The Royals

Chapter 37

Tom sat up, gasping for air. He stared wildly around him, looking for Grosik. He couldn't find the dragon.

He peered into the gloom, wishing for Ginni's fire. Finally he remembered the events of the day. He and Grosik had tried to rescue Ginni and failed. The dragon had barely escaped and was likely injured.

No Ginni, no Grosik. Wanton Tom was as useless as a dancing-girl's veil without them. Might as well light his own funeral pyre.

Deflated and disheartened, he lay back down and sunk into sleep. As horrible as his dream had been, it was easier to face a legion of them than the onrushing hours at the mercy of the Forty-nine.

Sir Maarcus stumbled, then slammed into the table hard enough to jostle Abadan's scrying bowl.

Maarcus, find a chair and use it! I nearly had some thing, but now I'll have to start all over if I'm to trust what I see.'

"Sorry,' Maarcus muttered. He looked about the room and chose a straight-backed chair as far from the work table and Abadan's two apprentices as he could get. Why had he let Abadan talk him into waiting inside the chamber in the first place? For that matter, why had the magician insisted on his presence when he knew how the place sent chills down his spine?

Abadan poured off the liquid and began again. A dwarf held out a small bottle. The magician accepted it and added a single drop. 'We'll need more of that serviceberry soon,' he muttered. 'Going through this stuff faster than the refugees are using up the food-stores.' He leaned forward and peered into the bowl.

From his position, Maarcus could see nothing. In spite of himself, he leaned forward and willed Abadan to find them. That was it. He remembered now. Abadan was helping him discover his grandson's whereabouts.

"Ah, there he is.' The magician sounded wholly satis fied.

'Yes?' Maarcus asked.

'I've found your grandson.'

The physician walked around the apprentices and came to stand next to Abadan. He was immune to magic and wouldn't see anything, but it made him feel better. And?'

'He's here.'

'Here, in the palace? Isn't the boy a bit old for hide-and-sneak? He must be at least eighteen or so by now.'

'More like double that,' Abadan said slowly.

'What's that?' Maarcus asked him. 'I don't take your meaning.'

'Never mind,' said the magician. 'He's here in The Cliffs.' 'But why? What about that girl he's been seeing ….. Julianne, was it?'

The magician turned to face his friend. 'He's being held captive.' He shook his head. 'I don't know about Kate. She wasn't with him. If she had been, I doubt I could have found him."

Maarcus squared his jaw. 'Who would have thought. Does he look well?'

Abadan stared back into the bowl. He didn't look up as he said, 'He's been better, but I think he's all right.'

'Are you sure?'

'No, Maarcus, I am not sure. I'

'What?'

'He's been beaten and he's chained to a wall.'

The physician didn't know what to say. All his maneuvering had not protected the boy.

For a rare moment, Abadan lost his brashness. 'I'm sorry, Maarcus.'

The physician nodded his appreciation, afraid to try to speak. I think he's going to need help.'

Maarcus nodded again.

'We'll need to talk to the prince.'

'Isn't that dangerous? Wouldn't we do well to talk to the king?'

'Maarcus,' Abadan spoke gently. "The king is dead, remember?"

The air rushed from his lungs as if he'd been punched. Yes, yes, he'd known that, but the knowledge felt like a fresh wound. Of course,' he said. 'But surely you wouldn't trust my grandson to any of Tomar's abhorrent children?'

'No, not the ones you speak of. The Dragon Prince, Henry.'

Henry? Maarcus couldn't recall any prince by that name. He couldn't remember so many things these days. He thought he might ask Abadan for clarification, but reconsidered. The magician was lost to the vision in his bowl.

In her dreams, Ginni struggled against the witches. They marched through her mind, peering at every secret, inspecting Roslin's work and finding every bit of it wanting.

What was the point of all this? Ginni would have told them anything they wanted to know. Hadn't she come to them freely?

Invasion was their point. They sought to control her and she resisted; they would break her or kill her in the attempt.

She might have been able to withstand one, for even the powerful Revered Mother Caronn must rest. She could not oppose all three.

They took turns in a never-ending swirl of opening mental doors and slamming them shut. Enough!' she cried, exhausted. 'Take whatever you want.'

'We have what we want,' said Revered Mother. 'You. But it is well that you yielded to us now. Your mother continues to harm you every moment you waste attempt ing to repel us.'

'It is as you suggest,' Ginni answered, very nearly believing them.

She woke to familiar surroundings, but . . . not.

She probed her memories, finding them laced with gaps as obvious as a missing tooth. Bits and pieces of information were no longer locked away. They were simply gone. Stolen.

She picked at the new layers as if pulling away freshly formed scabs, but there was nothing underneath. The wound went all the way through to...

Nothing.

Her mind was just a hollow tree with the wind whistling through the recesses.

Roslin once told Wanton Tom that he was closer than any man ever came to one of the Forty-nine - and so he thought he knew what to expect. Instead, he found the activities of the witches within the Tower to be a bizarre mix of the exotic and the routine. Worse by far, he had underestimated their cunning.

He anticipated dreadful t*****e when they lashed him to a stiff bed and left the room. But rather than Roslin's harsh and unforgiving treatment, they tried a subtler approach he would not have considered possible.

It began when they sent in a lovely young novice. She was a pretty thing, seemingly innocent. Tom almost fell for her. Her swirling skirts and unaffected smile tickled the mercenary's old, carefree bones. Strapped down as he was, he had almost no choice but to watch her. She loosened her bodice just enough to show a deep cleavage which promised more. Her fingers lightly brushed his face and neck while she whispered tantalizing nothings. The girl climbed atop him and nibbled on his earlobe.

Tom closed his eyes and prepared to let happen what ever would happen. If they wanted to arouse him, he could be seduced without telling them anything just as easily as he could be tortured without telling them anything. Either method would be equally likely to serve their goals, because their magic was stronger than his defenses.

Straddling him now, she cleverly worked her way around the restraints to unbutton his shirt. He kept his eyes closed and did not watch. He wasn't sure he wanted to see her face or to guess at her thoughts.