Serpent Mage by Weis, Margaret

“My son, had you so little faith in me? Do you, after all this time, not know me yet? Do you not know my power? Can you truly believe that I would misuse this gift as the Sartan have misused it?”

“Forgive me, My Lord,” whispered Haplo, weak, weary, yet feeling vastly comforted. “I have been a fool. I did not think.”

“And you had a Sartan in your power. You could have brought him to me. And you let him go, Haplo. You let him escape. But I can understand. He twisted your mind, made you see things that were not, deceived you. I can understand. You were sick, dying. . . .”

Shame burned. “Don’t make excuses for me, My Lord,” Haplo protested harshly, his throat raw from his sobs. “I make none for myself. The poison affected my body, not my mind. I am weak, flawed. I no longer deserve your trust.”

“No, no, my son. You are not weak. The wound to which I was referring was not the poison given to you by the dynast, but the poison fed to you by the Sartan, Alfred. A far more insidious poison, one that affects the mind, not the body. It inflicted the injury of which I spoke earlier. But that wound is drained now, is it not, my son?”

Xar’s fingers twined through Haplo’s hair.

The Patryn looked up at his master. The old man’s face was lined and marked with his toils, his tireless battles against the powerful magic of the Labyrinth. The skin did not sag, however, the jaw was strong and firm, the nose jutted out from the face like the tearing beak of a fierce flesh-eating bird. The eyes were bright and wise and hungry.

“Yes,” said Haplo, “the wound is drained.”

“And now it must be cauterized, to prevent the infection from returning.”

A scraping sound came from outside the door. The dog, hearing a tone of dire threat in the lord’s voice, jumped to its feet, prepared to come to its master’s defense.

“Dog, stay,” Haplo ordered. He braced himself, bowed his head.

The Lord of the Nexus reached down, took hold of Haplo’s shirt, and, with one tear, rent the fabric in two, laying bare Haplo’s back and shoulders. The runes tattooed on his flesh began to glow slightly, red and blue, his body’s involuntary reaction to danger, to what he knew was coming.

He clenched his jaw, remained on his knees. The glow of the sigla on his body slowly faded. He lifted his head, fixed his gaze, calm and steadfast, upon his lord.

“I accept my punishment. May it do me good, My Lord.”

“May it do so indeed, my son. I take no joy in the giving.”

The Lord of the Nexus placed his hand on Haplo’s breast, over his heart. He traced a rune with his finger; the nail was long, it drew blood from the flesh. But it did far worse to Haplo’s magic. The heart-sigla were the first links in the circle of his being. At the lord’s touch, they began to separate, the chain started to break.

The Lord of the Nexus drove the wedge of his magic inside the sigla, forced them apart. A second link slipped from the first, cracked. The third slid off the second, then the fourth and fifth. Faster and faster, the runes that were the source of Haplo’s power, his defense against the power of other forces, broke and splintered and shattered.

The pain was excruciating. Slivers of metal pierced his skin, rivers of fire coursed through his blood. Haplo closed his mouth against the screams as long as he could. When they came, he didn’t know them for his.

The Lord of the Nexus was skilled at his work. When it seemed Haplo must faint from the agony, Xar ceased the torment, talked gently of their past lives together, until Haplo had recovered his senses. Then the lord began again.

Night, or what the Nexus knows as night, drew its blanket of soft moonlight over the ship. The lord traced a sigil in the air; the torture ceased.

Haplo fell back on the deck and lay like one dead. Sweat covered his naked body, he shook with chills, his teeth chattered. A residue of pain, a flash of flame, a stabbing of a blade, surged through his veins, wrenched from him another agonized cry. His body twitched and jerked spasmodically, out of his control.

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