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Master's Delight | master's delight | Master's Delight p.3 | Anecdotes, misquotes, and all-around unfortunate quips
master's delight
"Father!"
The shadow child revealed herself as she launched herself toward the ebon cloaked figure which stood in the sunlight at the top of the stair. It enveloped her, held her, then released her.
"You brought your friends."
"Well, yeah. I said I would." Petulance. "I thought you wanted me to."
"Yes. You please me, Daemonika. By the way, you forgot something when you left here."
The figure strode past them and knelt to a mark on the floor. Its practiced motion opened a small panel in the floor. It reached in and pulled out a wand. Daemonika whispered over and it handed the wand to her. The rest of the Drake, momentarily sidelined, watched from the shadows.
Daemonika accepted the wand, appraised it, then in a smooth motion it disappeared into the robes. Crimson and ebon stood unmoving, savoring the encounter. Then a whisper from the Drake's shadow; “Is that really her father?” Daemonika turned, triumphant, defiant, “Of course he is!”
Ebon unveiled himself. Slender, black haired, wry yet pointed features, a penetrating gaze, and even teeth which showed themselves between thin, smiling lips.
“I do not mean to be rude by ignoring you, but it has been some time since I saw my daughter.” Baritone. Soothing. Charming. “I presume you are those who have befriended and assisted Daemonika. My thanks to you all for caring for her when I could not. I am in your debt.” Flourish, bow. The tip of a sword scabbard peeked from the cloak. “I understand you seek something which is lost. I have friends who might be able to help. They live but a few days' ride from here.”
Dae tugged on Father's sleeve. He bent at the waist. She whispered, “What happened to your teeth?” Perplexed.
“Nothing.” Equally perplexed.
“You're not a vampire?” Disappointed?
“No.” Amused.
“Oh.” Confused.
Interrupted. “Who are these friends of yours?”
Father straightened. “They call themselves the Cult of Ezeran. They are descendants of the original Tanarans and have an extensive library which might prove useful.”
A gleam flickered across shadowed eyes.
He smiled. Even white teeth. Ah, the lure of the library. So easy.
Dae took his hand, smiled up at him adoringly.
So easy.
The equine battle of wills had begun. Nymalless nickered argumentatively with Feynman, sighed, then dropped back in the line. The great black horse bore its black-clad rider at the front of the line. It seemed to Nymalless that the shadows from the tower somehow clung to the pair. Latunda seemed uneasy, but was lost in her maps and a sometimes loud conversation with Dannan about what Mio could possibly have meant in some of her less decipherable etchings on said maps. Firesong was blithely lost in his head, occasionally distracted by a flying insect. Cats. Ja'rad was, well, Ja'rad. The road ended in a bridge across an eager stream. The column stoppped. Father spurred his mount. It stood fast. Latunda ceased her bantering to watch the mount and rider. Feynman laughed. Loud and long. The sleek black bitted head swung around to eye Feynman. Nymalless was amused by this display of willfulness just long enough to catch the glint of fire in the black eye focused on Feynman. Latunda saw the same fire. That tug again.
Doesn't like running water. Huge black horse. Latunda racked her brain but couldn't come up with why the benighted horse bothered her. She shrugged.
Father fought with his mount. Willful beast. Sometimes more trouble than it was worth. The anger boiled. He grabbed the bridle and pulled. Resistance. He would have damned the horse, but it was already too late. He called the essaence instead, subtly, quietly.
“You will obey me.”
The column moved forward. Feynman snorted derisively and leapt over the bridge. Nymalless took the hint and asked Eissa for a favor. She enveloped Father and his mount in Eissa's awareness and saw that they were not Her enemy. Nymalless relaxed and figured Feynman was just peeved at having to compete with another female that was almost as big as she was.
They made camp beside the road. The horses were put out to pasture, a watch set. Shortly after the first quintar, something stirred in the moonlight. Ja'rad squinted, trying to discern the vaguely bipedal figures approaching the camp. They shambled. And stank of rotten earth. Ghouls. Lots of them. He raised the alarm.
The Drake rose almost as one. Latunda's sword shone in the moonlight, the Sacred Sword ready to send the soulless undead back into the earth.
Father was one step ahead of them. Or, more precisely, one spell ahead of them. With a sweep of gold-flecked blue essaence, the ghouls disintegrated messily. All of them.
Perfect white teeth shone in the moonlight. Yawn.
“Shall we get more sleep?”
Swords snicked back into sheathes. The Drake, denied their fight, moved grudgingly to their bedrolls. Latunda reevaluated Father. Not bad. A dozen ghouls, one spell. Not bad.
Not bad at all.