Realms of the Arcane - Brian M. Thomsen [12]
Mbugua padded out into the courtyard, gratefully filling his lungs with the cool evening air. The wizard's lair was always filled with smoke from the braziers, fetid steam from a dozen vile magical concoctions, and the ever-present scent of death.
The wemic made his way down a steep path to the rock-strewn coast below. There was a small cove, ringed with high-standing stones. He could do what he willed here, for the cove could not be seen from the castle windows and courtyard. The wizard's servants feared Mbugua too much to follow him here; the wizard himself was too prideful to imagine that anything a mere slave might do could be of any harm or interest. Mbugua's captivity and loyalty were maintained by powerful magical bonds: Ka'Narlist trusted in his own magic.
It was that very trust, that pride, and that magic that Mbugua would turn against the dark elf. These were the only weapons he knew strong enough to defeat the wizard.
The wemic dropped the kodingobold's body onto the hard-packed soil. He stooped and picked up a small, perfectly round black object that was hidden-in plain sight-among the many stones. Then, closing his eyes, he reached his arms high and began the slow, rhythmic breathing that cleared his mind and prepared him to see and hear the things that only a shaman could know.
In moments, Mbugua sensed the kodingobold's spirit, an unseen presence that lingered near like a furtive shadow. The wemic began to dance, at first padding slowly around the slain kodingobold, then moving more quickly with darting turns and leaps like those of a lion cub at play. His manlike arms wove a mystic pattern in counterpoint to the rhythm of his paws, magically describing the path that the kodingobold's bewildered spirit must follow. He sang as well-a deep, surging chant that soared out over the twilit sea and melded with the magic of the dance. It was a ritual the wemic shaman had performed many times.
But this time, it was slightly, profoundly different.
At last, Mbugua stood silent, his tawny form glistening with sweat as he gazed with mingled triumph and horror at the black pearl that lay in his hand, vibrating with a silent song that only a shaman could hear. The gem was a magical weapon-a device created by Ka'Narlist that could swallow the magic of his enemies. Ka'Narlist kept a heaping basket of these hungry gems in his arsenal. The wemic had stolen two of them, and had adapted the fearful devices to his own, even more fearful purposes.
Within his hand, within the pearl, was the trapped spirit of the kodingobold.
"Forgive me," Mbugua murmured, his wemic's pride doing battle against the apology his honor demanded. Yet he did not regret what he had done. Ka'Narlist had his work, and Mbugua had his own.
The wemic reclaimed the other "hidden" pearl from the shore and began the ritual anew-but this time, his song was infinitely darker and more seductive. This time, Mbugua intended to cast magic that would lure the spirit of a living being into his snares.
Your kindred are avid listeners, elf. See how they lean in, attending to my tale! They seem troubled by the wemic's plot. I have heard that elves do not disturb the afterlives of even their enemies. This says much to commend you-if it is true. I have also heard that elves show honor to bards, yet none among you has offered water or wine to sooth my throat and to speed the tale.
Ah, for me? You are a most gracious host. Yes, thank you, I feel quite refreshed. Yes, I would be pleased to continue.
"You have not sought me out in many moons," Satarah observed. Her calm, musical voice gave no hint to the question in her words, and her golden face was calm as she handed her "father" a steaming mug of tea.
But Mbugua heard the question with ears made sharp by guilt. "The wizard grows ever more obsessed with his work. I have had little time to call my own."
"And now that you are here, it must be for some purpose," the girl stated plainly. "I do not see you otherwise."
The wemic sighed. "I have done what I could, Satarah. I named you for