Meet Leon Medreaux, the sorcerer and tool of the conspirators ~ through the eyes of Shield, an enslaved wyre.
Excerpt ~
Shield did not look in Master’s face. He could not,
especially when Master wore the dragon-scale gloves. He hardly could bear the
gloves themselves, shimmering reptilian leather, each scale a piece of armor
that not even Shield’s fangs could penetrate.
Master waited for the priest, and only Shield recognized his agitation, revealed by the minute jiggling
of his right knee. Shield saw it because he looked for such signs. He had learned to be wary of Master’s temper. For the last seven-night, Master’s anger had tipped over daily and nightly. He glanced at the priest and wondered if the black-robed man knew Master had a loose leash on his temper.
“I am waiting, Medreaux.”
The priest started. Shield laughed inwardly, for
the human had not recognized the danger. He heard it in Master’s voice, though,
and Shield caught the first tang of fear. He could have warned the priest, but
Master did not let him speak with many humans and certainly not with sorcerers.
“Even with the writ renewed, we have not flushed
the comtesse from hiding, my lord.”
“I know that, priest. The Iron Gloves posted with
the troops report directly to me. You, however, said you had a plan when last
we met. Have you implemented it?”
The priest shifted, his slippered feet a
susurration on the floor. Shield titled his head but did not take a defensive
stance. The man was too soft for a physical fight, and he would not dare attack
Master when he wore the dragon-scale gloves.
“Are we still unable to attack the princess
directly? Sickening spells are easy enough to craft. I can do so.”
“They are easy to craft and easier to discover and
protect against. The princess is warded against such spells. You are new to
this battle, Medreaux. I am not. I have fought it for many, many years. Princess
Aisdeinne is surrounded by protective spells.”
“Ointments and balms. Perhaps in her very
clothes,” the priest muttered. ‘Have you attacked the spells directly?”
“You think me a fool? Twice I have tried. The
investigation after the second attempt came too close. My inquisitors were too
eager to root out all hint of power. I lost not only my sorcerer but my plant
in the princess’s apartments. I impress upon you the need for secrecy, Medreaux.
Thwarting the dragon is not wise. Failure can happen many ways. You said you
have a plan to bring the Comtesse Muirée out of hiding. What is it?”
“A sleep snare—.”
“Pah. More child’s play!”
“No, my lord. The snare is drawing her in, just as
I planned.” The priest leaned forward, eager to share how his power worked. “The
dreams are working.”
“Dreams! Pah! What good are those?”
“In a dream influenced by my sorcery, she can be
lured into speaking the truth of this letter you seek. It is a better method,
Lord Selbourne. Your Iron Gloves can be too efficient in extracting
information, so much so that their victims will say anything to stop the pain. Eventually,
their minds or their bodies or both break, often long before the truth is
revealed.”
“The Iron Gloves have their methods; you have
yours. I care not which is successful as long as that letter comes to my hand. Muirée
entrusted her with it on the very day he began his journey to the capitol. His
daughter knows its location.”
“She has lingered three years on the road. Why is
the need to find her so urgent now?”
“Three years for her, and three years for me, and
that is too long,” he snapped. Shield cringed and backed against the wall. “The
king should have proclaimed me his heir then, after Comte Muirée’s
assassination. Instead, only the queen and her lover were executed. I must have
that letter, priest.”
“What does it contain that is so vital?”
Master glared at the priest. Shield risked a
sidelong look and saw a vein throbbing in Master’s temple. Shield stood very
straight, very still, hardly breathing, not wanting Master’s anger to explode
over him.
“Is it the ambassadors from the Bois Verde who
offer alliance through a marriage of princess to prince? Does that give you
impetus?”
Master controlled his rage. “King Edvard ignores
his daughter much of the time, but a request for an alliance through marriage
awakens his attention. He stares into posterity, and he will want his blood
remaining on the throne, not blood of a collateral line. My line. Despite
counsel otherwise, he is considering the advantages to such an alliance. We
must not let such a marriage occur. We must not let rumors of a proposed
marriage reach beyond the Triumvirate and these walls, Medreaux. Rumors give
credence to Princess Aisdeinne as the next monarch. I will not have the king
consider that far.”
“You are his great friend. You are chief counselor
in his Triumvirate. You have boasted of this. Will he not listen to you in
this?”
Master did not answer. There was a cracking sound,
and Shield saw the chair-arm crack. The dragon-glove tightened and tightened,
crushing the carved wood into splinters.
“Do not tempt me to replace you, priest. It can be
done.”
“Not without difficulty and much delay, my lord
Selbourne,” and Shield looked with shock at the priest who seemed calm in face
of Master’s threat. His wyre nose, though, caught the tang of fear. “The decree
that purged all wielders of power from Vaermonde, sorcerers and wizards alike,
is decades old, my lord. You were lucky to find me.”
“I did not find you by luck, Leon Medreaux. You
forget, I wear the dragon-scale. I have the ability to find those who have
allied to the Dragon Rising.”
“I am the only one in all Vaermonde. Destroy me,
and you must seek again for someone with the puissance to work your spells.”
“Don’t tempt me. It’s not impossible.”
The priest’s piggy eyes opened wide. “But it would
take time. The princess would be betrothed by then, and the man who accepts her
hand is contract-bound as heir to the kingdom, even if she dies before the
marriage.”
“I am glad you understand the need for a quick
resolution, Medreaux. Perhaps you will work harder to find the missing comtesse
and the letter she holds.”
The priest dipped his head and said formally, “I
am a true servant of the Dragon, and you are its Master here in Vaermonde. I
obey in all things.”
“Remember that, Medreaux. I do not like this dance
of threats.”
Selbourne rose, and Shield took a half-step
forward, as was his place to defend Master. But Master did not stalk out of the
priest’s palace apartment. He considered a long moment then nodded and stripped
off the left glove. With cold trickling down his spine, Shield watched the
priest accept the power-infused glove of the Dragon.
“Use this. Use it wisely. The power can eat you
alive. Work your spells with it. The scales will increase each spell’s
puissance although it may become more powerful than you intend. Secrecy remains
our watchword, Medreaux. Do not become foolish with the power and expose
yourself.”
“This is a great gift, my lord.” His eyes never
lifted from the shimmering scales. “My spells for the comtesse will be all the
more effective.”
“The sorcerer who gave the gloves to me said that
any spell worked with them must be bounded by the sigil of Chaos. You know what
this means?”
“I do. I told you, my lord: I am trained in the
dark powers.”
“Perhaps not as deeply trained as I once thought,
but I must work with the hands given to me. And, priest, I give you Shield, to
track the comtesse.”
“Master, please—.”
“This is a very great gift, my lord.”
“Shut your mouth, Shield. You go where I send. You
obey whomever I appoint. In this way, for this time, you are Leon Medreaux’s
servant, until he leads you to the comtesee Muirée or you have in your hands
the letter her father hid.”
“Master—I obey. I obey in all things, Master. I am
your Shield.”
Selbourne turned to the priest. “You can control
him with the glove. Perhaps now you can perform this very simple task you have
wasted a season on. We cannot wait another season. The princess will be
betrothed on her birth day. That is at the new year. We must have the letter by
then.”
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