They passed open doorways leading to chambers filled with benches, on which stood beakers, jars of powder, bottles of colored liquid, gleaming crystals. Seppelitus had known the garitzik were masters of magic. Now, he began to understand its importance to them. His captor’s next words made him halt once more.

  “We wished to hire you. They said you were not available.”

  That had overtones of meaning, he could not quite grasp.

  “So, Haskelline…”

  “—was in the way, yes, although we had need of him, at first.”

  “To find me,” Seppelitus guessed.

  “Yes.” The answer was straight forward, but there were shades of meaning in the word, secrets in his captor’s eyes that Seppelitus chose to ignore.

  “You have no need of him, now.”

  The garitzik regarded him with dark eyes, then ushered him forward to where a stone staircase descended into the building.

  “We have more than one agreement in play.”

  Several corridors and five stone doors later, the garitzik walked him into a bare-walled room, and steered him round the single table bordered by chairs. When Seppelitus was standing in front of it, the creature released its grip on Seppelitus’s shoulder and took a step back.

  “Divest yourself of your weapons,” it said.

  “I don’t—”

  “Do not lie, human! You are a trained assassin. You carry more weapons than we took.”

  “I—”

  “Very well. Search him!” No sooner had the command been given, than three more garitzik materialized out of the surrounding stone.

  One pushed Seppelitus away from the table, propelling him backward until he stood against the wall, and pinning him by the simple expedient of using his throat as a hold point. Futile as it was, Seppelitus kicked out, and caught the creature in the stomach. It was like lashing out at stone. His foot jarred against the solidity of its hide, and its mouth twisted into a smile.

  “Strip him,” it said. “We’ll see how much fight he has naked.”

  “Misbegotten sonuva—” Seppelitus muttered, and reached for the magic that was his inheritance.

  The garitzik shook him so that his skull rattled against the wall, and the magic faded from his grasp.

  “Easy to fix,” it said, and held out its free hand.

  “Collar,” it ordered, as cold hands tugged at his clothing, loosening ties at his waist, and chest, and throat.

  The creature holding him, lifted him so his feet were clear of the floor. Boots, pants, undergarments, all went in very short order.

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  His leather jerkin and shirt followed, crystalline knives slicing through cloth and leather like they were butter. Seppelitus flinched as one blade scored a narrow line down his side. The garitzik holding him growled a warning. Claws ran through his hair, releasing the careful plait and removing the dagger and garrote he’d hidden there. At least one of them made a sound that meant it was impressed.

  As he was set on his feet, another brought a narrow round circlet that gleamed gray and was highlighted by silver. Seppelitus took a single step away from the wall.

  “Not as smart as we thought,” the garitzik said.

  “Stand,” it ordered, and a hand between his shoulder blades prevented his involuntary step back, as the collar was lifted to his throat.

  Collar. Seppelitus froze. It was bad enough to be skin-bare and mage-collared. He didn’t want to find out what might come next. The garitzik checked the fastening, and then looked him in the eye.

  “Try to call the magic.”

  Seppelitus hesitated.

  “Try,” the garitzik ordered. “We will see if the collar works.”

  “Try,” it said, again. “You will be punished if you do not—and we will know.”

  Seppelitus forced himself to hold the garitzik’s gaze, and obeyed. He could sense the magic that permeated the garitzik stronghold, reached for it with that part of him that could, and met a wall.

  “Again,” the garitzik ordered, and Seppelitus obeyed.

  This time, he both reached for, and called the magic, asking it to come, begging it. It rippled beyond an invisible barrier, but did not come. Instead, pain flared, bright and hot, spiking through his mind, and cutting off his breath.

  “Enough!” The garitzik’s voice cut through the pain, just as Seppelitus gathered himself in a panicked effort to break through to the magic on the other side. “Enough!”

  A sharp blow met the side of his head, dazing him, and setting his ears ringing, once more, while a softly spoken word caused the constriction at his throat to ease. Seppelitus found himself on the floor, both hands clutching at the stone band.

  “No magic,” the garitzik said. “You understand?”

  It held out a hand.

  “I understand,” Seppelitus said, and took the creature’s hand, letting it help him to his feet. “No magic.”

  He glanced past it to the monster that had brought him to the chamber, and it followed his gaze. Its lips twitched.

  “Our lord,” it said, as if that was explanation enough.

  And perhaps it is, Seppelitus thought, noting how his tormentor now stood aside, so he could face his original escort. It gestured to the room, its walls seamless, now the door was closed.

  “Where did you think you could go?”

  More garitzik materialized, one appearing in each corner of the chamber, and Seppelitus realized he had never had a chance, magic or no.

  “Sit,” the garitzik said, gesturing to one of the chairs at the table.

  Seppelitus sat, noting the chair back was a narrow arch. To allow room for their wings, he realized, resting his elbows on the table and cupping his hands beneath his chin. What he really wanted to do was fiddle with the collar, until he worked out how to unlock it. Instead, he laced his fingers together, and focused on the garitzik lord. What deal made him important enough for one of those to come fetch him?

  “You are the seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son?”

  Seppelitus felt himself pale, felt his throat dry, so his voice came out in a croak.

  “Yes.”

  It smiled.

  “Good.”

  Seppelitus didn’t know what chilled him more—the smile, or the satisfaction he could hear in that single word.

  “What has that got to do with your desire to hire me?”

  “Hire you?” The garitzik looked puzzled, and then its expression cleared. “Ah, well, we were not exactly honest with your guild.”

  Now there was a surprise—not. Seppelitus gathered the courage to ask for the answer he didn’t really want to know.

  “What did you want me for?”

  “There is one who needs to trade your blood.”

  “To become a sorcerer?”

  The garitzik dipped its chin.

  “It was the price the demon asked.”

  Seppelitus felt his face grow pale, felt terror chill him further, forced himself to stay seated, gripping the sides of the chair, forced himself not to run, and made himself speak.

  “You will trade me?”

  “No. We will deliver you.”

  “But what am I worth to you?”

  “The price of the bargain.”

  “Couldn’t you get more for me on your own?” Seppelitus heard desperation in his voice, and hated it.

  The garitzik looked stern.

  “We made a bargain,” it said. “We do not go back on our bargains.”

  “Never?”

  “Not once they are sealed.”

  “Can they be unsealed?”