Maiden of Pain Read Online Free PDF Page A

searching elsewhere, but a steady increase in taxes by the Kara-noks made coin tight, and many of the candidates' fees were too expensive. He'd almost given up when he was contacted by a woman named Yenael.
    Prisus left the inn right away. It was already late afternoon, and only a fool walked the streets of Bezantur after sundown without an armed escort.
    The manor was just a couple of blocks east of the Central Citadel. It was built into a hillside, with extensive grounds consisting of graveled walkways that wound through well-manicured lawns. Prisus paused at the open front gate, unable to reconcile the church's reputation for painful torture with the peaceful landscape that stretched out before him. He approached the main building, a sprawling affair of stonework, unadorned except for the low relief of a barbed scourge carved above the lintel of the entrance, its nine tails spread out like a fan. Prisus banged the knocker on the iron-bound wooden door then stepped back to wait. Several minutes passed before it opened.
    A robed figure surrounded by a soft nimbus of golden light stood in the doorway and said, "I'm sorry, but the manor is closed to the public while the rite is being performed."
    Prisus could not see the face, as it was hidden under a hood, but he thought from the voice that it must be a woman.
    "I am here to meet Yenael," said Prisus. "She's expecting me."
    He showed her the note. He could feel the woman's eyes measuring him.
    "You don't look like her typical subject. Loviatar calls all kinds, though." The woman moved back from the doorway, causing the nimbus to fade, and motioned for Prisus to enter. "Wait here while I find her."
    Closing the door, the woman left Prisus standing in the middle of a small entry hall. Her words had been unsettling, and he glanced about nervously. Candlelight glowed from small coves carved in the walls, creating more shadow than illumination. Opposite the front entrance was a great open archway that led into the main sanctum. Prisus gasped.
    The room was lit with numerous candles. Little flames filled candelabras or flickered in groups on table tops. In the center of the floor sat a large circle of candles placed several feet apart from each other. For each candle on the floor, a man or woman danced naked around it. Each person was singing or chanting, though none of them seemed in unison. And each, at some time during their ritual, would pass a body part through the flame of their candle, often holding it there for several seconds.
    Prisus's nose wrinkled at the strange odor wafting in from the sanctum. It took him a moment to realize it was not incense, but the acrid smell of burnt hair and singed flesh.
    Prisus turned to the door, ready to leave, and came face-tface with another woman. Instead of a robe, she wore a tight, sleeveless leather body suit buffed to a high shine. Her head was shaved, except for a thin braided tail that began at the base of her skull and ended between her shoulder blades. Blue tattoos of some unfamiliar design covered her scalp. Dark eyes reflected the wavering flames of the candles.
    "Prisus Saelis? I am Sister Yenael." She smiled, a warm and friendly grin. "Let's go somewhere we can talk." She waited for a moment, sensing Prisus's shock. "Our Candle Rite happens every twelfth night," she explained, holding her hand out toward the sanctum. "Fire is one of the Three Pains. Loviatar teaches that pain brings strength of spirit."
    Prisus shook his head then motioned her to lead on. They went up a flight of stairs and entered a small parlor. Red velvet drapes hid the hard stone walls, and plush sofas of crimson shared the floor with piles of dark red pillows embroidered in gold thread. Prisus had heard that the church of Loviatar often recruited from the ranks of the wealthy. It certainly explained the extravagance.
    Yenael lounged across the pillows, leaving Prisus to his choice of sofas. A robed man entered shortly, carrying two goblets on a tray. He