Daughter of Dragons

Chapter 7-2

That giddy feeling gave way to anxiety as she turned her thoughts back to Lathwi. Was she really desperate enough to look for hope in a scar-faced barbarian? Desperate enough to trust that barbarian in spite of the warning from her wards? After all, her situation might not be that dire. A series of unnerving omens did not necessarily portend real danger.

Yet she could not dismiss those omens so casually.

The first had come to her over a month ago while she was out in the courtyard admiring the evening stars. “‛Ware the rogue sorcerer!” a disembodied voice had howled. “As he has slain me, so shall he slay you! With my death, I curse him! Curse him! Curse him! May his living heart be torn from his chest and eaten before his eyes!”

If that had been the only such incident, it might have faded from her mind eventually. But three weeks later, she had come home from a morning at the bazaar to find a cat on her doorstep. It had been in pitiful shape, all protruding ribs and sores. When she went to pick it up, it had sunk its fangs into her left thumb and swallowed a drop of blood.

“The Blackhearted One is coming,” it had hissed then, in a near-human voice. “He seeks a body for his Mistress. As I was drawn to you, so will he be, too. Ward yourself well, Sorceress, and beware.”

Then the unknown witch’s familiar had loosed a last meow and died. As a gesture of respect and appreciation, she had buried it in a sunny corner of her garden. That was the last time she had been outside.

And last week, her wards had been thoroughly probed.

Just then, her thoughts rippled—a distortion caused by another mind’s touch. An instant before she recognized that touch as Lathwi’s, a bolt of unreasoning fear stabbed at her, and she evicted the presence with emphatic force. An instant later, she rounded on the woman. The look of pained surprise on her scarred face arrested Liselle’s need to scold.

“What did you see?” she asked instead.

“Me,” Lathwi admitted. “You. There be lots of shadows and confusion, too. So many images surprise me. Not always see when I look.”

“That’s the way of mind-scrying,” Liselle replied. “Or so I’ve been told—I have no talent for it myself. But I can sense when it’s being done to me, Lathwi, and I’ll tell you this much right now: if you want my help, you’ll stay out of my head unless I invite you in. Is that clear?”

“I hear,” Lathwi told her, being careful to make no promises.

“And since we’re on the subject of rules,” Liselle went on, almost in the same breath, “here are a few others that I expect you to abide by while you’re staying here.

“One—” Her index finger snapped to rigid attention. “You must pay your own way. That includes buying your own food and clothing.

“Two—” Another finger popped up. “I am not a slave to you or anybody else. Therefore, you will cook and clean for yourself. And I like things clean,” she added, glancing at the grit which adorned Lathwi’s face and mail.

When Lathwi did not comment, the sorceress unfolded a third finger. “You wish me to teach you of sorcery. I will endeavour to do so, but my time is not free. Will you pay my price?”

“I have gold,” Lathwi replied, willing to exchange one form of power for another. But her would-be teacher scorned the suggestion with a flick of her wrist.

“I have no need of gold,” she said. “Past patrons have left me well-off in that regard. What I want from you is no more or less than what you want from me. I want knowledge, Lathwi. I want you to teach me the Magic of Names.”

“Names be secret,” Lathwi informed her. “I no can teach to you, you got find where they hiding for yourself.” As the sorceress’ brow puckered into a frown, she added, “I show you how to look if you want.”

Liselle’s frown deepened. The offer was straightforward and yet subtle, just enough to keep her hooked. Perhaps this peculiar woman was not such a barbarian after all.

“So be it,” she said then. “Come. Let us seal the pact with our blood.”

“Why for?”

“It’s a common bonding ritual,” Liselle replied. “Sort of like a handshake only more so.”

Ah yes, handshaking—that meaningless display of honest intent. Lathwi found such customs absurd, but if that’s what she had to do to secure herself a teacher, then she would not argue against it. So she followed Liselle through the common area, into an unlit passageway and up to the last in a series of closed doors. As she drew this door open, a friendly gust of sulfur came winging out of the room.

“This is my laboratory,” Liselle said, and then motioned for Lathwi to step inside.

As Lathwi crossed the threshold, her senses tingled just as they had when she entered the house. She hissed, vexed by the sensation. It was like a floating itch, only worse.

“You felt something?” Liselle asked. The catch in her voice implied that she was more than casually interested.

Lathwi nodded. “What is?”

“My wards,” Liselle replied uneasily. “For some reason, they’re reacting to you.”

“What be wards?”

“We can discuss that later,” she told her. “Right now, I want to get on with our blood-oath.”

She closed the door then. An instant later, an array of torches flared to life, dispersing the gloom which had folded over them. Lathwi blinked back a sea of floating stars, then looked around. The room was large, with thick walls and high ceilings. A variety of cupboards, shelves, and tables framed its perimeters; these were cluttered with containers of every size, shape and colour.

“Give me your knife,” Liselle said then.

Lathwi did as she was told. Liselle clenched her teeth, then carved a shallow groove into the flat of her right palm. As bright red blood welled up from the wound, she handed the not-claw back to Lathwi.

“Now you,” she said.

One swift stroke later, Lathwi’s palm was bleeding, too. She watched, all eyes and curiosity, as Liselle clamped their wounded hands together. As small as she was, she had quite a firm grip.

“I promise to teach you the ways of sorcery rightly and true,” Liselle said then, “and to honour the peace between us. This I swear by my power and pride. May the Dreamer strip me of both if I willingly foreswear myself.”

An electric thrill tore through Lathwi’s body, startling in its intensity. She tried to pull her hand from Liselle’s grasp only to discover that she could not move those muscles. She hissed. What trickery was this?

“You must make your promises and sanctify them with your power,” the sorceress told her then. “Otherwise, we’re going to be stuck like this.”

Lathwi hissed again. Promises? She had not agreed to make any promises! But even as her temper began to blaze, a splash of cold logic doused it. She was in this predicament because she had not considered this woman’s offer carefully enough. Therefore, this must be her first lesson in sorcery: be wary, study a proposal before pouncing. It was an elegant exposition, subtle and yet obvious. Taziem would have had no qualms about using it herself. The realization made her feel better about the promise which she must now forfeit. And now that her shock had worn off, she knew exactly what to say.

“I promise I not eat you,” she said. “Swear this by my Name.”

Oath-magic sizzled through her veins again. An instant later, her hand slid free of Liselle’s grasp. She gave the b****y palm a suspicious sniff, then began to lick it clean. She noticed no difference in the taste.

Meanwhile, Liselle went over to a nearby cupboard and fetched a more hygienic salve. As she doctored herself, her thoughts spun in troubled circles. What kind of promise was: ‛I not eat you’? Had she, in her need for protection, bound herself to a cannibal? The voice of reason ridiculed such a notion. Lathwi was Pieter’s friend; and he did not befriend monsters. The big woman was probably just a barbarian after all, accustomed to different patterns of thought and speech. Liselle would just have to get used to that.

“Since you’re going to be staying here,” she said then, “I guess we ought to find you a place to sleep. Come along. And don’t touch anything.”

The wards buzzed once again as Lathwi strode out of the laboratory, but Liselle tried not to let that bother her. If nothing else, she consoled herself, at least she was now safe from being devoured in her sleep.

As they headed back down the hallway, Liselle introduced her new apprentice to the other rooms in the house.

“This is my bedroom,” she said, pointing to the first door beyond the laboratory. “You have no business in there, so stay out unless I invite you in.

“And over here, we have the storage closet.” She opened that door and offered Lathwi a glimpse inside. “I could have Pieter clean it out and put a cot in for you if you wanted to bed down in there.”

The room was small, dark and stuffy. Lathwi gave it the briefest of looks, then moved on to the next door.

“What here?”

Liselle chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll want to sleep in there. That’s the water closet.”

“What that?”

“Take a look. I’m sure you’ll appreciate its advantages over a chamber pot.”

Curious now, Lathwi opened the door. As she did so, the reek of human waste slapped her in the face. She slammed the door shut again and then hissed. No dragon voided its bowels or bladder so close to its own nest: the mere notion offended her. But since she could not fly off to the woods every time she needed to relieve herself, it looked as if she would have to endure the indignity. It was either that, or frequent the fly-infested trenches which lined the back streets—and that was no choice at all.

They moved on to the room at the open end of the hall. “This is where Pieter sleeps when he’s here,” Liselle said. “But I suppose you could use it when he’s gone.”

Lathwi squinted into the darkened chamber. Her first glance revealed nothing of interest: the shadowy outlines of an oversized bed that smelled of feathers and fur; an empty closet; a musty chair. Then, spurred by a whiff of cool air, she looked up and spied a door in the ceiling.

“Where that go?” she asked.

“To the attic,” Liselle replied. “But there’s nothing up there except some old furniture and drying herbs.”

“How get there?”

“Like this.”

Liselle grabbed the knotted cord which was dangling from the latch, then gave it a yank. As the door yawned open, a double-jointed ladder came sliding out of the dark and toward the floor. The instant after it touched down, Lathwi started to climb. As she ascended, the air turned cool and crisp—a welcome change from the stuffy, smoke-laced atmosphere below. She inhaled deeply, savouring the tang of drying grasses, then heaved herself up and into a pool of yellow light. Wondering at its source, she looked up to find the moon framed within the panes of a lofty window. She hissed, venting pleasure.

“I stay here,” she said, as Liselle came climbing into the attic after her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the sorceress replied, scorning the dusty, oil-clothed room with a glance. “You’ll freeze in the winter and roast in the summer. Not only that, the place is home to a host of wasps and more than a few mice.”

“I stay here,” she cheerfully iterated. Not even Taziem could see the stars from her nest!

Although Liselle hated to admit it, the idea of Lathwi living in the attic appealed to her. It was out of the way, so Liselle would not have to adjust her personal routines and habits so much. And it was already a wreck, so she would not have to nag the big woman about keeping it clean.

“I’ll tell Pieter to bring a cot up here if this is what you want,” she said.

“Not need cot.”

“Don’t be—”

The faint clicking sound of a lock being turned cut her off. She tensed for a moment, then relaxed again as Pieter’s fox-like laughter went floating through the house.

“I’ll see that you get a cot and anything else you might need,” she went on then. “But you’ll have to wait until the morning. Right now, I want to visit with my nephew.”

Lathwi shrugged. She could wait forever for a thing she did not want. Then she followed Liselle down the ladder, out of the room and into the kitchen. Pieter and Jamus were having an animated conversation at the table.

“I still say I should get a commission for my help,” the blonde man was saying. He looked as smug as a well-fed cat.