I’m going to prostitute myself for this Sultan——gods! The thought makes me sick,” Eris argued. The sword pressed more firmly against Raga’s chest. “I ought to roll your head into the gutter. I’ll wait until his new wench is carried on her palanquin through the city, and then I’ll rip it from her neck. I’ve escaped from city guards many times before.”
“But,” Raga said, trying unsuccessfully to push away the pressing blade, “it will still be palace property. You will die.”
“Maybe, and maybe not. The spell on the green gem isn’t working in my presence, and chances are that one won’t either. I really don’t think you know what will happen. The gods know I don’t. I thought you devils from the Red Vale knew all the rules of spell making.” He pressed the blade ever so slightly more.
“It’s not the spell of a Red Vale sorcerer. I can’t guarantee it,” Raga defended. “You’re still trapped in a corner. It could be months before the wench is allowed into the streets, and who knows if she’d wear such a gem in public. Do it my way and you would only have to stay in the seraglio until the Sultan gave you the gem, then make your escape. It could be only a matter of days. I can forge a mind-bond between us, and then I’ll be able to know how to help you whenever and wherever.”
Damn him . The man was determined to draw him further into the realm of vile sorcery; into obscene plots that made him consider, yet only for a moment, of throwing himself on his sword and ending it all, but the driving desire for revenge stayed his hand. Besides, his conceit told him, the world yet had need of a man of his abilities.
To Riza’s hell with all of this. Was he that much a coward to not at least attempt this bizarre scheme? Raga, he conceded, was right on one point. The tedious boredom of waiting days, or months, for the new bride to appear in the streets would allow him time to become involved in some other unwanted perversion.
“You win, old man,” Eris said grudgingly. “I can’t argue with your logic—what there is of it. Nor, at this moment can I think of anything better.”
“Eris, this sword of yours is becoming quite uncomfortable,” Raga complained. “Would you please remove it?”
“Just remember what it feels like, because if you get me killed in this crazy scheme of yours, my shade will follow you even unto the Red Vale and carve out your black heart , ” Eris vowed. With his free hand, he pushed back a thick strand of ebony hair over his shoulder.
“In jeopardizing you, I defeat myself. Truly, Eris, I want to be your friend. And, being the sorcerer I am, I really have been most patient with you. If I know Charra-Tir, she never gave you even half the chances I have,” Raga-Tor said truthfully and spread his arms.
“Aye, sorcerer,” Eris agreed as another wave of exhaustion swept over him. He crossed the room, tossed the blade on the bed and slumped down. He was so tired. “This is insanity,” he sighed quietly. The beautiful voice had lost all of its rough edges. “What makes you so sure this Sultan will choose me? There will be slavers, merchants and nobles all trying to provide the perfect woman. We may not even get to Reshan in time to even be included.”
Raga smiled briefly and rose to his feet.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get there. As for him choosing you, I have no doubt. When you see yourself in a full looking glass, you’ll understand. If that’s not enough, well, I’m not completely without power,” Raga said as he gathered up his bow. “What more do we need?”
“A little sleep might be nice.” Eris yawned. His eyes drooped.
“I’ve already taken care of that.”
Eris whispered, “Damn you, Raga. Are you the cause of this heaviness in my head?”
“Believe me, you need it. You’ll feel quite well in the morning. By the way, I can’t seem to sense the power of the green jewel. You didn’t lose it did you?” Raga asked concerned.
Good