A Dead God's Tear(69)

Hours passed before she finally raised a hand, signaling him to stop. "Enough," she said with a light smile as Marcius's stomach chose this moment to announce its anger at being ignored. "I have stolen your attention long enough. There is more to this than a single night will reveal, that is obvious. We have plenty of time and I do believe we have another problem we must address. I will show you to our kitchens."

Marcius nodded. He realized how ravenous he really was. He fell into step beside the elf, surprised at how comfortable he felt in her presence now.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in our city, Marcius. It has been a long time since someone not with the Academy wandered these grounds. Might be even longer after you leave. You don't seem to be a bad sort. Later in the day I will show you around more."

His heart did a little flip. She didn't exactly profess her unending love for him, but it was probably as good as he'd get from the normally aloof elf. Still, something bugged him. "Selene, I don't want to press the issue, but who were those two I pointed out at the trial?"

Her face darkened, "You are not going to forget about it?"

He shrank from her glare, but still shook his head. "No, I feel it's important. They made me feel uneasy. I could feel them watching me. I think I have the right to know who they were."
     
 

     

"Uneasy?" and a thoughtful look crossed her face. She didn't say anything for a few awkward moments. Marcius began to wonder if she'd say anything at all, then she leaned against the door way, crossing her arms. Selene's voice was barely a whisper. "The woman is my mother. She's of the elder caste, so I don't see her much. The thing with her. . . is an abomination and should have been destroyed centuries ago."

She pushed off from the doorway, pointedly refusing to meet his gaze. Something didn't match up though. "Wait, your mother? I thought you were of the warrior caste? Does it usually jump castes like that?"

Marcius knew he had erred as the words left his mouth. Selene whipped around, her hand lashing out like a viper that struck Marcius across the jaw, throwing him down to the ground. He curled up in pain as Selene towered over him, her face a mask of fury. "Human, you astound me. You come here, full of questions, stomping around like an oggron in mating season. I thought you were some wizard? Of all people, you should know that words have power and some questions are best when left unasked. Back to your room and out of my sight! Go!"

Coughing and spewing apologies, Marcius stumbled haphazardly out from the heat of her glare, desperate to orient himself, he somehow managed to find his room in a haze of half fallen tears and pained confusion.

Closing the door, he leaned against it, breathing heavily. How could he have been so dense? He completely demolished the rapport he had built up with the elf with a single question. Marcius flopped down in bed, his mind spinning. Why did she get so mad? No matter how he picked at the question, it only led to more questions. Defeated, Marcius slumped into bed; maybe the morning would bring more answers.

Sleep refused to come and he spent a long time tossing and turning.

Sometime later, an elven servant brought a tray of food to the door, and the tentative look on the young elf's face was enough to let him know the whole house probably knew of what happened by now. Marcius couldn't even look directly at the girl as he took the food, mumbling something that hopefully could be a thank you.

He closed the door and stared at the plate in his hand. At least this meant she didn't completely hate him, or was it just duty for her? He growled. Why did things have to turn out like this?

He didn't touch the food. Marcius found he suddenly wasn't hungry anymore.





Chapter 24

You won't always be able to resist me.

Erinaeus grinded his teeth, willing away the consciousness that had enveloped his own, pushing it away with practiced precision. It had been a while since his familiar had made itself heard. He had begun to hope that perhaps it would be silent forever, but it was obvious that the malicious creature had been waiting for him to drop his guard.

One day you will slip and you will be mine.

"Away with you," he growled, reaching up and squeezing his temples. "There is no power you have over me."

The voice, an echoing cavern in the wizard's mind, laughed. I hold all the power. It was our bargain. A little piece of you in exchange for your familiar back, yes? How long, little pet, before the corruption takes you? How long before it spreads from your eye?

He stopped his traitorous hand midway to his face. "Quiet!" Erinaeus hissed, "I am your master, and you are my familiar. Obey your contract!"

Was it worth it? To regain the ability of magic? You are rotting, dissolving and you will soon be mine. It is inevitable.

"Not if I can help it."

The creature laughed again. I know of your plan and it will fail. There is naught you can do. We are connected and soon we shall be one.

The wizard was about to respond when a tentative knock came from the door. With great effort, he smothered the foreign consciousness within his mind, using his own considerable will to subvert it, quiet it. He noted with silent concern that it was getting harder each time to do so.

"What is it?" he replied, quickly opening up a tome as the person walked in. It was one of his messengers, clothing still dusty from traveling.

"Sire, I think you should see this report from our contacts in Harcourt."

Erinaeus exhaled, looking up from the tome he was pretending to study. "You do realize where the drop off is for reports, correct?"

The messenger gulped visibly as Erinaeus's eye flared an angry reddish hue, but remarkably, the man stood his ground. "Aye, sire, but I felt this important enough to bring to your attention immediately."

Erinaeus made a pointed show of slowly closing the large tome, taking a delectable sense of pleasure in seeing the man squirm. Finally, he held out his hand, his every movement indicating strained patience. It felt good to make someone squirm after the disconcerting conversation with his familiar.

But Erinaeus also knew that there was a delicate balance to maintain when dealing with underlings. Too much freedom and they'd start to plot behind your back, too little and it fell to you make every little decision.

He unfurled the scroll and began to read. "Huge explosion in Lowtown. . . mages. . . rogue assassin." Murmuring lightly to himself as his eyes scanned the paper, his excitement grew.

The report confirmed a few things and it opened up the possibilities of so much more. It was like the edges of a puzzle coming together to form a painting that grew clearer with every word.

"Sire?" the messenger inquired, jolting Erinaeus to the present.

"Good job," he said quickly, reaching into a pocket within his robe and pulling out a small bag that tinkled as he tossed it to the man. "You were wise to bring this to my attention. If you see anything else, come to me immediately."

"Yes, sire!"

Erinaeus grabbed his traveling cloak and strode out the door, pausing a moment. "But, if you bother me with anything of less importance, I'll roast you where you stand. Never forget that."

He didn't wait for a response, striding down the passageways of his hideout with a destination in mind. He had so much to do and every passing minute the opportunity would slip farther from his hands. There was an assassin he had to find, among some other things that had to be set into action.

There was a loose end to tie up.



❧　❧　❧



"Wake up. It's already late in the morning and still you lie here."

Marcius rubbed his eyes, the stern figure of Lorisen coming into focus. The elf wore a strangely neutral expression, his arms crossed as he loomed over Marcius.

"Good morning to you too," Marcius mumbled, swinging out of bed. At some point he must have dozed off, but it wasn't anything close to a restful sleep. He ached all over.

"We have much to do this morning. Get dressed and meet me outside the training grounds within the hour."

And so it was a half-hour later when a hastily scrubbed Marcius was waiting outside with the general sense of uneasiness that one acquires when they're not really sure if they're in trouble or not.

"Good to see that, out of everything, you're at least punctual," the elf said as he arrived, tossing something to Marcius's feet. A wooden training sword.

"You can't honestly expect me to fight you?" Marcius said, bending down to pick up the wooden sword. He found, though he wasn't an expert, it felt well balanced and it fit comfortably in his hand.

"I expect you to try," Lorisen said grimly, no trace of his former friendliness on his face.

Marcius was still trying to work around why the elf had such a drastic change from his previous jovial demeanor when Lorisen struck, coming in so fast that Marcius barely had time to even flinch. The sword stung his wrist sharply, causing Marcius to drop his own weapon in pain and surprise, before coming in to slap hard against his ribs. Marcius gritted his teeth; the last blow would no doubt leave a nasty bruise.

"At least give me a warning before attacking," Marcius said, his hand clutched to his side as he glared at the elf.

"Your enemy won't stop and wait for you to get ready. Pick up your sword."

Marcius wasn't nearly as surprised when the elf attacked this time¸ but his flimsy attempt at defense was quickly overwhelmed and once again he was nursing another hard hit to the side.