Chapter X

Streamers flew gaily from the Royal Pavilion that had been set up in the square. Brightly colored pennants lent an air of festival as the Dreyfolk thronged Olten’s center, milling about, chattering, and eating foods purchased from street vendors. For these merchants, the Burning was a windfall. In the exact center of the square, on what they called the Wizard’s Green, was set a tall pillar of rough-hewn stone. Solid iron rings were set in at intervals and large faggots of kindling and green wood had been piled all around. This then, was the focus of the assembled people of Drey. The Sorcerer’s Pyre, last used sixty years past, to rid the populace of the so-called Black Wizard, Pomprey. Seeker, still chained to the floor of his cage was thinking furiously. If he remained bound as he was, it would complicate his escape attempt. Bad enough to have his hands short chained to his neck, but as it was, even small movements caused the iron collar to abrade his throat raw, not to mention the excruciating pressure on his prominent larynx. He was forced to concentrate on keeping his arms bent at a painfully awkward angle, head tilted back, to avoid asphyxiating himself. Trying to run through a crowd of hostile Dreyfolk so trussed would be difficult at the least. The cage door opened. He was kicked over onto his back so that he was staring helplessly into the face of the Dreyking, Myrimak. He gave a sharp cry as this movement threatened to either dislocate his shoulders, crush his windpipe or both. Somehow, he managed to maneuver himself so that the pressure, though uncomfortable, was tolerable.

“My Lord Dreyking,” he said politely, nearly choking himself as he made to incline his head in supplication. “You will forgive me if I don’t rise?” “He seems rather energetic yet, Gorn. Are you sure he’s secure?” Myrimak addressed his question to the captain.

“I’m sure, Majesty. See?” replied Gorn as he halfheartedly kicked the prisoner in the groin. Seeker was not prepared and the air went out of him in a whoosh as he drew up his knees. While he struggled to breath, Myrimak bent curiously for a closer look. “You haven’t injured him, have you? I feel in a mood for a lively burning tonight. Perhaps you’d better give him some marzal. Has he had any yet today?”

“No! I mean yes!” croaked the human. “I mean, I’m fine, Majesty. I had some marzal this morning.” Seeker was oddly afraid of the miraculous brew—afraid of addiction. He’d run into something very like it in the past, and the results had nearly got him killed! “No need to waste any more on him, Majesty. I didn’t kick him that hard.” “Well, if you think he’ll be all right....” “Oh I will, I will, I assure you, Majesty. See, I’m better already.” Seeker smiled through clenched teeth and straightened his knees with an effort. “It is getting on, Gorn. I think, perhaps, we should stake him out now. You know, let the people get a good look at him before the fire.”

The wizard felt the first stirrings of panic. His plan, such as it was, required darkness to conceal him.

©2005 by Trish Reynolds