Sorcerer's Vendetta (The Secret of Zanalon) (2 page)

"I shall certainly be indebted to you, make no mistake about that." He snorted. "And you will be able to call me on it, anytime – I must give thee my soul name to do this."

She looked at him, weakening, sure he could see her salivating at
that
prospect. Of course, she reminded herself, he still had to survive the encounter with the tricky apprentice if she expected to get paid.

He studied her, calculating. "Think naught about the Others’ encumbrance, old woman, an were that the reason for thy hesitance. Thine only part in this were to help bring a murderer to justice. I shall take the burden of black magick on mine own soul. 'Twas ne'er my intent to use the spell that way, but ..." He dropped his gaze, then straightened to look at her.

"It is fitting for a man whose heart is blackened by poison. Thou hast naught to lose. An I fail, I will take Hafgan's place as the sacrifice---I am dead anyway."

She puffed out her cheeks, considering this aspect.

"We-ell, I do want mine old body back. I mean, my young 'un. 'ell, let's do it." She shook back her sleeves in preparation and started to rise, but he put up a hand to stay her.

"One more condition. Remember, it is a murderer that we speak of. My murderer." He flexed his hands and fixed her in a cold blue stare. "Make it slow and make ... it ...
agony
."

Looking up at him, she turned away quickly. Too much hatred in his eyes. She pulled herself from her chair, turned and shuffled off to her corner to begin her study, as much to cover her discomfort as to prepare for this difficult spell.

"Surely thou 'ast a black 'eart," she murmured under her breath.

"Ready?"

"As I shall e'er be." She stretched her bent back up, reached out to connect with the shoulders of the tall, powerfully-built man. For an instant she was stricken by the image of ironic opposites they formed: she appeared older, though she was half his age; he appeared more powerful, though it was she who gave him her power.

Then a blue crackling coursed out and around her thin, wobbly arms, traveling until it plunged into the Sorcerer's body. He lifted his head, taking it, and then it was gone.

The Sorcerer brought his head down slowly. "Is that the best thou canst do?"

"'ey, must needs I leave aught for myself," she retorted. "No tellin' what might come up 'fore thy return. An thou returns. Thou might keel over from that poison 'fore thou can pay off this 'ere debt. Sure thou cain't call the bugger 'ere?"

"'Tis sure he is guarding. An I try and fail, he will know I am coming. Best to go to him. Work in a baited trap, though, so that it will be he who comes to me, to trigger it. Let his own greed betray him." He rubbed his hands together, a nasty smile on his face. "Aye. Methinks I like that idea."

She gave him a sideways look. "Thy design be to trap him, right? Not to kill him outright."

The Sorcerer returned her gaze, straight and cold. "O' course that is what I meant."

Barely hesitating, she gave him a satisfied nod. Reminding herself that she had his soul name, she kept her expression neutral. Her thoughts were her own.

"Well, what mana thou 'ast thou must save. Let me get thee there, all right?"

He nodded, doubtfully.

She narrowed her eyes at him, an unseen protest.
Damn six-fathered whoreson.
Here I am, saving his rear, and still he thinks I am nobody.

Biting her tongue, she began. Circling him, she muttered the proper incantations with her best style, while he watched her weave her web.

The Sorcerer gave a derogatory snort.

She stopped. "What?"

"Malodorous pronunciation."

She crossed her arms and glared. "Thou wishest to try? Then we shall see what kind o' a fight thou canst give thy boy when thou gets there."

He stared straight ahead. "Just forget not, place me a bit away from him. And remember the trap."

"All right, already. Keep a still tongue in thy 'ead and let me finish."

She began anew. Blue lightnings grew, entwining him like an electric vine as she tightened her power around him. It sparkled, coalescing as the elementals she called on lent their touch, their design. The power began to sink into him.

Horror crossed the Sorcerer's face.

"What hast thou ...?" He looked down at his feet.

"I ... I am turning to stone! Stop! I am turning to stone! Damn thee, old woman! I
knew
thou wouldst botch it! Stop this AT ONCE!"

The witch drew back, suddenly trembling, her face hot. "I cain't, it be done already ... I cain't, I am sorry ..."

He stepped toward her and she heard stone thud. Retreating, she stumbled. The Sorcerer drew his sword, its steel whispering menace.

"Then die with me thou incompetent, old---" The Sorcerer whipped his sword back over his shoulder...

She screamed, a high, thin wail. All too clearly she saw herself pictured in his eyes, falling in two gory slices to turn the neatly swept dirt floor of her cottage into bloody mud. She turned away, her stick arms covering her head in futile defense, and waited for the stroke that would end her life. Seconds stretched, precious.

And then stretched more. She peeked back through her arms, holding her breath.

In the middle of her cozy home stood a violently beautiful statue, a man with furling cloak and sword in mid-swing, determined vengeance engraved on his handsome face.

Trembling, she dropped her hands, slapped palms against her thin, robed thighs. She released her breath in an exasperated sigh and dropped her head, her shoulders stooped more than usual. "Oh, 'ell, I am sorry, old man." Her eyes drew slowly back to his face.

"Methinks I shan't be getting my body renewed, eh?"

Chapter 2 – DISCOVERY

Dr. Rachel Floyd was quite surprised and pleased when she received a package in the mail from England. Inside the shipping box was a meticulously wrapped book, along with a hand-written note.

I enjoyed your book and I'd love to hear what you think of my latest.

             
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

It was an advance copy of
King Arthur Undone: Art of the Age of Camelot
by Dr. Rollin Ambrose. She flipped to the back, intrigued.  The back cover read:
“Dr. Rollin Ambrose is the author of 'Grace and Beauty in the Dark: Early Middle Age Stonework' and 'Camelot Carvings: Art to Inspire the King of the Round Table.' He lives near London, England and is a professor of art history at Cambridge University.”
  He had written a more personal message inside the front cover.

May the future hold as much fascination and excitement for you as we both derive from the past. With great respect and admiration,

Rollin Ambrose

January 6
th
, 2010

Dear Dr. Rollin Ambrose:

Thank you so much for the book! I am honored to have the privilege of reading it first, before it even goes to press. I have been following your work for some time and I have to tell you, I am thrilled to find a colleague who shares so many of my views. As you no doubt know, I have focused much of my energy on the artwork of the ancient cultures in North and South America so far but I find it quite an interesting coincidence that you sent me your book. You have no way of knowing this, but I have always had a dream of doing more work in Europe, particularly with your specialty, the artwork of your homeland from the 1
st
Century to the 7
th
. Your writing is such a pleasure to read also -- your voice comes through so clearly with that distinctive touch of humor that makes even what some of my less inspired students would insist were the driest details interesting.

Obviously you are familiar with my book, “Art from the Shadows: the Mystical Mind of the Mayan Revealed” – I would love to hear more of your thoughts on it. Of course, we diverge in some interests, as I also specialize in the languages of the ancient peoples while you are more proficient in your evaluation of sculpture than I, but I would be honored to hear your expert opinion in more detail.

I hope I am not overreaching to suggest that we might join forces on a project in your region? I have been saving up for a trip for some time and my publisher is waiting for my latest book proposal. Perhaps they will be willing to offer a more generous advance, especially if you would be interested in co-writing this project?

Enclosed is a copy of my book proposal, which I trust you will keep in confidence if you find this project does not suit you. If you are interested, please feel free to tweak it and add your own touch. I look forward to hearing from you and I hope that the future will find us working more closely.

Respectfully yours,

Dr. Rachel Floyd

Rachel waited for an answer with her fingers crossed, hoping she had taken the right tone with this somewhat mysterious Englishman. She was thrilled that he had contacted her, even as she had been preparing her proposal with an eye to approaching
him.
She had done a bit of research on the internet on him before sending her proposal and found that he was quite an elusive creature – no photos of him anywhere, no Facebook or website blogs. It wasn't that much of a surprise that there was no picture of him on the jacket of his book, considering the publisher – it was a quite prestigious British house and the type of work that was expected to stand entirely on its intellectual merit, not the hype of an already famous or highly charismatic author – but when it came to an internet presence, everything on him was second-hand, as if he were some mythological creature whose existence was only suspected and never confirmed.

She was not disappointed when she found his answer three weeks later, on her desk. She nearly whooped with glee when she saw the thicker envelope, knowing he had accepted and offered his revisions. Opening it, she found it was a hand written cover letter on University stationary along with a hard copy of the revised proposal.

Dr. Rollin Ambrose had a flowing, almost calligraphic hand throughout his letter, not just in the note in his book, autographed for posterity.

January 25
th
, 2010

Dear Dr. Rachel Floyd:

I have your letter and proposal in hand and I have to say, I am quite flattered that you took the time to write me a real missive, not just zip off an e-mail with an attachment as my students are so fond of doing.

As for your book, I do, indeed, find it to be fascinating and well-thought out. I would be more than honored to work with you on your next project and therefore I will save my more detailed observations on your past accomplishments for meeting you in person, where you may also more fully enjoy my dry wit. That is, of course, if you can tolerate my computer intolerance and will continue to show appreciation for my brilliance and my sense of humor...

I hope you approve of my additions to the proposal but if not, tough. It's on paper.

No, seriously, feel free to share your editorial notes as well to the attachment my assistant is sending by e-mail. And please, my dear colleague and co-author, feel free to call me Rollin.

Humbly yours,

Rollin

Rachel grinned as she tucked the letter back into the envelope and into her briefcase with the copy of hers. She was glad he had responded with the same light tone that he showed in his books and had in a sense given her permission to drop her professorial style and take a friendlier tack. Unable to resist a little comparison, she pried up the manila envelope from him and peered critically at her letter, which, as she scanned it now, seemed so dry compared to his. It was like a stick figure representation of her holding up a curriculum vitae soaked in fawning flattery. He hadn't seemed to mind, however. After all, he had contacted her first. That was something she still found amazing, not only because of her deep respect for his work, but because she had been considering contacting
him
even as he was reaching out to
her
.

She snapped her case shut and checked her reflection in the mirror behind her office door, growling impatiently at a stray curl too soon escaping from her attempt at a french braid.  Apparently, she had inherited the curly texture of her hair from her maternal great-great-grandmother. According to her cousin, the geneology buff of the family, she had been a former slave in Louisiana. Fortunately, her dark hair was actually softer than it looked, but it still looked wild. Her skin, at least, was responding well to a suggestion from a friend – baking soda scrub to exfoliate cheaply and effectively.  She wasn't much for shopping for expensive makeups and skin treatments, so this simple solution appealed to her.

With a jab at her glasses to set them back on her nose and her usual graceful flair, she knocked a pile of magazines off of the table by the door on her way out and then headed across campus to grab a bite before her next class.