Aces and Eights page 15
Harvey Smith
Without comment, she seated herself in the chair several feet away, occupying a space halfway between me and the ash-filled fire pit out in the center of the wide room. For a few seconds, I watched her, taking in the angularity of her features, the wet shine of her brown eyes. Somehow, even as my enemy, she was fascinating.
Looking down, I noted that both trays bore similar fare. One stood directly before me and the other she pulled nearer to her position. Thus we began eating.
The food was better than good. It was wonderful. I commented on this and she agreed through a mouthful. She finished her bite, washed it down with a healthy swallow of wine and said, "Merequist is indulgent in very few areas. Most of his servants are more than half dead�like those you saw a few moments ago. His chef, along with only a handful of others, is an exception."
I took another bite of what tasted remarkably like lemon-seasoned spinach. As had often happened before while frequenting unfamiliar Shadows, I was surprised by how comfortable an alien place could seem with only a few echoes of home. An attractive companion, a decent meal, and suddenly I could forget that the alien world I currently inhabited might actually be riding on the back of some cosmic turtle, rather than orbiting a sun. The disparities between Shadows are sometimes drastic, sometimes incremental. It is often the slight shadings which can provide the greater danger, if one forgets. Traveling between realities is funny like that.
Pushing my thoughts toward escape, I ate slowly, stretching out what I knew would be a limited time of free movement. Since she could freeze me with only a few words, I did not want to attempt a direct psychic assault. Neither did I favor the idea of simply doing nothing and again being made a statue. I was busy racking my thoughts for a solution when I began to sense something faint and mystical.
Kyla put down her fork and looked at me. She stood. Guessing the mild disturbance to be a Trump call, I kept my features neutral. I deliberately took another bite, looking up at her with an inquisitive _expression.
Kyla looked as if she were about to paralyze me, then decided against it. After taking several steps backward, so that she still faced me, my captor stood still. Though a distant look spread over her face, I knew that if I made any sudden or strange gestures, she would probably register it immediately, peripherally. As she began to mumble, I continued to eat. Once I could tell that she was fully involved in the Trump communication, I sent my awareness into my ring. I hoped like hell that she would be so caught up in her current conversation that she would not detect what I was about to do.
Quickly, without moving, I willed the ring to send out fine lines of energy from its position on my hand back along my arm. When the delicate forces reached my shoulder, I stopped them, afraid that anything more might be noticeable. With the faintest of efforts, I maintained the invisible branches of sensitivity about my right arm like a ghostly, shoulder-length glove.
Though the paralysis field had previously halted me from using my ring at all, I felt halfway certain that�with it already activated�I would have a good chance of freeing myself. If Kyla proved to be anything better than what I was�a minor dabbler in the arts�I knew that she would probably remark upon my furtive tinkering as soon as she withdrew her attentions from the Trump contact. So I decided that a little conversational distraction might help my cause. As soon as she closed off the contact and stepped forward again�
"This spinach is beyond compare." I said softly, playfully seasoning my words with sarcasm. "You'll have to get the recipe for me later."
Offering me a sinister smile, she said, "Of course," then reseated herself.
"I don't suppose you'd care to share the details of that last call with me?"
"Afraid not. Merequist is the talkative one."
"So I noticed. It seems to be a classic characteristic of villains; they love to explain themselves before they do you in. Maybe it's guilt related."
She swallowed. "Maybe it's ego related."
I chuckled and took a sip.
The meal did not last much longer. Worrying that she might discover my little trick at any given moment, I found it hard to enjoy what remained on my tray. She too seemed preoccupied, perhaps by something she had learned during her last Trump call. When it was clear that we were both finished eating, she summoned the same two servants who had assisted her previously. They worked as quietly and as lifelessly as they had before, removing the trays and the carved wooden chair without sound or _expression.
When we were alone again, she wasted no time in re-paralyzing me. "I will return again later," was all she said before she left the room.
I waited several moments before attempting anything. When I felt reasonably sure that I was truly alone, I focused my thoughts on the tendrils of energy encasing my arm, willing them to life. The field entrapping me was, I soon learned, too complicated for me to quickly dismantle. An adept would probably have been able to do it in a short while, but its design was beyond my capability. Without any prior experience with the wheel construct feeding the enchantment, I had virtually no chance of dispelling it altogether. A more attainable goal, I realized, might be to attempt to unweave only a portion of it�the section holding my arm, for instance. This decided, I set about doing it.
Slowly, painstakingly, I used the ring's ghost-vine feelers to disentangle the ordered lines of force from my arm. It was like trying to unravel silk in the dark and each thread consumed a bit of my time and energy. Some time later, I felt the section of the spell upon which I had been working beginning to lose its form. A few more twists and unwindings and that portion of the force-mesh which held my arm finally dissipated. Exhilarated, I moved my arm about, stretching and testing the limits of my movement. I found that I could reach the pouch at my belt.
Unable to look down, I began rummaging blindly through the pouch, feeling for one of the acorns I carry there. I finally recognized the rough, familiar shape. Carefully, not wanting to drop my prize, I lifted out one of the small enchanted nuts. I considered my options.