Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [107]
“Lie down and rest,” Sarcyn said. “But I’m tying your hands and feet to make sure you stay here.”
Once he was bound, Camdel lay very still and tried not to move his throbbing head. The others came in, talking among themselves about their booty, then moved on to another chamber. Although Camdel tried to drift off to sleep, he suddenly heard a howl of rage.
“It’s gone! It must have fallen out when his cursed horse got killed! Everything’s here but the Great Stone of the West. Sarcyn, get your horse saddled and get back there to search.”
The Great Stone of the West. What was that? Camdel vaguely remembered the name, but the pain in his head was making it hard to think. He drifted off into unconsciousness, only to have a frightening dream that Alastyr was questioning him about this mysterious stone.
When he woke again, it was night, and a fire was burning in the hearth. Nearby Alastyr and Sarcyn sat on the floor and talked quietly in a cold fury while the servant huddled in the shadows in the curve of the wall. When he realized that they hadn’t found the stone, he was pleased. Although he gave an involuntary groan when he tried to move, the pain in his head was bearable.
“Give him somewhat to eat and drink,” Alastyr said. “I want to work the ritual straightaway. All this astral traveling I’ve been doing has left me drained, I don’t mind telling you.”
Camdel’s heart started pounding like a drum. Every tale of evil magicians he’d ever heard came back to him as Sarcyn strolled over.
“Oh, we’re not the opium runners you thought we were,” Sarcyn said as he knelt down. “Soon you’ll learn more of the truth, Your Lordship. At first you’ll hate what I’m going to do to you, but in a while I think me you’ll develop a strange taste for it. You’re just the sort who does, you stinking little weakling. Your Lordship!”
When Sarcyn cut his hands free, they shook so badly that Camdel could barely hold the waterskin he was handed, but he was so thirsty that he forced them steady and drank in long gulps. Sarcyn watched with a small smile that made his flesh creep.
“Hungry?” he said.
“I’m not.” Camdel gasped out the words. “Please, just let me go. My father’s rich, he’ll ransom me, by the gods, please, let me go!”
“Oh, you’ll never see your father again, lad. You’re coming with us to Bardek, my fine, swaggering, noble lord. When you’re of no use to the master anymore, you’ll be sold as a slave. And when I’m done with you, too. I think you’d best try to please me and make sure that I don’t tire of you straightway.”
All at once Camdel understood his implication. Involuntarily he shrank back as Sarcyn laughed down at him.
“He probably couldn’t get food down,” Alastyr broke in. “Cut his ankles free and bring him along.”
When Sarcyn hauled him to his feet, Camdel staggered. He’d been bound so long that it was hard to walk. The apprentice half shoved, half carried him into another chamber, where a piece of black velvet, embroidered in strange signs and sigils, hung on one wall. Candle lanterns hung glowing from hooks, and in one corner was a small bronze brazier, giving off a soft cloud of incense. In the middle was a stout iron ring set into a trapdoor, which doubtless led down to a root cellar or some mundane thing.
“We’ve had everything ready, just waiting for you to wake,” Alastyr said, and Camdel hated his oily voice more than ever. “Now, if you struggle too much, you could be hurt, so lie quietly.”
At that Sarcyn shoved him facedown on the floor so hard that he gasped for breath. Quickly the apprentice bound his hands to the ring, then stepped aside. When Camdel looked up, he saw Alastyr standing at