Dragon's Tongue (The Demon Bound) by Laura J Underwood

protested weakly. “At least let me pull on some breeches and some boots…”
    The protest left his lips in vain. These men were a good head taller than Alaric, and both had hands the size of hams. With very little effort and no respect for his dignity, they hauled him out into the hall, nightshirt flapping just above his knees. At least the stone floor was warm beneath his bare feet, which did little to assuage the beating his pride now took, especially since the ruckus had attracted others. What a sight they must have been: a master mage marching along with a psaltery under his arm while a half-naked apprentice was dragged in his wake. Almost laughable, had Alaric not felt the growing fear in the pit of his belly slowly stealing his courage away.
    They hauled Alaric this way and that, and he finally realized the path was leading to the Council of Mageborn’s hall. There, he was dragged through double doors into a large chamber where a huge circle of chairs and a semicircle of tables open down the middle were barely visible in the shadows. Alaric had little time to look and see who else might lurk there, though he sensed several magical auras.
    He was taken straight to the dais where four smaller chairs flanked an ornate one that looked almost like a throne. Three figures stood conferring there now, and one was Turlough Greenfyn. Alaric’s stomach actually found a lower level into which to sink at the sight.
    The High Mage broke off his conversation with the other two and turn to cast a steely glower on the approaching party.
    “Lorymer? What have you found?” Turlough asked.
    The mage in the lead took the steps to the dais while the guards continued to drag Alaric along. “This was the carrier that allowed the demon to breech our walls, Lord Magister,” Lorymer said, holding forth the psaltery. “This contraption still reeks of the creature’s essence.”
    Turlough took the psaltery, giving it a look of utter disgust. “You’re right,” he muttered. “Burn the damned things.”
    “NO!” Alaric cried. The whole experience was sobering him quickly. “That’s mine! You can’t burn it!”
    Turlough’s gaze came to Alaric as though noticing him for the very first time. The glance was as cold as ice and chilled Alaric to his toes. “And you are?” the High Mage asked.
    “Alaric Braidwine, Lord Magister,” Alaric said.
    “And this instrument is yours?”
    “Yes, Lord Magister.”
    “Then you are the one who brought the demon here,” Turlough said. “Summon it here at once.”
    “I know nothing of summoning demons, Lord Magister,” Alaric said, finding his tongue in spite of that fearsome scowl.
    “Yet you admit the psaltery is yours, and the beast was obviously housed there.” Turlough looked at Lorymer. “Any sign of how the psaltery came in?”
    “No, Lord Magister,” Lorymer said. “The trail ended in this one’s chamber.”
    “And how did you get it there?” Turlough asked, turning on Alaric once more.
    “I brought it with me when I came in the front door,” Alaric said.
    “Then you admit that you brought the demon here?”
    “No, Lord Magister! There was no demon in my psaltery when I arrived.”
    “Do you deny the demon’s essence is there?” Turlough brought the psaltery close. The guards tensed, though what they expected to happen was beyond Alaric’s reckoning. Turlough shoved the psaltery into Alaric’s face. Bitterness washed his tongue and he flinched. Horns, it was the same as that he encountered at the tavern when he and Fenelon…
    Alaric felt his face go white. “I can feel it, but…”
    “But nothing,” Turlough said. “You brought the demon into our midst and set it loose to steal an old map from the library.”
    “I never!” Alaric protested.
    “So where is this demon, and which map did it take, and what did you want with that map?” Turlough said.
    “I don’t know anything about any demon or any map,” Alaric said.
    “And I say you are lying,”