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Dearest Readers, a flame, no matter the color, still burns.
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THE HIDDEN SWORD
Book Two: Wandering Water | Chapter 53: Fire in the Ball (Part One)
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"Today… is the day," Irse declared, one determined fist up in the sky.
"That I shall cook for myself and not throw it all up in the side!" she added, winking at the nearby patch of tangled shrubs.
Hot and hearty meals at the Friendly Arm Inn have undeniably spoiled her belly for real food. Not looking forward to another endless succession of shriveled rations on the road, she had dared to ask the cooks for a few ingredients for the easiest dish she could make on her own.
Something utterly simple. Boiled vegetable soup. Far less complicated than forging a sword out of a meteorite, or executing the perfect timing and control required in cutting down an enemy with a single stroke of the battojutsu. Irse bobbed her head and smacked a fist against the other palm, heart pounding with nervousness yet jaws set with stiff resolution.
Done with the familiar task of chopping the produce on a kerchief spread over a slab of rock, the elf gingerly dumped the pieces into a small iron pot filled with boiling water over a fire, delicately emptied a tiny pouch of spices and herbs in it, and cautiously covered everything with an iron lid so tightly fit nothing could boil over not even the ocean itself.
And then she warily stepped back several paces. Now, to wait.
And wait she did, keen eyes never leaving the pot. A goodly while passed, soon came the contentious question of whether to check on the soup or leave it. A quick internal debate led to the obvious and most correct decision – leave it alone like it's got the plague. After all, didn't they always say – too much cooking spills the broth?
But how long did Okami let everything simmer, anyway? Roughly she knuckled her temple, trying to recall bits of her kitchen observations. Well, what did she remember when he was cooking for both of them?
"How long 'til it's done?" Irse had asked, sitting hunched on a stool.
Okami sighed as he always did over his apprentice's impatience. "It will be ready, when it is ready," he said, stirring the stew without even glancing up. "And this you will know on your own."
She wrinkled her lips. Of course, he'd say something cryptic again. Especially about soup.
Huffing, Irse secretly began counting down on the fingers of one hand to attain the exact moment for when he would pronounce it done. But he might suddenly proclaim the stew to be finished while she isn't looking! Determined, the elf leaned forward and kept her eyes peeled on the blacksmith as he cooked.
Hmmm. His shirt looks like another frayed stitch closer to threadbare, really now he should buy new clothes and not scrimp on his coin. Hmmm, his hair looks an inch or three longer – growing it out this year or did he just forget to trim again what with all the commissions lately?
With one hand busied by the ladle, Okami unconsciously rubbed at the side of his neck with the other. Irse narrowed her eyes as she looked for the reason.
Small darkish marks on the base of his neck! Where did it come from? Is it anything like those weird little bruises on the skin that some of the village girls often bragged about giving to and getting from a boy? Whatever it is, woe be to the brazen soul who dared touch him there!
Elven eyes tapered in seething fury, listing the names of suspects for observation, and if caught in confession, then for swift retribution. It was then that a mosquito flitted into her line of sight and landed on her face. A swift self-slap on her cheek rattled the mind, enough to come to a reasonable conclusion.
Bug bites? Of course! He must've gotten those from a trek into the woods, that other day when she and Okami accompanied a farmer's son to search for their missing goats. Irse stared down at the tiny spot of blood in her palm, then casually flicked it off to resume her watch.
The blacksmith canted his head, still intently focused on the soup, on his face the same gravity as when laboring in the forge.
And then, unbidden, the corner of his lip crooked into a quiet smile.
Irse saw and tilted her head and stared, puzzled and perturbed. What would Okami be happy about now while making something as mundane as soup? Probably thinking about the nice weather. Or Farmer Mefer's promised next batch of radishes. Or the latest commissions. Really, he ought to rest every now and then.
Not as if the world would stop if he does, and -
"Done," Okami said as he lifted the pot from the stove and placed it on the table.
"Whaaat-" Irse exclaimed, nearly falling off the stool. How did she lose track of time?
"Gaaah!" Irse groaned in the present and wrangled her hair. Why couldn't she have paid more attention at the time?
A deafening blast rocked the quiet air.
"Hells' Teeth!" Irse blurted out and ducked behind a fallen log.
Wood and iron and water and vegetable had shot up in a column of smoke, chunks of anything left in solid form plopping back to the ground. A breath passed before she dared to take a peek. There before her lay the sad aftermath – wood and ash scattered within a short radius, the pot completely obliterated, evidently made from the corrupted iron for otherwise it would have endured the heat much longer.
And the small clump of bushes to the side, now on fire, no doubt set alight by live embers ejected from the explosion.
Squeaking in panic, Irse scrambled over to the burning brambles. This won't do. Dry summer air. Hard to tell where the wind might blow next. Oddly no drop of rain since her stay and departure from the Friendly Arm. The ground here too rocky and hard to dig up for earth to smother the flames. Not enough water in the skin.
Only one thing left to do. She hasted for her pack and untied the bedroll, then rushed back to the smoking shrubs to stomp and wallop at the flames with the sleep sack.
"I'm so sorry, Bushes!" Irse cried with sincere remorse in between whacks.
Well, she did promise not to throw up all over them, didn't she? By Tethrin's mercy, the little conflagration soon died into nothing more than smoke and blackened branches. Wheezing from the effort, she staggered back and sat on the ground. And noticed the other terrible aftermath.
Disbelieving, the elf spread out the damaged bedroll before her. Not only were the edges singed, but a charred hole in the middle now yawned back at her. Of course, she had no spare, didn't even think to buy another. Irse groaned, slipped the ruined cloth over her head like a sad necklace of shame, and miserably hung her head.
Indeed. Today is one those days.
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Down the Coast Way she resumed her journey, footsteps heavy and sullen. For that debacle with the exploded pot, wasted soup, and burned-out bedroll, Irse punished herself severely – downing only a midday meal of only half a pack of rations, if perhaps doing so might make her provisions last another day.
Echoing the grumbling in her stomach, the elf forswore cooking among the many things she could certainly do without for the rest of her natural lifespan.
That, and bumping into suspicious wizards again.
For there down the road stood a lone man whose robes and trappings screamed Mage. In blaring red.
Still a good way from him, Irse pulled the hood over her head, eyes to the ground as she neared. Nose and mouth covered with a hand, the elf gave him the widest berth possible. Perhaps, he would deem a common unassuming wanderer to be uninteresting and thusly leave her in peace.
"Excuse me, traveler?" rasped the man in a heavily accented voice. "Are you avoiding me because my mellifluous odor affronts your barbaric sensibilities? (I swear, I bathed when I left that decrepit rundown excuse for an inn. Though I may have been a drop too generous with the perfume oil today.)"
Bitingly familiar, the voice and tone rang with her. Irse paused, sneezed, then whirled to face him as she yanked the cowl off her head. Wiry and dark-haired, the leanness of his face and trimmed thin beard betrayed years only a little more than hers, the bright crimson hue of his robes hardly dampened by the dust of the road.
"You," they uttered at the same time.
Not even hunger had dulled her memory enough not to recognize this man as having been one of the patrons at the Friendly Arm – always garbed in eye-gouging red, a rather demanding and condescending nitpicker the serving girls and chambermaids griped about. He departed a day ahead of her and Irse had been relieved at being able to ask around the common room without getting distracted by this mage's constant mutterings.
Not to mention, he had been rude when answering her questions though she was equally rude in thanking him. In return he rudely bid her welcome to waste his time again if she dared and she had rudely expressed the possibility of doing so just to be rude to him again.
"Did Mister Mirrorshade finally kick you out for trying to set the oh-so-hideous-not-to-your-sophisticated-taste curtains on fire?"
"Did the blathering gnome finally dismiss you from their service for pestering the customers with your incessant questioning? Why, I'm certain I've already memorized your absentee mentor's name. What is he called again? Oak-Something?"
"Okami Munechika," Irse corrected him curtly. "Say," the elf said, pointing at the empty space beside the other. "Didn't you leave with two bodyguards? What happened to them? You didn't turn them into frogs, did you?"
"And then stepped on their twice-tiny brains? Please. I have far more important matters to attend to than wiping worthless froth from my shoe."
In reply to her query about the men's whereabouts, the man recounted their run-in with the bandits not far into the woods. The encounter had sent his locally hired minders cravenly fleeing the battlefield, leaving him to deal with the thugs on his own.
"And that is why you do not cast a spell to enhance the speed of your henchmen unless you are sure of their loyalty and bravery (Hopefully in their gutless retreat they tripped and broke their necks expeditiously.)," the wizard grumbled over the costly lesson.
Deeming it not worth his precious time to pursue the cowards and recoup his deposit, he had instead returned to the road to recruit new cohorts for his mission.
"You took care of those brigands all by yourself?" Irse quizzed him, unable to hide the pinch of esteem his deed had suddenly earned him in her bandit-hating eyes.
"Monkeys mindless enough to stand too close to one another make for ideal targets of a flawlessly casted fireball," the wizard said, chin up and casually blowing on his open palm.
As if remembering he was conversing with an actual person and not a rapt audience, he wagged a heavily ringed finger at Irse and the tachi by her side. "You there, elf. Do you desire compensation? Then lease your time to me this instant. I require a meatshield, I mean, companion capable of prolonged survival in the wilds and combat, and you appear to be in possession of such attributes."
Compensation was a word that didn't disagree with her empty stomach and light purse. Irse grinned, thumbing at herself. "Attributes, you say? I guess you're not wrong if you're referring to these."
And she proceeded to cast aside the cloak, unbutton the gambeson over the tunic, roll the sleeves up to the shoulders, and proudly puff up her chest while flexing the results of years of hammering hard at the forge.
The man stared broad-eyed for a moment, then composed himself, his fingers steepled. "Hmmm. Yes. Those would certainly do and serve their purpose."
"Awfully nice of you to acknowledge them so." Irse felt a flicker of pride at the obvious appreciation but was immediately sobered by a remembered regret. "Okami never even noticed at all, I'm sure of it. No one ever does!"
"You mean neither him nor any of your acquaintances has ever remarked on the size of your b-"
"Biceps? No. Not even when I bare them all day!" Irse ranted. "I mean, what does an elf girl have to do to earn a crumb of compliment for all her hard work? Do I have to grab and hold them like this until they take notice?" And she tilted slightly forward, curling her arms to press an imaginary captive in the tightest headlock.
The wizard waggled his brows, rubbing at his own throat as he swallowed dryly. "Then they must be… blind. Or lacking in linguistic sophistication to express their objective evaluation of your… assets."
Right on the mark, snooty and strange he may be. Irse sighed in agreement as she rolled down her sleeves. "Ah, well. For what exactly kind of work are you hiring, anyway?"
Earlier, he said something about going into the woods with his previous companions. Now a competent wizard, one that isn't after the mistaken bounty on her head, might be an advantage to her search. The least she could get out of all this would be covering whatever part of the forest they were traveling to. And the gods willing, this time they might come across the blacksmith, alive and well and happy to see his former apprentice again. A neat opportunity to trade for what would hopefully be a simple task.
"In exchange for fair recompense, I merely require you to accompany me to my destination -"
"All right. I can do that."
"- and handle my two big brown hairy sacks."
"What?"
The wizard pointed to a pair of large roughly woven satchels on the ground behind him.
"Those do look heavy." Irse raised a brow at the sight of them. "But they better not have dead bodies in them," she snapped, likewise pointing.
"Do not classify me among the demented practitioners of necromantic arts. There's nothing in there but supplies, mostly food - ," he replied but squeaked, startled for the elf had suddenly bounded upon him, her face threateningly close to his nose.
"Food?" Irse droned, eyes glazed.
The wizard blinked. "Yes. Food. Provisions. Plentiful."
"Why didn't you say so from the start," she said with excited cheer, stepping back and making a beeline for the bags. With a grunt she hefted both packs on her shoulder, along with her own. "Goodness, where are my manners? I'm Irse, by the way."
The mage eyed her with an imperious air. "Edwin Odesseiron, Red Wizard of the glorious and most eminent nation of Thay, Alakir to the Conservatory of Conjuration, Aspirant to the Station of Nashkir."
A Red Wizard. Known for their exceptional magecraft, but feared, even reviled across the realms for their ruthlessness. To her recollection, the Thayyans maintained a highly exclusive enclave in Iriaebor so that only the most powerful and wealthiest of the City's nobles and merchants traded with them.
Irse canted her head. "I don't know any of those things you just said. Is a pretty long title like that supposed to be impressive?"
Edwin gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. "It is, and it should only grow longer! Yet my talents are being wasted towards the drudgery of an eventual Draxkir. The thanklessness of serving as a mere cog in the logistics chain for components! Odesseiron, find me this. Odesseiron, gather me that. And verily now, it is another - Odesseiron, bring this to us!"
The wizard interrupted his own rant with an irate snort, inhaled deeply and rubbed his knuckles, then turned on his heels, snapping his fingers. "But enough of that. Come now, let us depart. The sooner this trivial task is completed, the more advantageous to my position. I plan to accomplish as much distance as possible while there is yet light, then make camp for an early supper."
Early supper? Now here be a rare man who knows what's important in life. Whistling at the better turn in her fortune, Irse cheerily waddled after him, a spring in her step despite the heavy sacks on her back.
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Eastward from the road, the pair marched through the woods. Edwin led the way, in his hand a delicate metal disc embedded with a single rune surrounded by small crystals appearing to represent the guides in a compass.
Occasionally he would signal for a pause to glare and tap impatiently at this arcane device, taking a few moments to figure out their bearings before resuming their trek towards where a particular crystal point would glow. Irse observed the proceedings, fascinated. If only she could use the same for finding and keeping track of Okami, but Vicona's suggestion of a leash was certainly far cheaper than the elegantly wrought whatsit in Edwin's hand.
"So I take it we're lugging all this stuff to your people somewhere out there?" Irse asked while stepping over an upturned tree root. "Why?"
"Have you not heard of the aphorism – Inquisitiveness occasioned the premature expiration of a cat?"
"Just wanted to know. No need to bring a poor kitty into this."
"Well, mine is an extremely important and clandestine endeavor. Those outside our affiliation are denied the privilege of being privy to our actions. (I swear if I find out the reason behind these infernal instructions relayed to me is because of another of Denak's pointless projects with portals in some decaying haunted ruins in this gods-forsaken forest, so help me.)"
At his words, Irse gasped in hopeful anticipation. Perhaps Okami had heard rumors of such places and had gone there himself in the hopes of finding her.
"Could your folks truly be poking around for portals around these parts?"
Edwin glared at her over his shoulder. "Eavesdropping elf."
"My left ear still works, you know. But about the portals again, could they be sniffing around for ways to get to the planes where the feyfolk live?"
"You're referring to the Feywild. That is not so farfetched. It is said there used to be an elven settlement here when this forest was still known as Glimmerwood, but that is ages ago. It is not entirely impossible for the Tel'Quessir to have established such gateways during their time. But no, that is not our reason for being here. Bah! Why am I even telling you anything? No one's supposed to know about our purpose in this place."
"Fine, I won't force you to talk about your mission because it's such a biiiiig secret," Irse mocked, rolling her eyes. "As we say back in Dearg, don't skin the game if it doesn't want to be eaten yet, or dig up a potato if it wants to stay in the dirt. Though a merchant in Iriaebor would say to count a coin whether it wants to be added to the pile or not."
"What in each of the flaming circles of the Nine Hells do those even mean? (This is why I must leave these uncivilized lands at the soonest before their base babblings start gaining some semblance of sense to me.) Question me about my assignment until your tongue withers to dust, but you will never be able to extract a single drop of information from me."
And then, Edwin proceeded to gripe about the tediousness of his task, prompted by what he thought were the inflated ambitions of Denak, a Barakir of their group, and his pretentious schemes to curry favor with Nevron, the Zulkir of Conjuration.
When the wizard paused to take breath and perhaps summon more complaints, Irse butted in. "Eh, what's a Barakir and a Zulkir again?"
"Taking down notes, are you? Very well. A Barakir, much as it galls me, is senior to an Alakir, while the Zulkir is the greatest among our ranks. Greatest, I say, but not so impossible to attain for one such as myself."
"Right-o," Irse replied with an eye roll. "So this Denak, being a Barakir, can boss around an Alakir because he's a Redder Wizard than you? Does that make a Zulkir the Reddest Wizard then?"
"Redder? Reddest?" Edwin sputtered but didn't look back. "There are no such things! (Although Reddest Wizard might even stand for a suitable title when I've reached my goals. No, quit it, Odesseiron! Do not permit yourself to fall into another semantic rabbit hole!) But yes, a Barakir may issue commands to an Alakir, great injustice that it is. Though Barakirs are nothing more than glorified paper pushers, digging up old magic from crumbling moth-eaten tomes. Magic that's already outdated and surpassed, but they are either delusional or fraudulently overselling their importance. The equivalent of children searching for already open holes, finding some middling trinket in it, and claiming they have unearthed the entire treasure of Myth Drannor, and then selfishly gatekeeping the discovery in order to benefit only themselves and not the entire organization (The organization which includes me, of course!)."
Irse shrugged. Barakirs or whatever in Toril those are, they sure sound like a bunch of folks who'd get along swimmingly with Ulraunt.
"Soooooo-," she piped up eagerly. "- what about the ruins and this Denak's latest, hmmm, ploy?" An emphasis on the last word, sure to get a rise and a tidbit of information from the Red Wizard.
Perhaps still preoccupied with despising his comrades, Edwin clearly overlooked the expectant look on the elf's face. "The fool thinks he has found the ancient Circle of Vehlarr in this very forest. More than half a century ago, a lycanthrope sorcerer is said to have constructed the portal to aid his tribe against another group. Think then of its potential powers from having been blessed not merely by one but by two patron deities who were said to have had a stake in the conflict. Denak is convinced that he and his acolytes can utilize circle magic to awaken the dormant portal and instead redirect the gateway for another purpose."
"Let me guess – it's not to open a door to a magical land where sweets rain down from the sky, pies grow on trees and rivers flow with cocoa."
"Yes, because a cat is more likely to bark than for a Barakir to exhibit creativity. His plan for the Circle is none other than the most unimaginative and unoriginal of all schemes – summoning and binding a powerful extraplanar creature to his will. A pit fiend."
Lure in something sitting high up in the hells' unholy pecking order? Irse whistled, skeptical. Not the first time she had heard stories of weirdos hanging around the deep parts of the woods in the hopes of finding frightful things to play with. Such mad scavenger hunts often ended in tragedy, not from vengeful guardian ghosts or magic gone awry but because of natural things with teeth or venom.
"Sounds scary. But will they truly go through with it?"
"Their probability of success is at par with a Thayyan working with a Rashemi towards a common goal. In quick sum – Nil. His team of sycophants excel in polishing posteriors with their lips rather than displaying true talent. Thin threads, the lot of them, pathetically overreaching their length."
Irse slightly bobbed her head in somewhat agreement. From hushed whisperings back in Candlekeep, she had heard how rituals like those were deemed to be utterly depraved, not to mention extremely risky. Much like standing around in the woods going – here kitty kitty but ending up baiting in a lion instead.
What did Gorion often admonish the younger Avowed under his tutelage in magic, prophecies, and history?
Never play with fire, for you are but a mere twig against the flame.
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Stranger Scribblings:
Apparently, Gorion and Okami never drilled Irse about Stranger!Danger! or Wizard!Hazard!.
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