Dirty Rotten Magic

We were lucky, as some food had been provided for us in a plain servants' hall on a large, scarred wooden table that bore the faint scent of oiled timber and old meals. As we ate, the whole troupe—our diverse company of performers and even the hulking, brutish orcs—buzzed with an undercurrent of excitement that mingled with the savory aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread. I suspected the orcs were mostly thrilled by the abundant supply of meat laid out before them, their rumbling stomachs echoing their satisfaction. At least, they were happy in their own savage way. The servants in the hall, pale-faced and trembling, kept a wary distance from the muscular, scarred orcs, their eyes wide with fear as they whispered among themselves, which granted us a surprising measure of privacy in that cavernous, echoing space.

I was seated between Xaset, whose eyes glittered with secret mischief, and Sharro, whose steely gaze betrayed both worry and determination, while I bit into a piping hot meat pie whose flaky crust crackled with each bite. In a hushed tone meant only for the fire-breather beside me—a man whose skin glowed with the ember-like warmth of his inner flame—I confided, "When we get brought back into the hall, I'm going with the magician in search of the library." The soft crackle of the hall's ancient hearth blended with our murmurs, setting a rhythmic backdrop to our covert conversation.

"He's not going to lead you to the library, you know," the fire-breather murmured, his voice low and tinged with concern as the scent of smoke intertwined with the aroma of our meal.

"Of course he is. Just wait and see," I replied, my words laced with a mix of excitement and quiet certainty.

"I've got to see this," he said with a slight smile that flickered like a flame in the dim light.

Without warning, Sharro's temper flared, and she demanded in an angry tone, "Aren't you two going to look after the women in the troupe?" Her words, sharp as the clink of metal, cut through the murmur of conversation and left a bitter tang in the air. I recalled our earlier promises and, though the pull of magical knowledge was irresistible, I offered, "You'll be okay for a few minutes without our help as you have the rest of the team—or you could come with us if you want."

Sharro snorted, a sound like a dismissive gust of wind, and retorted, "Are you kidding me? I'm not going to leave Tuallez by herself with all those nobles. Didn't you see the way they were looking at us on the stage?" Her voice carried a note of exasperation and fear, as if the very air around her vibrated with impending trouble. "You'd better be back quick as this is not going to end well if Tuallez has to reach for her knives. I assure you, we are both ready and willing to protect ourselves if needed."

"Don't worry," said Xaset in a soothing tone, his deep voice resonating with confidence. "We'll only be gone for a few minutes." Despite his reassuring words, Sharro's furrowed brow and lingering frown betrayed her inner turmoil, and she fell into a troubled silence.

We had just finished eating—except for the orcs, whose enormous, rugged hands seemed never to cease their feasting, a testament to their unyielding appetite—when Eegoll entered the hall. His appearance was a study in self-assurance; he tapped on the long table with a rhythmic, almost ceremonial knock that instantly hushed the room. The clamor subsided, and every expectant eye turned toward the man, whose presence filled the space with authority and a hint of mischief.

"That went well," he declared with a broad, self-satisfied smile that lit up his rugged features. "The earl and his adviser seem to be deep in conversation, so I think you're in with a chance of being given the honor to accompany the earl to the king's court." His voice boomed with promise as the murmurs of excitement swelled among the troupe, particularly from Eigosh, who grinned as if he were already counting shimmering coins in his mind.

He then asked in a playful yet commanding tone, "Is it time to go out and collect tips from the guests?"

"Yes, it is, but don't go near the high table unless you've been invited to," warned the earl's butler in a crisp, authoritative voice. "The girls need to be careful. I've already seen a few of the serving women harassed by some of the more obnoxious guests." The butler's words, precise and measured, reverberated in the hall alongside the soft clatter of cutlery and hushed conversations. Sharro shot me a look that said, "I told you so," and I mouthed reassuringly that everything would be fine.

The butler then led us through a cool, stone corridor back into the bustling great hall. The space was now filled with the vibrant noise of people eating—the clinks of knives and forks against plates, the soft slurps and murmurs of conversation—and I noticed that many guests were eating with just their knives and bare fingers. Around the tables, bowls of clear, cool water glistened under candlelight, serving as makeshift basins for guests to clean their hands during the meal. This subtle, yet refined, practice of the nobles seemed to be the norm in polite society, a detail I had observed in inns before, though I had expected the upper classes to be graced with more delicate utensils.

At a discreet nod from the butler, the troupe began to disperse, blending in with the throng of guests whose laughter and gentle chatter filled the hall. I made my way to the rear, where I recognized a few of the volunteers I had hypnotized earlier—a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I noted their subtle, obedient glances. Along the way, a woman, her perfume a delicate blend of roses and amber, with her husband standing stiffly beside her, beckoned with a coquettish smile. "Could you be a dear and get my husband to buy me that dress I want?" she inquired, her tone both teasing and commanding.

Her husband stiffened visibly, his expression betraying the pressure he felt as if coerced by her charm and persistence. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but it has to be voluntary, or else it will not work," I replied, my voice calm yet edged with a hint of irony.

She laughed, the sound musical and lilting, and nudged her husband with a playful smirk. "Lucky you. You're still not off the hook, though." The man, easing into a resigned smile, dropped a small piece of silver into my worn wooden bowl. "A pity you can't make her more agreeable," he teased softly.

As I prepared to move on, I remarked lightly, "Some things are beyond the realm of mortals," prompting another burst of laughter from the woman as she deposited yet another piece of silver in my bowl. For a fleeting moment, I pondered the true worth of these coins; clearly, the noble crowd, despite their airs, was unexpectedly profitable.

I continued to weave my way through the crowd, periodically intercepted by guests at the tables—each encounter accompanied by jovial jokes, courteous compliments, and the rustle of luxurious fabrics brushing against one another. Most of the people were well-meaning and engaging, a pleasant surprise in contrast to the expected arrogance of the noble earl's court. I couldn't help but wonder how the rest of the troupe fared amid such refined company.

Eventually, I abandoned my efforts to reach the back of the hall and meandered slowly among the tables, engaging in light conversation and collecting tips as I went. Across the room, I observed the women, clad in elegant garments, gracefully working the crowd for tips. I noted with concern that Sharro was not her usual flirtatious self; her interactions were more reserved, though still attracting the attention of some men whose behavior, at times, bordered on disconcerting. I mused silently, "Surely the people around me are not afraid of me because of my mind control act. It's not like it was really magic," as the ambient strains of a lute filled the space with a dreamy, melancholic tune.

At Sharro's side, Kiko—ever the vigilant guardian with a quiet, determined air—assisted her in extricating herself from awkward situations. Despite Kiko's best efforts, a few disapproving frowns were cast her way by other women, and I couldn't help but wonder why they blamed her when it was clear that the lecherous advances of some men were at fault.

After the troupe had mingled and worked the crowd for about a half-hour, the atmosphere shifted as the earl's daughter emerged from the high table like a vision of noble grace. With no hint of shyness, she strode directly toward me, her confident footsteps resonating on the polished stone floor. "My brothers said that you made a fool of everybody who was under your control," she declared boldly, her tone laced with both challenge and amusement.

"That's right, ma'am," I replied, a sly smile playing beneath the hood that shadowed most of my face. "It was all part of the performance. You did very well in your part."

Her eyes flashed with a mix of indignation and pride. "My mother felt that it was unbecoming of somebody of my status," she continued, a slight frown creasing her brow, "but I do what I want."

"If you say so. It must be so, for one as strong-willed as yourself," I countered with a mocking smile that she couldn't quite read behind the fabric of my hood. I admired her beauty—long, flowing blond hair that cascaded down her back, her posture regal and self-assured, as though being the daughter of an important man granted her an unassailable right to defy convention.

She scowled, insisting, "Please uncover your face when you're speaking to me, as I can't tell if you're mocking me."

"Sorry, ma'am, but it's all part of the mystery of the act," I replied smoothly.

"Well then, this is only half of what I was going to give you," she said, stamping off with deliberate grace. As she departed, three gleaming silver coins clinked into my bowl. I allowed myself a small smile as she retreated, quietly relieved that her imperious mother would not see my grin—I doubted I would ever be considered a welcome suitor.

No sooner had her figure melted into the crowd than a new presence emerged from the top table. My heart pounded faster as I recognized Hustum, the earl's enigmatic magician, his eyes twinkling with secrets and promises of arcane lore. I glanced over at Xaset, who was busy conversing with a young woman whose delicate hand rested lightly on his knee. Noticing my discreet nod, the magician excused himself from the charming company, his departure marked by a gentle farewell that blended with the soft strains of conversation.

When Hustum reached me, he smiled in a way that mixed mischief with genuine curiosity. "I must have that magic spell and know how you cast magic on me without activating my amulet of protection," he said, his tone both teasing and earnest.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but it's not magical," I replied quietly, the words lingering between us as the ambient murmur of the hall faded into a low hum. At that moment, he froze, his eyes glazing briefly under my subtle control. Xaset, having observed the strange interaction, arrived and looked at both of us with questioning eyes.

"Hustum was just about to show us the magical books in the library," I explained to the fire-breather, my voice a blend of excitement and urgency.

He looked visibly shocked, yet Hustum quickly regained his composure. "Would you please follow me?" he requested, his tone now imbued with the solemn gravity of our quest.

Together, the two of us followed him through a labyrinth of stone corridors, the air heavy with the scent of damp mortar and ancient secrets, while the earl's advisor led us with quiet efficiency. Each guard or servant we passed bowed respectfully, their gestures steeped in tradition as they yielded the path for our journey deeper into the castle's enigmatic heart.

"This is just way too easy," muttered Xaset with a half-grin and a shake of his head, his voice echoing softly off the cold stone walls. "I'm almost disappointed."

"We haven't finished yet, so don't curse our luck," I replied, feeling the thrill of adventure stir within me.

After climbing a narrow, spiraling staircase, we eventually entered a long corridor on the second floor. A broad, long window along one side bathed the space in a pale light, revealing a view of a bustling courtyard at the center of the keep. The corridor was adorned with oil paintings of stern-faced figures resembling the earl and his ancestors, their eyes following us with an almost accusatory intensity. Intermittently, weapons and other ornate trophies were displayed on the walls, as if this was a gallery for a strange, macabre art show that celebrated both honor and conquest. At the corridor's end, a solitary guard in light, gleaming armor stood resolute before a massive wooden door.

My heart pounded in anticipation as Hustum stepped forward and addressed the guard, "I'm going into the library and treasury with these two gentlemen." The guard, his face impassive yet respectful, nodded and moved aside. I watched as Hustum inserted a key into the lock and, with a whispered incantation, cast a spell. A dazzling surge of bright, magical energy coursed through the lock, and I distinctly heard the satisfying click of the mechanism sealing our passage.

When the door swung closed behind us, plunging the room into an inky darkness broken only by the soft hum of magic, Xaset leaned in and whispered, "Treasury sounds good."

At once, the magician cast a gentle glow that illuminated the chamber, revealing solid stone walls lined with shelves laden with worn leather bags brimming with money. On the far end, a solitary shelf cradled about ten ancient books whose spines hinted at hidden knowledge. My eyes were irresistibly drawn to these tomes, though Xaset, ever the opportunist, moved eagerly toward the leather bags. With a flourish, he opened one bag to reveal a glittering trove of gold coins. As he inspected the others, his delight grew with each discovery of silver and additional gold; even some boxes contained exquisite jewels that sparked a wide, knowing smile on his face.

"Jackpot," he exclaimed, his voice ringing with triumphant glee.

I surveyed the room with a grin that belied my inner conflict. If we took all this gold, silver, and treasure now, it might jeopardize our chance of accompanying the earl to the king's capital—a far greater prize than the petty earl's treasury. The true treasure was the king and his vast treasury, yet I still craved the magic, a secret knowledge I could seamlessly transfer into my book of life.

Turning to Hustum, I said with a quiet command, "Sit down and sleep for a few minutes."

"That's great," Xaset chimed in eagerly, "Let's gather it up and plan on getting out of here."

"Before you do that," I countered, my mind already racing with a new proposal, "let me put a better proposal to you."

"What could be better than this?" he asked, gesturing expansively at the glittering money strewn around him.

I leaned in, my voice low and conspiratorial, "How about the money in the king's treasury?"

He scrutinized me, his eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher whether I was jesting. I was dead serious when I said, "If we take any of this, we'll never get taken to the king's capital by the earl—that's for certain. There's a chance to get a lot more than this."

"My goodness, think of what an adventure that would be!" he exclaimed with a delighted smile, his eyes alight with the thrill of the prospect. "How much fun would it be to rob the king? I'm in for that. I knew there was something special about you. I like that you're thinking big."

I stared at him in shock, marveling that he was actually more excited by the prospect of the escapade than by the immediate allure of the treasure. "Is the excitement of the job more important than the money to you?" I asked quietly.

He nodded slowly, his expression softening with a trace of wistfulness. "Perceptive. Yes, it's all about living in the excitement for me. Don't tell Eigosh, as he will never split any of the earnings with me when he realizes that I'm in it for the adventure."

"But why are you?" I pressed, curiosity mingling with the thrill of the conundrum.

For a brief moment, his smile faltered into a shadow of sorrow. "Maybe later, when I know you better. We all have our personal reasons for the way we are."

"Now, get the magical information you need, and let's get out of here so we can pull off the job of the century," I urged, feeling the weight of our impending destiny.

Nodding resolutely, I made my way to the last shelf and cast the 'Gather Knowledge' spell, letting my fingers brush against the spines of the books as arcane energy seeped into my very being. With each touch, I verified that the essential magical lore had imprinted itself onto my book of life—I didn't even pause to read the titles, trusting in the efficiency of the spell. Then, with one last lingering, bittersweet look at the treasure that lay before us, the three of us departed the treasury. Even though it was my idea to reach for a greater prize, a wave of nausea swept over me at the thought of leaving all this wealth behind, our footsteps echoing down the corridor as we embraced the uncertain promise of adventure.

--

We re-entered the hall, its grand, echoing space still filled with the raucous hum of the ongoing feast, the clamor of cutlery and laughter mingling with the rich aroma of roasted meats and spiced wines. It had been only a few minutes since we'd slipped away, yet every heartbeat echoed with urgency.

Turning to Hustum, whose eyes still held the lingering haze of sleep, I said in a low, conspiratorial tone, "When you awake, all you will remember is that you showed us the magical books to try and get me to share the mind-control spell with you." His eyes fluttered open, a brief moment of disorientation passing as he blinked in the dim light of flickering torches. Then, with a slow, enigmatic smile that hinted at secrets yet unspoken, he returned to the earl. The earl, resplendent in his noble bearing and surrounded by a faint aura of authority, was deep in conversation with Eigosh—a man so devoted he bowed deeply, his head nearly brushing the polished marble floor.

I scanned the hall, my gaze darting between clusters of revelers and performers, and was surprised not to see the two women of our troupe. Instead, I spied Kluko and Trikob huddled near the door, cornered by a throng of eager women whose eyes shone with both admiration and mischief. Catching Kluko's eye, I mouthed urgently, "Where are Sharro and Tuallez?" He surveyed the room with a troubled look and pointed toward the imposing main door of the castle with a casual shrug.

"I think that Sharro and Tuallez are in trouble," I murmured to Xaset, whose face was etched with concern beneath the flickering candlelight. "Follow me." With a nod, he scanned the bustling hall as I began my brisk walk toward the exit, deftly dodging well-dressed guests who clamored for tips—each interruption punctuated by polite apologies and the soft rustle of expensive fabrics.

Stepping out into the cool night air, we entered a sprawling courtyard where meticulously kept gardens sprawled before us. Immediately, an unsettling detail pricked my senses: the usual guards stationed outside the keep's doorway were conspicuously absent, leaving a void where steadfast protection once stood. Before I could ponder further, a piercing scream erupted from around the corner of the keep—a raw sound of agony that sliced through the night.

We sprinted through the darkness, our footsteps muffled on the dew-soaked cobblestones, weaving through shadowed bushes and past beds of meticulously trimmed hedges until we reached a larger, wilder garden. Here, beneath a sprawling canopy of tangled vines and moonlit foliage, we finally caught sight of the troubled scene at the outer castle wall. A semi-circle of young men, their faces set in grim determination and anger, surrounded the two women. Each man brandished a gleaming sword, the cold steel catching the scant light as it reflected their fierce expressions.

Sharro and Tuallez, their features hardened with equal measures of anger and resolve, stood defiant at the center. Tuallez gripped one of her throwing daggers with steady precision, while Sharro's eyes burned with a fire that matched the flicker of distant torches. One of the assailants, nearest to them, clutched his injured hand—dark fluid seeping from a deep gash where Tuallez's dagger had pierced his flesh, his pained whimpers echoing softly in the cool night air.

In a heartbeat, I unleashed a series of brilliant, staccato lights into the sky, each burst illuminating the dark garden with harsh, white brilliance. The young men froze, their startled faces cast in stark relief by the sudden glare. Seizing the moment, I channeled my power to form a 'Flash Bolt'—a searing, buzzing ray of fire that streaked toward the man with the wounded hand. The bolt struck his back with a sizzling impact, yellow flames cascading over him like a relentless, burning tide. I watched intently as his personal shield flickered and dimmed in response to the inferno.

Tuallez's voice rang out, sharp with indignation, "You idiot! They're nobles—you can't kill them on the earl's estate!" Her words cut through the chaos, laced with both exasperation and a touch of humor.

Xaset's voice joined the fray, a wry grin evident even beneath the heat of the moment: "I guess that we had better just scare them witless, then." With a devilish glint in his eyes, he inhaled deeply and exhaled a massive wave of fire that surged forward, engulfing the assailants. The ionized, rolling wave of flame hit the men from behind, causing their personal shields to flicker and fade, like weak defenses crumbling under relentless assault. In the ensuing pandemonium, the men turned to confront us; however, through the enveloping flames, all they saw was Xaset spewing torrents of fire from his mouth and me, twin bolts of fiery energy clutched in each hand, poised for further attack. As the chaos intensified, knives began to strike at the backs of their legs—Tuallez's swift, precise blows ensuring there was no chance of reprisal.

This final act shattered the resolve of the young men; with a clatter of dropped swords and panicked shouts, they abandoned their posts and fled into the night. Xaset immediately dispelled the flames with a dramatic flick of his hand and winked at me, his expression a mix of mischief and satisfaction. "It sometimes helps to look more dangerous than you actually are," he remarked with a chuckle that carried on the cool night breeze.

In the sudden, eerie silence that followed their flight, I turned to the two women, my voice soft with concern, "Are you fine?"

Sharro snarled in a tone thick with reproach, "No thanks to you, as you left us when we needed you most."

Tuallez, still catching her breath, retorted sharply, "And then you come running in and practically try to kill them. Do you think that we couldn't have killed them easily? I don't miss, you should know that. That knife wound was a warning to anybody trying to get closer. What do you think their families would do to us if we killed them—or how about the earl?"

Before I could answer, a deep, resonant voice boomed from behind us, laden with authority and a hint of reprimand. "Unfortunately, I'd have to do something that I would have regretted." Out of the shadowed corner of the garden emerged the imposing figure of the Earl of Chadwick, his stately silhouette framed by the darkness, with Eigosh striding faithfully at his side. The earl pushed past a cluster of low, dew-damp bushes and halted to survey the unfolding scene with eyes as cold and calculating as polished steel.

"I can guess who some of those idiots are," he declared, his voice low and menacing, "and they will want revenge for being embarrassed like this tonight. You should be more careful, especially as I need your troupe to get access to the king." His gaze then shifted to Eigosh as he continued, "Master Eigosh, please have your troupe ready to travel in the morning. I want to be at the capital as soon as possible."

The master of the troupe bowed his head in silent acknowledgment, while the strong earl sighed deeply, his words a bitter reflection on the night's chaos, "Who would have thought that we would have to provide entertainment just to get the attention of a vain king?" I wondered for a moment if he realized that his criticism of the throne was audible to us all, yet the earl seemed unfazed by the risk of his sentiments being known.

He fixed his stern gaze upon us, his voice echoing with the weight of command, "First thing tomorrow. Be ready, all of you, and for goodness' sake, keep out of this kind of trouble." As his words faded into the cool night, we all bowed our heads in reluctant compliance, watching silently as the earl retreated back into the night.