Cold Magics (62 page)

The young lord had been stripped naked and his arms tied behind his back at the elbows and wrists. Another rope was looped tight around his elbows and drawn through a steel ring set in the ceiling. His arms had been pulled high enough that only his toes touched the ground, and those only barely. He was moaning, and the floor beneath him was stained. The cell and Lord John both stank.

“What are you doing here?” the inquisitor demanded. He blinked several times at Thomas, not believing his eyes. At last, he managed to say, “My work is not to be interrupted. Lord Richard himself said so.”

“How long has he been tied up like that?” asked Thomas, staring in horror at John’s straining shoulders. The man’s entire weight was suspended by them, and from the angle they were bending, the pain had to be incredible.

“That is not your concern.”

“Actually, it is,” said Thomas. “George, get Lord John down. Baron Goshawk, Eileen, help him.”

“What are you doing?” demanded William. “Lord John is a traitor!”

“No,” said Thomas. “Richard is. Cut him down, Baron.”

“A traitor?” said the inquisitor. “What are you talking about? Lord John is the traitor. And don’t touch that rope!”

Thomas’s blade shifted up, ending with the point just inches away from the inquisitor’s eye. “Do not move,” Thomas said, “or make a sound, or I will kill you right here.”

The inquisitor fell silent. Thomas waited, watching as George held John up while the baron sawed at the rope attaching him to the ceiling. It gave and John let out a cry of pain as he collapsed into George’s arms. George cradled him lightly, keeping him from falling to the filthy floor. Baron Goshawk carefully cut through the rope at his elbows, then his wrists. As each was cut, he cried out again, and when the baron was done John’s arms dangled uselessly at his sides. Thomas got his first look at the bruises and swelling on John’s face and winced to see how badly he’d been beaten.

“Should we get him out of here?” George asked.

“The cell, yes,” said Thomas, “but not upstairs yet. Wait until his arms are working. Amelia.”

There was no answer, and Thomas turned to find Amelia pressed against the far wall, her hand in her mouth, eyes wide with horror.

“Amelia!” Thomas shouted loudly enough to get her attention. “Look around. See if you can find a water bucket or something so we can clean John up a bit. William, help her.”

“And clothes,” said Eileen. “He must be freezing.”

“Take Alfred’s clothes,” said Thomas. “Leave him a cloak so he won’t freeze.”

George carried John out of the cell and into the hall. Thomas left the inquisitor in the cell and barred it from outside. Alfred didn’t argue or resist when William took his clothes, and Amelia found a bucket of water with dippers for drinking at the end of the hall. She brought the bucket and knelt beside where George had laid John, dipping in some water and holding it to his mouth. He drank tentatively at first, then more, sucking the water into his mouth as if he hadn’t drank for days.

Which he may well have not done
, thought Thomas. “Can you speak, Lord John?”

Amelia filled another dipper with water and held it to John’s mouth. John drained it before he attempted to speak. “What… what happened?”

“Richard’s the traitor,” said Thomas. “We just found out.”

John stared at Thomas, his eyes only half-focused. “What?”

Thomas looked at the other man’s bruised and battered body. “George, are his arms still in their sockets?”

George looked. “I think so.”

“John,” said Thomas slowly, “I need you to try to move your arms. Can you do that?”

“Why does he need to do that?” demanded William. “Can’t you see the pain he’s in?”

“I can see,” said Thomas. “But I don’t know how to put his arms back in place, and I don’t want to heal him wrong.”

“Heal him?” William looked bewildered. “Heal him how?”

Thomas ignored him. “John, can you move your arms?”

Johns face screwed up in pain and his breath became harsh. His hands began to tremble, and then moved ever so slowly upward. He got them almost above his waist, then collapsed.

“Good enough,” said Thomas. He laid his sword aside and knelt behind John, putting his hands on the other man’s shoulders. It took a moment to call the power, and then another to start chanting. White light that only he could see flowed from his hands and into John’s body. John gasped at first, then sighed as the pain faded back. Thomas kept the chanting up only a short while before stepping back. “Try now.”

John grimaced, but managed to get his arms up above his head. His face looked less swollen, too, Thomas noticed. Thomas picked up his sword and got to his feet. “How are you?”

John glared at him. “Don’t be stupid.” He pushed himself half upright and took the dipper from Amelia, draining it again. “Why are you letting me out?”

“Richard’s the traitor,” said Thomas.

“I heard.” John pushed himself slowly upright. “How did you know?”

“Alfred told me,” said Thomas. “Said Richard had his family.”

Alfred?” repeated John. “Alfred Pinner of Penbridge? Is he here?”

“In the end cell,” said Thomas. “You know him?”

“Aye,” said John. He pushed himself into a sitting position, then slowly up to his feet. George steadied him. John put a hand out to the wall once he was upright and walked carefully and with a distinctive wobble across the hall. “Richard came back with him two years ago from some trip or other. Henry was away.” He paused for breath. “Open the cell door,” he said. “Let me see.”

“William,” said Thomas. “Do it.”

William did. John stared at the man for a time. “You,” he said at last. “What were you doing for Richard?”

“Sucking magic out of people and using it to make fire rods,” said Thomas.

“There is no magic,” protested Alfred. “There is only energy, to be harnessed. It was not witchcraft. I would not do witchcraft, my lord John.”

John looked at Thomas. “Was it witchcraft?”

“Magic,” said Thomas. “It’s only witchcraft if he calls on the Banished.”

“Which I would never do, my lord,” said Alfred. “Please believe me, if I had any choice—”

“If?” repeated John. “If?”

“He has my family,” said Alfred. “Please, my lord.”

“Ah. Your family.” John turned away from the door. “William, help me clean myself.”

William did, using the remaining water from the bucket and one of the guard’s cloaks. John dressed in Alfred’s shirt and pants. “Any food?” he asked.

“No, my Lord,” said William.

“I can get some,” offered Amelia.

“You can stay there,” said John. “I trust you as far as I can throw him,” he pointed a thumb at George. He turned back to the cell and Alfred. “You know you’re dead, right?”

Alfred flinched and looked at the floor.

“Your family is probably already dead,” continued John, his tone remarkably casual. “If not before you arrived, then certainly after Richard saw you.” He looked to Thomas. “Richard did see him, yes?”

“Yes.”

“He said they would live,” whispered Alfred.

“Aye,” said John. “I’m sure he did. He’s a liar, my brother. And a murderer and a traitor. Your family is as dead as all those folks your magic helped kill. Not to worry,” added John as Alfred began to tremble. “I’m sure it was a sword or a knife. Something quick. Not like you’ll get.”

What colour Alfred had in his face drained away. Thomas could feel his own horror rising again at John’s casual tone. The young lord’s face was cold and impassive and he seemed in no hurry at all. He watched as Alfred slumped on the floor of his cell.

“You,” John continued, “will be flayed alive. You know what that means, right?” He waited for a response, but Alfred didn’t move or speak. Softly, he repeated, “Right?”

Alfred’s head moved—the barest of nods.

“Say it,” said John. “Say what they will do to you.” Alfred shook his head, another small move. He was trembling.

“They will cut off your skin,” said John. “They will start at your feet, and will skin you like a deer. Only you’ll be alive.”

Alfred began to sob. John went on in the same casual voice, ignoring the man’s tears. “And they’ll do it outside in the cold, and the cold on your body when the skin is torn away is agony, to judge from what I’ve seen. But what’s worse is, the cold slows the blood flow and makes you go numb. In this cold, the numbness can be enough to keep you alive when they lock you in the cage and put you by the gates for the weasels to feed on.”

Alfred curled into a ball on the floor, moaning.

“Think about that,” said John. “And think of one other thing. When you are asked to speak against Richard, tell them everything, and tell them the truth, and I will bring you something so you feel no pain when they come for you. Lie, and I’ll make sure they cut you slowly and throw salt on your raw flesh.”

Alfred broke, sobbing. John turned his back. “Tie him and bring him,” he said to William. “Now get me out of here.”

Thomas led the way up the stairs to the practice room. The students were still there, with blades out. “Report,” said Thomas.

“No one so far,” said Marcus. “Now what?”

“We find Henry,” said Thomas.

“Wrong,” said Lord John. “We find the barons. Richard can’t rule without them.”

“At least one of them is on his side,” said Thomas. “Cormac’s father.”

“Any others?”

“All the young lords that didn’t fight in the halls when the raiders came,” said Thomas. “Steven, Cormac, James, Anthony, Andrew, Charles, Geoffrey, Edward and Ethan. I don’t know whose fathers are here.”

John blinked. “Impressive memory for names.”

“They were threatening the girl I love,” said Thomas. “I remember them.”

“And trying to kill you,” said Baron Goshawk. He stepped over to the weapon racks and, after a moment’s thought, picked up a pair of throwing axes.

“Aye, there is that,” said Thomas. “Marcus, take the troop and go with Lord John. Baron, William, you too. He has to reach the barons, no matter what.”

“Alfred comes with us, too,” said John. “I need the proof.”

“What about you?” asked Marcus.

“We three will head for the great hall,” said Thomas. “Henry will need the help. Lady Prellham, I would suggest you get out of here.”

“Nonsense,” said Lady Prellham. “I’ll go with you to the great hall.”

“Lady Prellham,” said Eileen. “It’s dangerous.”

“It’s all dangerous,” said Lady Prellham. “Why do you think the duke assigned me to you?”

“The duke?” Eileen look shocked. “I thought Henry—”

“Did as he was told,” said Lady Prellham. “I have served the duke far longer than any of you have been alive, and will be far more help in the great hall than any of your swords. Speaking of which, put them away. And it would be good to clean up first.”

“Henry didn’t get the chance to clean up,” said Thomas.

“A pity, too, because he does clean up very pretty.”

“What about me?” asked Amelia.

“Still don’t trust you,” said Lord John.

“Then I’d better go with Thomas so he can keep an eye on me,” she said, stepping up and latching her arm through George’s. “Let’s go see Lord Richard.”

Thomas shook his head, ready to protest, but John cut him off.

“Fine,” said John. “You lot are the distraction. And since Amelia drives everyone to distraction anyway, take her with you. Keep them busy until I get there. Now go.”

They did, Thomas and Eileen leading, with Lady Prellham in the middle and George and Amelia at the end. Amelia’s hand was looped through George’s elbow, and George had his hand on top of it, holding it tightly enough that she could not let go if she wanted to.

“Weapons away,” said Lady Prellham. “You’ve delivered your prisoner and have released your men to their barracks. You are coming to report to Lord Henry.”

“I had thought of that,” said Thomas.

“Then put away your rapier.”

They did as they were told, and stepped through the doors into the great hall.

The room was mostly empty, save for servants setting up the tables and stage for the evening’s feast. Henry was sitting with his brother in a corner of the room, sharing a bottle of wine, while Sir Lawrence stood against a wall nearby with three of Richard’s Bears lounging beside him.

Richard saw them first. “Ah, Captain Thomas! Have you completed your mission, then?”

“We have,” said Thomas, looking to Henry. “It’s done.”

“I’m glad,” said Richard. “Though I am curious as to who that prisoner is you’ve brought.”

“A magician,” said Thomas. “He was making the fire rods.”

“I see.”

“There were two of them, you know,” said Thomas. “One who drained the magic out of people, the other who put it into the fire rods.”

“And how do you know this?” asked Richard.

“Because they drained the magic out of me,” said Thomas. “Repeatedly.”

“And you didn’t fight them?” asked Richard.

“I was about to try,” said Thomas. “It was fortunate Henry and the others came to my rescue. I don’t think I would have survived the attempt.”

Richard smiled. “But you would have tried anyway?”

“They were going to use my magic to kill people,” said Thomas. “I couldn’t allow it.”

“Very altruistic,” said Richard. “Tell me, what happened to the other magician? The one making the fire rods?”

“He’s dead,” said Henry. “Eileen killed him with one of his own creations.”

“There he is!”

Thomas turned. The young lords stalked into the hall—not just the eight traitors, but all who were still walking. Many still wore bandages and several had grease slicked over their burnt faces. All were armed. Lord Steven led them.

“I had heard you had returned,” said Steven. “We have a debt to settle, you and I.”

“I think not,” said Henry.

“No interference,” said Steven. “This one said he would duel, then fled like a coward.”

“This one,” said Thomas, “had you and your friends arrested for the traitors you are. Lord Richard, I thought you had them confined to quarters?”

“I did,” said Richard. “And interrogated. But when John broke he confessed his own guilt and said that they had nothing to do with it.”