He stopped as they all gasped and made signs of protection. Karl frowned. "That is not possible. We are a land of fate and dread chaos holds no sway here."
"It has breached the walls and entered Schatten," Friedrich said. "The visions I saw were true. Too many possibilities, too many fates—chaos that leads to madness which eventually will lead to destruction. Tell all to the High Sorcerer and tell him to come to me at once, that we might plan against this threat. I must pray and hear all that Lord Teufel cares to tell me about the matter. Do not disturb me."
They bowed, and Friedrich left. He could feel Karl's eyes on him, but did not care. He was far more concerned about the presence of chaos in Schatten.
And Drache's dangerous, rebellious whispers.
"Two for a nick!"
David jumped at the voice, which bellowed practically in his ear and sent him crashing into Killian, who squawked in surprise and shoved him back. Barely keeping himself from careening into someone else, David regained his balance and scowled. "I hate these creeping markets."
Killian made a noise of agreement as he dodged a fat woman herding half-starved goats down the street. "I can't wait until we can head home. What's our first stop?"
"We're supposed to pick up the wool, then we have to fetch the tea, then spices, and then—"
"I won't remember further than wool, so you may as well stop," Killian said cheerfully, then dodged a man hauling rolls of tanned hide. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and looped an arm through David's as they continued to fight their way through the throngs of people. "Suppose we have time to stop for a nip?"
David rolled his eyes. "No. Your father will murder us both if we return smelling like a tavern."
"Only out of jealousy," Killian replied. "That's the wool merchant we want, right?"
Peering through the crowd at the place Killian pointed, David gave a hesitant nod. "I think so, but we went so many places yesterday I'm not sure."
Killian rolled his eyes. "We'll know soon enough, come
on."
He dragged David along, shoving his way through people and leaving David to flush and stutter apologies. Eventually they reached the stall they sought, which was run by a husband and wife who watched their goods and the people perusing them with sharp eyes.
The woman's eyes landed on him and she jerked her head inquisitively. David stumbled forward, jostled by the crowd, and said, "I'm here to retrieve the wool Master Reimund ordered yesterday." He fumbled in the purse at his waist and pulled out the chipped wooden token Reimund had given him.
He held it out, and the woman took it with a grunt, jerking her head again, signaling for them to follow. She led them to the back of the stall, where several bundles of wool had been neatly wrapped and bound. She indicated the one that belonged to them and Killian knelt to check it over thoroughly, ignoring the offended, angry look the woman shot him.
"All right, then," Killian said when he was finally done, standing up and slinging the bundle over one shoulder. He nodded to the woman, then led the way back out to the throng of people. "What's next?"
"Tea," David said. "That's not in the market, though, it's at the shop—"
"At the end of Spice Row, on the corner, I know," Killian cut in. "I think it's stupid we buy tea when we already have—" He broke off as a man who had rounded the corner in front of them knocked into him. Turning around as the man continued on his way without comment Killian bellowed, "Watch it there, scale-belly!"
The man whipped around, hand going to the sword at his hip, and sudden fear churned David's gut. Not just anyone was allowed a sword—only city guards, patrols, and sorcerers. The man before them was dressed in heavy leather armor, under which was a dark purple tunic that was split up the middle. He had a whip at his right hip, and the black diamond on his forehead only confirmed the obvious: Sorcerer.
David didn't wait for Killian's smart mouth to get them in trouble, just grabbed his wrist and bolted, knocking and shoving people in a desperate bid to get away from the sorcerer. No one would stop the sorcerer if he decided they needed their tongues removed—or their heads.
"What is your problem?" he burst out once they were well away, tucked into an alley, and bent double gasping for breath. "Why would you do that?"
Killian scowled at him, an effect not as ominous as he probably thought; he struggled constantly to prove he was the same as David, but the four year difference in their age mattered more than Killian ever liked to admit. Fourteen and eighteen were very different things, no matter how Killian tried to prove otherwise. "He's the one who was wrong!"
"He's a sorcerer," David hissed and cuffed him upside the head. "He can do whatever he wants, and there's nothing we can do about it. You're lucky he didn't cast a spell that left your body twitching in the streets! If he finds out who we are, he'll come down on Reimund and your father."
"He don't know us from anyone else," Killian scoffed. "I'm not afraid of a stupid, scale-belly sorcerer."
"You should be!" David snapped and cuffed him again.
Killian shoved him. "Stop it! You're not my shading father!"
David shoved him back. "Watch that wool! Stop taking the light and act like an adult! Come on, now we're behind schedule. If you hadn't been a brat, we might have had time for that nip you wanted so badly." He stormed off, angry and scared. They'd narrowly escaped terrible punishment, but Killian was too young and bratty to realize it. If the sorcerer really wanted to find them …
He stepped warily out of the alleyway and started heading back to the main parts of the city where they needed to be. Killian reached out to grab his arm a couple of times, but David jerked away, ignoring him.
When they finally reached the tea shop without incident, he sighed faintly in relief. The smell of tea, pungent, sharp, and comforting, washed over him as he slipped inside. A bell over the door alerted the shopkeeper to visitors, and he came out of a backroom. "Ah, there you are boys. I was starting to wonder; he said yesterday you'd be along much sooner in the day."
"Apologies, good sir," David said. "The market is crowded and we got a bit turned around."
The man nodded, smiling, and motioned for them to wait. A few minutes later he reappeared with several boxes and tins arranged neatly into a small crate. "Here you are, then," he said and took the token David gave him with another smile.
Thanking him, David lifted the crate and led the way out of the teashop and across the street to the spice merchant.
Two hours later, finally finished with their errands, they hauled their piles of goods and wares back to the inn room they'd rented for the length of their stay at the market. David's stomach finally began to unknot as it seemed that the sorcerer really would leave them in peace. All the stories he'd heard, the things he had seen in his previous trips, he had feared they would become one of those stories.
Setting everything down in neat piles against one wall, he stood up and double checked it all one last time. Killian grabbed his arm, and David started to jerk away again, but Killian held fast with both hands. "David, I'm sorry. Don't keep being mad."
"You never watch your mouth, Killian," David said, glaring at him. "You never watch your mouth and one day it's
really
going to get someone hurt."
Killian nodded. "I really am sorry. I'll be careful."
"I doubt it," David said, but he relented with a sigh. "Come on, Reimund and your dad aren't back yet and I have some purse money left. I'll buy you a nip."
"Really?" Killian's face lit up, and it was impossible to stay angry with him. He surged up and kissed David's cheek, making him flush with embarrassment.
David gave him a shove. "Quit that." He led the way out of the room, making triple certain it was locked, then followed an eager Killian out of the inn and across the street to a tavern. He let Killian's chatter wash over him, let himself begin to relax. One more night, and in the morning they would head back home and everything would be—
"Well, well," said a slithering voice, a rough hand grabbing the back of David's threadbare jacket, yanking him back so he nearly choked. He half-twisted, swallowing the bile in his throat as he stared into the faintly glowing eyes of the sorcerer. "Hello again, wyrms." He grabbed Killian by the throat and dragged him close, eyes glowing brighter. "I believe you're late for your whipping."
Killian's face paled. Fear ran cold through David's blood, far more chilling than the icy winter wind around them. He fought the bile that rose in his throat again, the tears of panic that threatened. He had seen men whipped before, saw the marks left on their backs and chests from the brutal metal bits at the end of the sorcerers' whips.
There was no way Killian, young and thin as he was, would ever survive even a minimal beating. David swallowed and said, "It was my fault, Lord Sorcerer, please. I was not paying attention to my surroundings as I should have and jostled him into you. He spoke out of turn to protect me. The beating is mine to take, and I shall. Please."
He could tell the sorcerer knew he was lying and held his breath—and wept with a mixture of emotions when the sorcerer nodded and shoved Killian roughly away. "You're old enough to journey to Unheilvol, boy."
"Yes, Lord," David whispered in reply. Once a citizen turned fifteen, they were old enough to hear their fate. According to the laws of Teufel, anyone who did not hear their fate by the age of twenty was accused of rebelling against the church and Teufel and hunted down and forcefully dragged to Unheilvol. Those like David, who lived so far away, usually waited until the penitents were older and better able to make the difficult journey. "I leave at the end of the month to make the journey. I am grateful for the opportunity to hear my Lord Teufel's plans for me."
"As you should be. Hope that your fate is not to die because of disrespect and stupidity," the sorcerer said.
David said nothing, just fought back tears as he was dragged to the city square and up to the stone dais where announcements were made—and punishments administered. A man currently rattling off city notices fled as quickly as he could when he saw them, leaving the dais empty. The people in the square slowed to a stop as they realized a punishment was about to take place, and the sudden lack of movement drew even more people to the square until it was quickly filled. The sorcerer cuffed him hard enough his ears rang, and David began to strip off his clothes, throwing them in a pile well away from the post to which he was promptly chained. The cold metal bit into his skin, the combination of chilly winter air and fear making him shake.
He'd been whipped once before, when he was a little younger than Killian, young enough the whip had not had barbs. It had been a token whipping administered by the village chief. Looking back, he knew it had been for his own safety, to make him fear breaking the laws about leaving the barrier without permission.
The beating he was about to suffer was being administered just because the sorcerer could, because they all could. Nobody crossed a sorcerer, except Killian and his light-stealing mouth.
David screamed in agony as the first blow landed, painfully aware that there was silence all around them despite the people who had filled the square to watch him be punished. The second blow was worse, and by the fourth, his screams were constant. The leather burned as it struck his skin, and the metal bits sliced through his skin as though it were little more than cheap cloth, pain on top of unbearable pain as metal and leather and blood mingled.
The law said lashings could only carry on so long, never more strokes than the victim could handle, but David also knew sorcerers were as happy to disregard that law as they did so many others. He had lost count of the number of strikes by the time he passed out.
His world was nothing but alternating flashes of agony and blissful darkness until he finally woke to the sound of someone softly crooning a song he vaguely remembered his mother singing when he was a boy. He licked his lips, then tried to ask, "Where … "
"Shh," the stranger said. "You're in the temple; your companions brought you here after the sorcerer finished with you. I've cleaned and numbed your wounds, but they'll probably start to hurt again pretty soon. Lay there, don't move. The cuts are deep and many, and they won't heal properly if you don't let them."
Tears stung David's eyes. He was alive. He hurt, despite what the priest had given him. He couldn't move, couldn't work—couldn't do anything. How was he going to get home? What was he going to do if he couldn't earn his keep? Reimund wouldn't keep him on if he couldn't work.
The priest said something, but David didn't catch it as unconsciousness mercifully took him away once more.
When he woke again, dingy gray light spilled in through one papered window. He could just see Reimund and Sigmund, Killian's father, standing with their hats in their hands, murmuring quietly with the priest.
Reimund saw that he was awake and approached him, kneeling down beside him. "David, I know you're in pain and we don't want to move you, but the guard is ready to go …"
David nodded, understanding. Travel between the villages and cities had to be done under special escort so that people were not wrongfully attacked by the Sentinels that roamed the land. But guards were limited. Once a journey was scheduled, changing it was nearly impossible. If he did not go with them, he would be left behind in Two Mill to fend for himself. "I can handle it."
"We'll be careful," Sigmund said as he finished speaking with the priest and handed off coin. He shoved his hat on his head, then crouched down. "Swallow this, boy. It'll keep you out. We've made up a place for you in the cart; you can sleep through most of the trip. Once we have you back, Maja will fix you right up. I can't—Killian told me—you're a good boy, David. Thank you. I'll see that you heal up proper and don't have to worry about anything. Now, swallow."
Obediently swallowing the bitter medicine pushed into his mouth, David slumped back down and waited for it to take effect. "How bad?" he asked, voice hoarse.