Into the Abyss

“Dragon blood evaporates quickly, and when in gaseous form is extremely volatile. Their acid breath is a toned down version of their blood. When they get extremely excited, more blood is pumped in and the acid gets stronger. If they exert themselves physically and raise their body temperature, the acid becomes a gas and the dragon can strike sparks on its teeth to ignite it as it breaths.”

“Fire breathing dragon.”

“Exactly.”

“So is my cave likely to explode, if I spark something?”

“I doubt it, but it’s possible, however it would probably only cause you mild pain, we’re fairly fire resistant.”

“But not acid.”

“You’ve got to give the poor suckers a fighting chance after all,” replied Boggy with a grin.

Chapter 14

“Have you learned anything from the man yet?” Jehenna asked as she relaxed in the chair across from Lenamare’s desk.

“No,” he said looking at her from behind his desk, “not yet. We will though. If the normal interrogators don’t succeed by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll threaten him with the salt trick.”

Jehenna shuddered; the salt trick was bad. In fact it was forbidden by every guild in Astlan. Fortunately only a very few wizards were capable of doing it. Lenamare, of course, was one. The salt trick was not done often, not because it was illegal, but because it was tedious and extremely taxing to the wizards involved.

It involved spells to keep the victim alive as his skin was carefully peeled off in one piece. Salt and other substances such as ammonia were then gently applied to the inside of the skin. The skin was placed back on the victim. The wounds quickly sealed and healed magically, then the person given a thorough rub down. It was extremely unpleasant. It required two wizards and three experienced torturers to get it right. That, however, was not the worst part. The worst part was that Exador knew the trick also and he liked to do it for fun.

As a rule, the preparations and perhaps a little cutting were all that were necessary to get the victim to talk. Although few had seen it done, almost everyone knew what it was. Lenamare, in his characteristically benevolent and generous nature, had only had to threaten it and had never actually had to do it. Exador’s ancestors on the other hand, had been known to do it, and most presumed he would as well.

“Sounds like a fun night,” Jehenna said drolly.

“Oh yes. We must know Exador’s strength though, and we must know how soon he will arrive. This is survival of the fittest. May the best wizard win.”

“To you,” Jehenna said as she nodded and picked up the wine goblet beside her and raised it in a toast.

“To me.”

∼

Jenn tucked the last of the children in. They had had a busy day, as had she. She smiled wearily as she went down the corridor to her own cubicle. Those children were perhaps the only light in this damn school. She really didn’t like it here. No one did. Master Trisfelt was nice, and Hortwell tolerable. Elrose was aloof but fair; Lenamare gave her the creeps; and she disliked his better than the gods attitude. Jehenna, however, was a bitch.

When she had hurried home with the children and reported the scout in the woods, all Jehenna could say was “Why didn’t you bring him in for questioning? now I have to send guards out.” As if Jenn could have managed five children, two small wagons and a struggling captive on the mile long hike back to the castle. It seemed that no matter what she did, no matter how good she was, she could never satisfy Jehenna. Lenamare didn’t bother to notice her, and Jehenna kept demanding more.

This was price one had to pay to be a wizard. Unfortunately, Lenamare’s school was the only one around with an opening when her parents discovered her talents. Thus, they’d packed her off, and paid a stiff matriculation fee, as well as tuition each year. Jenn often wondered what happened to those people with talent and no money to pay for education.

She walked into her cubicle and sat down on her cot. She looked around the room, there really wasn’t much here. There was the cot, a small table and stool, a small trunk with her few changes of clothes and her extra robe, the two text books she called her own, paper and pens, nothing of real value, but it was all she owned in the entire world. Except for the little brown leather book, with the gold embossing, her diary. It was what recorded her world. Every night she faithfully recorded her day. The diary was one small piece of private stability, her best friend. Tonight she’d recorded her busy day before putting the little ones to bed.