Chapter Eleven #2
“It’s organized chaos, Benjamin.” Sikras wiped the dust off on his vest. “I wager if Theodore employed the undead, he’d have cleaner knickknacks.”
The wizard’s chest puffed, his cheeks and ears turning a fiery shade of red.
“My sacred objects are far more than just knickknacks. And I wouldn’t be caught dead employing .
.. well, the dead. It’s so inferior. True wizardry requires everything necromancy lacks.
Cultivation. Discipline. Intellectual control. ”
“And the ability to pronounce impossibly long words.” With his back to Theodore, Sikras inspected each item with a nonchalant gaze.
“Not to mention the subtle intricacies between elemental spells, memorizing the energy cost of each enchantment to avoid killing yourself, the practiced finger poses for literally thousands of spell variations, the hours and hours and hours of endless study. Not for me, thank you very much.”
Theodore scoffed. “Necromancy is obviously the route taken by those who have no respect for nature’s order.”
“Tell me about it. Death thinks I disrespect her all the time. I don’t mean to, but my blatant disregard for nature’s order really gets under her skin. Wait. Under her bones, maybe?” Sikras pursed his lips. “Death doesn’t have any skin.”
“And ...” Theodore continued, nostrils flaring, “let’s not forget the obvious delusion and control issues one must have to desire manipulating people like puppets.”
Sikras nudged Theodore mischievously. “Preaching to the choir on that one, my friend. I’d ask you to hold my baggage, but a barbarian with an elixir of strength would still struggle to hoist that load; am I right?”
Tight-lipped and stiff, Helspira leaned toward Sikras, her voice a whisper. “Thank you for behaving in light of his insults.”
“Is he insulting me?” Sikras blinked. “Oh, dear, he’ll have to try harder than that. Those words are kind compared to the ones I tell myself at night.”
“What’s this?” Benjamin poked a mannequin wearing an ornate robe.
Theodore glowered. “Watch your hands. That is my Robe of Imperviousness.”
Sikras snorted. “Robe of Perviness?”
“Imperviousness,” Theodore snapped. “Imbued with protective spells that shield the wearer from unnatural harm, but like everything arcane, its power comes at a cost. Once it’s put on, it can never be removed.”
Benjamin swatted Sikras. “I wager that makes going to the bathroom quite the event.”
“Don’t remind me,” Theodore rumbled. “Took an eternity to remove the stench of human waste from that thing.”
Helspira recoiled with a wince. “If they protect the wearer from unnatural harm, how did you acquire them?”
“I waited for the wearer to die naturally, of course. Old age. I purchased her corpse from her family for a hefty sum, awaited decomposition, and plucked her bones out myself.”
Sikras paced the room, hands behind his back. “Right. Because that’s totally normal, but necromancy is gross.”
“And this”—Theodore flitted across the room, ignoring Sikras as he stopped before a vial of sparkling liquid atop a red satin pillow—“is a potion of healing, capable of restoring vitality and curing wounds in moments. The catch? It keeps, so-called, improving your body, never ending. If you get cut, it’ll turn your flesh to stone so you’re never cut again.
If one day you find yourself fumbling to carry too many supplies, you’ll grow a third, accommodating limb.
If your peripheral vision doesn’t prevent you from being on the wrong end of a sneak attack, you’ll grow another set of eyes on the side of your head. ”
“Charming. And this?” Sikras poked a vase.
“Don’t touch that!” Theodore threw his arms around the vase, pupils shrinking to tiny dots. “This vase, if opened, reveals the future to any who peer inside ... But at the cost of unleashing the poltergeist trapped within the porcelain.”
Sikras whistled and shook his head. “Poltergeist, huh? Fancy. I meet a lot of bodies without souls, but very rarely do I meet a soul without a body, outside of Enos, anyway.”
Theodore steadied the vase and wiped a smudge off its side.
“Moving forward, I’ll thank you not to touch anything.
Now, if you look over here, you’ll see my most prized possession, a spell book bound in dragon’s hide.
It contains a wealth of ancient incantations just waiting to be mastered, but the knowledge is said to drive the person to insanity.
” He paused long enough to glimpse Helspira over his shoulder.
“Of all the items in my collection, this was Cecil’s favorite.
Very popular among wizards. Fortunately, I have the mental fortitude not to open it. ”
“As lovely as all these possessed trinkets are,” Sikras interrupted, “we want to see the scroll.”
“Ah, yes. The Scroll of Sacred Passage.” Theodore motioned to a delicate parchment wrapped with a thin, glittering string.
“Said to teleport anyone through the planes of time once and once only, but if they don’t reach their destination fast enough, they’ll be trapped between planes in a timeless wasteland forever. ”
Helspira inspected the small paper. “How much time does the user have before they’re trapped?”
“Nobody knows for sure,” Theodore mused. “But it’s written that you must arrive at your destination within one hundred heartbeats.”
“Perfect. Benjamin doesn’t have a heart.” Sikras snapped his fingers and pointed. “Box that up for us, Theodore. We’ll take it to go.”
A haughty laugh bubbled from the wizard’s mouth. “If you think I’d part with anything from my sacred collection, it seems I prematurely credited your intelligence.”
“I didn’t expect you to willingly part with anything.” Sikras’s arms swept out as he struck a well-rehearsed pose. “I have a feeling money means nothing to a man of your status, but surely a man of your superior intellect wouldn’t say no to a cerebral challenge?”
Diplomacy drained from Theodore’s voice, and he pointed a meticulously manicured finger Sikras’s way. “A man of my superior intellect would never agree to any challenge in which he has nothing to gain. Fortunately, your instincts were correct. The Cat’s Eye has something I want.”
“You really don’t need to add the extraneous ‘the’ to my moniker.”
“Look”—Benjamin stepped forward—“we don’t have time for a long-winded dialogue exchange between casters. We need that scroll if we want any chance of defeating Vessik.”
Theodore burst into a fit of laughter. “Vessik? That lowly, little necromancer? You’re about four years late for that fight, aren’t you?”
Sikras shrugged. “Vessik can’t have been too lowly if you know who he is.”
“I make it my business to know Siaphara’s casters, but I assure you, I only know of him because he’s synonymous with your fall from Queen Saelihn’s employ.
Curiosity bested me when the timeline of his descent into madness matched with your descent into oblivion.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered you were friends with that poor excuse for a caster. ”
“Poor excuse?” Sikras inspected his cuticles. “Vessik struggled with the basics of magic, sure, but he’s gained quite the talent for it now. His exploits may not be in the same league as a genocidal warlord, but if we want to stop him before he kills anyone else, we’ll need that scroll.”
“If you refuse to part with it,” Benjamin interjected, “I’m sure the queen could convince you to do so.”
“Is that a threat? Adorable.” Theodore smiled and slicked back his hair.
“I’m a wizard of unfathomable ability. This is naught but a summer home to me.
You think I won’t abscond with my collection in the blink of an eye, far outside the queen’s jurisdiction, the moment I think my possessions are at risk?
All that aside, Queen Saelihn’s decrees are not absolute.
Nyllmas’s power is a balance between nobles, several of which have a vested interest in my happiness, if you know what I mean. ”
Sikras pinched the bridge of his nose. “Theodore, with respect, if we wait any longer for you to tell me what you’d like in exchange for the scroll, we’ll all die of old age.”
The irritation Theodore projected caved to what resembled humiliation. He turned away and paced the floor, hands fiddling with the decorative trim on his sleeves. “I want you to do something that’s ... It’s admittedly a bit shameful to ask for.”
Sikras smirked. “That’s very flattering, but I’m married. Perhaps if your Robe of Imperviousness was, indeed, a Robe of Perviness—”
“Not that,” the wizard sputtered, eyes bulging.
“I refer to an act far beneath a man of my acclaim yet outside the realm of my capability. I’ve scoured Siaphara for knowledge on how to replicate the abilities of the Cat’s Eye but to no avail.
I need you to bind soul to body, the same as you’ve done for your friend here. ”
“Sure. Easy.” The lie came as certain and effortless as any other. “Who’s the lucky corpse?”
“Mr. Tibbons. My cat.”
“Mr. Tibbons.” Stifling any criticism regarding the feline’s name, Sikras nodded. “You have the body, I presume?”
Without a word, Theodore motioned for them to follow.
Leaving the room of arcane artifacts, the wizard guided the trio into a nearby study, complete with dusty bookshelves, a globe of Siaphara, a long table, and countless chairs.
Theodore reached toward a tall cabinet and seized a box.
With tender care, he pulled it down and removed a layer of dust that had settled over the top with his sleeve.
Sikras gawked at the box unceremoniously. “You’ve a veritable treasure trove of ornate objects and you stuffed him in a dirty box?”
“I was grieving,” Theodore snapped as he set the box atop the table. “Nothing seemed fitting, and this just happened to be nearby at the time.”