A Tale of Two Sorcerers by Sinister Cutlass (good english books to read .txt) 📕

Jabril, not yet the master of great wealth and unused to giving out large, extravagant gifts, realized uncomfortably that he had no inkling of the wide world of property, treasure, or eligible women that he might give to pacify Destane.

"Why don't you make the opening bid?" he asked the sorcerer, attempting to disguise the uncertainty in his voice.

The magician shut his eyes, smiling beatifically. He savored the moment, before launching into his petition, and it seemed as though he'd been waiting years to make it.

"In Ahsa Asmara, I would like a secluded, well-appointed retreat where I may live in comfort and do my research. I know exactly where such a property may be found, but the problem is... it's already occupied. Perhaps after you claim the sultanate, you can 'change that arrangement' for me?"

Maziyar affirmed, "Simple enough," and Adhemar just looked at him. Adhemar amended it with, "If you wish it, Jabril, my brother and I will work out a deal with the current tenants of this property of which the sorceror speaks. They will surely appreciate our obligation to reward Destane exceptionally."

Jabril nodded, feeling secure in the competence of the brothers Anvari, and marveling at how non-perverse the gift seemed. Aside from indulgence in alcohol, Destane seemed unexpectedly free of the petty vices. Out of curiosity, Jabril prodded, "You don't desire a large sum in gold and jewels? Are there no women you fancy?"

Adhemar said nothing, but looked away, annoyed that Jabril was offering more. But the sorcerer merely shook his head, and took a swig from his goblet.

"I won't need gold. With any servants I hire, I plan to use a different bargaining chip."

The three stared at him.

Destane feigned affront, his hand flying to his heart. "You three are filthy. Nothing so sordid as that."

"And women?" Jabril prompted, eager to corner the magician.

A strange bitterness infused Destane's face. He drank deeply, and for some reason, shot a distasteful look at Maziyar.

Destane's voice was flat, and grim. "My life experience has taught me that the helpless, indolent women you might proffer me tend to leave a bad taste in my mouth..."

Smiling impishly at Jabril, he added, "...and I do mean that literally."

Jabril made a scandalized sound. Adhemar looked away, blushing, and Maziyar gave Destane a pained look (though he privately wondered if Malakeh might be amenable to certain things).

"Well, I suppose now we know what sort of man you are, Destane," Jabril concluded smugly.

"Right," Maziyar sternly interjected, shifting uncomfortably in his seat (Adhemar rolled his eyes). "Back to business, if you please. Now, in a week, the sultan will be holding audience in his summer reception hall. We can arrange your presence as entertainment; no one will question this. While your reputation is dubious in some neighborhoods, most men groomed from youth for government work will not have heard the rumors."

"That's correct. You've certainly done your homework! You must have had quite a good source..." Destane teased.

Adhemar interrupted with something he felt was important: "What exactly do you intend to do with Talal and his men?"

"I will rid you of any men you specify," Destane answered easily.

"Yes, but in what manner?"

"Don't tell me you don't want to be surprised?" the magician wheedled.

Adhemar gave him a severe look.

"Oh, fine. I've got a special way of offing people that might not disturb your stomach. It renders the victim dormant, though not quite dead. I'll offer you a choice: either I can immediately refashion the victims' memories according to your specifications, allowing you to literally reorder the hierarchy, with none of your victims the wiser, or - if you wish it - I can waste no more time and dispose of them permanently."

Adhemar raised his eyebrows, finding this proposition quite reasonable, and feeling relieved that they could approach this in a non-violent manner. He opened his mouth to exclaim, happily, that the choice was simple, when Maziyar touched his arm.

Bewildered, Adhemar looked at his brother, who gazed on him smugly, his black eyes glittering with mirth. Adhemar knew his brother was being petty, but he was more annoyed that in an instance when Maziyar agreeably practiced deference to Jabril, the balance was swinging between civilized and warlike behavior.

He turned from his brother in disgust, and murmured to Jabril, "I'm sure you'll make the right choice."

Jabril swallowed nervously, as such an enormous responsibility lowered onto his shoulders. He nodded, and declared that he would state his choice in a week, after Destane had incapacitated Talal's court.

Suddenly, though, he found himself perplexed.  He narrowed his eyes at Destane. 

"Wait a minute... if you have this power to remove those who block your ambitions, then why haven't you taken this 'citadel' in Ahsa Asmara already?"

Destane smiled proudly.  "Ah, you're more intelligent than you look, I see... Well, Ahsa Asmara is... protected... from marauders and magicians by a very unique device..."

Adhemar nodded, as in the past he happened to have informed himself about the city, in lieu of traveling to it.  "Explicit permission from the governor is requisite for entry."

"That's right," Destane agreed.  "Those who attempt to enter without such permission are never successful.  Moreover, they are punished... severely."

Jabril tilted his crescent moon brows higher, in disbelief.  "No one is successful?  Not even you, with all your power?" 

Destane shook his head.  "Especially not me, with all my power."

Jabril folded his plump arms, and leaned back in his chair, satisfied.  "You truly need us, then."

Destane, shut his eyes, repressing the urge to hurl a barbed retort, and ground out: "That I do."

The three government men rose from the table. 

"Serve us faithfully, and we will get you what you desire," Jabril assured the sorcerer. 

With that, he joined his companions as they ascended to the nighttime street to return to their families.

 As Talal's discussion evening wore on, the sultan visibly wearied. His thoughts drifted, and his smiles grew more forced. After allowing his current conversation partner to say his piece, he cleared away in that moment as many as possible of the man's concerns, and bade his scribe take notes on the rest. Then he signaled two guards to herd out the lesser privileged of his associates.

Talal noted with mild curiosity that the two men were not the usual guards employed for this duty… but he brushed it off, assuming illness.

The guards ushered out precisely twelve men, including Jabril, Maziyar, and Adhemar. After carefully shutting and locking the double doors, the guards looked to Maziyar for guidance. Maziyar merely nodded, and they took up their posts guarding the doors from the outside.  Jabril, Maziyar, and Adhemar led their nine co-conspirators around to access the loggia.

      Through the arches, the full moon in starry blue firmament threw a long line of pure white half-discs along the floor, complemented by treacherously deep shadow. Through the dark, the men crept along silently, until they could peer into the room they had just exited.  There, they could see Destane standing in the middle of the large rug, bowing before the distinguished company.

Under the dim glow of chandeliers, his features were handsome, darkly sketched as under an artist's hand. He had assembled the grandest costume he could muster.  In a blue, utilitarian tunic, with his black trousers tucked into the tops of his curled brown boots, he already appeared competent and agile; but now he had acquired a fitted black satin blouse to wear under the tunic. He gestured widely, like a master of ceremonies, and the folds shimmered fantastically. Upping the ante, he'd giddily tied a wine-red sash about his waist and grabbed a big burgundy cape from his magician's closet. He made himself regal by donning a dark blue turban adorned with a garnet and black ostrich feather. All conspirators were breathless with admiration.

     Destane's leather glove was again on his arm; somewhat marring the effect, but Destane never fully sacrificed function for fashion. Though their co-conspirators held no presumptions about the gauntlet, having not seen what Destane could do with it, Maziyar and Adhemar kept their eyes pinned to Destane's weapon.

     "Your honorable selves! Great Sultan and assembled men," Destane began. "A panoply of visions awaits you! I call myself Destane, and I can see farther and deeper, and I can spin whimsies more fantastical, than any amateur magician you have likely encountered before."

     The Varvaran ambassador, who had been allowed to stay in honor of his close friendship with Talal, scoffed, "Prove it!"

     Destane's angular eyes narrowed as he sensed yet another dig from an aging, landed gentleman at his supposed inexperience. He would enjoy delivering them their fate a great deal more now. He took a steadying breath, and began to support his boast.

       He inquired casually, "Well, I suppose then this means you have already seen the likes of… fire-breathers?"

  He turned over his gauntleted right hand and suddenly appeared to palm a stone-gray oil lamp.

  This began to earn him the men's attention, and he saw many grimaces as he brought the long spout to his lips. From his hiding place in the shadows of the loggia, Jabril sickened to see the sorcerer's Adam's apple bob as the liquid poured down his throat. Destane grinned at his official spectators, and wiped his lips with the back of his bare hand, before opening his mouth wide and expelling a roaring flame that raced around the hall and traced calligraphic patterns among the bronze chandeliers. The long fiery curves twined and intertwined and unwound and eventually streamed back to Destane, who swallowed it all in one big gulp.

       Absurdly, he then requested a drink of water. His joke was well received, and Talal's grand vizier gladly raised his cup in offering. He gasped as the goblet slipped of its own accord from his grasp and hurtled across the hall. Destane caught it by the stem and drank, to great applause. Over the rim, he stole a glance at the Varvaran ambassador, who, he was gratified to see, sat with arms folded, watching the sorcerer with interest.

       Next, he removed the cape from his shoulders and folded it neatly, depositing it on a tea table. His hands went to his waist, and he began unwinding… two sashes?

  "I presume that you frequently receive visitors from the Far East," he said to the room. "So, you mustn't be ignorant of their magnificent, pearl-hunting leviathans."

       A murmur – first of confusion, then of dawning comprehension and electric anticipation – swept across the room.

   Adhemar thrilled at what Destane had hinted, and he squinted at the sorcerer's hands to watch the details.

  Garnet-colored sashes extending from his arms like extraordinarily long sleeves, Destane turned smoothly, trailing the sashes and wheeling them in huge loops, affecting an unmistakable dance typically performed by women.

  When his hips appeared to sway, there were nervous, unkind titters among his official spectators and doubtful looks exchanged among the conspirators. Maziyar smirked when Jabril averted his eyes, and it is unclear whether or not Adhemar noticed (though he might have blushed if he had). Destane ignored them all.

   In his gloved hand, the shimmering fabric thickened and began forming into a