Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 5

Chapter Four

  Regecon stretched and yawned loudly. It had been a long, tiring day. Still, he enjoyed his late night talks with Ambrisia too much to retire yet. The sorceress of earthcraft sat nearby reclining on her couch and toying with a cork from a bottle of wine. Even dressed in simple brown robes, she still possessed a stunning figure for a woman forty years old. Full-figured and slim at the waist, she had kicked her feet up on the couch and lay with her back against a pillow propped on the armrest. Her dark hair hung in long tresses around her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled with an icy blue fire. They were a compelling sight, those blue eyes. They stood out against her hair in a startling, yet pleasing fashion.

  “Interesting piece, is it not?” The sorceress motioned to a painting hanging on the wall.

  “Truly fascinating ...” Regecon replied, returning his gaze to the picture he had been studying just moments before. It was a large painting, as long as the mantel piece, and it portrayed a massive battle. Multi-colored pennants whirled in a tumultuous wind, while heavily armored men waged war across a field stained in blood. “What is it anyway? It’s obviously a major battle, but I’m not sure which one.”

  “You always were a little lax in the histories, weren’t you?” Ambrisia teased. She placed the wine cork on a small table next to a bottle and two crystal goblets filled with wine.

  “Am I supposed to know what it is by sight alone?” Regecon asked in a bewildered tone.

  “It is called The Fall of Morgulan. One would think the figure in the center of the field would give it away. What, with the Battle Helm and the glowing sceptre in his hand. If you look closely, you can even see Zarina behind him—dressed all in black, of course.”

  “Oh, yes. There she is. And that’s the infamous Morgulan with his sceptre. Who’s that next to him? The armored warrior who looks like he’s about to take the sceptre from him?” Regecon peered closely at the figure noting the man’s blue tabard covered in myriad fantastic beasts etched in silver. The amount of detail was astonishing.

  “That was one of his generals. I forget his name—Lucane or Lucius or something like that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  Regecon nodded as if in understanding, then glanced about at the rest of her paintings. “You have a truly warped sense of art, woman,” he said as his eyes came to rest on another of her treasures. “Why in the blazes do you have a portrait of the Scythe-Bearer on your wall?”

  Ambrisia’s face held a wry smile. “Does the Death Lord not appeal to you?”

  “No, he does not,” Regecon answered, still studying the picture. It was well-made, he would give it that. It hung on the wall to the right of the fireplace in an ornate frame made of gold. The Death Lord’s robes were a long and flowing black, and his skeletal visage bore an uncharacteristic grin. His pale green eyes burned with a preternatural light and his bony hands gripped an immense scythe stained with dark red blood. Regecon shuddered and looked away, his gaze coming to rest on Ambrisia, a more pleasant sight by far. “The thought of death is not something I would wish to remind myself with every day of my life.”

  “Is that all you see in the Scythe-Bearer? Death?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. She reached over and picked up one of the goblets.

  “Is there anything else to see?”

  “Power. For one. Respect for life is another. I’ve always felt that the mortality inherent in life merely makes it all the more precious. What better way to ensure that you make the most of each day than to start it realizing the Scythe-Bearer could soon be knocking on your door?” She gestured with her hand for emphasis.

  “You are a strange woman,” Regecon replied, studying her. Once again, he found himself wondering what a life with her would have been like, if they had decided long ago to pursue a deeper relationship. That was the price of magic, he supposed— solitude. It was a shame, really, but he found some contentment in their lasting friendship.

  “I am a magician, dear. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less.” Ambrisia took a sip of wine and began absently twirling her finger in one of the longer tresses of her hair. She wrapped it several times around, then let it go to begin anew.

  “Excuse me, Mistress ... Councilman.” A woman stood in the archway, her hand holding back the thick black curtain. Regecon recognized her immediately; it was Korina, another beauty. One of Ambrisia’s finest students, she possessed another set of intriguing eyes. They were green, like emeralds, but Regecon suspected they glittered more. They sat back high above a fine aquiline nose, framed by a mass of swirling raven-black hair. Another heartbreaker claimed by Magic.

  “What is it, Korina?” Ambrisia said, her head turning toward the younger woman.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt you, Mistress, but I thought I’d tell you I’m all done with my nightly meditation and that I’d be heading back to my room now.” The young woman’s voice was crisp and clean with a lilt reminiscent of a set of rare wind chimes.

  “Thank you, Korina. I will see you in the morning, then,” Ambrisia said.

  Korina curtsied, then retreated from the room.

  As the woman let the curtain fall, Regecon turned back to Ambrisia. “A polite young girl,” he said.

  “Yes, and very bright too.”

  “I know. You’ve told me.”

  “Have I? I suppose I have. Did I mention I’m thinking of sending her to you? She’s already exhausted all I know of flamecraft,” Ambrisia spoke almost absently, carefully stirring a sprinkle of spices into Regecon’s wine.

  When she finished, Regecon reached over and picked up the glass. He sniffed it once but did not drink. “I thought earth was more in her focus,” he said.

  “It is, but she picks up the others well enough.”

  “Is she really that bright?” Regecon asked, his curiousity piqued. “When will she be testing?”

  “In truth, she could probably test right now with little difficulty,” Ambrisia said, “but I intend to make her wait a couple months. She’ll appreciate becoming a full mage that much more.”

  “I did not realize she had advanced so far.”

  “Yes, as I’ve said before, she’s quite brilliant. But enough about her, how did your meeting with the bounty hunter go this evening?” Ambrisia asked, suddenly very interested.

  Regecon shrugged, then began to relate the early events of the evening and his impressions of the three men he had hired. He had been satisfied with the meeting, actually impressed that the bounty hunter had had the insight to ask of divination. The warrior had remained silent, but Regecon had sensed a change in the man’s mood when black time was discussed; the warrior had become an intrigued and attentive listener. Even the rogue he found appealing in his own peculiar way.

  Ambrisia took another sip from her glass. “Why was Coragan so reluctant to take the job?”

  “I’m not really sure about the specifics, but he gave me the impression he was not very trustful of mages.”

  “That’s it?!” Ambrisia exclaimed. “No one trusts us. Not even the nobles, but they still give us respect. And he ought to at least know the honor of working for us.” Like most mages, Ambrisia had a high opinion of herself and the art of magic, and she could be easily aggravated when others did not show her the respect she thought she deserved.

  “Apparently, he didn’t feel quite so honored,” Regecon said, in a matter of fact tone. He, at least, would not overly concern himself with the man’s opinion, as long as it caused no serious problems.

  “Well, he’s only a bounty hunter after all. Perhaps his judgment’s a bit fuzzy.” Ambrisia nodded once to herself as if satisfied with her conclusion.

  “Perhaps,” Regecon said, taking a sip of his own wine.

  After that, their conversation turned to the problem of the fire itself. They debated its possible causes as well as the likely source of the mysterious black time. At one point Ambrisia intimated that their old rival, the guild in Alvaron, may have been involved, but Regecon dissented. There was a great deal of distrust b
etween the two guilds, but it had never fomented to the point of open violence. Besides, no one at the guild in Alvaron was strong enough to invoke black time.

  As the discussion drew to a close, Regecon’s gaze returned to the portrait of the Scythe-Bearer on the wall. Its burning green eyes stared across the room, seemingly at him. It was a cold and lifeless painting, but Regecon could imagine the cloaked figure’s presence all too vividly. The Lord of Death was watching them, and waiting.