Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss0ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssS
Chapter 8: Concerning Amin
Amin paced back and forth beneath a massive tree with gnarled branches, mumbling anxiously. He looked back at the field of daffodils, only a half a mile away. He whined and began pacing again.
Twenty minutes ago...
"Butterfingers!" Mozenrath called out from the portal window from behind the crouching Amin.
"My name is NOT Butterfingers!" Amin growled, indignantly. "It's A-Ah, Master!" Upon seeing the sorcerer's face behind him, Amin fell to his knee and began his fevered groveling. "O, Merciful One for who I am nothing but a slug-"
"Save it," Mozenrath snapped, dispassionately. "I have a job for you."
Amin looked up, inquiringly. He fingered the shell and its twine in his hand and smiled slyly.
"Iwishiwasbackhome," he said quickly, feeling confident. He would out of this place, his prison of three years. However, nothing seemed to happen. He didn't feel any different and worse, Mozenrath was still right in front of him, now grabbing his head in aggravation.
"Amin," the sorcerer said, derisively shaking his head, "we have to get you another brain cell to give the other two company. She lied to you."
"No! It works!" Amin rubbed the shell so vigorously; one would almost assume he was starting a small fire. "Uh, I wish I was back home! I wish I was back home?"
Little doubt that Mozenrath was being entertained by this act of desperation; he was sniggering, making no attempt to hide it. Amin, his hand red from rubbing the shell so hard, stared long and helplessly at the shell, letting out a pathetic whimper.
"I only tell you the truth," Mozenrath said to him in a slimy, condescending tone, leaning forward towards the thief. "She was merely getting your hopes up. You know you can't leave like you did five years ago. Remember that?"
Amin merely nodded his head.
"Remember that I own you."
"Y-yes," Amin whimpered.
"Very good, Amin," Mozenrath smiled, quite smugly. "Now, find the girl and take her to the fields. I know she likes daffodils. She can't resist going in-"
"Is she gonna get hurt?" Amin interrupted.
Mozenrath scowled sourly as he raised his gloved hand and Amin was suddenly engulfed in a massive aura of blue, shocking his body and making him cry out in pain.
"I-I am sorry, sir," Amin simpered and the sorcerer lowered his hand, the shocks ceasing.
"Is she really worth you getting hurt by me?" Mozenrath asked, mockingly. "Tell me. Was it that a shred of humanity reawakened in your pathetic being just because she gave you a trinket? Have you two become bosom buddies, sworn to overcome adversity, et cetera, et cetera?"
"She just seemed...nice?" Amin replied, uneasily.
"Word of advice, DeMoolah," the sorcerer said, as he stroked Xerxes who was lying upon his shoulder, "Never trust nice girls; especially ones that are interested in you." Mozenrath brought his hand to his chin and rubbed it. "The Armis slime is restless at this hour." He turned back to Amin and grinned nastily. "If a girl is too much for you-"
Amin yelped and darted away.
Present Time...
Amin stopped pacing and looked at the field again. He snorted derisively.
"Why should I help the little girl?" Amin thought. "She lied to me about the shell, made me look like a fool." His expression softened. "She promised pie, I miss pie."
He shook his head. "But what if she lies about that too?" He looked up at the hazy purple sky and shuddered. The past couple of years had not soothed Mozenrath's temperament as the thief recalled.
Three years ago, Getzistan...
Amin panted, the ripped bag clenched in his hand dribbling gold coins as he leapt over barrels. His breath was frantic and shallow, his free hand clenching his chest. He glanced about the alley, the darkness encroaching all over. He yelped in fright when he heard a crash. He looked down and found only a scrawny rat crossing through. He sighed in relief and turned, only to turn sheet white as he stared the sorcerer right in the face, only an inch away.
"Boo," Mozenrath said rather half-heartedly, but the effect on Amin DeMoolah was devastating as the thief stumbled backwards, muttering frightened. The young sorcerer ambled casually towards Amin and pushed him on to the ground. Amin scrambled to get back up on his feet, but his attempts were thwarted when Mozenrath stepped his boot upon the thief's chest very firmly.
"DeMoolah," the sorcerer drawled, pressing down on Amin's chest, "funny meeting you here. I was in the neighborhood and who would I find here?"
"Me?" Amin replied meekly.
"That's a good boy," Mozenrath said as if talking to a dog. "Now, this question has been bugging me for ages, why would you be here, in Getzistan, and not back at the Citadel? Take your time."
Amin looked up at the sorcerer. He had a pleasant smile on his face, but that glint in hisblack eyes suggested malice. Not taking this in mind, Amin muttered-
"I ran away? Because you were dead?"
Mozenrath let out a small chuckle which became a laugh that echoed in the alley. "Do I look like corpse?" he pointed towards himself. "Do I?"
"N-no."
"So, do you know what happens to servants who run away from their masters, who aren't dead?"
"T-they get punished," Amin whimpered as Mozenrath pressed his foot down harder, the thief's ribs jabbing into his lungs. "Mercy, please! I won't do it ever again!"
"No, you won't," the sorcerer snarled as he drew from his belt pouch a shard of pale violet crystal. Holding the crystal out, Mozenrath grinned cruelly. "Where you're going, it would be quite impossible. Chaotic Plains!"
Present Time...
Amin shuddered as he glanced at the field. Dhandi appeared to be flailing her arms now amidst the daffodils. Suddenly, he started running towards the field. His brain was slow to act with his legs, arguing as his scrawny legs carried him closer.
"But she lied to you," his brain said to him. Amin kept on running. Truth had never been much comfort to this thief. Truth held him to be a coward, a lousy thief, and have a single digit IQ and a face like the bad end of a camel. Truth also held him to be an unwitting and trapped servant to a young tyrant who was not known for clemency. In lies he had found some comfort, especially with the promise of pie. Someone had once said, he forgot who, that if someone told enough lies, eventually some of those lies would become truth.
Amin reached the edge of the field, his two brain cells working overtime. Dhandi was now covered in daffodils; this species appeared to have evolved vines over time while in the Chaotic Plains. He skidded to a halt. What use would he be to her if he falls asleep in the field as well? He whined, unsure of the next step he should take. He began pacing when he tripped and fell over. When he looked at his feet, he had made the discovery that the remnants of a very pink scarf had twisted itself around his ankles.
He glanced at the scarf and then at the field. A ridiculously long pause ensued, the sounds of the Chaotic Plains Labyrinth ambling through the thief's ears. Amin took another look at the scarf and suddenly a light switched on in his brain after a long delay. He pulled the scarf off and began to wrap it around his face, tucking it down as not to obscure his vision.
Taking a breath, he turned and placed a foot down upon the daffodil covered ground. However, he whimpered and jumped back. A second passed and he approached the field again. Exhaling, he jumped right into the daffodils and waded through it, frantically looking Dhandi. Halfway into the field, he tripped over a green mound. Scrambling back to his feet, he found that the mound was breathing. Frenetically, he tore at the vines, revealing the girl who appeared quite pallid. With the vines clinging to her body, one would almost mistake her as one of those statuaries that adorned more expensive cemeteries.
Feeling disoriented (possibly the strong scent was finally getting to him), Amin picked her up by the arms and began to drag her, the vines pulling back. Dhandi groaned quietly in her induced slumber. Amin grunted in effort, the vines becoming taut against the strain. He pulled harder, his feet digging into the ground until he heard a loud snap and he and Dhandi somersaulted across the field, tumbling and uprooting flowers until they flew out of the field of daffodils and landed, sprawled upon the overgrown trail.
Amin shook his head and yelped, blinded by pink. However, he then found that the yarn of the scarf had pulled up into his eyes. Ripping the scarf off, he turned to Dhandi, lying beside him. He crept up to her, inspecting her body. He shook her, now muttering worriedly. She doesn't reply. He whimpered as he shook her harder.
He bit his over sized lip as he hastily searched his brain for a plan. Looking back at Dhandi, one idea popped up. His lips trembled as he knelt down towards Dhandi, looking into her eyes. His lips drew closer towards hers.
Suddenly, Dhandi's eyes shot open and she and Amin exchanged looks of surprise and alarm for a good several minutes.
"Amin?" Dhandi asked, slightly confused.
"It's not what it looks like!" Amin muttered quickly, scuttling away from her. "Uh, I don't like you that way- no, that's not what-"
Amin's incoherent ramblings were interrupted by Dhandi's shrieks. He turned and saw her staring frightened at her hand, covered in black lines of mehandi design.
Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss0ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssS
A/N: Plot thickens! Now, review! I command you.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.