Savage Messiah

CHAPTER XIV

"A little of this, and a little of that, shall make my concoction both potent and fat. When my brew is finally done, the deaths it will cause shall be second to none. Should the fixings be added too slow, or too quick, The potion won't work, nor the healthy go sick. So with patience and care I nimbly proceed, And I now cast this spell, to strengthen the deed!" upon completing the incantation, Reznik lowered his arms and placed his face near the pungent steam that rose from the small pot atop the woodstove. Inhaling the wispy aroma, he smiled.

This batch would prove his finest yet. But before it was ready, it would need another incantation. It would also need a few more ingredients before it could rise to the level of quality demanded by Satine.

Crossing to the other side of his spacious cottage, he took down an amber jar from a shelf.

The jar was filled with Eutracian derma-gnashers that he had painstakingly netted the day before. Although not dangerous, the winged, blue and gold-striped insects were a great nuisance. One bite would produce itching, swelling, and redness that lasted for days.

Back at his worktable, he placed the jar down and, using one of his collection of finely honed cutting instruments, carefully enlarged one of the holes in the perforated seal that stretched tightly across the jar's top. Into the widened hole he placed the tip of the small ladies' perfume sprayer that he had purchased secondhand at a local Eutracian fair and gave the spray bulb a quick squeeze. The poison, formulated from one of his personal recipes, worked quickly. The derma-gnashers began to die and fall to the bottom.

One by one he removed them and started to dissect them under a magnifying lens. As was his habit when he was happy with the progress of his work, he began to whistle. Eventually he had what he needed-approximately one teaspoon of runny orange-red venom. He walked the stuff over to the pot and poured it in.

Then he took down a thick volume from a bookshelf. Blowing the dust off its cover, he checked the title: Accelerants and Retardants in the Use of Potions and Poisons. Balancing the massive book in one hand, he thumbed through it with the other. After several moments of searching, he found the page he was looking for.

He went into an adjoining room and contemplated the bottle-lined shelves. There were hundreds of containers here, each one holding a different ground herb, root, or precious oil. He found the oil of encumbrance and returned to the other room.

Looking back to the book, he ran one finger down the page until he found the line he was looking for. Carefully he measured out a portion of the violet oil and added it to the pot one drop at a time.

Reznik took a deep breath. Almost done. By previous agreement with Satine, he was to have a new batch ready every ninety days. He also knew that she would be here within the next couple of hours, for one of the sentries had seen her enter the labyrinth and had sent a runner with the news. Reznik wanted the formula done by the time she arrived. Satine was never one to sit in one place very long. If, for some reason, she was forced to do just that, her mood could markedly change for the worse.

For the final ingredient, Reznik walked to the center of the cottage floor, pushed the throw rug to one side, and reached down to grasp the iron ring embedded in the floorboards. With a quick tug, he pulled open the trapdoor and then let it fall over backward onto the floor. As he walked down the steps and into the darkness, he started to whistle again. as Satine guided her gelding through the labyrinthine passageway, a shudder went through her. She did her best to remain calm. If she didn't, she could become disoriented, take a wrong turn at some point, and die in this place. This was the only way in and out of the community of rogue partial adepts, Reznik had once told her. She hated coming here-but it was a necessary evil.

No potion she had ever found rivaled the quality and effectiveness of Reznik's. Nor had any other tool of assassination ever granted her the all-important margin of safety this one did. It had been one of the mainstays of her art for several years now. Her current sanctions would most certainly call for its use, and she had little left of her last supply.

In order to supply the community with goods, the smooth, square-cut tunnel was wide enough to accommodate even the largest of wagons and teams. But this path was meant only for those partial adepts accepted into the community and able to employ magic in order to recall the safe route through the unforgiving maze. For them, it held no more danger than a walk through a flower garden. Reznik had accompanied Satine through the many twists and turns the first few times she came. After that, he coldly told her that she was on her own, no matter how many kisa she might be willing to pay him for his services. It had only been her ability to pay such large sums that had convinced him to show her the way in the first place. The other partials had been none too happy to know that he had brought her here.

But after Reznik's payment of a few well-placed bribes, even the more distrustful had grudgingly decided to ignore Satine's occasional comings and goings. Provided, of course, that she didn't visit too often, or reveal the secret to anyone else.

As usual she had seen the sentries high atop the sheer, smooth bluff. Recognizing her, one of them waved his hand and a section of the rock wall slowly darkened to reveal the passageway. Spurring her horse onward, she nervously entered the tunnel. The darkness closed in around her as the sentry sealed the entrance again.

The tunnels were slick and sheer, about five meters high. Enchanted wall torches burned continually, producing no smoke. There were numerous intersections, each of which had to be navigated correctly. Reznik had told her that if even one wrong branch was selected, the craft would immediately sense it and arise to kill her-but he never told her what form her death might take.

While Satine's horse walked along, the clip-clop of his hooves rang out crisply, and the scent of the torches combined with the fetid smell of damp mildew clinging to the walls. Shivering slightly, she drew her gray cloak closer and began to search for the first of the marks she had surreptitiously scratched into the walls with her dagger the last time she had come here with Reznik.

But as she approached the first crossing, her heart skipped a beat and she pulled her horse up short. Even in the flickering torchlight, she could see that her life-preserving marks had been eradicated.

The partial adepts must have finally discovered her secret. Now she would have to find her way through twenty deadly intersections by means of memory alone.

Turning in her saddle, she looked longingly back the way she had come. She could turn her horse around and leave. She hadn't been through any of the intersections yet, so going back now would all but guarantee her safety. Provided, of course, that one of the sentries sensed her presence and opened the exit. But if she turned back she would never gain her potion, which she absolutely needed to fulfill her sanctions.

She considered abandoning the mission entirely and running. But she had already accepted partial payment from Wulfgar. Should she try to double-cross him, his wrath would be great and his reach long. She had no desire to be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life, continually wondering when one of his vengeful consuls would suddenly come looming out of the dark.

Satine began to sweat. There was no man or blade in the world that she feared. This was different, however. The craft was at work here, and there was nothing she could do to change that. Trying to control her emotions, she looked carefully at the first of the intersections.

Four separate paths branched off in various directions. Wall torches hung at their entrances, beckoning her forward. She felt fairly certain about which path to take at this first juncture. Taking a deep breath, Satine reached down toward her right thigh and slid one of her daggers from its sheath.

She gently spurred her horse forward toward the first path on the right, reaching out as she did so to mark the wall with her blade. That should at least help guide her back during her return.

Providing, of course, she returned at all.