Page of Swords (The Demon's Apprentice Book 2) (5 page)

“What?” T-Bone asked.

“The wards.”

“What about 'em?”

“Can it, T-Bone,” Cross grumbled.

“Aw, hell,” T-Bone said. He grabbed me roughly by the shoulder and shoved me forward.

Before I could even think to be scared, I felt the ward slide over me like a thousand pins were being pushed against my skin, then I was on the other side.

“Man, I hate doin' that,” he said.

My eyebrows furrowed into a glare. “You could've fried me!”

“Who d'ya think set those damn wards, kid? Santa Claus? We can take someone across. We just don't like to if we ain't got to.”

I looked back and saw Cross step through. Dr. C was right behind him with a plastic keychain in his hand. The last faint blue discharges of the ward were arcing away from his aura as the ward stone let him in.

“Why didn't you just give me one of those?” I asked T-Bone.

“'Cuz you're a known warlock. He's not.” He gave me a cold smile before he turned to Cross.

A few seconds later, what he said sank in.

“Wait a second! What do you mean, a known warlock?” I had to jog a couple of steps to catch back up to him.

If the Hamblin Center wasn't what I'd expected for a meeting place, the sound that hit me when the elevator doors opened on the twenty-first floor kept my expectations of mages off balance. Laughter, a murmur of conversation, and music flooded my ears when the doors dinged open. Two blue-robed magi stood outside the elevator with silver staves that were topped with ankhs. Sentinels. The cops of the mage world. I'd been looking over my shoulder for ankh staves and blue robes for months now. The one on the left was an older Asian man with a crew cut laced with silver among his black hair. On the right side was a younger woman, with streaked blond hair caught up in a severe ponytail. Both of them wore their ankh necklaces openly as well, signifying that they were on duty. The ankh symbol was like the police badge in the cowan world.

Cross and T-Bone took my arms and pushed me out of the elevator. We stepped into the hallway, and the two Sentinels flanked us as they turned me to the right and through a pair of open double doors.

The room went quiet; even the musicians stopped playing as they led me into the room. At least two dozen magi stared at me. Most of them wore suits, but I saw one sari and several plaid shirts in the room. They all gave me the same look, though. I'd expected hostility, but not the predatory glee I saw burning out in the crowd.

A rotund man in a shiny brown suit stepped out of the crowd. He wore his thinning brown hair plastered back against his skull, and his pudgy lips quivered into a cruel smile. His staff was a smooth, white wood, with a faceted ruby on the tip. A straight line of glyphs was engraved in silver down the length, and four green gems were set into the gold band below the crystal at the top.

“Gentlemen, congratulations on capturing this warlock. But surely bringing us just his head would have done.”

A few of the magi behind him laughed nervously, but most of them just looked sour.

“Shut up, Polter,” T-Bone growled. “Corwyn vouched for 'im.”

The chubby mage frowned and his jowls quivered. If he was going to say something, he changed his mind awful quick. His eyes focused on something above and behind us, and his smile slid back into place.

“We'll see how much
that's
worth,” he said. “Master Draeden, it seems your faith in the Hands’ ability was well placed. Their judgment, however, appears to be lacking.”

I looked over my left shoulder and saw a man coming down the sweeping staircase behind us. He was wearing a blue suit, with a white shirt and a red silk tie.  They looked even more expensive than the ones my father had custom tailored. He carried a plain white staff that had obviously seen some use. His had a round crystal set in the top, and the runes in his spiraled down its length. His wavy hair was a dark auburn, and his face was angular and lean, with a hooked nose. It looked like the kind of face that would only smile when he was torturing puppies. His eyes, though, were what made me look away. They were a cold blue, and I was sure I didn’t want to know what was going on behind them.

“My faith is not given lightly, Andrew,” he said with a chill in his tone. His voice was calm, deep, and commanding, with an accent that spoke of New England. “Before you cast doubts on
my
judgment in placing it in the Hands of Death, perhaps we should wonder why Wizard Corwyn chose to vouch for this young man. I'm sure he has good reason.” Draeden turned and walked up on me like a tiger on easy prey.

“You'll pardon me for being forward, Master Draeden, but there is
no
good reason to vouch for a warlock. This one especially.”

“Dickhead.” The word slipped out of my mouth before I could think twice about how dumb I was being.

Polter's hand was even faster than my tongue, though. The room went white, and I was sliding backward down the doors I'd just come through with the sound of the slap still ringing in my ears. I was getting awful tired of being knocked around tonight.

I surged to my feet to start doing some ass kicking and ran into Cross's open hand against my chest. T-Bone held Polter in place as I pushed against Cross. It was like trying to press against a building. As if to show me how useless it was to keep fighting him, he straightened his arm. Slowly.

“Don't,” he said low enough that only I could hear. I blinked and looked at him. His eyes were dark as thunderclouds, but it didn't seem like he was pissed at me. I let up, and he lowered his arm.

“Could you at least have made it look like you had to work at it?” I asked as I looked down at his arm. He gave me microsecond grin, then turned back with his usual sour look. Polter stopped struggling against T-Bone when Cross stepped up beside his partner. One meaty hand came up to point at me.

“You will not speak in the presence of your betters,
warlock!”
He spat the last word like a curse he couldn't wait to get out of his mouth.

“The only person in this room I call my better is Dr. Corwyn, you overstuffed son of a bitch!” I snarled. It was all I could do to keep myself from smashing my fist into his fat face.

A hand fell on my shoulder, and I recognized the feel Dr. C's aura.

“That's enough, Chance,” he said. He didn't sound mad or even disappointed, but I knew right then I was embarrassing him. All of the anger drained out of me, and I bowed my head.

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“Don't be. Master Polter was out of line in laying a hand on my student. He and I will address that later. Master Draeden, I believe as the accused, Chance is to be sequestered.”

“Indeed, Wizard Corwyn. Though the usual forms must be followed.”

“Is that strictly necessary?” Dr. C asked.

“Given the boy's temper, and reputation, I feel it would be safest for all involved. Cross, if you would please see to the boy?”

“What's he talking about, Dr. C?” I asked.

A second later, Cross' right hand smashed into my face. I staggered back a couple of steps before my knees gave out and I fell on my butt. My eyes were having trouble focusing, but I could hear everything just fine.

“Man, you’re losin' your touch,” T-Bone quipped.

The two Crosses swimming in front of me just looked at their fist for a second. “Sorry, kid. It usually doesn't take more than once.” Both of him merged together as he took a step toward me.

“Ow,” I finally managed as his fist fell again.

Chapter 5

~ None may sway the Hands of Death on their Path. ~

Charter of the Conclave

The left side of my face hurt like Hell. Why didn't I ever run into people who hit like sissies? My left eye barely opened when I tried to look around, and there was some kind of rough cloth over my face. I couldn't move my hands from behind my back, and I felt a familiar cool metal band around my wrists. Spellbinders. The Council wasn't taking chances with me. If they weren't talking about killing me outright, I would have been impressed with myself.

“Sorry about the eye, kid,” Cross's calm tenor came from my right. “It usually only takes one shot.” The cloth over my face lifted free, and he squatted beside me.

“Yeah, I get hit a lot,” I grumbled.

“I know. I saw your scars. Here, hold still. I usually have more time when I knock someone out. This should take care of the shiner.”

He reached out and put some kind of smelly ointment on my cheekbone. He was surprisingly gentle as he rubbed it into my skin, in spite of the thick calluses on his fingers. A cool feeling spread from where the gel touched my cheek, and the pain faded. I held still, paralyzed more by uncertainty than obedience.

He'd seen my scars. For years, Dulka had drilled into me that they were something to be ashamed of. That if anyone from our world ever saw them, they'd know my secret. That I was a demon's slave. I was embarrassed about them, but hiding them magickally was something I'd never do.  Dulka had tried to get me to do it plenty of times. Refusing to do it was one of the only ways I had to defy him.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“When I'm more than likely going to kill you in a little while?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks for the reminder, by the way.”

“Cross used to be a paramedic. Mosta the time,” T-Bone said from behind me, “when the Council calls us, someone's gonna die. Cross likes to even things out when he can. Old habits.”

“If I can save a life instead, or help to heal an injury, I will,” Cross said.

My face didn't hurt any more. I scrunched up my left eye and drew the corner of my mouth back to see if the swelling was still there. The skin didn't feel so tightly stretched, and my eye was getting easier to open.

“So, you only kill when you have to, is that it?”

“Only if I have no other choice. At all. Then, yes, I do. Without hesitation.” He stood up.

The room we were in looked like a private dining room with the tables gone. The walls were a comfortable beige color, with tastefully bland paintings of the city decorating them. Now that I was looking around a little, I saw T-Bone sitting in a padded, straight-backed chair with his back to a floor-to-ceiling window. Behind him, I saw the lights of the city laid out like a net of stars. With the lights down, and no one waiting for the order to kill me, I could see it being a nice place to take a girl. Cross' last comment had pretty much been a conversation killer for me, so I leaned back against the wall and waited.

It was only a few minutes later that a soft tap came at the door.

“Once upon a midnight dreary,” I whispered.

Cross cracked the door a little and blocked it with his body.

“Master Draeden wants to speak to the warlock,” a woman said from the other side.

Cross nodded, closed the door, then turned back and gave T-Bone a nod. I was on my feet before I knew it, and out in the hall. They led me through the kitchen then up a set of stairs, and a minute later, I was being ushered into another dining room. This one was a lot bigger, with a bar off to my right as I came in, and a raised section in the middle of the room. Brass railings went around the edge of the raised part, and fake green plants around the base set it further apart. Draeden was sitting in a pale green chair on the dais, looking comfortable and in charge. A covered round table sat on his right, and one of the straight-backed dining table chairs faced him.

“Thaddeus, I think we can trust the boy far enough to remove the spellbinders,” he said. Beside me, T-Bone growled, but he didn't move.

“Sir, with all due respect, I don't think that's wise,” Cross replied.

“Your concerns are duly noted, Todd. I am, however, the head of the Council. I believe I can be allowed a little
hubris
in thinking that I can handle a teenaged warlock.”

The manacles came free. Draeden raised his eyebrows and gestured at the door. Both of them grumbled at that, but they stepped back, and I heard the door close behind me. Somehow, I felt more vulnerable with the two of them gone.

“Come on up here, son. We have a lot to talk about.” He took a sip from a glass of wine as I stepped up onto the dais with him. “Have a seat.”

“I'm not your son, and I'll stand, thanks.”

“As you wish. Well, I must say, you do present a man with quite the dilemma. Your soul is as black as they come, but if I'm to believe what I read from two wizards of otherwise sound judgment, you aren't evil. Rumor speaks of you defeating your demon Master, a feat of which even I am not capable. Yet, you seem no better trained than the worst apprentice. Most of the Council is screaming for your head, but the sentiments of a few have changed due to your youth. And they don't know what they want to do with you, either.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Give me a reason to keep you alive.”

“Give you . . . okay, let's try this: I didn't ask to be
sold
to a
freaking demon
!”

“So, you weren't a willing apprentice?” The tone in his voice caught me up, and I wondered where the trap was.

“Technically, I was a familiar. A slave kept for doing magickal work.”

“The version your old master tells has him releasing you for being a poor student.”

“Yeah, let's go with that. Cuz demons are so honest. But why are you so interested in saving my ass? You don't know me like Dr. C does.”

“Two reasons. First, but hardly foremost, I
do
know both Chomsky and Corwyn, and they have expressed their faith in your character. Both of them are well respected, if not entirely well liked, which also tends to endear them to me more than a little. The second is a bit more complicated. Do you know what a weird is?” he asked.

Finally, a question I had a snappy comeback for.

“I prefer startlingly odd, myself.” I only got a frosty smile at that, so I knew I’d dropped a bomb. Draeden got up and went to the table. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the white tablecloth covering it billowing away. My stuff was spread out in front of him, and several books lay open at the end of the table. Suddenly, I felt like I was standing in the room with no clothes on. My TK wand and new touchstone were there, and the last three of my cinnamon candies. The Page of Swords card was under my wallet. My amethyst scrying stone lay next to them. Draeden picked up my touchstone and smiled.

“My first touchstone gave me fits. It took me a month to get one to hold. How long did it take you?”

“Nine weeks,” I admitted.

He reached for the tarot card. “It's a noun,” he said casually.

“Huh?” I can be a brilliant conversationalist sometimes.

“A
wyrd
. Spelled with a Y. A thread of destiny that affects the past from the future, and the future from the past. All time and fate is interconnected, but sometimes, certain strands of Fate exert a stronger influence on one particular life than they do on others. Your fate is touched by a particularly strong wyrd. One that is connected to all of our fates in turn. I can use that to delay the Council's vote, but only until the spring equinox.”

“That’s less than a week.”

“The wyrd's influence only extends until then. By then, you will either have fulfilled the task set before you, or you will not.”

“If it's destiny, won't it work out either way?”

“A wyrd only influences your fate. It does not control it and it in no way guarantees success. Rather, it points the way to a desirable outcome. If you take up the task, then it can become a guiding force. Very little can stand in the way of a man who accepts his wyrd. The Norse had a saying. 'Wyrd often saves the un-doomed man, so long as his courage holds.' So the question becomes, do you have the courage to face your wyrd, and take up the task given you by fate through this Council?”

“Dude, I've faced a werewolf and a demon. I think I can handle whatever this is.”

“Bold words. I can take them as assent then?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Excellent. Now, we'll go out and—what now?” He snapped as someone knocked on the door.

A young mage in a brown robe stepped in.

“Master Draeden, a supplicant. She wishes to address the Council.”

“Why are you asking me? She has the right to address the Conclave and the Council any time it convenes. You know that!” he snapped at the mage.

The mage looked meaningfully at me, then back at Draeden.

“But . . . the warlock, sir.”

“The Council is capable of dealing with more than one issue in a single night. She'll just have to be patient, and wait until after we've dealt with him. Now, go and let her in.”

The mage bowed out and closed the door. Draeden frowned and shook his head, a lot like I'd seen Dr. C do after dealing with idiots.

“You were saying something about going out and doing something?” I prompted him.

“Are you in such a hurry to risk your neck, Mr. Fortunato?”

“I've got a curfew.” That got a smile from him.

“Well, we should hardly keep your mother waiting, should we? Now, we must delay the vote until your wyrd has run its course. Master Polter will no doubt be leading the charge to have you executed post haste, and Corwyn alongside you for harboring you. Many fear his influence. It will be up to you to inspire more sympathy than fear in the hearts of the Conclave as a whole.”

“Up to me?” I asked. “You might not have noticed this, but I'm not the best at the whole hearts and minds thing.”

“Two wizards have vouched for you, boy. They did so based on your actions, not your words. Play to your strengths.”

The doors to the room opened at his gesture, and T-Bone turned to face us.

“About damn time. You better get the hell out there. The natives are gettin' restless.”

We heard a low murmuring from outside.

“Damn that Polter,” Draeden hissed. He nodded to T-Bone and strode off down the hall.

T-Bone grabbed my arm and dragged me along.

“C'mon kid. You all right?”

I gave him a curious look. What the Hell did he care? If things went bad, he was going to have to kill me tonight.

“Yeah, I guess.” He nodded back and pushed me ahead, into the center of the big room we had first come into.

The middle of the room was clear now. They'd set tables end to end in a semi-circle facing the stairs, leaving a broad open area. There was an opening at the mid point of the tables, right across from the door I had come out. I turned to look behind me.

Draeden was making his way up the sweeping staircase on the left. Sentinels lined both staircases, and I saw twelve hooded mages in white robes along the rail at the top. Draeden took his place at the open spot in the middle of them, making it thirteen. Polter's girth was unmistakable on his right. Draeden shrugged a set of black robes into place, and pulled the hood up and picked up his staff. I was left staring at the purple-edged opening of his hood, my most powerful ally now hidden and anonymous.

“The High Council of the Conclave is convened,” Draeden's voice boomed.

The whispered conversations behind me stopped, and T-Bone moved to the bottom of the stairs on the left. Cross stood across from him at the bottom of the right hand stairway. That left me alone in the center of the room, facing the whole Conclave, High Council and all, on my own.

“This special session is called to deal with the matters of the loss of the Maxilla, and the matter of the warlock Chance Fortunato, captured this night and brought to face the justice of the Council,” one of the Sentinels read from an unrolled scroll.

“Justice is the Conclave's highest priority,” Draeden said after he'd finished. “Chance Fortunato, you are brought here to face serious charges. That you did knowingly and willingly enter into the apprenticeship of one of the
asura
, to wit, the demon Dulka, a Count of the Second Order of the Fifth Circle of Hell, and did knowingly and of your own free will, assist your Master in the enslavement of not less than forty seven innocent souls. That you did also, at the behest of your Master, use dark sorcery to break the Laws of Magick, to wit, the frequent use of spells to bend the will of another, and the use of magick to bring profit at the cost of the cowan
.
You stand also accused of the setting of no less than two hundred curses. There is no doubt that you did perform these vile acts. What say you in your own defense, bearing in mind that your own testimony may be brought to bear against you?”

“I didn't 'knowingly and willingly' enter into anything,” I started.

“Oh, were you
tricked
?” Polter mocked. “Poor little warlock, he didn't
know
he was trading his soul to a demon!”