Wizard Pair (Book 3) by James Eggebeen Page A

until dusk. That should give him time to think about touching his betters."
    She turned back to Rotiaqua. "You get on your horse. I've planned a pleasant ride and you're not spoiling it, not over a dress, and not over a stable hand who doesn't know his place."
    "Mother, please," Rotiaqua begged. "He did nothing wrong."
    "I said I was done arguing with you. Get moving." The Baroness reined her horse and headed out of the stables.
    "Please don't do this," Rotiaqua begged the Guard.
    "Orders, Your Ladyship." He jerked Zhimosom to his feet.
    "You don't have to do this," Rotiaqua said. "Please."
    "Sorry, My Lady. The Baroness will check to see that it was done. You know that."
    Rotiaqua turned to Zhimosom. "I'm sorry. Truly, I am."
    Zhimosom lowered his eyes to the ground without a word. The Guard pulled at his arm, dragging him out of the stables.
     
     
     
     
    The trek to the market was punctuated with jeers and cat calls from the onlookers. Zhimosom tried to keep his head down and subservient throughout the walk of shame.
    They placed him in the stocks, slamming the heavy wooden clamps closed with a thud. The Guard placed a peg in the stocks to lock them shut and laughed. "Have fun today, son. We'll be back to get you at dusk. Unless we get distracted by some fair maiden."
    "Don't forget me!" Zhimosom shouted.
    The Guard laughed. "Don't worry, boy. Someone will take pity on you and let you out. They always do."
    Zhimosom pulled at the rough wood, but it was no use. He was held fast. His back was bent and his legs cramped as he was forced to stoop.
    A young boy and girl were the first ones to pass his way. The boy looked up at him and nudged his sister. She giggled and turned her head away as they hurried by.
    A boy of about eight summers came along next. He stopped before the stocks and put his hands on his hips. "You, there!" He picked up a rotten tomato from a nearby stall and threw it at Zhimosom. It struck the stocks and splattered red juice across Zhimosom's face. The boy searched the ground, looking for another missile.
    A woman in simple dress appeared from behind the stall. "Don't waste food on the likes of that." She grabbed him by the ear and pulled him along.
    As the day wore on, the ache in Zhimosom's legs become intolerable. A few youngsters had come by to kick at him or spit in his face, but most were quickly hauled off by their parents, or lost interest when he didn't react.
    Zhimosom used the time to practice his shields until he was able to protect himself adequately. Early in the afternoon, a crowd of youngsters arrived, milling around a boy of about ten summers in age. The youth separated himself from the crowd and approached the stocks.
    "What'd you do?" he demanded. "Did you get caught having relations with a swine?"
    Zhimosom remained silent. He hoped the youth would go away, but it didn't look like he would. Zhimosom raised his shields in preparation for whatever the youth had in mind. He steeled himself and waited.
    The youth stepped back and looked around. He found a stone, about the size of his closed fist. He hauled back and screamed at Zhimosom.
    "Didn't you hear me? I asked you what you did. Do you want me to throw this rock at your head?"
    Zhimosom remained silent.
    The other boys taunted the youth with the rock. "Throw it. He's just a stable boy. Throw it. That's why he's here, so we can have a little fun."
    Zhimosom looked at the boy. He hardened his shields and focused his attention on the rock the youth held. He envisioned it getting hotter and hotter. He saw it as red hot and hissing, sitting there in the boy's hand.
    The youth suddenly dropped the rock. He shook his hand as if it had been burned, and stuck it in his armpit. He looked back at Zhimosom with fear in his eye, then down at the rock. He reached down to touch it, only to have it sizzle and hiss as his finger came in contact. He pulled his hand away quickly, sticking the finger in his mouth.
    "Come on, throw it," taunted the other