by CA Morgan
Sweat rolled down his temples as much from the blazing heat as by the knowledge that the red-bearded man, the same from the pier, stood before him with a broad grin on his ruddy face. Worse yet, he was a necromancer of sorts. He wasn’t ready to admit or believe that the great sorcerer, Raga-Tor, stood in front of him. Verin save his soul. There was nothing Eris loathed more than magic and its users, whose numbers seemed to multiply on any given day. Even the tricks of a street clown were often enough to churn his stomach.
The big man stepped into the fire’s light, seemingly in good humor despite his fall into the sea. He now wore a magnificent, red-velvet tunic embroidered with golden threads. The pattern stitched on that broad expanse of red was of a longbow floating amidst a ring of flame. His loose-fitting black trousers were tucked neatly into the tops of the sturdy brown boots he had worn earlier. Boots somehow dry and clean, unlike the cold and wet ones that shrouded his feet.
Eris blinked and would have sworn that for an instant the man’s eyes glowed like coals, and the hair on his face and head flickered like tiny flames dancing on the end of a log.
“What will you do, burn the damned place down to get my green bauble?” Eris shouted over the roar of the fire. He glanced nervously at the fireplace turned blacksmith’s forge. His clothing was nearly dry from the intense heat, but nervous sweat rolled on his skin making him feel damp.
The red-faced man suddenly roared with laughter.
Eris stared at him. The stranger was crazed. The red beard waved his hand and the fire reduced to a normal, natural level.
“Come, come, Eris,” the man said, smiling. He waved for Eris to come out of the corner, but resolutely, he stayed.
Eris noticed the man was now unarmed. He considered his weapons. One good throw was all he needed, but thought better of it. There was no reason to be turned into a human torch for this man’s amusement, and Eris had no doubt he could do it.
The stranger moved aside and waved his arms for Eris to join him at a table laden with food and prepared in a most lavish manner; a table that wasn’t there only moments ago. The feast, aromatic and abundant atop the polished surface, wasn’t exactly the fare served at the Black Mare either.
“Have a seat. We have much to discuss and the time grows late,” the red beard said. “That was a clever trick you used to get away from me. I must have you explain the finer details of it to me sometime. However, I would suggest that for your own continued well-being, you not plunge me into water again. Fire and water—not a suitable combination.”
Eris grimaced. He had been nearly turned into a cinder himself, hanged, drowned, and for what? To find this intruder, a magic user of all vile things, giving pyrotechnic displays in his room? Eris Pann disliked playing a fool’s game, and even more so when he was the one being made the fool.
“You want to eat in the corner?” The man made ready to move the table.
“What I want is for you to leave. I don’t care who you are, or what you want. If you want the stone, choose your weapon. Otherwise, get out and leave me alone. We have nothing to discuss,” Eris warned and struggled to keep his voice strong and steady. He was desperately trying to ignore his sense that magic was coursing through the room.
“Leave me alone,” the man whined. “You sound like a petulant woman, Eris. A bit of sea water stuck between your ears, perhaps?”
Eris nearly roared for his frustration. His jaw clenched and angry, violet fire flashed in his eyes. He was a man of action. He had no use for these senseless word games. Did the idiot want the gem or not? Anger erupted and he threw the daggers at the floor. They struck with such force that they didn’t quiver when the points gouged twin holes in the wood. Eris glared at the man and then strode to the door. If the red beard wouldn’t leave, he would.
“Feel better?” the man taunted.
Eris ignored him. He reached for the knob on the bolt to slide it back and instantly the metal blazed white-hot. He drew in his breath sharply between clenched teeth. The intense heat radiated against his open palm, which he closed angrily into a fist.
Eris stood for several silent, angry moments facing the door. He realized he had to be calm and reclaim his mental acuity. Action wouldn’t win this struggle. Before turning around, he quelled his physical anger into a mental strategy. Threats and weapons were useless and as the red beard had him at an overpowering disadvantage; it was his only strategy. Two could play at this absurd game, and he played as well as anyone. He folded his arms across his chest and turned around to look at the stranger with a raised eyebrow.
“So be it, illusionist, you have my complete attention. Tell me again—what is your problem?” Eris asked in a pleasant voice reeking of insult. It had the desired effect.
“I’m not an illusionist. I'm a practitioner of the sacred arts.” The man was obviously offended. A look, something akin to a pout and very uncharacteristic for a man of his stature, appeared on his face.
“Listen to me carefully,” Eris warned. “There are very few things I hold sacred, and sorcery, in any of its forms, is absolutely not one of them. Keep that in mind, old man.”
“I’m not old either. Not that old anyway.”
“Listen, old man, cease your nonsense and tell me plainly what I need to know and stop wasting my time.”
Eris walked to the table and picked up a silver goblet, which was filled with ruby-colored wine. He sniffed it. It smelled normal and half wondered if it was. Of course it wasn’t. It wasn’t there when he returned. Even in the semi-darkness he would have seen the shadow of a table so large, and more so would have smelled it.
When the red beard remained silent, Eris prodded, “Why don’t you start by telling me your name, or have you forgotten it?”
“I told you before, Raga-Tor. Your attempt to quell me with the sea hasn’t changed that.”
“Not this again.”
Eris frowned and shook his head. He sniffed the wine again and decided to take a drink. At the most it might kill him, at the least it might wash the nasty taste of brine from his tongue. He was pleasantly surprised to find it was quite good.
“I’m telling you the truth,” the red beard insisted.
Eris looked at him over the rim of the cup still at his lips. From behind the rim, a smile pushed up his cheeks. Taking one more gulp, he lowered the cup and wiped his mouth on a damp sleeve.
“If you expect me to believe you are Raga-Tor, the Raga-Tor, first-level elemental sorcerer of countless legends, then you are gravely mistaken. Elementals have nothing to do with human kind except to kill them, and you’re wasting my time. Now, get out. You’ve caused me enough trouble for one night,” Eris said firmly.
The man shook his head. He stepped closer to the table, picked up a goblet and drank.
“I made up that cave story, by the way. Quite clever don’t you think? A rumor, which I see has spread quite nicely, to keep that witch, Charra-Tir, from interfering further into my business. Oh, there is a body in the cave with my face on it, but that’s a long story. Perhaps you would like to hear it. It really wouldn’t take that long. I could explain it all to you while we enjoy this wonderful meal and—”
“Shut! Up!” Eris glared at him. “I don’t believe you, so stop this senseless chatter. It’s going to take more than an illusionist’s trick to convince me of anything you have to say.” However, he had to admit he had never seen or heard of a man blasting himself out of the sea the way this one had. Nor setting a table that was doing a fine job of luring his hungry, churning stomach to feast on its abundance.
“I’m telling you the truth, my boy.”
“Don’t call me ‘my boy’.”
Raga nodded.
“As you wish, friend.”
Eris grimaced. He slammed his empty cup down on the table and looked away. He walked to the fireplace and tried to get warm. He felt chilled deep in his bones. The conversation was going from bad to worse and nowhere fast. Where did these people come from, and why did they always choose him to a
ggravate?
“You aren’t a very nice person,” Raga complained.
“I make it a point not to be,” Eris retorted coldly. “Otherwise, I would continually find myself in the company of idiots like you.”
Raga-Tor let out his breath audibly. He pulled a rough-hewn chair from under the table and sat down.
“Come and sit, Eris,” he said with a voice that more than insisted. “We have much to discuss. No more bantering, no more insults. You will understand who I am and what we are going to do even if I have to stay the whole night to convince you.”
Faithful stubbornness rose up in Eris. He wanted nothing whatsoever to do with anyone that dealt in black magic and vile sorcery, and certainly nothing to do with anything connected to the Red Vale where the elemental sorcerers made their homes. That was the gate to the Seven Hells if ever there was one. Tormented by sorcery more times than he cared to remember, he would not have any part in it, unless it was to destroy an evil that should not exist.
“Eris, sit down,” Raga insisted in such a way that Eris instinctively felt he didn’t dare oppose the ruddy man further. He came back to the table and sat. His mood was sullen. Anger narrowed his eyes. Raga handed back the silver cup again filled with fragrant wine.
“Good. Now listen and give fair consideration to what I’m telling you. I’ve been following you for about the last three phases of the moon, Minrah,” he began.
With difficulty, Eris kept his silence. No one had ever been able to follow his trail for more than two or three days without him becoming aware of it. No one, the thought jumped at him, except a sorcerer using arcane powers to assist him.
“We both seek the same thing. The power gems of Raga-Tor. My gems. The ones that are supposed to be mounted to my bow.”
Eris looked at the long bow leaning against the wall behind Raga. There was certainly nothing special about its appearance. The wood was lack-luster and shabby, and in spots the lacquer was worn through exposing bare, cracked wood. Why, he nearly laughed, the bowstring was tied together.
“I’ve watched you. I’ve seen your cunning, your fighting abilities. I’ve come to the conclusion that between the two of us we have enough talent to gather the other two stones in a relatively short period of time. That’s why I finally decided to confront you about the possibility of forming a partnership.”
“And if I refuse? As I said before, sorcerers don’t make a habit of joining themselves to the contemptible race of man.”
“If you would have a little patience, everything will be made clear. It wouldn’t be wise to refuse me, but,” Raga sighed and puffed his cheeks, “I suppose, in the end, the decision is yours.”
Eris stared silently at him. The red beard continued.
“I want to start at the beginning, because there are a few details still puzzling me. Maybe if I talk about them they will become clear to one of us. You see, when the sorceress Charra-Tir stole those gems from me and scattered them about the earth, she also cast a spell so that when I caught up with the gems’ current possessor, he would suddenly have pressing business in another city.”
“If that’s so, why am I not compelled to leave town other than to get away from your chatter?” Eris interrupted rudely. “And,” he paused to consider, “why didn’t Slott run instead of waiting for me? You were close by during that incident.”
“Oh, there was no doubt he wanted to. I saw the indecision on his face before you got there. He just hadn’t convinced himself to do it—too greedy. Obviously, he thought he could best you and take your gold before he ran.”
“So what about me?”
“Honestly, I’m not certain, but I do have an idea. Otherwise, you should be leagues from here by now. When you took the stone from the dead man, as past experience has shown, you should have fled into the night because of my presence. Crossbow or not, your urge to get away should have overcome my threat to you. Yet you stood your ground. I didn’t sense that mindless urgency of escape in you as in the others. That’s why I returned here to wait for you to come back and seek your help. Perhaps you have a magical talent I haven’t detected?” Raga suggested.
“Don’t even think it, sorcerer, if that’s truly who you are,” Eris said ill-humored.
“Or, it could be…” Raga paused searching for inoffensive words. Handling this man was like trying to put a rope on a cornered tiger.
“Could be what?” Eris pressed irritably.
“That you have a certain overriding influence upon you that negates, or lessens, the gem’s spell regarding me.”
Eris simply looked at him, yet his eyes, the set of his mouth, told Raga he was on dangerous ground.
Choosing his words carefully, Raga suggested, “It could be, contrary to what you told the girl below, you are the poor bed warmer.”
Eris laughed, but Raga sensed the bitterness in it.
“Surely, not I.”
Raga shook his wooly head and a pursed-lipped frown ruffled his mustache. After a moment, he decided that a straight-forward approach was the only way to broach the subject.
“I know your curse, Eris Pann. You can no more take a woman to your bed than can the sun catch the moons. Tonight, as on others before, I saw it work. I know what Charra-Tir has done to you. I feel your need, your anger, and your desire for revenge. You think the gems will help you get back what she has taken. Maybe they will, but you need to have all of them. I also know, though you will insist on believing otherwise, that you won’t be able to do it alone. Of that, I'm certain,” Raga said with finality.
Eris remained silent. His eyes narrowed in deep-forged hatred for the memory the man called forth, and anger that this man knew more about him than he had the right to know. He clenched his jaw until it hurt. Suddenly, he slammed the silver goblet on the table and bent the stem. He stood up and knocked his chair backward. He leaned menacingly toward Raga. His clenched fists pressed hard on the table.
“You don’t understand me well enough, old man,” Eris hissed. “By the fires in Riza’s pits, the jewel is mine as will be the others. Try to take any one from me and I swear I’ll gut you where you stand. The witch will pay dearly for what she’s done, and I don’t need any help from a half-crazed, self-proclaimed sorcerer.”
Through the haze of his own anger, Eris saw again a faint glint of fire in Raga’s eyes. He knew, somehow, it was the fire of silent anger.
“You’re angry. I see it. I feel it,” Eris taunted. “Raise your hand against me. Turn me into a blazing pyre. It would be better than living this wretched half-life that thrice-damned witch has thrust upon me. I’d just as soon be dead than ally myself with any sorcerer. Do you hear what I’m saying? A good length of steel is all I need. If that’s not enough, then death will release me from this damned curse.”
Eris pushed away from the table and retrieved his weapons from the floor. He strode back to Raga and stood only a few paces in front of him.
“So, sorcerer, who will it be? You, or me?” Eris demanded. With practiced skill, the weapons balanced on his fingertips poised to strike.
“Neither, or both,” Raga said, rising unconcerned to his feet. “You have the first stone. Fine. Keep it. The second stone even you might be able to secure without my help, though it may take several months of planning. And that's the important thing to you, the time, the waiting, isn’t it?” Raga paused and then goaded the silent warrior. “Think of it, months and months of keeping those fires from erupting in your loins. And, as time has gone by, I've seen that it’s harder to keep that which is you from becoming that which is not. Seems to me, the choice narrows. If we joined in this together, why, it might be only a matter of several days to get the red stone. You’d be that much closer to your revenge. I—” Raga pounded his chest, “I would be closer to my revenge.”
“What need have you of revenge? A wave of your hand and the little bitch turns into a pile of ash,” Eris argued, though he sensed the balance of the arguments had just turned in favor of Raga-Tor.
�
��The orders of higher magic do not permit such permanent forms of retaliation. However, I can’t say as much for the lower forms. Besides, how can I do anything without the proper accouterments? Who ever heard of a first-level elemental traveling the world without the tools of his craft?” Raga replied calmly.
“Why should I care? If it were up to me, I’d see the lot of you magic-users hung by your balls, or worse,” Eris said contemptuously. “When did a sorcerer ever do anything but destroy the lives of men? Innocent men? I’m not ignorant of the lore of the Great destroyer, Raga-Tor—if that’s really who you are. How do I know you won’t double-cross me if and when we’ve finally gotten all three stones? I’ve not heard of a sorcerer yet who has kept his word as it was spoken. The lore of many lands is filled with the treachery of your kind, and especially yours.”
“You can’t believe everything you hear. The world is full of untruths. But that aside, I’ll be just as honest as you are,” Raga assured.
“Just as I thought. You’ll have the stones and I’ll be a pile of charred bone.”
Raga paid no attention to the remark.
“I’ve heard rumors about the location of the third stone, and if they’re true, that stone will be the most difficult to retrieve. Strong, ancient magic surrounds it,” Raga continued.
“What of it? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fought against some foul incantation,” Eris interrupted.
“I have the feeling you speak truly, but this time you aren’t going up against a fourth or fifth-level magician. This is first-level magic, and if my suspicions are correct, perhaps a power even greater than my own. If the gods do not bend to my will, they certainly won’t to yours,” Raga said plainly.
“Even so, I’m not ignorant in these matters. I live, while other men have died.”
“Don’t be so proud,” Raga-Tor warned. “Until now you’ve lived, but the odds will catch up to you. You know this without me having to tell you. But, if you insist that living under this curse, and never again knowing the soft comfort of a woman, then have your way. But why not even the odds a little and join me? We’ll both win in the end.”