"Gaynor!" he forced himself to shout. "Flee for your life!" For all he knew, she might have already left; he could not see her, nor could he make out much with clarity because of the rushing magical vortex that continued to encapsulate him.
"Gaynor! Get away from that evil wizard!" shouted Benevic from the bedchamber's doorway. He and his men had breached the tower's entrance, and had come to take care of what they believed was an injustice against his daughter.
She screeched at him as her father grabbed her and hauled her from the room. Mertho still could not see this all clearly, but he was still aware of what was happening around him, strangely. It was as though he had some strange extrasensory ability, despite being restrained by this blasted magic.
"Call off your magic users!" shouted Mertho. He was sure a single person could not be doing this to him alone, so there must be a group of them.
Benevic called from the doorway of the bedchamber, "I have no magic users with me. You are doing this! Stop it at once, and I will allow the law to decide whether you live or die. Otherwise, I will immediately put a stop to this with the blade of my sword."
"Father, no, he is not doing this! How can you think such a thing? There has been dark magic at play here. We must leave and leave him be. A brave hero such as yourself cannot kill an innocent victim over a misunderstanding." Gaynor was frantically trying to reason with her father, but her voice sounded farther away as her words progressed, until it seemed that she was out of the bedchamber and being dragged down the stairs to the base of the tower.
"Kill him!" shouted Benevic to his men, and the sound of steel being unsheathed rang out in the small, stone-walled space.
Mertho was not so sure that he had been caught in a vortex anymore—this felt like something that was more a part of him than just encircling his physical being. Whatever, whoever had caused this strange magic to take hold of him, had done more than cast some sort of simple trap to drain or kill him. How did Mertho know this? Well, he did not know anything for sure. There seemed to be power running through him as the pain started to ebb away with merciful grace that almost brought a tear to his eyes - it had gotten so severe that he feared he would actually die from the agony.
Within that joy of salvation, flowed something far darker. He could now see the men advancing on his floating form. They wore looks of confusion, perhaps well-hidden fear? What they had to fear, Mertho was not quite sure. He did not think about it much at all because the newly forming power he now possessed was too raw and primal to allow him to feel uncertainty.
Bolts of hateful energy shot out from his body - if his body was even present in the vortex of quickly condensing and growing magical energy. The fighters rushed to escape, having seen that their swords would do nothing against whatever they now faced. Mertho saw one of them, still valiantly facing him with his sword readied. The man was middle-aged, a veteran of many battled judging from the weathered skin on his face, which displayed a lifetime of adventure in the form of scars and old injuries. Taking a moment to gather himself, he rushed the wizard.
Mertho pushed out a limb, but it was not his human arm. It was a green aura of magic that expanded from him like a tentacle of some other dimension, or perhaps a darker place where demons dwelled. It shot out like a whip of dark green lightning and turned the charging warrior into a charred mess of blood and partially cooked flesh. His attacker’s charred black skin cracked away at the mutilated pieces within and fell into a heap on the floor.
The bolt of energy snapped around and struck another of the warriors on the side of the head, obliterating it with an explosion of ash and blood. The now headless body was spurting blood from the one place on the neck that had not been cauterized by the magical energy as it tumbled to the floor.
Mertho felt himself growing more powerful and alive in the surge of sudden death he was causing. Although he did not find anything wrong with the killing of these men, he was certain, in that moment, that he would not have had a choice either way, even if he didn't want to kill them.
He did want to kill them, though. Darkness was in his thoughts, hate and anger the only guides to his actions. The warriors one after another fell as mangled husks. Mertho grew in power until he could see nothing other than the brightness of the vortex he was now fully a part of.
3
Benevic was breathing hard; his body was not as fit as it had been in his youthful days of adventuring. It had already been a tiring night, searching throughout the city to find the location of his daughter. With his hand now on her shoulder, as she stood beside him watching in disbelief, he was finally sure that she was safe.
"What have you done?" she asked him yet again, in a cold and distant tone that was frighteningly unlike her. If she had been screaming at her father in anger, or even sobbing for the loss of her male companion, that would not have been a surprise. No, she was just standing there staring at the blinding, magical green and white light that burnt outward from the tower as it slowly, but surely, collapsed in on itself.
"Daughter, you must believe me that I planned none of this. My only concern was for your safety. When I found that you had slipped away in the night, how did you expect me to react?" He looked down at her, from his towering seven feet. His face softened, as though a reflection of her beauty. "Gaynor? What has gotten into you?" he asked.
"Nothing," she snapped, twisting her shoulder and stepping aside so that her father's hand fell to his side. It made a clanking sound as it fell because of the steel armor he was wearing meant that the gauntlet around his fist stuck his side.
He slumped his shoulders in defeat. "I don't know what transpired this night," he eventually said, "but you will never become involved in something so twisted and strange again."
"You have no idea what you are talking about," she answered back with a defiant tongue. Tilting her head back to look at him, half closing her eyes in a spiteful glare, she locked eyes with her father for some time.
That was the first time he truly believed something wicked had involved his daughter. The wizard must be to blame, surely. "You are never to speak of any of this again. Do you understand, Gaynor? At first light, I am sending you north to the Sisterhood of Fate's Mercy."
Her face softening in an instant, she began to tremble at the lip. Her eyes were wide and begged for pity from any man who looked upon them, not least of all from a sympathetic and caring father such as Benevic. "Father, why would you send me to such a place? Do you not love me?”
"Please, don't make this any harder for me. You look just like your mother sometimes." He had taken a great burden upon himself to give her a life of plenty, which including doting love from himself in addition to generous wealth that he generated from his adventuring company. It had taken a great toll on him to do so much all at once, but he had never for a second doubted if it was worthwhile.
"Do you think mother would have wanted me sent away to live with nuns in some draughty old building, wasting away my mind and body reading prayers and learning to cook and clean?"
"You will learn to walk the righteous path," he said to her. Most importantly, they will be able to find out what happened you, and ensure you were not involved with whatever cursed abomination transpired tonight.
4
Tehra hoped that her knife was not visible above the hem of her dress. It was tight around her bust, short at the thighs, and did not make her company guess much about what she would look like naked. She hated wearing them. They made it hard to move, even harder to fight. But the best way to lure in a big fish was to make the bait as enticing as possible. Tonight, her prey was a rich merchant who had earned this little elf's ire. His name was Rufer Cointhril, and he was as corrupt as any merchant in the city of Aklago.
He was fat and wore an aura of smugness about him like a hard-earned medal. "Please, do be my guest tonight," he said as their carriage rolled up to the two-story townhouse where he lived. It was nestled in one of the nicer districts of the city, Upper Grove, among a series of sim
ilarly sized buildings. The driver leapt down from the front of the carriage and hurried around to open the door. The merchant swayed his round body about and made his way to the sidewalk with a waddling motion.
Tehra gracefully accepted the driver's hand and pretended to be without more than the most basic physical skills, as he helped her down from the two-foot-high carriage. She smiled warmly and let the light in her eyes flash to catch his male interest. Such the perfect lady, always alluring, playing the part well.
"My manservant will be more than happy to provide you with anything you could want for. That is, in the way of refreshments. Wine? I suppose a dainty creature like you eats hardly but a thing." Rufer laughed. The flesh around his chin and neck had stretched his skin over the years, leaving him resembling a turkey when he laughed, the whole mess quivering. "Such exquisitely fine bone structure might I commend. Where are your people from originally?"
"I never knew," replied Tehra.
"Ah, yes, my man did mention that you came from some sort of, what was it again? A workhouse?"
"Orphanage," she replied with a fake smile painted on her face. "You're so kind to have asked about me." Yes, he had asked about her indeed; the merchant was particularly taken with exotic trade, and even more so with exotic women. Just this week, Tehra had witnessed him coming home with various women, all completely different in appearance, dress, and color of skin. He seemed to be quite the collector in that regard. And this was where he brought them all, if not to actually possess, to at least enjoy for a single evening before moving on to the next.
How such an obese and sickly-looking man could have such an appetite in the bedchamber was a mystery. Even just standing outside his townhouse talking was evidently leaving him short of breath.
The driver, who evidently was also his manservant, helped them inside and took the merchant's coat. As he walked away, Rufer addressed his servant, "John, fetch me one of the bottles of wine from my special rack, uh… that bottle of Urgo." He spoke with a strange tone, as though he and John were in on some special.
Tehra knew the wines the Urgo region pretty well, thanks mainly to the many taverns she had frequented in the lower class areas of the country. The greedy merchant was clearly pretending to ask for an expensive bottle to share with her, while actually requesting something that would cost the price of a loaf of bread. Faking ignorance, she replied, "Oh my, that sounds pricey, my lord. Are you sure I'm worth all that?"
"I think you are worth that and more, my dear. Just look at you." He took her by the hand; his greasy sausage fingers were clammy and cold. Twirling her around at a considerable effort to himself as he raised his arm, Rufer hungrily devoured the young elven maid’s delicate form with his rheumy eyes. "Such a precious thing, and kind enough to spend an evening with yours truly. An honor. I have a wonderful idea: let us take our wine upstairs, where we will be most comfortable."
"If it's no trouble," Tehra responded. The things she would have loved to say were filling her head to the brim. She wanted to call him a pig, a cretin, a corrupt pile of human garbage who took advantage of everyone in his path and remained no better himself for their loss. Her stomach churned at the thought of setting just a foot in his sleeping chambers, but that is also where she was sure his most valuable treasures would be hidden away. And that, after all, was the entire purpose of her carefully planned ruse. The reason she was dolled up like a harlot, eagerly acting as the bait, to land this fat fish and a healthy portion of valuables.
Almost as though he could tell she was uneasy, Rufer reached out and placed his hand on the small of her back, giving her a push toward the ornate staircase. His home was lovely, albeit a little on the small size as it was a townhouse in the busier part of the city. The creep's hand slipped down as Tehra walked up the first step, and caught a firm grab of her behind.
You're going to pay for that one specifically, she thought, making an effort to remember her plan and what there was to gain by pulling it off properly. The rage inside her could wait; let the pig have a feel if he must, but that was all he'd get. At the top of the sturdy, red-carpeted stairs were a set of double doors. This had to be the master bedroom, so Tehra stopped and waited, and waited, for her portly companion to meet her at the top of the stairs.
Blustering with choked breaths and a red face, he continued past the double doors. "No, not that room. My personal chambers are along here." They went into a narrower doorway, which Rufer barely squeezed through. Inside was a regular looking sleeping chamber. By the average worker's standards, it was pure luxury, but for a merchant rich enough to have a house in this district, and with his own carriage and a servant to drive it around, something didn't quite add up.
"This is a lovely chamber," Tehra said slyly. Did she let her face show her surprise at the strangely modest sleeping area?
"Is something wrong?" Rufer asked her. "You were expecting something grander?"
Damn it. Is he onto me? Oh, no, I just... It is such a pleasant surprise to see an important man allowing himself such a humble space to call his own." That was terrible. You're going to mess this up, Tehra, she thought.
"I assure you, there is grandness to come, as there always is in my bedchamber." With a sickly chuckle, he reached down toward his belt and removed a key that he used to lock them both in.
"What about the wine, my lord? I am getting thirsty now. Not to mention, a glass or two always leaves me feeling wild." She brought her arms close to her side, subtly pushing her breasts together to create an ampler bust line." Carefully, Tehra glanced up and checked the efficacy of her display.
He was gawking at her pert breasts, apparently forgetting what they were talking about. "Mmm, yes, well I would not want to keep you restrained, in thoughts or otherwise. That is unless you were the type to enjoy being physically restrained as well?"
"My, my. I had no idea you were the type to dominate a woman. Shall we move over to the bed?" It was a double-width bed with shimmering covers of bright red silk or satin.
Again chuckling, this time more loudly, Rufer walked over to a chest of drawers and took something from the highest drawer, something heavy that clanked against the wood as he withdrew it. As he turned Tehra noticed they were iron manacles of an intricate design, nothing like the rusty chains used in the city's prison. "Sit down on the bed," he said with a smirk that reeked of sinister intentions.
"If that is your will, my lord," Tehra replied. She did not want to let him slap those things around part of her body, but letting him know that would blow her cover. The servant would still be nearby, and would no doubt raise the alarm if Tehra were to assault his employer. Yes, his room was not as lavishly decorated as she'd expected, but there was sure to still be great valuables hidden between these four thick walls. This merchant was either stupid, or he had just become careless from being untouchable for too long. Tehra usually found it best to wait until people were sleeping before betraying them, and that’s what she would do here. Thinking of the manacles a second time, perhaps she would allow him to put them on her, to lull him into a false sense of safety. He would never be suspicious of her then, and she could move almost as fast with her wrists bound. Faster than this ball of lard, either way.
Tehra sat down on the bed and put her hands out before her. "Be gentle with me, won't you?" she said in a voice so sweet only a lustful man would be fooled by its lure. The knife hidden in her dress was at the forefront of her mind, just urging her to yank it out and slit this piece of human garbage's throat. She felt completely safe with the blade within reach.
She would have to withstand just a short period of illicit cohorting with this slug of a man, but Tehra had endured worse in her life. Then, he would fall fast asleep no doubt, and she would rob him of everything he had.
The merchant fastened the manacles tightly, then his smile grew and grew. "Now then. I’d like to have a word before I have my way with you.”
Her eyebrow raised, Tehra replied, “Oh, really? Why is that, my lord?”
&
nbsp; “I wonder if you take me for a fool.” She feigned ignorance, but her heart began to race. He was onto her! Tehra had been careless somewhere in the execution of her plan to rob this man, and now he had her right where he wanted her. Or, so he thought …
“Do you not wonder why I keep my bedchamber so sparse?” he continued. “You can't really think I would allow myself to sleep in such a shit hole? I am sure you know the sort of place I mean. You're common filth, aren't you? Yes, you have exotic flesh that would be fun to poke around inside and exploit for my own pleasure," he said with a deep groaning, sickening sounding, gratification. "But you're not here for me to fuck, are you, you elven bitch?"
"Fuck you, you fat pig." Tehra spat the words, jerking her hands up almost quicker than the eye could follow. She reached the knife and yanked it from her dress at the back, cutting the material with her haste. That didn't matter though, not if she'd been made by this fucking merchant.
He tried to hop backward, but it ended up being more of a failed waddle than anything. Still, it put him several steps away from the bed where Tehra was seated, now brandishing a knife in front of her, wrists bound together with the ornate manacles.
"I had my suspicions from the start that you were a thief, but I've fucked elven whores before. My good friends in the city guard warned me to be careful of you. This is the price of thinking with one's prick, though, isn't it?" He was rambling now, his face growing bright red and his rolling chest and belly working harder to pump air into unhealthy lungs. He was fumbling around for something, where his belt was hidden away by his looming gut. It was a metal cylinder with a wooden handle, a type of weapon which Tehra was only vaguely familiar with: a firearm.
The Wizard (Dungeon Core Book 1) Page 2