Free Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 by Forbidden Magic (v1.1) Page A

smile, the other occupants blurred shapes, their conversation a
distant ground swell. When he set the goblet down it tilted, falling on its
side, spilling wine like bright blood across the cracked surface of the table.
He studied it, watching the redness spread and begin to drip to the floor, over
his outthrust legs. He chuckled, then sniffed and began to weep, becoming
immediately angry with himself so that he lurched straighter in his chair,
wiping a careless sleeve over his face.
                 He
set his goblet upright and filled it once more, his movements cautiously
exaggerated, pleased at the success of the maneuver. As he raised the smeared
glass he saw a shape disengage from a group about a nearby table and move
toward him, coalescing as it approached into the form of a woman.
                 She
was more than a few years older than he, with hennaed hair and vermilion lips,
eyes accentuated with kohl, the lashes like spikes. Her gown was cut low and
waisted high, bright yellow, cinched with a wide corset of black leather. She
leaned toward him, affording a clearer view of her breasts, and his nostrils
flared at the waft of cheap perfume and sweat that drifted from her. She
smiled, exposing stained teeth.
                 "You
drink alone. You're too handsome to drink alone."
                 Calandryll
blinked, resolving the three images that wavered before him into a single, more
comprehensible form, and replied forlornly, "Nadama doesn't think
so."
                 The
woman took this as an invitation and settled herself in a chair to his left.
                 "Then
Nadama is foolish. My name is Lara."
                 He
said, "Lara," thickly, turning to peer at her through the wine-fog
misting his vision.
                 He
saw that she held a glass and filled it. She swallowed and smiled some more.
                 "Nadama
was your sweetheart?"
                 "I
love her," he answered solemnly, "but she is to wed my brother."
                 "Then
you'd best forget her," Lara advised. "Shall I help you forget
her?"
                 Calandryll
frowned, enunciating his reply with difficulty.
                 "I
don't think I can."
                 "Oh,
you can," Lara declared. "Come with me and you'll forget every woman
you've ever had."
                 His
frown deepened and he said, "I haven't had any others. I haven't even had
Nadama."
                 Shrill
laughter rang in his ears and she leaned closer, a hand on his thigh. "A
virgin? Are you really a virgin?"
                 He
felt his honor was somehow questioned, but he could only answer,
"Yes."
                 "Well
then," Lara shifted her chair until her breasts pressed against his arm,
her hand stroking his leg, higher, her mouth close to his cheek, "it's
time you became a man. Come with me."
                 "Where?"
he asked.
                 Lara
tossed her head in the direction of the door. "There are rooms back there.
Old Thorson asks only fifty decima for the night; and I ask but a single
var."
                 Calandryll
turned toward her, then away as breath redolent of stale wine and decay
assailed his nostrils. Dimly it occurred to him that he carried no money,-
slightly less dimly that he felt no wish to bed this blowsy doxy.
                 "Thank
you," he said primly, "but no."
                 "Don't
be shy." A hand brushed his hair, another his crotch. "I'll show you
what to do."
                 "I
know what to do," he said.
                 "Then
come," urged Lara, taking his free hand. "We'll bring your bottle
with us and I'll give you a night you'll not forget. You'll remember me long
after you've forgotten Nadama."
                 A
rush of panic filled him and he tugged his hand from her grasp, shaking his
head: