Chapter No. 42 Incendium

And the heads of the horses were as the heads of lions; and out of their mouths issued fire and smoke and brimstone.

The old castle's dark stones were infested with moss and ivy and there was evidence of neglect and wear everywhere. Nevertheless, the rebels had chosen this ancient fortress as their main headquarters because of its stout construction and thick outer walls with deep crenellations. Situated on a mesa, the Castle of Sir Ostalon made an excellent defensive fortification and its expansive courtyards provided plenty of space for quarters and training.

As interesting as the main castle was, an auxiliary building on the north side of the compound elicited morbid curiosity. Some thought that it had once been used as a dungeon where many unfortunate prisoners suffered tortures worse than death. Other considered it a place where black magic and witchcraft were once practiced.

Mara simply considered it a dismally dark and damp place. She had no idea why Morton liked to go there. She didn't really like the place. The last time she was there she had suffered an ice-cold baptism.

Morton had assured her that he wasn't going to subject her to another ancient ritual. Instead, he had something more interesting in mind.

"I want you to look at this," Morton said, as he opened a dusty chamber door hung on rusty hinges. "If you are truly a gift from the gods, you may be able to understand these old documents."

She entered the chamber behind him, looking around at the strange objects contained within. "What is all of this?"

"Sir Ostalon, the original owner of this castle, used all of this to conduct magic."

Mara looked about at the wooden benches filled with glass vials, agate mortars and pestles, clay flasks, iron tongs, and many other strange implements. Several fireplaces contained large iron pots and clay retorts. Shelves along the walls were filled with bottles and vials of strange colored powders, liquids, and rocks.

"He was an alchemist," she said.
Morton's right eyebrow rose.

"Alchemist?"

"An alchemist is a wizard who spends his time trying to find the philosopher's stone that will reveal a means to change base metals into gold."

Morton stared in awe at her. "I've never heard of such a wizard."

"He wasn't really a wizard," she said. "He did his work from knowledge of observation and experimentation."

Morton frowned. "How do you know so much about it?"

"My father was once a scholar forced into the life of a serf by the Empire. He taught me about many strange things."

Morton shuffled over to a large book that sat upon a wooden stand. "This book must contain much knowledge of the wizard. If only I could understand the strange words it contains."

Mara ran her hand over its dusty leather cover and then opened it to the first page.

"Naturae Investigatio: The Science of Nature," she read to him.

Morton's eye grew large. "You can read this?"

"Yes. It is written in Vulgate."

"Vulgate?"

"My father said that it was once the common language of the peoples of Romulus. Surely you must recognize these words as the same that were in that old book you read from when you poured freezing water over me."

"Oh," Morton said with a grin, remembering both the pouring of water and the unclothed woman on whose head he poured it. "If you can read this, I will honor you for as long as breath survives in my old lungs."

Mara thumbed through the pages. "There is much information here. I will need time to read through it."

He patted his hand on the cover. "I believe that there is very valuable knowledge in here. Old Ostalon discovered the makings of Hephaestus' fire weapon. If you could find the recipe for it, we may be able to construct some."

"I will endeavor to find this recipe," Mara said.

He patted her back. "Good."

After two hours of intense study, Mara had not found the recipe, but she had a good idea of its construction from various sketches and diagrams. Morton tired and took his leave, allowing her to snoop around the lab. After reading labels on bottles and vials, she had an encyclopedic knowledge of what was contained there.

She found many interesting substances that only she could decipher: Oil of Vitriol, Saltpetre, Flowers of Sulphur, and Pyrites, all useful to make an interesting weapon.

When Morton came back, she found Mara carefully grinding a powdered material in a motor and pestle.

"You've found something?" he asked with his face radiating excitement.

"It seems that Ostalon was into fire and brimstone."

"He ascribed to the worship of Hephaestus."

"I know nothing of that, but he discovered a recipe for a pyrotechnic, a mixture he calls Greek fire."

Morton frowned. "You use strange terms. What is a pyro . . . what is it?"

"A pyrotechnic weapon is capable of explosion into many hot particles. It was once used by the Romulus Empire."

"How is it delivered?"

Mara scrapped a red powder from the motor. "I would like to try it on a crossbow bolt. I've devised a fuse that can be lit before launch."

Morton smiled at her. "You are full of surprises. I am beginning to believe that you are from the gods."

She turned to stare at him with glazed eyes. "Why has the Terrin Empire suppressed knowledge like this?"

"They believe that knowledge is power, a power that can be used against them."

"They are fools," she said with disgusted tones.

"That they are," Morton said, shaking his head.

"Are you going to inform the others about this?" Mara asked.

Morton stroked his beard with a contemplative hand. "Not yet. I'll wait until I see how successful you are."

Mara gave him an acknowledging nod.
###

"Come in," Paladin shouted when he heard a knock.

He watched Mara enter and stand at attention. She was not armed, a condition that helped him relax.

"I understand that you've interred Estard in the dungeon."

Paladin thinned his lips and averted his eyes. "Yes. We felt that she needed to suffer some discomfort for her crimes." He stared into her hard eyes. "Do you object to this?"

"No. As long as she isn't executed."

"You have my word that she will not be executed."

"May I have consul with her?"

Paladin paused before answering. "Yes. I'll inform the guards to allow you to pass."

"Thank you," she said before spinning around and walking out.

Paladin blew out a relaxed sigh.

Morton appeared from a back room. "That certainly went well enough."

"Yes," Paladin said. "She's more in control now."

"Thanks to my tutelage," Morton said with a smug.

"Do you think she'll accept seeing Lady Estard being punished?"

"I believe so. Considering the heinous crimes that the Lady has committed, a little suffering on her part is certainly justified."

Paladin rubbed his face. "I hope so."

Morton waved a hand at him. "The men would like to see her disemboweled. What we're doing is merciful."

"I hope so," Paladin repeated.

Mara entered the dungeon chamber to find Estard suspended above the floor, strapped to a wall by her ankles and wrists. The suspended woman struggled to alleviate the pain by squirming, grunting and huffing from the effort.

"I see that you have gotten back your clothing," Mara said.

Estard grimaced for a smile. "I thank you for that. If this were a dungeon of the Empire, I would be unclothed."

"I do not like seeing you suffer, but they seem to think it is necessary."

"No amount of suffering could atone for my many sins."

"Why don't they just have you whipped?" Mara said. "This punishment is ridiculous."

"Perhaps, they consider long suffering to be a more satisfying payment."

"How long have you been up there?"

Estard hissed. "Since yesterday." She coughed. "I'm very thirsty. Would you be so kind as to put some water in that candle snuffer and raise it up to me."

Mara scooped some water from a bucket into the small cup on the end of a long pole and raised it to Estard's mouth. She tilted it to allow her to drink. She repeated the procedure until Estard had her fill.

"Oh thank you," Estard said in a raspy voice. "They very seldom come to help me."

"How long are they going to torment you like this?"

"I don't know," Estard said. "I cry out often for mercy, but no one will respond. The pain is nearly unbearable."

"Perhaps they wish you to experience the pain that your victims suffered."

"I realize that I deserve to suffer, but it hurts so bad, I'm not sure that I can endure much more."

"Perhaps," Mara said, "if I were to keep you company, your suffering would be more bearable."

Estard coughed again. "I'm not sure that you will like the whining and moaning."

Mara sat on a bench nearby. "I don't mind. I've never seen someone being punished in this manner."

Estard wrinkled her sweaty brow. "Do you find amusement in seeing me suffer?"

"Not amusement," Mara said clinically. "A better term would be curiosity."

Estard cried, tears mixing with sweat and dirt as they dripped down her cheeks.

"Does the pain grow stronger with time?" Mara asked.

"Of course," Estard yelled.

"Interesting," Mara said without inflection.

Estard screamed, more from frustration than from pain.

After some time in which Estard squirmed, moaned and cried and Mara watched, a woman came into the chamber. She was in her thirties and dressed in a typical middle class female's tunic dress.

"Hello," Mara greeted her. "What brings you to this dismal place?"

"I've come to extract some satisfaction from this bitch."

"And you are?" Mara said, tilting her head.

"Golla of Alon. This bitch tortured my husband to death."

"I see," Mara said. "What did you have in mind?"

"I wish to strike her with this willow rod," Golla said, holding it up so that Mara could see it.

Mara gestured to Estard. "Go ahead. Enjoy yourself."

Golla gave Mara a look of surprise. After a few moments of hesitation, she stepped forward and swung the willow rod at Estard, striking her in the ribs. The blow made Estard scream.
"How does it feel to be tormented, bitch," Golla yelled as she delivered some more blows.

Estard's screams echoed harshly against cold stone.

"Does it make you feel better to extract revenge?" Mara asked the willow-rod-wilding woman.

She stopped and stared at Mara. "I deserve revenge."

"I don't refute that," Mara said. "I'm just curious. Do you derive pleasure in hurting her?"

"Yes," she shouted, her face flushed with anger. "This bitch has robbed me of my husband. She deserves to suffer."

"I believe that if you ask her, she would relate to you her heartfelt sorrow for what she did to your husband. Wouldn't that be more satisfying than striking her with a willow rod?"

Estard looked down at the woman with a contrite face. "Oh, yes. I am truly sorry for what I did to your husband. Please believe me."

Golla glared at her. "How do I know that you are truly sorry?"

"Do I beg you to stop hitting me?" Estard asked her. "I gladly take your blows in repentance for my sin against you. Please hit me as often as you wish. I deserve it."

Golla stared at her for several minutes in silence before she dropped the willow rod and turned to leave. "You are right. I am no better than you."

After she left, Mara turned to Estard. "You are much smarted than I had imagined."

Estard showed her a weak smile.