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The Curse of Apathy: Part 1


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#1 Guest_Ophidia_*

Posted 28 February 2003 - 11:27 AM

An Enjoyable Partnership: The Curse of Apathy


Part One

Fireball, West.

Step. Step. Whoosh. Crackle.

Magic Missile, North.

A turn to the right. Fizz. Thud…thud, thud, thud.

Acid Arrow, South.

The two mages performed an about turn, their movements so synchronised that only one set of footsteps would be heard. They chanted and launched two acid arrows, their hand movements in perfect coordination. Two green coloured arrows hit the target on the south wall at precisely the same moment.

Chromatic Orb, West.

Two mind-voices, in their heads, combined, commanding at the same instant. They took another step to the right, robes rustling. Two spheres of light hit the metallic west target, causing it to rattle and then fall off the wall.

“Rats!” Nalia said, as it dropped to the ground with a loud clang. “That was going well, too.”

“You ought to be more careful attaching the target to the wall in future.” Edwin said, carefully picking an invisible piece of fluff off the arm of his robe.

“Me? It’s always my fault, isn’t it? Anyway, you hung up the west target, not me.”

“I believe you are mistaken.” Edwin smiled smugly. “Perhaps you have never heard of the device known as a ‘compass’. I suggest you learn to use one.”

Nalia threw up her arms in disgust. “Oh, never mind! I was nearly out of spells, anyway.”

“Of course, a mage of your minor power cannot memorize very many spells in a day.” Edwin fiddled idly with the chain around his neck. “My vastly superior abilities allow me to remember a plethora of magics your feeble brain could not even comprehend.”

Nalia rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, I know. How do you remember so many spells at once, anyway? Come on, ‘Dwin, be honest. I know you can remember far more than is natural.”

Edwin started guiltily, and withdrew his hand from the chain. “Nonsense. It is simply skill. (Skill exercised over years, yes…)”

Nalia sighed and shook her head in resignation. One of these days, she vowed, she’d get the truth out of him. She sat down in her chair in the basement mage lab and elbowed a few sheets of scattered paper off the desk in front of her. The lab had changed somewhat since she had first cast the familiar spell in it; the walls were now whitewashed, the floor scrubbed, and the gratings, no longer clogged up with dirt, let in a cool draft of fresh air. The large wooden table now had two chairs, one at either end. One end of the desk was covered in glassware smudged with old, over-boiled reagents, bits of tattered paper covered in scribbled notes, and the occasional sweet wrapper. The other end had neatly piled stacks of vellum, a line of potions with carefully written labels, and a spotlessly white goose-feather quill pen sat next to a tightly sealed inkwell.

“Ah well, that was a fun practice session. We’re really getting the hang of this now.”

“Fun?” Edwin said, twisting his lips in scorn. “The casting of mighty and sublime magicks is not fun. It is a deadly serious form of art.”

“Well, I thought it was fun.” More than fun, really. The thrill of power coursing through my veins, the feel of such control…Nalia hastily shook the thought off.

“I met a mage once who considered magic to be ‘fun’. She ended up in Spellhold.”

“The Cowled Wizards don’t bother me, you know that.” Nalia said. “I’m thirsty after all that work. Want a drink?”

“Yes.”

Nalia waited briefly to see if Edwin would say ‘please’, then stood up and strode over to the servant’s bell pull. She stopped, just before she pulled it.

“That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to ask you: what have you been doing to my servants?”

Edwin looked around guiltily. “What?”

“You heard. What have you been up to?”

Edwin lifted his head arrogantly. “I presume your slaves are complaining about being under my iron fist. I demand my instructions be obeyed to the letter, or they will feel my wrath!”

“They’re not slaves. They’re servants!”

“Oh yes?” Edwin said sarcastically. “What exactly is the difference?”

“My servants get paid, and they’re free to leave whenever they wish! They aren’t my property.”

“If they are not your property, why do you call them ‘my servants’?”

“It’s…just an expression. Servants are people too!” Nalia protested.

“So, they are free to leave whenever they wish, yes? And what would happen to them if they left, pray? As I understand it, if a servant leaves employment voluntarily in Amn, their chances of getting another job is minimal, if not non-existent. If they leave their master or mistress they choose destitution, starvation and death.”

“At least I look after my servants well! How do you treat your slaves in Thay, hmm?”

Edwin raised an eyebrow. “A poorly treated slave does not work well and dies early. A well-fed, well-treated slave is more efficient and is less likely to rebel. Only a fool treats their slaves badly.”

“That is so cold hearted!”

“Merely sensible.” Edwin remarked, picking up his quill pen and fiddling with it. “So, what have your spineless servants been complaining about, hmm?”

“Oh, they’ve not been complaining.” Nalia said. “I could understand if they had. No, it’s not that.”

“What, then?”

“They adore you! I’ve seen them following you around, waiting on your every command. Have you been casting Charm on them?”

“Perhaps they are just ensnared by my devilishly good looks and air of mysterious power. I need no Domination spells to bewitch those around me with my unfathomable charisma.”

“Such as the other day when you were practising opening gates to the elemental planes, and then squelched up to your bedroom, sopping wet and covered with soot?”

“I am sure they admire a questioning and curious mind.” Edwin said earnestly, but with a certain glint in his eyes, then held up his hands. “Alright, I admit it, I truly have no idea why the servants are so worshipful. I see no reason for it, it is not as if I tip them particularly well…”

“Wait! You tip my servants? You’re not supposed to tip them; they get paid!”

“But how do you ensure their hard work and loyalty? Many an assassination attempt has been turned back by a Red Wizard’s own slaves.”

“Loyalty? They’re slaves.”

“Carrot and stick, my dear Nalia, carrot and stick. One is nothing without the other.”

Nalia sighed “Where’s that drink?” She turned round and yanked savagely on the bellpull.

I presume I won the argument, then.

No you didn’t!

***


Degardan closed his eyes, and concentrated, grabbing the rim of the small round table in front of him. In his mind, he could see his objective. Now to project it as an image, chant the words, think the right thoughts and turn this mental picture into a physical one.

He took a deep breath, and tried not to shake with the effort. A slight breeze cooled his forehead, and he realised he was sweating. A little more…think…there was an internal snap, like a joint popping back into place. Degardan opened his eyes.

In the middle of the table was a living image of Nalia and Edwin’s mage lab. It hovered above the table, free of a crystal ball. Only lesser practitioners of the Art, Degardan felt, needed such props. A small bottle with a single hair in it, one of Nalia’s hairs, floated above the image, occasionally bobbing up and down. Now the image was fully formed, he could maintain it with barely an effort.

Feredain leaned forward over the image. “Impressive.”

Degardan beamed at the praise. “Thank you!”

Feredain watched the tiny image carefully, as Nalia and Edwin paced to the centre of the room and started casting spells at targets, their actions perfectly synchronised. Slowly, she turned her head to scrutinise the image from different angles, like an eagle fixing its sight on prey.

Degardan, however, watched Feredain. His eyes were fixed upon her chiselled face, the elegant nose, the delicate line of the chin- even the eyes. Those glowing pits of light had unnerved him at first, but he had come to love them, just as he had come to love their owner. They fitted her perfectly, fitted her strong spirit and utter competence. With a slight appreciative smile, he gaze wandered farther down, down the graceful shape of her neck, to feast upon the beautifully formed curves of her lissom body…

“It seems that their magical link has increased over time, rather than decreased as might be expected.” Feredain looked at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Degardan started guiltily, and looked directly at her face again. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? It makes it easier to scry them both out when they aren’t together, though.”

“However, it will make them harder to defeat. They gain strength daily. The Keep de’Arnise has excellent defences. Although we could easily enter, removing ourselves from the premises after killing them would be practically impossible. They are well guarded.”

In the vision, one of the metal targets fell off the wall. Nalia threw up her hands in disgust, and she and Edwin slowly walked over to the bench and sat down, talking the entire time.

“I suspect we need to utilise a different tactic.” Feredain said, thoughtfully. “A long distance spell, designed for them personally.”

“Like a curse, you mean?”

“Precisely. Cancel the vision. I will talk to Thay.” Feredain reached for the gold ruby ring that she wore on her left hand. “You will leave.”

Degardan hurriedly waved his hand over the image, and muttered a few syllables. It winked out, and he quickly left the room. He knew better than to stay and watch when Feredain contacted the Zulkir. Any secrets he found out would mean his death.

He opened the door to his own room in the Mithrest inn. It was utterly luxurious, almost ridiculously so. Silk sheets, exquisite tapestries hanging on the walls, and gorgeous polished wood furniture that could only have been built by a grand master carpenter. No other employer of his had been this lavish. The odd thing was that Feredain didn’t really seem to care for the luxury, even though she refused to be without it. A puzzle, that.

But then, the aasimar was a puzzle: a vast, complex riddle. There was so much he didn’t know about her. That was part of her attraction, he supposed. No Diviner worth his salt would ever resist a mystery. Degardan sighed, and threw himself on the bed, which objected with a soft squeak. He knew it was really stupid to fall in love with his employer, but he couldn’t help it. She had such an aura of power about her, and, like all half-decent mages, Degardan loved power.

When had mere attraction turned into love? He knew when it was: when she had been injured and sick, and he had had to help her to the temple of Ilmater, here in the Promenade. It was then he had realised she was mortal, human (mostly), and, well, obtainable. Possibly obtainable.

He had even made a song up for her, a piece of love poetry. He would never have the nerve to actually sing it to her, of course, and his voice wasn’t the best, being rather harsh and flat, but he started to hum it gently to himself, smiling wistfully:

“Lady in Red,
Is scrying with me,
Face to face…”


***


In her own room, Feredain looked up calmly at the face of the Zulkir of Conjuration, hovering inside a bubble near the ceiling of the room, above the ruby ring.

“It is agreed, then. You have the necessary tools.”

“Indeed.” Feredain replied.

“Very well, contact me again when your mission is complete.”

The bubble flickered out of existence. Feredain sighed, and then yawned and stretched. Now she was alone, she could allow herself such weaknesses as tiredness, and she was very tired. She picked the ring up again, and slipped it back onto her long fingers.

She quickly changed into her fine linen nightshirt, and went to bed. She fell asleep instantly, and dreamt of flight, holy power, and celestial song: the dreams of angels.




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