behind her. At the top, Iuna surprised Ythnel and instead of continuing down the hall to the parlor next to Ythnel's quarters, turned to the right and walked straight to her bedroom, closing the door.

"Iuna?" Ythnel called through the door. "You heard your father. We should begin your studies." She waited, but there was no reply. "Iuna open this door."

Sudden anger at Iuna's disrespect welled up inside Ythnel. She wanted to fling the door open, charge in, and spank the girl. Undisciplined punishment teaches nothing, Ythnel told herself, pushing the emotion back. The vacuum was quickly filled with uncertainty. She felt as if she stood on the edge of a precipice as doubt fought with years of indoctrination. Her mind knew Iuna needed to be taught her place, but Ythnel's heart hesitated, questioning if it was her responsibility, if corporal punishment was the correct solution.

This is the reason I'm here, she mentally affirmed. Pain brings strength of spirit.

Ythnel opened the door and stepped inside. Iuna stood there, facing her with her arms crossed.

"I did not give you permission," she said defiantly.

"I don't need your permission. I am not a slave. Your father has employed my services to help raise you," Ythnel said sternly. "Now it is time to end this game."

Iuna's eyes blazed, and her arms went rigid at her sides, her hands balled into fists. "How dare you! You are not my mother, you pile of troll dung!"

Something stirred in the back of Ythnel's mind. A memory rushed back, sweeping her away.

Ythnel slumped at her desk, her head resting on her folded arms. Her stomach had been hurting since the morning, when she had discovered some blood in her undergarments. Sister Larulene, Mistress of Initiates, had told her it was a sign she was entering womanhood. It had done little to comfort her, and she was in a foul mood. All she wanted to do was go back to her room and curl up in bed. Instead, she sat in class, listening to Sister Yenael describing dwarf anatomy.

"Who can tell me the five most sensitive spots on a male dwarf?" the sister asked. The following silence was soon broken by the click of boot heels approaching on the hard stone floor. Ythnel slowly lifted her head to find Sister Yenael looming over her. "Answer the question, Initiate."

"I don't know," Ythnel sighed.

"Are we not feeling well?" Sister Yenael asked, her voice full of compassion. Ythnel nodded. "I don't care! Answer the question." The sister brought her fist down with a crash on the desk. Ythnel jerked upright in her seat.

"I said I don't know. Look, those two are raising their hands. Why don't you go ask them?" She glared are the sister.

Sister Yenael's eyes narrowed, and the two became locked in a battle of wills. From the corner of her vision, Ythnel saw something fly at her. She turned toward it instinctively but was not fast enough. She was struck across the cheek by the sister's hand. The blow knocked her out of her seat, bursts of light filling her vision. She started to cry as Sister Yenael walked back to the front of the class.

Iuna sat on the floor, rubbing her right cheek. Ythnel held her hand poised for a backswing.

"You.. you hit me," the girl sobbed in disbelief.

Then she started to scream. "Papa!" Ythnel heard footsteps pounding up the stairs and turned to see Prisus running down the hall toward them. "What is going on in here?"

Iuna got up and ran past Ythnel into her father's embrace. "She hit me, Papa." Prisus bent down and cupped his daughter's chin gently in his hand, examining the red mark emblazoned on her cheek.

"I was disciplining your daughter, Master Saelis. She refused"

"I thought. I told you I didn't want Loviatar's teachings in my house."

"But Master Saelis, Iuna needs"

"Enough! How dare you tell me what my daughter needs," Prisus roared. His face was flushed, and he was shaking. Iuna peeked out from behind her father, grinning maliciously. Prisus took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I apologize for losing my temper like that. Obviously, I didn't make my expectations clear from the start. I hope they are now." Ythnel nodded.

"Good. Now why don't you two head into the parlor and start your lessons. Go," he gently pushed Iuna, ignoring her frown. She took two steps then turned and tried again.

"But, Papa-"

Prisus shook his head and pointed to the parlor entrance. With a pout on her face, Iuna stomped into the room.

"See," Prisus said to Ythnel as she, herself, headed into the parlor. "You can get her to listen without beating her."

Ythnel looked at Prisus but gave no response. Apparently satisfied that she understood his point, he turned and went back downstairs.

The parlor was a well-appointed room obviously used to entertain guests. A beautiful but modest crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling. Colorful, oil-painted landscapes hung at intervals along the walls, their woodworked frames tactful enough not to draw attention from the brush-stroked canvas. Thick velvet drapes were pulled back to reveal a floor-tceiling window set in the far wall, supplying a view of the city. A single-keyboard harpsichord sat in front of the window, basking in the sunlight, its lid propped open to showcase the strings inside.

For now, the parlor was set up as a classroom. Iuna sat behind a small, portable writing desk, her hands neatly folded in her lap. Ythnel closed the door behind her and strode over to the lectern that stood a few feet away from the desk. She sorted through the lesson plan she had prepared last night before going to bed, reviewing the subjects she hoped to cover. Ythnel felt her stomach clench and realized she was just stalling. There really was nothing to do but get on with it.

"I thought we might start with something easy," Ythnel began, "something that will give me an idea of your level of knowledge and give you an idea of my teaching style."

Iuna raised her hand.

"Yes."

"Have you ever taught before?"

"I don't see how that is relevant"

"I just want to be sure that your 'level of knowledge' is sufficient to"

"Don't be rude," Ythnel snapped. With a deep breath, she regained her composure. "Your father has confidence in my skills. That should be enough for you. Now let's begin." Iuna gave her a mocking smile but remained silent.

"Why don't we go over some local history? In what year did Chessenta break free from the Unther empire?"

Iuna sat silently, still smiling.

"All right, how about the name of the one and only king to ever unite all the city-states?"

Iuna continued to silently hide behind her smug smile.

"Fine, then can you recite which cities are currently aligned against Luthcheq, and which are her allies?"

There was nothing but the smile from the girl.

Ythnel trembled, barely able to keep her frustration in check. She wanted to storm over to Iuna, pick the girl up, put her across her knee, and paddle her. This would never be allowed to continue if she were back at the manor. But they were not at the manor. They were in Luthcheq, in the Saelis household, where Ythnel was only a hired governess and was required to follow the rules set down by her employer. Ythnel ground her teeth and resolved to plow ahead.

"I can see you're not interested in local history, so we'll come back to that later. Your father told me on the journey over here that you are quite good at geography. I'd love to hear you tell me all about the two major mountain ranges in Chessenta."

Iuna smiled sweetly.

So this is the way it's going to be, Ythnel thought. I can play this game, too. Without saying another word, she dragged a chair over from its place against the wall and sat facing Iuna.

They passed the morning staring at each other. Around highsun, there was a knock at the door. Ythnel stood and opened it. Libia stood there with a tray of sandwiches and drinks.

"I'm sorry, Libia, but we won't be having lunch today until Iuna finishes her lesson."

Libia nodded knowingly and turned to go. Ythnel thought she heard Iuna fidget and looked over her shoulder. The girl's brow was furrowed, and her mouth opened as though she were going to say something. But when she noticed Ythnel looking at her, she straightened up and was smiling once more. Ythnel closed the door and went back to her chair.

As the sun's reach into the parlor faded back through the window, the two were summoned to dinner. Iuna practically skipped from the room when Leco opened the parlor door. Ythnel rose to follow, but Leco stopped her at the door.

"I heard about your little starvation tactic this afternoon. I know the child is willful, but I will not allow that kind of stunt to continue. If I hear that you use it again, I will report you to Master Saelis."

"Then what do you suggest I do?" Ythnel asked. Her patience was about at an end. Did everyone in this house spoil the child?

"I'm not the governess. You figure it out." He ushered her past him and followed her down the stairs. Ythnel entered the dining room and took her seat.

"Ah, Ythnel, Iuna was just telling me what a wonderful day she had with you," Prisus said. "See, I knew you two would get along smashingly."

Ythnel was not late to morningfeast on the second day. As she finished her meal and prepared for another day of sitting silently in the parlor, Prisus motioned for everyone to stay where they were.

"I thought that it might be nice to do something a little different today. How about we go on a trip to the Trade Center? This would be the perfect chance for Ythnel to get out and see some of the sites, and we're going to need some supplies for the city's upcoming Midwinter celebration. What if we all go together and spend the day there?" Prisus smiled, looking around the table expectantly.

"Oh, yes, Papa, that would be so much fun," Iuna practically clapped her approval.

"If that is your wish, Master Saelis," Ythnel replied.

"It is. I'll have Leco ready the carriage." He excused himself from the table, leaving Iuna and Ythnel facing each other. Iuna stuck her tongue out at Ythnel then ran after her father.

Everyone rode in silence, shifting in their seats, not meeting the others' eyes. Tired of gazing at the gray winter sky, Iuna counted the streets as they neared the Trade Center. She tensed when they began to slow and leaped from the carriage before it had come to a full stop.

The Trade Center of Luthcheq was a unique marketplace. It was not unique in the sense that you could find something there you couldn't find elsewhere in Faerun, but it was unique in its design. Rather than congregating in the middle of some square at the intersection of two large streets, the merchant guilds had purchased a large piece of property near the docks. The lot was shaped like a trapezoid, with a small leg jutting off the southeast corner, and took nearly the entire block. Erected over this area was a vaulted roof, supported every ten feet by fluted columns as tall and thick as an ogre, with ornate capitals decorated with spirals and leaves. On the underside of the roof were scenes depicting athletic competitions, painted on the plaster in the spaces between the vaults by local artisans.

The acoustics of the Trade Center added to the marketplace's atmosphere. The vaulted ceiling caught the myriad cries of merchants like a fisher's net. Yet each call reverberated clean and clear above the constant murmur of the crowd. Iuna could hear the bark of some jeweler from the other side of the center just as easily as she could the beckoning of the fruit peddler two feet away from where she now stood.

A hand on Iuna's shoulder made her jump.

"Now let's not go running off by ourselves," Prisus said, turning Iuna around to face him. Ythnel stood behind him. "Why don't you and Ythnel go find yourselves new dresses to wear for Midwinter? I'll meet you both back here in, say, a candle. Then we can grab some lunch." He smiled, patted Iuna on the head, and disappeared into the crowd.

Iuna started after him but was grabbed by her wrist. She turned around to glare at Ythnel.

"Don't touch me," she said, jerking free. She tried to sound angry, but a hint of fear crept in as she remembered what Ythnel did to her yesterday. Iuna hated being afraid of the woman, hated the control it gave Ythnel. She would find a way to get back at Ythnel, to get her fired. She would think of something her father couldn't ignore.

"Your father isn't here to protect you, Iuna. You will obey me." There was no malice in Ythnel's voice, just a sternness that spoke of consequences for failure. "Besides, he gave me the coin. If you want that dress, you'll have to stick with me." Ythnel smiled, her tone much more friendly.

Iuna's mouth twisted into a grimace, but Ythnel was right. It was no use forcing the issue without her father here to witness the result. She would just have to bide her time.

"All right." Iuna sighed. "But try to keep up." She marched into the marketplace without glancing back to see if Ythnel followed.

It was approaching highsun, and the center was at the peak of its activity. Iuna shouldered her way through the continuous flow of traffic, not even bothering to excuse herself as she careened into thighs and hips. The sweet fragrance of perfume filled Iuna's nostrils and mingled with the pungent aroma of some foreign spice carried through the center on a breeze off the Bay of Chessenta. She wrinkled her nose and pressed on.

At a convergence of lanes, Iuna veered right, diving into a new stream of shoppers. She could feel Ythnel's presence behind her and absently wondered what it would take to lose the woman. Suddenly, her father's words echoed in her head, not as a warning, but as the inspiration for a plan. She grinned wickedly and came to a halt.

"Is everything all right? Why did you stop?" Ythnel asked from behind her.

"Oh, everything is fine. We're here." Iuna pointed to a large, green-and-white striped canvas tent across the way.

The tent was easily twice the width of its neighbors and was so deep, it also occupied the row behind it. Iuna's father had told her it was run by a seamstress who owned a shop in town. Clothing was made and sold in the shop; the Trade Center tent served as an outlet for older pieces that needed to be moved to make room for the newer fashions. It was commonly patronized by well-tdo merchants who could not afford the latest styles worn by the nobility.

An armed guard stood by the open tent flap, but Iuna paid him no heed as she entered. Dresses, shirts, and pants hung from hooks on the walls. Stuffed mannequins stood at various spots on the floor, modeling outfits. Iuna drifted from item to item, lifting hems and sleeves with feigned disinterest as Ythnel trailed behind. It wasn't long before an attendant soon joined them.

"Do you see something you like?" the young woman asked. She was just a few summers older than Iuna, perhaps the seamstress's apprentice.

"No, not really," Iuna sighed. "What about you, Ythnel?"

"Oh, I don't know. I never really had a need for this sort of thing back at the manor." As if to emphasize her lack of fashion sense, Ythnel plucked at the skirt of the dark linen dress she wore.

It was like a shark sensing blood in the water. The attendant swept Ythnel up and rushed her over to several gowns hanging on a section of the wall on the other side of the tent.

"Oh, I know just the thing. You're going to love this. Now tell me, what's the occasion?" she chattered excitedly.

Iuna backed toward the entrance of the tent. She halted as she drew parallel to the guard and looked up, suddenly afraid he might notice her guilty face. He just glanced at her briefly and grunted. To her, it was like the blast of a horn that signaled the start of an arena race. She bolted into the crowd.

Iuna couldn't contain her laughter as she charged ahead. Her father would have to send Ythnel away now. How could he not, if the woman was so irresponsible as to lose track of his daughter because she was too busy trying on something frilly. Iuna couldn't wait to see their faces when she finally showed up at the carriage, crying because Ythnel had abandoned her.

As Iuna rounded a corner, she decided to take a quick look behind to make sure Ythnel had not caught up. She was nowhere to be seen. Iuna turned back, a triumphant smirk growing on her face, and slammed into something hard. The force of the collision knocked her backward, and she fell to the ground, stunned.

As her vision came into focus, Iuna noticed that a wide circle had been cleared around her in the marketplace traffic. She turned her head slowly back toward the direction she had been running and saw a man leaning over her. He wore a suit of hardened leather under a fur-trimmed cloak. A white letter K with a burning branch above it was painted on his breast. His dark hair hung in waves that reached to his neck. A golden circlet held it off his forehead. And though he smiled down at her, his brown eyes were full of cruelty.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked. Iuna nodded frantically. Anyone who hadn't actually met Naeros Karanok had heard enough stories that they would recognize him. "Then you have me at a disadvantage. I don't like being at a disadvantage, so why don't you tell me who you are? Or did your parents forget to name you as well as teach you manners?"

Iuna opened her mouth to speak but managed only a croak.

"I'm afraid the girl has been knocked senseless," Naeros joked with his men, who Iuna now noticed were responsible for clearing the space around her and their lord.

"N-n-no, I'm all right," Iuna stammered. "M-m-my n-name is Iuna."

"Well, Iuna, don't you know it's very rude to run into people? What do you think we should do to rude young girls?" Suddenly, Naeros's smile was as cruel as his eyes.

Ythnel's head was spinning. The attendant talked incessantly, throwing dress after dress at her without missing a beat.

"Enough!" Ythnel dropped the pile of garments that had accumulated on her outstretched arms to the ground. The attendant's face paled at the outburst. "I think you've spent enough time on me," Ythnel continued, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "Why don't you show some outfits to Iuna?" She turned, scanning the tent for Iuna. The girl was gone.

"She must have stepped outside," the attendant meekly offered.

"Painbringer's touch," Ythnel cursed. She stormed out of the tent, pausing in the street to search the crowd in both directions for Iuna. Remembering the guard, she spun around to confront him.

"The little girl I came in with, did you see which way she went?" He peered down his nose at her, his arms folded across his puffed-out chest, and grunted. Ythnel's face became a mask of fury. Quicker than thought, she jabbed him in the gut with her right hand, just below the rib cage. The guard's eyes popped in surprise, and he doubled over.

"Which way?" Ythnel asked again through gritted teeth. Gasping for breath, the guard pointed down the lane past her. Ythnel raced off without another word.

Even with her height, it was hard to see through the sea of bobbing heads and shoulders, and the morass of moving bodies prevented Ythnel from maintaining the speed with which she had left the seamstress. Finally, she reached an intersection. She stood at the corner for a moment, desperately searching for a glimpse of Iuna's small figure weaving in and out of the crowd. There was none. Ythnel silently cursed the child. Iuna could be anywhere by now. This was going to cost Ythnel her job. Why was the girl acting like this? Couldn't she see that Ythnel was just trying to help her?

A shift in the movement of the crowd to Ythnel's right caught her attention, and she swung her head to investigate. Something was parting the traffic a few yards down the lane, creating a bottleneck as the throng tried to continue on its way.

Ythnel was sure Iuna was somehow involved.

With a resigned sigh, Ythnel shouldered her way through the press. She emerged to find herself within a cleared space in the middle of the lane. In the center of the circle, a dark-haired man towered over a trembling Iuna. Ythnel could read the threat of harm in his body language. As she took a step forward, Iuna turned toward her and pointed.

"She made me do it," the little girl shrieked. "She's a witch. She cast a spell over me and my father. I saw her do it in the middle of the night."

At the mention of a witch, the crowd froze and a few cries arose from some faint-hearted citizens. The dark-haired man's head snapped up, his gaze following Iuna's outstretched arm and locking onto Ythnel. He straightened but made no move toward her.

"Is this true?" The man's hand dropped casually to the hilt of the short sword hanging in a leather scabbard at his side. "Are you a witch, as the girl claims?"

In a city were the arcane was forbidden, Iuna's charge had turned the situation from a childish prank into a potentially deadly encounter. From the man's arrogant bearing, he was obviously nobility, which meant he also probably thought he was invincible. Ythnel had learned how to interact with such people from her years at the manor.

"I apologize, milord," she began, bowing slightly at the waist. "The truth of the matter is that I am this girl's governess. I'm afraid she is not very happy with the arrangement and has been making every attempt to ruin me. I assure you I will see to it personally that she is severely punished for this display."

The nobleman nodded thoughtfully at this. Ythnel walked toward Iuna, hoping the matter finished and she could drag the girl off.

"She's lying," Iuna blurted. "My father bought her as a slave from Thay. Everybody knows that Thay is full of wizards."

"Halt!" At the command, Ythnel stopped, watching the nobleman from the corner of her eye. He circled her slowly, examining her from head to foot. "Your height, skin tone, and shaved head all mark you as Thayan. And the tattoo, is it not also a custom for wizards of that land to wear such decorations?"

"Many who are not wizards also bear such decorations, milord, so as not to stand out." Ythnel noted that the nobleman's hand was now firmly wrapped around his sword hilt.

"Regardless, I think it prudent that you be questioned further. In the name of House Karanok, I order you arrested. Guards, take her." The nobleman motioned, and Ythnel's attention was drawn to the several large, brutish men standing at the edge of the circle, acting as barriers between their lord and the Trade Center crowd. She cursed herself for not noticing them sooner, assuming they were just gawking bystanders.

Ythnel felt a presence behind her and spun inward to her left. With her right hand, she caught the outstretched wrist of the guard sneaking up on her, twisting it then thrusting down in a move she had learned from one of the many classes Sister Yenael taught on dealing pain. Driven to his knees, the man cried out as several bones in his wrist popped. Ythnel rammed her knee into his lower jaw, snapping his head back violently. The guard's eyes lost focus, and he collapsed to the ground with a thud.

Ythnel backed away, trying to keep the other brutes within her field of vision. There was no way she could take all of them. They easily outweighed her by a couple of hundred pounds each. If even one of them were to get hold of her, she would not have the strength to break free. Running was just as futile. The throng of spectators formed a tight, living wall that would surely slow her down enough for one of the thugs to grab her before she could break through. If only she were stronger, then she might stand a chance.

She could give herself that chance with magic.

Ythnel knew she could call on Loviatar for aid, tapping into the Power to enhance her own strength enough that she might be able to defeat the Karanok guards. She would be vulnerable, though, while she uttered the prayer and gave herself over to the divine energy flowing from her goddess in response to the petition. It was a risk she would take.

Yanking out the small scourge she wore under her dress, Ythnel began to chant. While there were no visible signs that anything was happening, she could feel the Power begin to flow into her. The sensation was different for everyone. Some handmaidens had told her it felt like being immersed in a bath of ice. A maiden visiting from Calimshan said it was a fire burning from the inside out. For Ythnel, her skin stung from a thousand tiny whips as the divine magic coursed through her. She wanted to cry out with joy and scream in agony.

"The witch is casting a spell! Stop her!" The nobleman's shout echoed in the recesses of Ythnel's mind. From somewhere beyond the pain, she registered the movement of the guards as they closed in, but she stayed focused on the symbol held out in front of her. Any distraction now, before the prayer was complete, and the Power would slip away.

"Iuna!" With a cry, Prisus burst from the crowd. The commotion drew Ythnel's attention, and as she turned to look, her concentration broke, severing the link to Loviatar. Then something smashed into the back of Ythnel's head, and darkness enveloped her.

The street was empty save for the light of the full moon shining down from a crisp and cloudless winter's night sky. Therescales stood in the shadows cast by a twstory building, his dark, hooded cloak aiding his thin frame to blend with the pools of blackness. Across the street lay his target, a large warehouse used by a local importer of exotic items to store his wares.

Satisfied no one else was around, Therescales intoned the Draconic words that accompanied the motions his hands were now making. With each syllable and sweep, his face began to change. The blond strands that barely covered his scalp became thick white curls. Skin that was once pulled tight over jaw and cheekbones now sagged and wrinkled.

Pockmarks appeared all over his beaklike nose, which flattened as the spell completed. In a matter of seconds, he was the spitting image of his mentor, the man who taught him this minor illusion.

Therescales picked the disguise not only for its irony, but because he never tired of the looks on the others' faces. It was like they had seen a ghost. Just the memory of their widened eyes and startled gasps brought a smirk to his lips as he crossed the street.

Stopping before the entrance, Therescales nervously played with the heavy gold ring on the middle finger of his right hand. He felt somewhat naked without his bracers and dagger, though the protection offered by the enchanted armbands would do him little good in this situation, and the weapon would only arouse suspicions. No, it was the shielding the ring provided that was important. Without it, his mind would be an open book to any with the means and desire to flip through its pages. Were that to happen, he would be as good as dead.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't the first time he considered the consequences, but there was no turning back; he was already in too deep. Fortunately, the rewards promised should he succeed made the dangers an acceptable part of the bargain. Therescales opened the door and stepped into the warehouse.

The interior of the building had been partitioned off so that Therescales now stood in a lantern-lit showroom that was only a fraction of the warehouse's square footage. Shelves of dark wood lined the walls at various heights, and marble pedestals dotted the floor. Upon these were displayed crafts and trinkets from all across Faerun: ivory carvings by Cormyrean artisans, carpets from Tethyr, lamps of multicolored glass made in Neverwinter, Thayan artwork, and other items of less recognizable origin but certainly no less value. Therescales walked through the gallery, making a show of examining each and every piece. From the corner of his eye, he watched a small, balding man sorting through a pile of papers at a desk by a door in the far wall. He didn't recognize the clerk; it was always someone different, so that was hardly surprising. Therescales worked his way closer, getting to within a few arm's lengths of the desk, when the clerk finally finished his task and looked up.

"I'm sorry, but all sales are by appointment only." The man scowled. If Therescales had not seen his initial, startled reaction, he would have thought the clerk truly frustrated by the interruption.

"That's quite all right," Therescales replied confidently. "I was referred by a shadowy sage whose symbol is a black staff." He smiled and waited.

The clerk became still for a moment, and Therescales could practically hear the clockwork gears turning in his head. Recognition blossomed on the little man's face, and he walked over to the nearby door. He pulled a key from a pouch on his belt and inserted it into the doorknob. With a twist, the lock was undone, and the clerk pushed the door open.

"I hope you find what you're looking for."

Therescales quickly moved past the man and through the doorway. Beyond it waited the rest of the warehouse. The vast space was unlit save by moonbeams that fell through two skylights spaced evenly along the length of the roof. Crates and barrels stacked at various heights formed a maze of shadowy towers. Therescales gazed out into the mysterious landscape, suddenly hesitant. He gave a small jump as the door slammed shut behind him, taking with it the light that had spilled from the showroom. Once his eyes adjusted, he crept into the maze.

Silence blanketed the warehouse while Therescales searched for the mark that would identify his quarry. Even though much of the inventory had been rearranged since his last visit, he moved unerringly to the location mapped in his memory. Soon he stood before a large, seven-foot-high, rectangular crate. Dropping to a crouch, Therescales examined the bottom of the box. In the lower right-hand corner he found what he was looking for: a blue-white, eight-pointed star stamped on the wood.

With his eyes closed, Therescales reached forward, extending his arm beyond the point where the crate should have begun. He groped around the floor until his hand came into contact with cold metal. Gripping the metal tightly, he opened his eyes to see his arm cut off at the elbow by the side of the crate. Then the crate began to dissolve, leaving a wooden trapdoor in the warehouse floor and his hand wrapped around a metal ring bolted to the near edge of the wood.

A blast of warm air hit Therescales as he heaved the door open. Revealed in the soft red glow of some unseen light source was a flight of stairs leading down. Therescales descended, lowering the trapdoor behind himself.

At the base of the stairs, a narrow hall led a short distance to a pair of braziers standing waist high against a blank wall. Therescales grabbed a small pair of tongs that was hanging from a hook on a side of the brazier on the left. Using the tongs, he removed one of the glowing coals from the brazier. In the center of the wall, he used the coal to draw a Draconic sigil. Wherever the coal touched, it left a bright, burning mark in the wall. When he finished, Therescales replaced the tongs and moved back. The sigil flashed and was absorbed into the wall, leaving no trace it had ever been there. Therescales stood silently for a moment. His patience was rewarded as a thin line appeared on the wall a few inches from the ceiling. It stretched from the left brazier to the right then turned sharply and ran to the floor. Therescales stepped forward and gave a slight push, causing the section of wall to swing quietly inward.

Beyond the open portal lay the hidden library of the Mage Society. The square room was lined with shelves of books. Small orbs of blue-white light hovered at the ends of the shelves. There were several people in the library. Some browsed the collection of tomes, the orbs darting to their sides to provide a light over their shoulders. Others huddled in groups, talking in low voices. At Therescales' entrance, several of them looked in his direction and nodded in greeting. He frowned at the lack of startled expressions. Perhaps it was time to switch disguises. What would they think if he arrived looking like one of the Karanoks?

The wall closed behind Therescales, and he decided to take a seat in one of the vacant chairs nearby. Slumping in the low-backed, cushioned chair, he pressed his fingers together in a steeple and watched the room's occupants. Everyone used the Art to hide their features. With such a concentration of arcane energies, Therescales had always wondered how these society meetings had escaped detection. It wasn't until he became a full member that he learned a powerful abjuration had been cast over the building, masking magical auras and preventing attempts to divine the location.

So, rather than study faces, Therescales focused on mannerisms, cataloguing and storing them, trying to match them with people he had encountered before. Did the way that old crone batted her eyes when she laughed remind him of a certain young merchant's wife? Or was that one-eyed man in the corner tapping his chin in the same nervous habit Therescales had witnessed in the patriarch of a minor noble house?

A door opened in the wall to the right of where Therescales had entered, and three more figures emerged. All three wore hooded robes that shadowed their faces and long, flowing sleeves that covered their hands. The shiny black material reflected light from the orbs, creating a rippling effect across the voluminous garments as the three moved through the library.

"Brethren, let us begin," the lead figure announced in a gravelly voice obviously altered by magic. That would be Brother Hawk. The other two would be Brother Boar and Brother Crocodile, but the only way to tell them apart would be by their voices. The combination of cloaks and magic kept the identities of the Three secret.

Everyone fell in behind them as they crossed the library to another door opposite the secret entrance and into a grand, circular chamber. Murals depicting various uses of the Art covered the walls. A long oak table filled the center of the room; three miniature candelabras set atop it provided illumination. The society filed in, taking their places among the twenty chairs around the table. The Three sat at the head. Therescales noted that nearly half the chairs were empty.

Conversations died down, and everyone turned to face the Three.

"May Mystra guard us in our endeavors," Brother Hawk began. The rest echoed the mantra.

"May Azuth bless our efforts," the robed figure to the right continued in a voice unnaturally deep, identifying him as Brother Crocodile. Again, it was echoed by the assembly.

"May we bring magic back to Luthcheq," the figure on the left, who could only be Brother Boar, concluded in a thick slur that was somehow still intelligible, and the statement was repeated in unison by all. With the litany finished, Brother Hawk stood.

"It is good to see you all again, brethren. There is much to discuss this night. Luthcheq has come to a crossroads. I can feel it, and I know you can, too. There are pressures from too many directionssomething is about to crack."

"Could be us," a man across the table from Therescales, with a bushy mustache that hid his mouth, said dryly. A few chuckles arose from others.

"That is certainly a possibility, Brother Fox," Hawk said, no hint of humor in his voice. "But if we chose to act, rather than timidly discuss our situation, then we take our fate into our own hands." This brought murmurs of approval and dissent from several.

"Point of order!" Brother Crocodile cut through the growing din. "Point of order. There is old business to discuss first, Brother Hawk." Hawk nodded and took his seat.

"Sister Rat, report."

A woman at the far end of the table, with a long, pointy nose and buckteeth, stood. "Uh, yes. As you know, the Karanoks continue to increase local commerce taxes. My contacts tell me that not only are many merchants ready to pack up shop and leave, but with a little, uh, encouragement, an armed revolt could be triggered." With a quick grin, Sister Rat concluded and took her seat. Excited whispers filled the air.

"Thank you," Brother Crocodile said. "Brother Prog."

"I have been unable to discover more from my contacts at the palace." The man to Therescales' right rose. Several large warts protruded from his chin, nose, and forehead. At mention of the palace, Therescales' eyebrows arched, and his heart beat a little faster. "While I can confirm that Saestra Karanok has been responsible for an increase in burnings at the stake over the past few tendays, I cannot identify with any certainty that the victims were known practitioners of the Art. It is possible the Karanoks are now targeting those that merely sympathize with magic-users… or are political enemies." Many looks of concern flashed across the faces of the members, and some nodded thoughtfully at this grim news. "That is all I have, Brother Crocodile." Frog took his seat.

"Very well," Brother Crocodile acknowledged in his deep voice. "On to new items."

"Just a moment," Therescales said, standing.

"Yes, Brother Asp."

"What about my suggestion to seek help from a wizard outside Luthcheq? An alliance with the Red Wizards or the Simbul would surely give us the strength we need to topple the Karanoks."

Therescales looked around the table for support. Many refused to meet his gaze or glared back.

"I couldn't have asked for a better segue into the new item I wanted to bring up for discussion tonight," said Brother Hawk. He was standing again, and he motioned for Therescales to take his seat.

Therescales gave a half-bow and sat down.

"Brothers, I have made contact with a foreign ally, a wizard, who wishes to aid us in our struggle against the Karanoks." Brother Hawk could not keep the excitement from his voice.

There was stunned silence for a moment; then everyone began shouting at once. Therescales' mind raced with the ramifications of the announcement. This was not how things were supposed to have happened. When he had first suggested the idea of bringing in a powerful wizard to aid them, he never imagined one of the members would take it upon themselves to pursue this course of action. No, he was supposed to be the one who announced the discovery of a mysterious benefactor. He would be the one to arrange a meeting.

It would be a meeting that would ensnare the Mage Society and grant Therescales the power he was promised.

"Order! Order!" Brother Crocodile's voice roared. Immediate silence followed. "Please continue, Brother Hawk."

"I know this is sudden, and many of you felt there was more to discuss before a move was made, but as I said earlier, the longer we wait, the more control we relinquish over our fate.

"So, I made some discreet inquiries. Only yesterday did I receive word that a meeting could be arranged. It is my recommendation that we accept this invitation."

"Are you going to tell us who this wizard is?" Brother Fox inquired.

"I would," Brother Hawk paused for a moment, "if I knew who it was. I was contacted through a middle party." The words came out in a rush, and Therescales could see Hawk's shoulders slump. They both knew what was coming. Amid shocked gasps, Brother Deer jumped up.

"You want us to meet with someone who you've never seen or whose identity you can't confirm. How do we know it isn't a trap?"

"What about Brother Crocodile's suggestion to investigate the rumors of a hidden cache of artifacts buried in the ruins of Adder Swamp?" Others chimed in, and chaos erupted once more.

Therescales decided it was time to leave. He still had a report to make, and he needed some time to determine how best to turn this development to his advantage. In the commotion caused by heated arguments, Therescales slipped from his seat and slinked out of the room. If anyone questioned his disappearance when the society met again, he'd have a suitable excuse prepared.

Exiting through the trapdoor, Therescales made a snap decision not to leave the way he came in. No sense in having a witness to confirm his early departure. Nimbly, he scaled a stack of crates under one of the skylights. He leaped onto a rafter beam and pushed on the pane of glass with his hand. It was unlatched and swung open easily, but there was nothing to hold it. Grabbing the sill with his other hand, he lowered the glass so it rested on his knuckles. He pulled himself up and pushed his body between the sill and the skylight, grabbing the pane as he rolled out and lowering it back down gently without a sound.

At the edge of the roof, he paused. It was a long drop down. Fortunately, Therescales had memorized one of his most powerful spells before coming to the meeting tonight. He pulled a small loop of leather from a pocket on the inside of his cloak and waved his hand over it while uttering a few Draconic words. Then he stepped off the roof… and hovered in the air.

With a thought, he lowered himself to the ground. He returned the loop to his pocket and quickly moved south down the street toward the palace of the Karanoks. He stuck to the shadows, darting into doorways and alleys whenever a guard patrol walked by. It was not that he had anything to fear; it was just that old habits died hard. As an apprentice to Master Haraxius, he had spent the past ten years avoiding the guards when he ran errands smuggling various components or items in and out of the city for the old mage. Unbidden, the memory of the last errand he had ever run for Haraxius pushed forward in his mind.

A gull screamed, and Therescales flinched, nearly dropping the purse full of coin. He smiled sheepishly at the dockhand who snatched the purse from him and shoved the package into Therescales' chest with a sneer then walked away. Therescales stood in the middle of the pier for a moment, clutching the soft bundle.

"Is everything all right?"

Therescales started at the voice. He turned toward the tap on his shoulder and came face to face with a pair of the harbormaster's guards. Remembering the package clasped to his chest, he slipped it behind his back.

"Oh, yes, officers. I was just on my way. Have a good evening." He bobbed then strode off.

The crowds on the wharf were starting to thin with the setting sun. Therescales hurried through the streets, anxiously looking over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. If he were caught with what was wrapped in the burlap he carried, it would mean his death. He was proud that Master Haraxius trusted him with these supply runs, but Therescales wondered if the risks were worth it. Why didn't they just leave Luthcheq and go somewhere wizards were tolerated or even worshiped?

Therescales tucked the package under his arm and picked up the pace. He was supposed to be back before dark. There was another meeting of the Mage Society tonight. This would be the second time Master Haraxius brought him along to the clandestine gatherings. Therescales had no idea there were so many practitioners of the Art in the city. He didn't know who any of them werethey all went by animal names, and Master Haraxius said most of them used magic to disguise themselves. Therescales wondered what his name would be once he was fully initiated.

A crowd was forming as Therescales approached the street Master Haraxius's house was on. He shouldered his way through, intent on reaching the safety of home. However, when he was almost clear, he froze.

A large group of men were leaving the building. The white K of House Karanok with a burning branch above it was emblazoned on their uniforms. They were led by a middle-aged man with black, curly hair that contrasted sharply with the pale skin of his square face. In their midst, bound and gagged, was Haraxius, barely able to keep his feet. One eye was swollen shut, and the side of his face was bloodied.

Therescales backed into the crowd, a surge of panic-driven bile climbing up his throat. He barely made it to a side street before he pitched the contents of his stomach. He sat on the curb until the wave of nausea and dizziness passed, only to be replaced by despair. It was difficult to hold back sobs as he rested his head in his hands.

How had this happened? Everyone knew that the Karanoks had started raiding the homes of suspected wizards, and Master Haraxius had always stressed the need for caution and secrecy. Yet it seemed the Karanoks had discovered Master Haraxius's secret regardless of the precautions he had taken. Now they were dragging him off to be tried and executed.

Therescales' head was starting to clear, and the crowd was dispersing. He knew if he tried to enter the house now, someone would spot him and turn him in to the Karanoks. With nowhere to go and no idea what to do, Therescales started walking.

Twilight fell while Therescales still wandered the streets aimlessly. He considered going to the Mage Society meeting by himself. Surely they had already heard of Master Haraxius's capture and would help. He remembered the location of the warehouse where they met, but what would he do once there? He didn't know any of the passwords. Master Haraxius had not yet shared those secrets with him. If only there were some way he could prove to them who he was, they would let him in.

Perhaps he could show them something that only Master Haraxius would have. Yes, that was it. They would have to grant him entry then.

With a plan firmly in mind, Therescales made his way back to Master Haraxius's house. He clung to the shadows, dashing from doorway to alley while keeping an eye peeled for passing patrols. It was just after midnight when he finally reached the house. He stood across the street, watching for several minutes. There were no guards standing outside or movement inside. In the silence, his heart pounded like the hooves of horses at a chariot race. Knots began to form in Therescales' stomach as fear and doubt ate away at his resolve.

Finally, when waiting any longer meant never going, he darted across the street. He fumbled through his pockets for the key, but as his hand pressed against the knob, the door creaked open. At that moment, Therescales almost fled. Yet, with eyes wide and mouth dry, he stepped inside.

Light from the waxing moon shone only a few feet past the entry, forcing Therescales to feel his way through the dark. He had lived in this house for the past two years, though, and Master Haraxius had kept everything in the same place since Therescales had first arrived. It would be a simple matter to navigate around any obstacles as he moved toward his mentor's private study.

Therescales turned to his left and entered the living room. It was sparsely furnishedMaster Haraxius did not do a lot of entertainingand Therescales took long, swift strides with confidence.

Halfway through the room, something smacked Therescales in the shin and he grunted in pain.

"Well, what do we have here?"

A light flared in front of Therescales. He closed his eyes and brought up a hand to further protect them from the sudden brilliance.

"Looks like Lord Jaerios was right." A new voice answered the first from behind Therescales. "The 'prentice 'as returned to 'is master's 'ouse."

Squinting in the light, Therescales could make out a figure sitting in a chair to his right. He held a lantern in one hand, and his legs were propped up on an ottoman. A spear lay across his lap. Therescales had run into the outstretched shaft of the weapon.

Panicking, Therescales dashed for the front door but was grabbed from behind. He struggled but could not break the grip of the arms encircling him. The man in the chair got up and stood in front of him, leering. Something struck Therescales in the stomach, and all the air whooshed out of his lungs. He looked up in time to see the shaft of the spear streaking toward the side of his face.

Therescales awoke stiff and sore. The side of his face throbbed where he had been struck by the spear shaft. His shoulders ached, and he could feel something biting into his wrists. He tried to move his hands, hoping to lessen the pain, only to discover they were bound. Awareness began to creep back through the fog of his mind. He realized he was on his knees, leaning forward with his arms pulled behind him and wrapped around a wooden pole. With effort, he rocked back onto the balls of his feet and tried to rise. His footing was unstablehe was standing on a pile of chopped logsand it took a few attempts before he was standing. He leaned back against the pole, drawing ragged breaths as a result of the exertion.

"Ah, our other guest has finally joined us."

The resonant voice drew Therescales' eyes up and across the room to a balcony where five figures stood, three men and two women. They all wore sleeveless robes of white and gold circlets in their hair.

"Where am I?" Therescales, still a little groggy, asked no one in particular.

"You stand in the Burning Room." The same voice that had first spoken answered. Therescales could see that it belonged to a middle-aged man on the right, the same man he had seen escorting Master Haraxius. It had to be Lord Jaerios Karanok. "You have been found guilty of vile acts of wizardry."

"Bah," spat someone to Therescales' right. He turned to see his master, Haraxius, standing next to him, bound to another pole. "There is nothing vile about the Art. Rather, it is you and this" A guard strode up onto the small stone platform on which Therescales and Haraxius were held and punched the old man in the mouth with a mailed fist, silencing the outburst.

"The sentence for this crime," Lord Jaerios continued, "is death by burning. Guards, bring in the witchweed." Two pairs of guards each carried in a basket of dried leaves between them and began dumping the contents on top of the wood piles then spreading them around the feet of the prisoners.

Therescales struggled against his bonds, desperate to be free, but it was no use. This couldn't be happening to him! His mind raced wildly to find some way of escape, some solution that would save him.

"Wait!" He screamed. "Don't do this. I don't want to die!"

All five faces were as compassionate as stone. "You should have thought of that before you became involved with the arcane, young man."

"If you let me live, I will tell you everything I know!"

"We want nothing to do with your filthy knowledge."

"But I know of a secret group of wizards that meets here in the city!" Therescales blurted out.

"No!" Haraxius gasped, horror on his face. "Don't do it, boy." Therescales ignored him.

The elderly man in the center of the group whispered something to Jaerios. He seemed resistant to the old one's counsel but finally relented with a nod.

"Do you swear to renounce all that is arcane?"

Therescales nodded vigorously, but Jaerios did not appear to notice or care what the answer was. Two guards moved forward and released Therescales then led him away.

"You treacherous snake!" Haraxius screamed as Therescales exited. The crackling of flames joined his old master's shrieks and coughs; then all was consumed in a roaring bonfire.

Jaerios Karanok sat in the plush, high-backed chair behind his desk, his fingers drumming on the polished wood of the chair's arm and a scowl darkening his face. Therescales was late. It was bad enough Jaerios had to associate himself with a wizard, but to be kept waiting by one was unacceptable. He shifted in his velvet night robe and let his eyes wander around the study once more: the dark wood-paneled walls, the shelves lined with books containing treatises on various subjects, the lit candelabra that cast a soft yellow glow onto the marble bust sculpted in his likeness. Perhaps the worm needed a reminder of his fate should he fail.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of the spy.

"Come in."

The door swung in, and Therescales entered the study. Jaerios remained silent, sternly staring at Therescales. The man didn't even flinch but moved casually over to the bust, ran his finger along the nose, and pretended to find dust on it.

"Have a seat," Jaerios offered, his voice full of impatience. Normally, he enjoyed these little sparring matches, but today had been a long day, and Jaerios wanted nothing more than to retire to his bedchamber. Perhaps Therescales detected the difference; he quickly accepted one of the two chairs in front of the desk. "You have news? Something good, I hope. Perhaps the identities of the other members of your little society?"

"Now, now, let's not let our greed rush things," Therescales smiled roguishly and waggled his finger. Jaerios snarled. He was in no mood to play. "I thought we agreed that taking them all in one fell swoop would expend fewer resources. Remember the plan?"

"Yes, your plan." Jaerios edged his voice with a hint of warning. He didn't like being reminded that he had agreed to a plan Therescales had come up with. "Have you convinced your friends that they should seek help? Or are they still arguing over the risk of exposing themselves? Such a timid bunch."

"Actually…" Therescales paused, and Jaerios narrowed his eyes at the hesitation. The man was trying to figure out what to say next. Was he hiding something or simply afraid? "It seems they have taken it upon themselves to seek aid. One of the Three has already made contact with a wizard who is willing to help."

"How is this good news?" Jaerios roared. Anger flared red-hot inside of him. Jaerios wanted to reach across the table and throttle the incompetent fool, but the thought of touching something defiled by contact with the arcane was too revolting. "I don't know why I've kept you around. Perhaps I should have the guards prepare the Burning Room." Jaerios fixed Therescales with a look that promised death.

"I thought you might feel that way." Therescales sat there, unmoved by the threat. Was that a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth? "You're overreacting. We can still salvage the situation."

"You presume too much!" Jaerios exploded. He would not be talked to in this way by a wizard! "I have not waited this long, endured this abomination, only to throw it all away because of your ineptitude." Jaerios made his way around the desk to stand over Therescales. "Now I will be forced to raid your society's little hideout, profaning the city with the magic that they will inevitably use in defense."

"I assure you, Lord Jaerios, that will not be necessary." Therescales no longer slouched in the chair but sat upright against the back, the smug smile gone from his face. Jaerios smirked and leaned back on the edge of his desk. This was how these meetings should go.

"We can still proceed with the trap, my lord," Therescales continued. "It seems that this ally wishes to remain anonymous. Contact was made through a third party. As you mentioned, many of the members are leery of someone they do not know. I can still come forward with myour fake meeting." Therescales visibly relaxed as he finished. Jaerios had to admit the plan still appeared feasible. Damn! He wasn't sure it wouldn't have been more satisfying to finally just burn the treacherous wizard at the stake.

"Very well. I can't say as I'm pleased with your handling of this, though." Jaerios watched Therescales for some sign of doubt or fear. The man was becoming too sure of himself. "Should you fail me again, I will see you burn." Therescales winced and tried to cover it with a small bow. He stood and moved to the study's door but paused before opening it.

"Oh, by the way, there is an informant in the palace. You might want to keep your eye on anyone who's been asking questions about Saestra's nocturnal activities." Flashing a roguish grin, Therescales slipped out of the room.

Jaerios ground his teeth. The man had the nerve to toss that information out as though it were a trifle that had just occurred to him. Jaerios knocked the chair Therescales had been sitting in onto its back.

"By Entropy, how long must I suffer the taint of these mages!" A wave of rage crashed over Jaerios, and he allowed himself to be swept up in it. There was power in such anger, such righteous anger. It was a gift from Entropy for faithful service. That was what his daughter had said when the priests first began to perform wonders and signs during their worship services. He remained skeptical, even after his own ability appeared.

The power continued to build within him. The sensation was still so new. He exalted in it but was frightened as well. It was too much like magic, and he had sworn long ago that he would not replace one form of conniption with another. The ends did not justify the means.

Jaerios's blood boiled in his veins. Pain threatened to eclipse anger. He focused on the tipped chair, envisioning Therescales still sitting in it. A loud, ringing noise filled the room, and the chair shattered into tiny splinters. Jaerios sagged against the desk. His bodyguard peeked his head in but, seeing his master unhurt, quickly ducked back out.

Sighing, Jaerios stood up and brushed the wood flakes from his robe. Feeling somewhat satisfied, he hoped he could now get a good night's sleep. As he left the study, he instructed his bodyguard to fetch a servant to clean up the mess then headed down the hall toward his bedchamber. The rest of it would wait until tomorrow.