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Wizard's Tower - Arc 3 - Chapter 33
🕑 Added 2021-11-18 20:16:31 +0000 UTCI found Alred snoring in a bed, filthy and surrounded by bottles of wine. Some bottles were empty, and others were half-full. I could see a couple had been flung at a wall and shattered. The one still grasped in his hand was tilted and slowly making a puddle on the bed, one which the man slept through unnoticed.
My former assistant looked drained. As if all the vitality in his body had been pulled away by a parasite. I stroked my beard in thought as I took in these sights, only interrupted once by a nervous serving boy who seemed both relieved and wary of my presence.
“Alred,” I called softly. Then again three more times in growing volume just to confirm that he was in a state of deep slumber. He was, though my voice did attract two more servants, who held the same expression as the first.
“Clear away all the bottles. Lord Froom is not to have another drop of wine for three seasons, no matter what he says. No wine, no ale, nothing of the sort.” I gave the command as if were lord here, but only the first servant gave me a questioning look. I answered the looked with a snort, “It is by his own command that you do this. Shall I offer proof? Alred, speak now if you don’t want your servants to carry out your last command.”
My former assistant, naturally, said nothing. I sat in a chair nearby, one of the few other pieces of furniture in the bedroom, and withdrew the tome I had to work on combining the lightning spells. It was nearly completed, and only a handful of possible mistakes could cause it to fail. Possible, because without testing, I wouldn’t know if they were correct or if they required adjustment. What I could do, though, was work through the other stages of the spellcraft to add in components to shield it from interruption and prevent backlash. With the volume of mana invested in such a spell, backlash from it would result in the death of anything that wasn’t a lightning elemental.
“Wine!” It was the small hours of the morning when Alred finally awoke from his deep slumber, calling immediately for wine instead of food. His cracked voice was a yell that had all three servants rushing into the room to stand there awkwardly, though the man didn’t even notice their arrival. His face was still red, and his eyes didn’t track anything.
“Wine!” he called again, a hint of anger in his voice.
They stood at the entryway, looking at each other nervously, before glancing at me. I nodded to them, something that must have bolstered their courage, and one answered Froom’s, “My lord, you ordered us not to give you wine yesterday.”
Alred’s eyes slowly came into focus, as confusion momentarily replaced the anger on his face. “I did? Bah! Now I order you to bring me wine.”
Again, those three servants looked to me for guidance. I bit back a sigh, and raised my chin to speak, “Alred.”
It took a bit of a struggle for the man to prop himself up on his elbows and finally notice my presence. “Master Fargus?”
“Indeed. I arrived at your cabin three days ago at your invitation. You greeted me in such a state of drunken shame that you swore off wine for an entire year and immediately collapsed into slumber. Do you not recall?” I lied, smoothly and calmly. Perhaps I should have been honest, but the man had something to do with naming the Battle of the Four Couches. This was only the beginning of my vengeance for that.
“No,” he answered and then mumbled more to himself, words of half-finished thoughts. Eventually, his wine-addled mind settled on bitter anger. “Well, now you have arrived and seen the wizard, the lord, Alred Froom in all of his greatness! You can leave.” He waved a hand in my direction as if shooing me away.
“No,” I said firmly. I watched as the rejection sank into his head, and he sat straight up to look at me. His face was twisted into a mask of anger so foul that I wished I had hired a painter to capture the sight to taunt him with in the years to come.
“No?!” Alred’s breath became heavy, and his eyes bulged from his face.
I ignored the theatrics to subtly motion for the servants to depart, something they seemed eager to do. “No,” I said again, just as firmly as the first time.
“I am lord here! The first planar lord! All of these lands are mine! I have spells that will send you spinning off into the great void! You will depart or I will make you leave!” His voice had become a shout that thundered through the bamboo cabin.
I appraised the man. Spells that would force a person off the plane? I hadn’t seen anything of that sort in the tome he provided. It sounded more like the type of threat one gave to an unruly noble to stay their hand and force their behavior. Still, if a spell like that, one tied to a location existed, then I would be very interested. Regardless, “You’ll be casting no spells in that condition.”
“I…” his voice trailed off and his anger fled as he seemed to realize his state. Then, as if a bottle shattered, he began to cry. Not just cry, but unreservedly sob. His words came out in bits and pieces between wails of pain, an ugly sight that I had to school my face against. “I—She is gone! She left me! Turned—turned herself into a tree! A thrice-damned tree! I—I—I, it’s not right! I want her back. She was my only…”
I waited for more, but the pain he felt was so great his emotions overcame his actions. Softly, I spoke, “A tree you say?”
“Aye! A tree! What use have I with a tree?! I go and sit and look at her sometimes, Nemon, and wonder why.”
“Care to show me, old friend?”
An hour later we sat on a bench before the oak tree I had seen looming over the forest. Great boughs lifted high into the sky, and it was truly a wonderful tree to behold. Beside me, Alred once again slept, his head leaning against my shoulder. I had refused to depart until he spelled himself clean, so the stench of wine wasn’t in his clothes. Though, that didn’t help the smell of his breath as he snored. Luckily, the forest itself was alive with the smell of flowers and plants.
It had been a long time since I had simply sat and not worked on something. It was almost an uncomfortable feeling to not be productive, but I didn’t want to wake Alred. He seemed to need a more restful sleep than the kind that drink forced.
At first, my thoughts were on the words of conversation that took place when we arrived. He described the spellwork used to change her, a druidic ritual. I could still see the telltale signs of it in place. It was still an unfortunate thing to see. I knew what happened when a mage changed themselves into an animal. The mind of the animal wasn’t large enough to contain the mind of a human, and the result when returned to their humanity was not a pleasant one.
To change into a tree was assuredly worse in my mind. There was no chance that her mind remained. In fact, I don’t recall any trees that possessed an organ like a brain, though it was something to research later. If there was one, then perhaps longevity by transformation could be possible in that fashion.
Alred had also briefly mentioned the tomb he had created in the crystal beneath the tree. One he had prepared for himself when he departed. While it was a bit morbid, I did approve of the idea. It’s much easier to deal with the bodies of those who die when they make their own arrangements beforehand. Provided that they can afford their arrangements.
I recalled a time or two when a Master at the Arcanum had requested an elaborate burial more fitting a national hero, and didn’t have the coin in their estate to fulfill their request. The first had been easy to deal with, as they didn’t have any relatives. The second, that an unpleasant situation where some of the remaining family wanted to grant the Master their wish, and another part wanted a simple burial so that the estate could be divided between them. I had to summon a priest to deal with the matter, as it was so outside my purview that I was tempted to simply electrocute them all.
Beyond that, my mind continued to wander down thoughts forgotten and distant memories, and I allowed it to do so until it arrived at the barrels in the back of my mind. Something I knew would occur, as Alred’s immense grief was sure to lead me to my own. The barrels were many and seemed only to grow in time. Yet, I was able to find one or two small ones in the back. People that I wasn’t as close to from when I was much younger.
I would peek inside, tentatively at first, before opening them up and recalling. Hours passed like this, and more than once I found myself unwillingly shedding tears. Finally, Alred awoke and seemed to be thinking more clearly than he had been. A guilty expression passed through his face, and a shamed one from falling asleep, but I ignored it as I stood and stretched.
With my back to the man, I asked, “As I arrived at your invitation, I assume there is something you wish to show me?”
“Oh yes!” I could hear the enthusiasm in his voice. “Would you like to see the giants?”
