The cry arose shortly after dawn.
A frightened kitchen maid, deathly pale and trembling violently, fled the cellar in search of a guard. The closest man on duty happened to be Gaylan Krighamre, who in turn had summoned the Captain of the Imperial Home-Guard.
Taking one look at the peculiar scene, the man immediately shut the door to the small room and posted a sentry, leaving strict instructions to allow entrance to no one until he returned. He had then gone, as quietly as he could, to the High Mage’s quarters, thankful to find him already awake and taking breakfast with his brother.
Eryk listened silently to the surprisingly calm and concise report and, with the half-asleep Jordin following in his wake, returned with him to the room in question. They arrived within a quarter hour of the initial alarm, to find a small crowd already gathered in the narrow hallway. Frightened whispers chased one another through the tightly packed group, rumors already passing from mouth to ear and out into the palace.
With a nod from his commander, Gaylan stood aside, allowing them to enter. The High Mage stopped on the threshold and had a brief, whispered conversation with the guardsman before closing the door behind himself. The onlookers were sent away, though many lingered just out of sight, hoping to glean more details to add to the gossip.
The storage room was small, windowless, and seldom-used, holding little beyond cobwebs and a few casks of wine covered with dust. It reeked of death and decay, with an undertone of something sickly sweet, like rotten fruit.
On the dirty floor, amidst a scattering of silver sand and rings of melted wax, sprawled the partially decomposed body of a naked child.
He lay on his stomach, face turned away from the door. His clothing, the ragged tunic and trousers of a scullery boy, lay carelessly discarded in a corner. There were long scratches down his exposed back and unidentifiable wounds on his buttocks and what could be seen of one thigh. Pale, fat maggots wriggled in the wounds, making the skin appear to undulate in places. Curiously, the scratches, though jagged and deep, were bloodless.
Covering his nose, Jordin bent and turned the corpse over, only to rear back with a startled “Diu!”
A silver coin had been branded into the center of the boy’s forehead, the flesh around the edges black and peeling. His sightless, milky eyes stared at the ceiling in evident terror, slack mouth opened on a silent scream. Long scratches to match those on his back marred his thin chest as well.
And his tongue was missing.
“Goddess preserve us,” Eryk breathed, crouching to examine the body. “So young for such a violent end.”
“Diu,” Jordin repeated shakily. He rubbed his clammy palms on his trousers and turned to address the waiting captain. “Did your men see anyone come in or out of here?”
“No,” he swallowed thickly, “and I don’t recognize the boy. He’s not one of my trainees. Perhaps the cook will know him.”
“Eryk, have you ever seen anything like this before?” Jordin asked his brother.
The High Mage shook his head. “This is a ritual sacrifice of some kind, but that’s all I can determine. The boy has been here too long for me to discern anything else.”
Jordin wrinkled his nose. “Ritual magic? So a mage did this.”
“Not necessarily, but it’s the most likely explanation. Really, though, anyone with a bit of skill and access to the right information could do it.”
“That’s rather less than helpful, brother.”
“I’ll send to the Tower for Perimos and Antilles. They know more about ritual magic than any mage alive and hopefully they can shed some light on this.” Eryk rose to his feet and removed his cloak, beginning to drape it over the body to afford the poor child some measure of dignity. “Antilles should be on his way here in any case with his findings from our little encounter on the journey here. In the meantime, we need to find out who this boy is. His mother must be worried sick by now.”
“Wait a minute, what’s that in his hand?” Jordin stopped his brother before he could draw the cloak over the corpse. Disgust forgotten, he crouched down beside the body and coaxed the clenched fist open. An elaborate braid of black hair lay crushed in the mottled palm. It appeared to be human.
“It’s too long to be his,” Jordin mused, picking it up gingerly between thumb and forefinger, “and the color isn’t quite the same, so I imagine it belongs to…what, the target of the ritual? And the coin there is Atromorese. Interesting.”
“Isn’t it just,” Eryk replied bitterly.
* * *
The pain-numbing leaves were gone, as was the ointment for the rash, which had slowly spread down his back. He’d stopped vomiting, but only because there was nothing left in his stomach, and had grown quiet and listless. Sweat stood out on his ashen face and his eyes kept going in and out of focus. Enari continued to ride beside him and was the only one able to coax him to drink a little from time-to-time.
“I dun’a think he can ride much further, Kvinna,” Captain Bohlale said very quietly. They rode together, a little ahead of the rest.
“He has to,” she replied, “The sooner we get to Rowan, the sooner he can see a proper physician. This is beyond me, Captain.”
“What does he have, do you think? Is it…catching?” He glanced around at his men, who had been distancing themselves from the mage as the day wore on. The novice was determined and had taken it upon herself to tend him it seemed, and in spite of his surliness.
“Should the little mistress be so close?” he added with concern.
“I doubt it’s contagious. Otherwise we’d all have it by now. As to what exactly ails him, I have my suspicions.”
“Which be what?”
Vasi looked uncomfortable. “I think he spent the night with the wrong woman before he joined us and now he’s paying for it.”
The captain immediately disagreed. “Nah. I’ve seen men with the whore-pox, pardon the phrase. This be something different. It’s like the poor sod has all the symptoms of every pox all at once.”
“But what could possibly cause it, besides, well, a poor choice in bedfellows?” Vasi asked, “He’s eaten and drunk nothing different from the rest of us, though even if he had, these aren’t the symptoms. It can’t be a reaction to aspion venom, either. I can only conclude this is something from before he joined us. What I can’t explain, however, is why it’s taken so long to manifest.”
Behind her, the mage dry retched weakly. She knew he was exhausted; he’d lain awake all night, coughing and tossing fitfully. As of that morning, his fever had gone up dangerously and the last time Enari offered him his canteen, he’d simply turned his face away from her.
That was what had truly pushed Vasi’s worry into grave concern. It was hot enough for him to dehydrate, and that would kill him before his illness did.
“Magic, perhaps?” Captain Bohlale offered, “I’ve heard it’s possible, with the right spell.”
The kvinna bit down on the denial that sprang instantly to her lips as scraps of The Seventh Door flashed through her mind. Was it possible? She supposed it could be, with the proper ritual, but why would anyone go through all the trouble and effort? Had someone taken the expression ‘a pox on you’ and made it literal in this case?
Goddess, she hoped not, because no one she knew could treat magic used like that.
* * *
The sun was sinking in the west, casting a pink glow over the outer walls of the Imperial palace. The little party had arrived at last, and not a moment too soon. Exhausted and acutely feeling the strain of the last days, they picked up as much speed as they could coax from their weary mounts.
Jex had started drifting in and out of consciousness an hour or so outside of Rowan and had to be tied into his saddle after a tumble was only narrowly averted by Enari’s quick reflexes and Phetos’ awareness of his rider. None of the fearful and superstitious guards would ride double and though the novice had offered, she was refused. She was too small to keep her charge from falling, Captain Bohlale explained to her kindly, and if the man fell, he’d take her with him, risking injury to them both.
Just outside the gates, they threw a cloak over the mage and pulled up the hood, not wanting to start a panic by being seen bringing an obviously ill person into the city. Enari remained beside him, holding Phetos’ reins, though she needn’t have bothered. The horse was intelligent enough to have followed her without protest.
Vasi again donned the black and white garb customarily worn by the kvinnas and had taken charge of their party. Once at the palace gate, she presented the seal Anya had sent with her letter to the sentries. They were waved through quickly and directed to the stables by a courteous, and very young, lieutenant. A few of the older soldiers tried to peer under the cloak at Jex, but Captain Bohlale had ridden between them as if by accident, and then they were past and in the palace proper.
A messenger had been sent on ahead to announce their impending arrival, and with instructions to discreetly seek out the High Mage and a physician. The High Mage met them in the courtyard just as the captain dismounted and cast his reins to a waiting stableman.
Enari stared as he approached, mouth open in shock. Eryk Alycon had to be the biggest man she’d ever seen and at the moment, he looked extremely worried. If such a great man as he could look so scared…
Noise drew her attention back to her companions. Jex had come around again and succeeded in both shaking off the cloak and untying himself, in spite of the captain’s order for him to remain still. As Captain Bohlale reached for Phetos’ bridle, the animal shied and pranced away, snapping his teeth. The mage swayed and would have fallen if he hadn’t managed a feeble grab at the pommel. The captain cursed and backed away from the skittish stallion. When the animal settled, he reached out again, but instead of simply shying, Phetos reared up. He whinnied shrilly and lashed his hooves.
This time, Jex failed to stay mounted.
Enari watched in horror as he was thrown from the saddle, tumbling across the cobbles to lay unmoving in an unnaturally-twisted heap. The High Mage had reached them by then and he ran to Jex, dropping to one knee beside the unconscious figure.
Without thinking and completely without fear in that moment, Enari slid down her horse’s side and raced forward. She reached up and caught hold of the bridle straps just as Phetos readied himself to rear again. Hauling his head down with all her slight weight, she gave him a stern shake, the way she’d seen Jex do. Thus captured and rebuked, he stood blowing and stamping, but began to calm as she stroked his nose. A large hand reached over her shoulder and took the bridle from her and she turned to find a man in a dusty uniform standing behind her.
"I've got him, girl,” he said and Enari got out of the way, turning to find Eryk and Captain Bohlale lifting Jex between them. They’d rolled him carefully into his discarded cloak and were using it as a litter. He looked dreadful and there was a small smear of blood on the cobbles where his head had lain.
“He needs a physician, the fool,” Vasi said, joining the two men. More stable hands appeared to take the horses and a few women began leading the Zyrite guardsmen into the kitchens for food and ale.
"Master Illyrian should be waiting in Jex’s rooms." The worry in the High Mage’s voice was reflected in his eyes. Turning to one of the servants who had stopped to stare at the commotion, he ordered, "You, get that door and then go to Master Illyrian. He’ll be in Battlemage Xander’s quarters on the fourth floor. Tell him we’re coming up, and be quick.”
The man raced away and they followed.
A spot of blue caught Enari’s eye and she hurried over to where Jex had fallen. In the chaos, the small pouch he’d been collecting missives in had fallen from his tunic and now lay in a muddy hoofprint. She picked it up, finding it heavier than she’d expected, and after brushing away what grime she could, slid it into a pocket before hurrying after her Sura. There would be time enough later for questions about the contents.
It was a mercifully short distance to Jex's room and the only difficulty had been the landing between the third and fourth floors. Once within, they lay him out on the bed and Vasi ripped away his tunic, showing the High Mage and Master Physician the ugly rash, rapidly explaining what she’d given him to treat it and its utter lack of effect. They grimaced and Master Illyrian made a disparaging comment about improperly trained healers that earned him a few hard looks. The unconscious mage was stripped naked in short order and Eryk covered his mouth in shock at the sight of his ravaged body.
Jex remained out cold through the whole affair, which was likely a blessing. Everyone but Vasi was shooed from the room and the door was closed firmly behind them. The High Mage disappeared, leaving Enari alone to wait. She found a bench a little way down the hall and sat, tucking herself into the corner and drawing her knees up to her chest.
By the time full dark had fallen, Jex was beginning to hallucinate from infection and fever. Shortly before midnight, the physician slipped from the room, bringing Enari out of her light doze. He went to the High Mage, who had returned while she slept, and whispered in his ear. The big man went pale, the skin around his eyes growing taut. While the two spoke, Enari snuck past them and into the rooms beyond.
Jex lay on his side in the center of the bed. He was quiet at the moment, but his eyes roved behind closed lids as if dreaming vividly. His skin was pasty, except where livid purple smudges underlined his eyes, and sweat stuck his hair to his skull. His grimy clothes had disappeared, leaving only the thin white sheet to cover him. It had been folded down to his waist and something with a bitterly medicinal aroma had been plastered over his chest and back, covering the irritated and broken skin.
Enari stood with her back against the wall for several moments, frozen. She’d never seen anyone so sick in her entire life, not even when plague had swept through the Temple some years ago, and she wondered with despair if he was going to die. Her stomach knotted at the thought of losing someone she’d grown to like as much as she liked Jex. He’d saved her life, after all, and been kind to her despite her odd ways and her silence.
“All-Mother, please don’t let him die!” she pled silently.
“Sparks,” he muttered suddenly, face going tense. “Red eyes…dun a mach dorcha…”
Enari leaned over him, straining to catch the words, but they sounded like gibberish. The part about red eyes, however, stirred something in her mind. Part of a dream? She felt another icy tingle of fear for him.
There was a gentle knock and she jerked upright, whirling as the door opened to reveal Master Illyrian’s apprentice. He greeted her cordially.
“Master Illyrian will be back shortly, but he sent me in to watch Battlemage Xander. You may retire if you wish. I believe the High Mage is waiting to escort you and your Sura to your rooms. They are in the hall.” He held the door open and gestured somewhat impatiently for her to exit.
As she moved, Enari caught sight of herself in the dressing table mirror and wrinkled her nose. After the long day, she was a mess; rumpled clothes, dirty face, tangled hair…she looked like a wild creature. Longing for a bath and a bed rose in her on the back of a yawn, but she didn’t want to leave.
The physician’s apprentice, interpreting the distress and indecision on her face for what it was, promised that Jex would be well cared for. A little guiltily, yet knowing she needed rest, she left in search of her Sura.