The Mark of Thorn: Book of Scars

Chapter Ten

A great globe of light hung overhead, illuminating the room with an attractive golden glow. There were numerous artifacts placed in this room—curious things that she had never seen the like of and yet had no time to look at. Set directly out in front of the entrance as if it were meant for all eyes to see, there was a long, polished table. Perched in a chair behind it, was a man.

He was bone-thin, his skin old and sagging. Oddly enough, his hair and beard hung down to his belt, and the strands were sleek and jet black, hardly matching the man on whose head they grew. He wore a fine robe of rich, dark blue, but the woman's eyes could scarcely be removed from his face. His thin lips had been wearing a satisfied smile since the moment of her emergence, and his small, delighted eyes were each the color of a blood moon.

His name was Severienus, a renowned sorcerer of former days, and he was Cornelia's final hope, or else she would have never found herself here.

The woman obliged herself to place her torch in an empty holder near the entrance and then proceeded to approach the long table as well as the man behind it. Only when she stopped before him did he speak.

"I thought there were others with you. I see now that I was wrong."

His voice was surprisingly strong, his accent prominent. Certainly, her language was not his native tongue, but he seemed to speak it fluently.

"They're gone," she said. "Like all of the rest."

The man rose from his seat, more physically apt than his skin and bone revealed him to be. She watched him carefully from within her hood, alert, but not on strict defense. She did not reach for her weapons or give much thought to it just now. This man was the one she had come so far to see. This meeting had to go well.

"You poor, pitiful creature," he mocked, his eyes dancing. "But beautiful. Why have you come here? You know I expect an exchange—and that is a dangerous thing. Only those with nothing left to lose come here—"

"What do you desire?" she asked, cutting into his speech.

The bearded man leaned upon the table to leer at her.

"Ah! To be a man and to hear those words come from a woman like you. What indeed? You know who I am, doubtless. You must know of my deeds, and of the sadistic desires that come with the corruption of my humanity and race."

"I certainly know what you are," Cornelia assured him. She had meant for her statement to be expressionless, but a tinge of disgust managed to slip through.

She had researched, and she felt confident that she knew exactly what this man was about. Heathen rituals involving the use of human blood, bones and flesh; the summoning of monsters; and the most heinous of all crimes: the slaughtering of great numbers of people, harvesting their souls in order to feed his own power. These were all the things a sorcerer was known for, and worse than that, their kind seemed to take pride in these evil deeds.

Born with natural power, sorcerers had a choice of what they would do with it—grow it, ignore it, or use what little power they were born with to benefit the world. Unfortunately, Cornelia had never heard of one who had chosen to use their magical knowledge for good. They would sooner die, and that was regrettable. Along with demi-humans, even the most mild-mannered natural sorcerers were shunned—and sometimes executed—by men who managed to uncover them for what they were.

The ancient sorcerer Severienus, who'd reached his peak of power and earned his immortality centuries ago, smiled at the hard expression on the woman's mouth. It seemed as if he had reached into her mind and discovered all those things that she thought about him—and he was charmed by her dislike. He kept his pleasant attitude.