Author's Note: As a change of pace from my story Shared Soul, I have decided to embark on a considerably less epic tale. I'm afraid that Lorian is a rather lusty young hero, but I will do my best to keep him within the confines of the M rating…but you are warned, Dear Reader. Updates may be a bit erratic until Shared Soul is complete.
Chapter 1…Enter the Mage
Gentle voices. Gentle touches. These were such a contrast to the torture that had filled my endless hours here that at first I thought I must be dreaming. When I realized they were speaking Sylvan and not Common, I was certain it was a dream.
"Who is he, Ulene?" one woman whispered.
"I forget his name," said another, presumably Ulene. "He is the one our master has been seeking so long." Lorian, I thought. My name is Lorian. I am Lorian of Candlekeep. I was pleased to remember who I was. Now if only I could remember where I was...
"Why does Irenicus keep hurting him then?" she asked.
I had no idea. I had been brutally tortured but not interrogated. Unless my captor sought some sort of revenge against me, it made no sense. Who could I have wronged so? The name Irenicus was totally unfamiliar.
I had made an enemy of the Iron Throne, of course, despite the favor I had done them when I killed my brother Sarevok in Baldur's Gate. My brother was the one who had used them and betrayed them, not I, but life is often unfair like that. However if they wished revenge, it seemed more likely that they would send assassins against me instead of taking me prisoner.
Was it possible that some of Sarevok's supporters still lived? They had worshipped him as a god, after all. Perhaps they were fanatical enough to torture me instead of killing me.
"Look, sisters," said a third voice. She spread the fingers of my right hand, to better display the webbing there. The webbing was only between my four fingers. Webbing to my thumb would have made me a better swimmer, no doubt, but a poorer bard.
"Is he one of the sea people? Does he have gills?" one asked. Someone brushed my hair away from my neck and leaned over me.
"I don't see any gills," Ulene said, sounding a little disappointed. It was a disappointment to me too. I was crushed as a child when I realized I would never be able to breathe underwater. It was part of the price I paid for being half human. "But look." She opened the tie to my shirt and exposed my chest.
"Ooh," someone said, and her hand traced a line from my throat to my ribs. The scales on my face are so small and translucent that they are barely noticeable unless the light strikes just right, but they are larger and thicker on my chest and back. These scales also have a decidedly silvery tint, shading to blue as they progress down my body.
The two other women crowded in closer and stroked my skin. I opened my eyes to slits and looked at them through my lashes. Dryads. I had once been in love with a dryad and I would never forget the lessons she had taught me under the shade of her graceful oak. I had learned Sylvan from her and much else besides. Those had been some of the most contented days of my life.
These three dryads looked much alike, as sisters do sometimes. They had long hair the color of leaves about to fall. Yet it was late spring. They were out of season. That was odd and disconcerting.
"The scales are not as hard as they look, Cania," Ulene said. "They feel…nice." They felt dry and itchy, actually. I could live indefinitely out of the water but going too long without a good soaking was uncomfortable. Lucky for me this dungeon was damp or I'd be scratching like a flea-bitten hound.
"I wonder…" said Cania and I felt her hands on the tie to my pants. I decided that no man could be expected to remain unconscious through this and so I opened my eyes and gave her a sleepy smile.
"Yes," I said in her language. "I have scales there too." She smiled back at me.
"May I look?" she asked, giggling.
"I certainly can't stop you," I said. My arms and legs were tied to a table that seemed made for just such a purpose, a furniture design new to my experience. "Not that I would wish to, of course, beautiful one. Please, feel free to satisfy your curiosity." I gave her and her sisters another smile.
"What pretty eyes you have," Uleme said and she stroked my brow.
"Ocean eyes," said Elyme. She toyed with a long lock of my hair. "Ocean hair. Tell me, strange one, do you taste of the sea?" She gave my mouth a lingering kiss which I returned with enthusiasm. They really were quite beautiful, all three of them, with sweet voices and soft hands.
Cania took advantage of my offer and opened my pants to examine my bashful eel.
"Ooh, look sisters," she said. "He is iridescent like a pearl." Her fingers stroked me where the scales are very small and fine and I gave a gasp of pleasure.
"Were you ladies to release me…" I began, but the dryad still petting my hair gave me a sorrowful look.
"Alas," she said. "We are captives like yourself and we dare not give our master cause to punish us."
"But if you were to free me, could we not escape together?"
"That is impossible, alas. Irenicus has taken our trees and without them, we will die."
"He has taken your trees? How is that possible?" As far as I could tell, we were under the ground. I had seen nothing but a series of dank dark caves during the lucid periods of my captivity.
"Irenicus is a mage of great and terrible power." I gave a low moan, not out of fear, but due to the actions of the dryad who still had her hands in my pants. Her caresses were terribly distracting and I desperately wanted to be distracted. Yet this was the first time I had had the opportunity to learn anything of my captor.
"What does he want with us?" I asked.
"I do not know what he wants from you and your companions," said Uleme. Her fingers twined in my hair. "From me and my sisters, he wants, well…" She sighed. "He seems to want what many men want from such as us, and yet there is no heat in him. He is cold, icy cold, and although he calls us his concubines, there is nothing we can do to rouse or sustain his interest."
"My companions are here? All of them? Where are they?"
I could not hold back another moan. Cania with the clever fingers was still busy, and Elyme tugged at my pants, pulling them much lower. I raised my hips to help with this little operation. She dug her nails into my hip.
"Please, my sweet, I cannot think," I said. By Sune, thinking was definitely overrated, I decided. Feeling was better, oh so much better. Cania removed her lovely hands but before I could mourn their absence, she swung lithely onto the table and mounted me. Bound as I was, there was little I could do to assist, but she managed just fine.
"Oh, gods," I cried. It had been awhile since I had last fully known a woman's touch. In fact, it had been the whispered promises of a dark-haired beauty that had lured me away from one of the many victory parties held in our honor in Baldur's Gate after our triumph over Sarevok. My memories after that were fragmented and vague. My poor neglected eel let me know in no uncertain terms that it was happy indeed to swim once again in a woman's tides. In fact, I began to fear that it would disgrace us both with its untimely actions when something worse happened.
Cania shrieked as she was dragged off me. The mage slung her to the floor and her sisters cowered away. I got a good view of my captor. He was the size of a human, with the body of a fighter in his prime. Massive veins stood out on his face, perhaps caused by age or some strange disease. Or perhaps they were a side-effect of the close fitting cap that covered his hair and ears. I could feel that the cap was a source of power, like certain headbands or helms I've heard described.
I had vague memories of that face leaning over me. He was the pain bringer.
If he felt any emotion at seeing me engaged with one of his concubines, it did not show on his face.
"Out," he told them in Common and they bolted for the door without a word. His icy blue eyes gave me a cold appraisal. Spread-eagled on the table with my clothes all undone, I felt at a distinct disadvantage.
"I see you are up," he said. His voice held no expression. Had he made a joke? Did I see a glint of amusement in his eyes, perhaps? I could not deny the inherent humor in my situation.
"Please do not punish them," I said, giving him a little rueful smile that he did not return. "They were merely curious. They cannot help it; it is their nature."
"I am well aware of their nature," he said. "It is your nature that interests me, Lorian."
"I don't understand," I said, feeling terribly stupid. "Why am I here? What do you want from me?"
"Can you not guess?"
I gave him an appraisal of my own. He seemed confident to the point of arrogance. That he was a mage of great power, I could sense. I gave up my theory that he had any connection to Sarevok. This was not a man to stand in another's shadow.
He had captured me and apparently at least some of my friends, and not in battle but by subterfuge. And then he had tortured me and others as well, judging by the screams I heard from time to time. He was dangerous and ruthless. The fact that he had enslaved three gentle dryads told me even more of his nature. He was a predator and I wondered what it was he hunted.
I have often been accused of allowing my eel to do my thinking, but there was something rather intimate and sexual about this whole setup—the bondage, the slaves, and even the torture. Every torment I had suffered had been very personally delivered from his own hands. I have met men who, while considering themselves lovers of women, will allow themselves to be attracted to men who are sufficiently different. Men they consider exotic—a different race, a different culture, whatever.
Bards in particular are subjected to these types of encounters. Perhaps it is the public nature of our art, which exposes our heart and our emotions so that strangers feel they know us. Perhaps it is nothing more than our reputation for wantonness that targets us. At any rate, it occurred to me that this mage might be one of those kind of men. I saw no desire in his eyes, but I was finding him remarkably difficult to read, despite the fact that reading faces and moods was part of my stock in trade. But what else could he want of me?
So I shuttered my eyes to make my gaze less challenging. I let my voice sound a bit husky and tentative.
"You seem to know who I am but I do not know you," I said. "Can we not speak like reasonable people instead of all this?" I tugged against the bindings holding me down.
He gave me another long look and then his lips moved in some semblance of a smile. A simple touch of his elegant hands caused the straps to fall open. It was an enchantment of some sort.
"Come," he said. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had just swept out of the room, forcing me to try to keep up with my pants flapping down around my ankles. He waited for me. That was good, because I staggered off the table with numb legs and stiffness in every movement. I was doing well to keep my balance. Eventually I got everything fastened with my fumbling fingers. I felt six kinds of fool and I had to bite back the ridiculous urge to apologize. After all, none of this was my fault.
I followed the mage through several dark and winding passages, all lit by tiny globes of magical flame. We passed a huge golem whose eyeless head turned to follow our movement. The flash of eyes in the dark side passages told me that there were other hidden guards as well. I saw no sign of my companions or any other prisoners.
The narrow tunnel opened up into a sumptuously furnished room. Carpets and tapestries absorbed the echo and chill of the cavern. The glossy furniture reflected the light of the many lamps, some magical and some flickering with true flame. After the gloom of the dungeon, this room seemed almost as bright as day.
The mage sat down in a comfortable looking armchair and watched me in silence as I first gazed and then walked around the room, taking in the many small treasures and curiosities. My bare feet sank into the thick carpet. Incense burning in a small hanging censer gave off a subtle rich fragrance. The room was an opulent song for the senses. Despite the cold austerity of his manner, this was a man who surrounded himself with the rare and beautiful. I wasn't sure what this meant yet but it was interesting.
I sat in the chair he indicated. He spoke no order, but shortly Ulene brought us wine. She set a glass before me but did not meet my eyes. The thought that it might be drugged or poisoned crossed my mind but since I was already in the man's power, I drank without hesitation. My eyebrows rose at the quality of the vintage.
I had many questions but decided it would be safest to listen and follow his lead.
"What do you know of your parentage?" he asked. I blinked. I could hardly think of a more unexpected question.
"Of my mother, I know little," I said, quelling my surprise. "I think she died in childbirth. I was a foundling, left at a shrine of Ilmater. I was adopted by a childless sage and raised in a monastery." Candlekeep was more than a monastery, of course, but I saw no point in describing the great library.
"Is that the tale you were told?"
"What do you mean? I know nothing of my mother, not even her name." He continued to gaze at me as if he thought I was lying. Why would I lie about such a thing?
"Is that all you know?" he asked. I shuttered my eyes and pretended to misunderstand him.
"I am obviously of mixed blood," I said. "My mother was likely a triton. Possibly she was of mixed blood herself. Some suggest she was a mermaid or sirine."
"That would explain your voice," he said.
"You have heard me sing?" I asked in some surprise. He just nodded. Where had he heard me sing? It had been quite awhile since I had given any but private performances. I supposed it made sense that he had been watching me for some time before taking me captive, but it was a strangely unpleasant reflection.
I made the wine swirl in the bottom of my glass.
"You know of my sire," I said. "Don't you?" It was the only thing that made sense, if he was interested in my heritage. I looked up to meet his eyes. He nodded again.
"Bhaal," he said. "Lord of Murder." A mortal made god and then made mortal again. And I thought my life had its ups and downs.
"Is that why you have captured me?" I asked.
"I have an interest in those of divine blood," he said. "How can you be satisfied with the life you lead, singing in taverns to drunken patrons for a few miserable coins when you have so much untapped power?"
"I do more than that," I murmured. I had stopped a war in Baldur's Gate. I had stopped my brother's bloody ascent to godhood. Those were deeds that sounded quite grand but I could never have done them alone and truth to tell, I found more pleasure singing in taverns to drunken patrons. That suited me fine.
"You waste the gifts you were given," he said, with more heat than I had yet heard in his voice. "Do you even realize your potential?"
By Sune, do you have the wrong brother, I thought. This sort of talk might have struck a chord with Sarevok.
"What do you wish of me?" I asked.
"I will study you," he said. "Test you. Learn how best to develop your potential."
"To what end?" He just gave me a half smile.
"Have you taken my companions as well?" I asked. "Have you harmed them?" I saw the cruel knowledge in his eyes. "Why?" I cried.
"To test you, of course." I surged to my feet, barely avoiding knocking over my wine glass. He seemed completely relaxed as he watched me. He was utterly confident that nothing I could do would harm him. That made me uneasy. I paced back and forth, not quite ready to commit myself to an open contest. It wasn't just that I was unarmed and it wasn't just that I had no spells prepared. I felt outmatched. He made me feel weak and he frightened me.
"Irenicus," I said in a low voice and he started a little when I used his name. "You do not need them if your wish is to test me. If I were to pledge myself to cooperate with you, would you release them?" He watched me through hooded eyes.
"I do not require your cooperation," he said.
"Is it not better to have that which is given freely?" I asked, "Than that which is taken by force?" I gave him a look through my lashes. Yes, it was an outworn phrasing but I gave it a pretty decent delivery, I thought.
He put down his empty glass and stood. He stepped close to me and took my chin in his hand. His thumb traced the line of my jaw. Like his eyes and his voice, his hand was unnaturally cold. It was almost surprising to find that we were about the same height. He seemed bigger somehow.
"Are you attempting to seduce me, Lorian?" His eyes glinted and now I felt sure that he was amused.
"I will bargain with what I have to offer," I said. "I do not know what you want."
"What I want from you," he said, "Is nothing you will give freely."
"Try me."
"Oh, I shall," he said and he laughed and called for the jailer. The large stone golem stumped into the room and led me back to my cell.