Death & Magic (The Barefoot Healer, volume I)

Death & Magic chapter 4

Chapter 4

The old priest and his assistants dragged Adramal to a stone-walled room on a lower level, bare except for a metal stool bolted to the floor. The other man skulked in the shadows. He was dressed differently from the priests, so she assumed he wasn’t one of them. One of the assistants brought candles and distributed them among sconces that hung on the walls. The other assistants made Adramal sit on the stool, her back to the door, and manacled her hands and feet.

The assistants trooped out, closing the door behind them. When the reverberations eventually faded, the old priest walked slowly around Adramal. He stopped in front of her and leaned forward, blocking what little light the candles provided. “So, Adramal,” he said. “Welcome to our Temple.”

Adramal fought to control her breathing. She tried not to show any sign of the fear that surrounded her, like a tide submerging a sandbar.

“I am Marik,” the priest said, “beloved of Mathran, Head of the External Inquisition. I have some questions. You will answer them, truthfully. If you don’t, there will be consequences — immediate and painful. Do you understand?”

Adramal strove to hold back tears. She could only nod.

Marik leaned closer, a hand to his ear. “Maybe I’m going deaf in my old age. Will you answer my questions truthfully?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good.” He straightened up. “We found a letter in your possession, introducing one Adramal, an apprentice wizard, and recommending her as a student to the governing body of the establishment known as Kyturil.”

Sweat filmed her skin, though this room was even colder than the cell she’d escaped from. Itches formed, none of them in places she could reach.

“Where are you from?” Though she couldn’t see his face, she thought he leered.

“Th-Thuren,” Adramal said. That was in the letter. Did he think she didn’t know what it said? That she’d stolen it, perhaps?

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Marik.

“It’s a-a village in the west of Centador,” she said, “two fortnights’ journey upstream on the River Aglos f-from here.”

He gave a little snort, as though he thought there was no such place. “Have you been to Kyer Altamar before?”

“N-no.”

“When did you arrive in Kyer Altamar?”

“This aft-this afternoon.”

“How did you travel to the city?”

“I was a passenger on a barge that carried wool.”

“What was its name?”

Adramal hesitated. She hadn’t bothered to learn that fact. It might have been useful when trying to find the barge again after going ashore, but she recognised the crew.

“What was it called?” Marik stepped closer. “Do you expect me to believe that you travelled on a barge for two whole fortnights without learning its name? Maybe you didn’t know that barges have names. Maybe you were never on a barge. What else are you lying about, wench?” He raised a hand, and Adramal shrank from him. She lost her balance and fell off the stool. She cried out as one of the manacles twisted her wrist and dug into her lower back.

“I don’t remember what it was called,” she whimpered, trying to sit up straight.

“Very convenient,” said Marik, folding his arms.