Read Online Cloak & Dagger: Book II of The Dragon Mage Trilogy by Carey Scheppner - Free Book Online
Authors: Carey Scheppner
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the general assembly area of the hall left via conventional tunnels, leaving the council hall in silence.
Chapter 6
C yril sighed as he tended the clerical herbs known as faelora, a pink-leafed plant that thrived in the late summer and early fall. This herb grew naturally in this climate, but was rather scarce in the wild. When planted in the gardens here at the Tower of Hope, it grew in thick bunches, each leaf pressing the others aside for sunlight. Cyril was responsible for making sure weeds did not interfere with the herb’s growth. He did his job well in the ten years that he had worked here, tending every form of herb and plant that grew in the tower’s grounds.
“Don’t forget to water the faelora,” ordered the head groundskeeper behind him suddenly.
“Yes, sir,” answered Cyril without looking up.
Cyril was tolerated but avoided by everyone working in or for the tower. He was a big man, some six and a half feet tall, with large arms and legs. He had no hair, and his skin had a slight green cast to it. But it was not his size or complexion that drove people away. It was his eye. For Cyril was the by-product of a human and a cyclops.
Cyril’s lone eye was that of a cyclops. It was centered in his forehead, and the black pupil was centered in a yellowish background. The eye also mimicked a cyclops’ in function as well as appearance. When someone looked into it, the eye had the effect of temporarily paralyzing them. Some would have considered this trait as useful, but Cyril regarded it as a curse.
Even as a boy, Cyril had few friends. Other children made fun of him, but he refused to fight back. By nature he was mild-mannered. Over the course of the years, he had paralyzed a number of people by accident, but each time they had believed he had done it on purpose, and each time he had been punished severely.
Cyril’s mother, who never spoke to him about his father for obvious reasons, tired of the hardships facing her son and brought him to the Tower of Hope at the age of ten. She had little hope of giving him a decent life, and hoped the clerics could care for him. A year later, she died of a severe illness during the winter and Cyril was alone.
Life at the tower was hard, but Cyril was treated with an aloof respect. He left others alone, and they responded in kind. Only Cyril’s boss, the head groundskeeper, treated him poorly. The groundskeeper, whose name was Jake, felt that Cyril was merely a laborer, who had no special skills or abilities. The fact that Cyril was deformed only confirmed Jake’s opinion of him. Whenever Cyril accidentally paralyzed someone and Jake found out about it, Cyril would have to endure another round of rude comments and remarks by his boss. Despite this harsh treatment, Cyril never once lost his temper and fought back. He simply hung his head in shame and found a quiet place in the garden to hide his embarrassment. No one who overheard Jake’s remarks, be it cleric or co-worker, bothered going to comfort him.
Cyril’s life was lonely in a sea of white-cloaked people until one day the previous year when he had encountered a young cleric-to-be who had just arrived from the east. She had long, black hair and an enchanting smile. Unfortunately, that smile had been frozen the moment she had looked at Cyril. The cyclops had carried the prone figure into the tower where the clerics had taken over, muttering and glaring at Cyril all the while. Cyril hung his head in shame as usual and returned to his duties outside, where his boss had done his part to make him feel even more miserable.
Surprisingly, the young cleric had come to see him later that same day. She seemed to have taken the incident all in stride, and had been understanding to his situation. She had told him it wasn’t his fault and that she forgave him. Cyril had thanked her, but kept his eyes averted, afraid to paralyze her again. Despite the uncomfortable exchange, she had visited him daily, chatting about her
Chapter 6
C yril sighed as he tended the clerical herbs known as faelora, a pink-leafed plant that thrived in the late summer and early fall. This herb grew naturally in this climate, but was rather scarce in the wild. When planted in the gardens here at the Tower of Hope, it grew in thick bunches, each leaf pressing the others aside for sunlight. Cyril was responsible for making sure weeds did not interfere with the herb’s growth. He did his job well in the ten years that he had worked here, tending every form of herb and plant that grew in the tower’s grounds.
“Don’t forget to water the faelora,” ordered the head groundskeeper behind him suddenly.
“Yes, sir,” answered Cyril without looking up.
Cyril was tolerated but avoided by everyone working in or for the tower. He was a big man, some six and a half feet tall, with large arms and legs. He had no hair, and his skin had a slight green cast to it. But it was not his size or complexion that drove people away. It was his eye. For Cyril was the by-product of a human and a cyclops.
Cyril’s lone eye was that of a cyclops. It was centered in his forehead, and the black pupil was centered in a yellowish background. The eye also mimicked a cyclops’ in function as well as appearance. When someone looked into it, the eye had the effect of temporarily paralyzing them. Some would have considered this trait as useful, but Cyril regarded it as a curse.
Even as a boy, Cyril had few friends. Other children made fun of him, but he refused to fight back. By nature he was mild-mannered. Over the course of the years, he had paralyzed a number of people by accident, but each time they had believed he had done it on purpose, and each time he had been punished severely.
Cyril’s mother, who never spoke to him about his father for obvious reasons, tired of the hardships facing her son and brought him to the Tower of Hope at the age of ten. She had little hope of giving him a decent life, and hoped the clerics could care for him. A year later, she died of a severe illness during the winter and Cyril was alone.
Life at the tower was hard, but Cyril was treated with an aloof respect. He left others alone, and they responded in kind. Only Cyril’s boss, the head groundskeeper, treated him poorly. The groundskeeper, whose name was Jake, felt that Cyril was merely a laborer, who had no special skills or abilities. The fact that Cyril was deformed only confirmed Jake’s opinion of him. Whenever Cyril accidentally paralyzed someone and Jake found out about it, Cyril would have to endure another round of rude comments and remarks by his boss. Despite this harsh treatment, Cyril never once lost his temper and fought back. He simply hung his head in shame and found a quiet place in the garden to hide his embarrassment. No one who overheard Jake’s remarks, be it cleric or co-worker, bothered going to comfort him.
Cyril’s life was lonely in a sea of white-cloaked people until one day the previous year when he had encountered a young cleric-to-be who had just arrived from the east. She had long, black hair and an enchanting smile. Unfortunately, that smile had been frozen the moment she had looked at Cyril. The cyclops had carried the prone figure into the tower where the clerics had taken over, muttering and glaring at Cyril all the while. Cyril hung his head in shame as usual and returned to his duties outside, where his boss had done his part to make him feel even more miserable.
Surprisingly, the young cleric had come to see him later that same day. She seemed to have taken the incident all in stride, and had been understanding to his situation. She had told him it wasn’t his fault and that she forgave him. Cyril had thanked her, but kept his eyes averted, afraid to paralyze her again. Despite the uncomfortable exchange, she had visited him daily, chatting about her
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