again. He would not, however, tell her about watching the voluptuous naiad, so white and so cool and so very different from the slender fire nymph. He tipped the ewer up over his head, expertly filling his mouth with the thin stream that poured from it like a peasant imbibing from a leather wine sack. The rich and powerful Lord Vane knew exactly how to get stinking drunk.
An hour later, he sat staring into the pool of volatile oil. The serenity of the night had been troubled by events he could not understand.
To begin with, Marius had appeared on the scrying surface, tears running down his handsome face. He was saying something about fire…and an ancient tree…Yes, yes, get on with it, Lord Vane said mentally. When did lightning not strike lonely, sea-girt realms and did it not always aim for the highest point?
Vane had picked up the astral projection with a reverse turn of the calendrical adjuster, an invention of his own. The other Arcan lords relied on mumbled spells and that bitch of bitches, luck, to scry. But he was a practical man. And at the moment, a very, very frustrated one. He had finished the wine in the ewer a while ago and rung for more. He was deep in his cups and irritable. No Hella. He could swear that the lava in his balls was backing up into his brain.
He reached out and turned the calendrical adjuster the other way.
“Vane? Is that you?”
He belched with surprise. The damn thing worked better than he’d thought.
“Yesh.”
“Are you drunk?”
Vane’s reply was obscene and to the point.
“Ravelle has returned.”
That bit of news brightened his mood. Let the others dodge the demon. Lord Vane wanted to fight him.
“I can take him.”
“Together, we will be stronger, Vane.”
The Lord of the Fire belched again, pure sulfur this time. “Hand him over if you have him. What kind of trouble is he making now?”
Marius swiped a hand over his face and mixed dirt with the drying tears on his face. “He torched Philonous. I came in time to save him, but he might not live. I was hoping that you—that there is an antidote to fire.”
“There isn’t. It burns and it kills. Powerful stuff. Why I like to play with it.” Foggy as he was, Lord Vane had a feeling he was supposed to be sympathetic. “Philo—who? I don’t remember that name.”
“The most ancient tree of all. He’s watched out for me since I was cast down to the Forest Isle.”
“Oh, that Philonous,” Vane said with a notable lack of conviction. He did feel sorry for Marius in his drunken way.
“Can you get here quickly? Isn’t there anything you could bring to help heal him?”
“I have a salve for scorches. But I just came from there.” He touched a finger to the surface of the oil, wishing he could make the Lord of the Forest go away.
Marius’s pleading look changed to one of suspicion. “You did? Where were you?”
“I came up in a pool I’d never seen. Nothing going on,” he lied, just in case Marius knew the moon-loving naiad. “I came back and started to drink. I was looking for a fuck, but a fight will do.”
Marius shook his head. “The Arcan lords must meet as soon as possible. I signaled Gideon with bonfires on the beach—”
“Saw them,” Vane said indifferently.
“And someone got a message to Simeon underwater using Pio.”
“That swordfish? One of these days I’m going to have him for dinner.”
Marius shook his head. “Vane, listen to me. Ravelle will not stay in the Outer Darkness and the islands and their inhabitants are in danger.”
“I can take Ravelle with no help from you three. Stupid horned bastard. High time someone put him in his place.” Marius hesitated before he spoke again, and the Lord of Fire gave in to a mad, wine-fueled impulse. “All right, green man. I’m coming. How many subterranean turns before I get to where you are?”
“Eleven. Hurry.”
For the second time that night Lord Vane hoped that cold water would calm him down and sober him up. He
An hour later, he sat staring into the pool of volatile oil. The serenity of the night had been troubled by events he could not understand.
To begin with, Marius had appeared on the scrying surface, tears running down his handsome face. He was saying something about fire…and an ancient tree…Yes, yes, get on with it, Lord Vane said mentally. When did lightning not strike lonely, sea-girt realms and did it not always aim for the highest point?
Vane had picked up the astral projection with a reverse turn of the calendrical adjuster, an invention of his own. The other Arcan lords relied on mumbled spells and that bitch of bitches, luck, to scry. But he was a practical man. And at the moment, a very, very frustrated one. He had finished the wine in the ewer a while ago and rung for more. He was deep in his cups and irritable. No Hella. He could swear that the lava in his balls was backing up into his brain.
He reached out and turned the calendrical adjuster the other way.
“Vane? Is that you?”
He belched with surprise. The damn thing worked better than he’d thought.
“Yesh.”
“Are you drunk?”
Vane’s reply was obscene and to the point.
“Ravelle has returned.”
That bit of news brightened his mood. Let the others dodge the demon. Lord Vane wanted to fight him.
“I can take him.”
“Together, we will be stronger, Vane.”
The Lord of the Fire belched again, pure sulfur this time. “Hand him over if you have him. What kind of trouble is he making now?”
Marius swiped a hand over his face and mixed dirt with the drying tears on his face. “He torched Philonous. I came in time to save him, but he might not live. I was hoping that you—that there is an antidote to fire.”
“There isn’t. It burns and it kills. Powerful stuff. Why I like to play with it.” Foggy as he was, Lord Vane had a feeling he was supposed to be sympathetic. “Philo—who? I don’t remember that name.”
“The most ancient tree of all. He’s watched out for me since I was cast down to the Forest Isle.”
“Oh, that Philonous,” Vane said with a notable lack of conviction. He did feel sorry for Marius in his drunken way.
“Can you get here quickly? Isn’t there anything you could bring to help heal him?”
“I have a salve for scorches. But I just came from there.” He touched a finger to the surface of the oil, wishing he could make the Lord of the Forest go away.
Marius’s pleading look changed to one of suspicion. “You did? Where were you?”
“I came up in a pool I’d never seen. Nothing going on,” he lied, just in case Marius knew the moon-loving naiad. “I came back and started to drink. I was looking for a fuck, but a fight will do.”
Marius shook his head. “The Arcan lords must meet as soon as possible. I signaled Gideon with bonfires on the beach—”
“Saw them,” Vane said indifferently.
“And someone got a message to Simeon underwater using Pio.”
“That swordfish? One of these days I’m going to have him for dinner.”
Marius shook his head. “Vane, listen to me. Ravelle will not stay in the Outer Darkness and the islands and their inhabitants are in danger.”
“I can take Ravelle with no help from you three. Stupid horned bastard. High time someone put him in his place.” Marius hesitated before he spoke again, and the Lord of Fire gave in to a mad, wine-fueled impulse. “All right, green man. I’m coming. How many subterranean turns before I get to where you are?”
“Eleven. Hurry.”
For the second time that night Lord Vane hoped that cold water would calm him down and sober him up. He
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