by K S Augustin
Gamsin pointed to the right of the hall, to the locked doorway, and they moved in that direction, guided by Ankoll’s muted sense and Gamsin’s intuition. Much to her surprise, they were in full sight of the quartz-like rock before anything happened.
A shrill buzz suddenly filled Gamsin’s head and she collapsed to her knees, trying to block out the sound with her hands over her ears. It didn’t help. Like the waves of an ocean, billows of discordant sound washed over her, interfering with all thought. Then she heard Ankoll’s voice, a calm, dark thread cutting through the chaos.
“Get the door unlocked. I will protect you.”
The noise lessened to a dull roar, allowing Gamsin to reach into her canvas bag for her lockpick. Just before she began, though, she tried the heavy cast-iron door handle—she remembered times in her life when she had taken infinite care to silently retrieve and lay out her tools for a burglary job, only to find that the owners had forgotten to lock the front door to their house in the first place. She hoped… The handle turned, but the door stayed firm. Locked. With a grim nod, Gamsin set to work.
Unlike the fine filigree cage in the opposite room, the lock of the door was so gigantic Gamsin thought she could almost open it using her fingers. This would take strength rather than finesse and she swore as the lockpick slipped, catching it before it hit the floor. Behind her, she knew that Ankoll was doing something to keep that dreadful brain-filling noise at bay, but wasn’t sure exactly what that was.
She felt the click rather than heard it and tried the handle again, pushing against the resistance of old timber, then pulling Ankoll through, slamming the door behind them. She didn’t know why, but she thought the ear-shattering sound would die down once they were out of the hall. It didn’t. Gamsin took a deep breath and looked around.
It was a tiny room. On the floor was a small oil lamp, inexpertly trimmed—tendrils of greasy grey smoke drifted up into the air. Against the wall—Gamsin looked then looked again—was a shape, irregular and soft. She picked up the lamp, holding it at head height…and gasped.
It could only be Beltrin. He was a tall man—the Eidolon could not take his height away from him. But his skin hung in pouches on his bones, as though someone had come along and drained the flesh from him, leaving a gaunt and pale shell. Only the thick iron manacles pinning his wrists to the wall held him upright or he would have toppled into a heap of bones at her feet.
But his eyes. It was as though every speck of life the sorcerer contained was funnelled into his eyes, for they gazed at her with a sharp intelligence.
Behind them, the door began shaking as bodies threw themselves at it.
“We have to leave,” Gamsin said unnecessarily, looking around, but apart from the door, there was only a narrow slit window in the wall. The wailing in her head got louder.
Ankoll looked at the ceiling then over at the door, now vibrating with each impact.
“Stand back,” he instructed. For the first time since they’d entered the room, he looked Beltrin full in the face…and began changing into a dragon. He expanded, thrusting his neck straight up, shattering the wooden ceiling. Gamsin ducked as broken planks of wood showered her, one landing on her upturned arm. She winced, but kept the arm in position. Between the dragon and the keening in her brain, a few bruises were the least of her worries.
The winged beast, with its head now towering above them, looked down and lifted one claw, closing ungently on the emaciated sorcerer and ripping him from the wall. Beltrin screamed, but Gamsin’s quick glance confirmed he was still in one piece before she, too, was lifted—more gently—into the night sky.
The Eidolon’s mental attack lessened as the dragon winged its way away from the mountain village. Gamsin caught her breath as the wind ripped at her clothes, her relief at the welcome silence in her mind momentarily overshadowing the experience of flying through the air, carried by a giant reptile with flapping leathery wings.
The dragon released both of them on a slope overlooking the village, then wheeled back to where the Eidolon waited. Gamsin was too exhausted, too shaken, to do anything other than watch an epic battle unfold before her eyes. Beside her, the ancient sorcerer lay still, only his head turning to watch the dragon’s movements.
“The sorcerer,” he grated. “The sorcerer of Ankoll Castle.”
Gamsin looked over at him and nodded, remembering that this man had bested Ankoll in battle. He looked frail and withered, but she knew there was still terrible knowledge locked inside him.
The dragon approached the hall, shrieking its cry of challenge. A white mist rose from the hall’s broken roof, and solidified into a pale bird-thing. Before it could completely coalesce, the dragon was upon it, its talons ripping at the Eidolon’s body, its breath sizzling the air. The Eidolon shrieked aloud and a moan rose from the throats of the villagers held in its thrall. Gamsin could see some of their silhouettes in the torchlight, standing still wherever they were, whether swaying on a rope bridge or climbing a ladder. Whitish fluid bled from the Eidolon’s form and was swept away on the wind.
The bronze dragon circled up then around, coming in for a lightning strike, its body streamlined into one bestial missile, but the Eidolon recovered quickly, engulfing the dragon, trapping its wings then hurling it away in a spinning ball of dark form.
Gamsin caught her breath. This wasn’t an impersonal drama unfolding before her eyes. The dragon was Ankoll—the man who had succoured her as much as she had succoured him—and he was alone, battling a monstrosity from another realm. Her heart thudded in her chest as she watched the dragon somersault away from the Eidolon’s strike, and she thought it would be dashed against the unforgiving rock of the mountainside but it steadied itself and swerved away at the last minute. Down below, on the stony slope, the young thief allowed herself to breathe again.
Wheeling back to attack, the dragon took lungfuls of air then unleashed volley after volley of fierce fire at the otherworldly creature. And, as the battle continued, Gamsin noticed that some of the villagers began collapsing as the Eidolon drained them completely of their life spirit.
She watched the battle in the air, unbelieving of how much flame the dragon was spouting, and it seemed to be working. Little by little, the Eidolon retreated to the chamber, to the quartz that sheltered it, its form shrinking until, with one cry, the dragon unleashed a sustained blast that exploded the hall into a fireball, sending streaks of red and yellow sparks high into the night.
Trumpeting its triumph, the dragon circled the village once, then flew toward the hill. Toward Gamsin.
She could feel Ankoll drawing on her strength as he settled on the rocky terrain and hurried to him as he changed back into a human. He slumped to the rocky ground, breathing hard.
“You destroyed the Eidolon,” Gamsin told him quietly and with pride. She took off her cloak and draped it around him.
“I-it took all my strength.” He shook his head, still looking down. “I have none left.”
“Then I’ll get the horses.”
It was as if her brain couldn’t take in everything that had happened in that epic battle. There was pride as she thought of Ankoll defeating that monstrosity. And humility as she realised how little one person’s feelings meant against the background of such a gigantic struggle. In an effort to feel useful again, to regain part of her belief in her own self-worth and ability to do something, Gamsin left the two sorcerers on the hill and walked back down to the village.
The settlement was eerily quiet. Like discarded toys, people lay on the ground, grey and unmoving. Some hung on the ladders, their limbs trapped by rope, their bodies swinging lazily. Gamsin had seen hanged men before, it was a form of punishment frequently used in Mishlow City, but this was different. These were the bodies of innocents, swaying in the breeze. Their only crime was being alive in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tears pricked at her eyes. How she wished there was some way they could have been saved.
As she neared the first set of stilts, she hear
d footsteps and looked up at one of the houses. A gaunt, young man peered down at her with a blank expression. He watched her as she approached the horses. They’d left them as far from the hall as possible and they were still restrained, although fidgety from the noise of the battle. She untied them and felt the man’s gaze bore into her back as she led the horses away, but he still said nothing. She, too, remained silent, not knowing what words she could offer amid such tragedy.
It took effort but she finally loaded both Ankoll and Beltrin on the horses and headed back to their camp. She was stiff with exhaustion and numb from what she had seen. Perhaps the world was right to turn its back on magic if this was what it did. Even the cruelest of lords could not have killed so many so quickly and in such an unnatural manner. She looked at Ankoll, slumped over the saddle of his horse, the sorcerer Beltrin draped sideways on the other. To look at them, who would believe they held such power? Who were they to hold the lives of men in their frail hands? How could they justify such terrible might?
These thoughts occupied her as they reached camp and she helped the two men down, making them comfortable while she struggled to build a larger fire. After what had just happened, the threat of an attack coming from the village was slim.
She knew she should have stayed awake. Both Ankoll and Beltrin were either asleep or unconscious. But she felt drained. Slowly, her head drooped, and she slumbered.
“Thank you.”
They were back at the keep, in one of her dream visions that Gamsin was beginning to regard as her second life. She was sitting on the bed and Ankoll stood by the window, smiling at her.
“We defeated the Eidolon.”
“You—”
He shook his head. “We. Together. I think we make a formidable team.” Then he paused. “Something troubles you.”
Gamsin squeezed her eyes shut before opening them and looking at him in bewilderment. “I told you that our world stopped believing in sorcerer’s magic centuries ago. What I saw tonight,” she shuddered, “frightened me.” Her gaze flew to his, willing him to understand what she was saying. “Ankoll, is this what you do? What sorcerers do? Can you destroy people in the same way the Eidolon did?”
He hesitated. “Yes,” he finally said. “With further study, and if I so desire, I’m sure I could wreak similar destruction as that creature.” He opened his mouth to say something, stopped, then tried again. “Gamsin, does being with a sorcerer trouble you so much?”
“It’s not you. I…,” a shy smile lit her face, “I care for you a lot. It’s just that…when I went back to get our horses and saw all those people lying there on the ground…”
“I am not a perfect man, and far from a perfect sorcerer, but I hope you can believe I am not as evil as what I defeated tonight. But,” he cocked his head, “if it so disturbs you, perhaps we can come to an arrangement?”
“An arrangement?”
He smiled. “I’ve been thinking on this for a few weeks. We have found Beltrin. I shall ask him to lift the enchantment from me. And then, perhaps together we can find that cottage you seek and settle for a more comfortable life. With my family long dead, there is nothing holding me to Ankoll Castle. And, wherever you are, I will find my happiness.”
Gamsin was dazed. Nobody, in all her life, had ever offered her a gift of such magnitude. She knew now the immense power of sorcerers. That Ankoll was content to follow her, rather than lead a community himself, humbled her. “You would do this for me?” Her voice was soft with disbelief.
“I would do this for us. If it pleases you.”
She flew to him and he engulfed her in his arms. Holding him close, she could hear the rumble of laughter in his chest.
“Truly, never has such a trifle elicited such a response. You are an unusual woman, Gamsin Thief.”
The kiss they exchanged began sweetly, as if—after the fury of what had transpired—they were both hesitant, unsure. He ran his tongue lightly over her lips, teasing, playful. But it swiftly deepened into a more primal embrace as they tumbled on the bed, and she ended up on top of him.
Once in his embrace, Gamsin wanted no preliminaries. She thought she might have lost him that night and the fear of the moment drove her to claw at him, removing his clothing with haste so she could lick and kiss his bare chest. Ankoll, too, after his initial hesitation, tugged at her gown impatiently, lifting it over her head. He ran his fingers down her body, tracing an invisible line on her skin. With the back of his hand, he stroked the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. Gamsin’s breathing became ragged.
With little warning, he rolled her onto the bed and dipped his head, kissing her curls and gently parting her legs before exploring deeper, licking at her with strong strokes of his tongue and sending her body into electric spasms. She grasped his hair and writhed on the bed, wanting the moment to go on and on, feeling herself get wet.
His tongue was relentless. She felt his lips on her, felt him kiss her sex as he kissed her mouth—his tongue now inside her—and she exploded in waves of delight, her body shuddering around his artful caresses.
When he moved up to kiss her again, she smelled her muskiness on his face, tasted herself on his lips. He nudged against her legs then he was inside her, slipping into the sleek sheath that was eager to welcome him. Together, they set up a rhythm without speaking, an intimate dance of mutual pleasure, culminating in an orgasmic crest that carried them into blessed oblivion for a score of protracted seconds.
“We could have done this by the campfire,” Gamsin suggested mischievously when she was finally able to speak again.
Ankoll kissed the skin of one pale breast. “Not with Beltrin around. We may have saved his life, but I don’t trust him.”
“And,” she looked around, “we didn’t go anywhere.”
“No. I think that only happens when we physically make love.” He kissed her shoulder. “Although, as we’ve only physically made love once, I can’t be sure. Perhaps we should experiment once we’re alone again?”
She giggled. “Perhaps we should.”
“You have changed,” Beltrin remarked later that morning after finishing a breakfast of ham, cheese and fresh water. He was still thin and haggard, but Gamsin thought she detected some colour to his face and a growing strength to his voice.
Watching the two sorcerers eye each other across the campfire reminded her of watching two circling cats, each sizing up the other, both mistrustful.
“I’ve had time to think.” Ankoll’s voice was flat. “Centuries to think.”
Beltrin lifted an eyebrow. “It certainly doesn’t seem to have done you any harm.”
Ankoll’s fists clenched and he spoke through gritted teeth. “Harm enough watching my parents die of shame and heartache. The Ankoll line ended with me.”
“Then perhaps,” Beltrin rasped with a small smile, “you should have been more careful with it.”
Now Gamsin could understand what had prompted the younger man to challenge such a powerful sorcerer. In his position, facing such smug arrogance, she thought she might have done the same thing herself.
“All I want now is to have this enchantment lifted from me.” His blue gaze bored into Beltrin’s. “A fair trade for your life, I should think.”
“Yes. I suppose the occasional act of stupidity is not restricted to the young.” Which, Gamsin knew, was as close as the ancient sorcerer was going to get to an apology for unleashing the Eidolon on the world. “You have my book? The curse I used on you is not one I use often. I will need some hours to ponder it.”
The sun rose high in the sky while Beltrin went off to one edge of their small camp. Occasionally, Gamsin heard him mutter something indistinguishable to himself while he flicked through the pages of his spell book.
“You don’t have such a book?” Gamsin asked quietly of Ankoll while they waited. She was used to waiting—a thief often had to lay low, to either mark time till the right moment, or avoid detection—but that didn’t mean she liked it.
“
It’s at the keep,” Ankoll answered. “But my enforced solitude gave me enough time to memorise most of what I need.”
It was so close, the image of her cottage. Now larger, with an additional room where Ankoll could keep his instruments of magic. And, of course, some books. If only Beltrin would hurry up…
Finally he rose and walked over to them, but there was a frown on his face. He gestured at Ankoll’s head, a simple movement with his lean fingers, and his frown deepened.
“This is…most unfortunate. And unintended.”
Gamsin shot to her feet, her body bristling with fear. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?”
She was the only one of the three displaying any nervousness. The two men just looked at each other evenly.
“The enchantment was laid on you five hundred years ago,” Beltrin explained, ignoring Gamsin. “In that time, the dragon’s character has seeped into you and is now an intrinsic part of your being.”
Ankoll nodded. “That explains why I can change into one at will.”
Beltrin inclined his head. “When the conditions of the curse were met,” he flicked a quick glance to Gamsin, “all traces of the dragon should have been lifted from you, but they weren’t. The dragon has worked its way into your soul.”
Ankoll’s eyes narrowed to dark chips as he seemed to consider the older man’s words. “Does that mean you can’t remove it?”
“There is one way. But it requires that I remove all traces of magic from you. You will be rid of the dragon…and you will also be rid of everything that makes you a sorcerer. You will be as the basest of acolytes, stripped of your powers, your enchanted items, and further life extensions.” He paused. “Do you wish me to do this?”
There was no hesitation. “Yes.”
“No!” Gamsin moved between them, forcing Ankoll to look at her. “I can’t let you do this thing.”
“Sorcery was mine to study,” Ankoll told her gently. “It is also mine to give up.”
