"Don't thank me yet."
Something burned within his chest as he did so, and the sensation spread outwards through his veins. Weakness washed over him in a wave. Strength spilled from him like wine from an over-turned goblet. The ball of light popped out of existence. He felt suddenly sick and nauseous. His breath came in great gasps. Sweat beaded his forehead.
"What happened?"
"Magic is always draining. Very draining. Casting even a simple spell is as tiring as running a long race or lifting a very heavy weight."
"Why did you not tell me?"
"I have told you many times. You appear to have forgotten."
"I meant just now."
"It's something that is best experienced. You remember it better that way."
"Will it always be this bad?"
"Magic is like anything else. The more you practise, the better you get. Or perhaps it’s like lifting weights. You start out with a small weight and eventually you build up your strength until you can lift heavier."
"I am still grateful. This is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me." From the bottom of his heart, he meant it. It was nothing less than the truth. She had made one of his childhood dreams come true. Whatever she was, and whatever she did or was going to do, nothing would change that.
"It was always your gift, Rik. I merely helped awaken it. But over the years you will find the gift becomes a curse."
"I don't think so."
"Nobody ever does. At least not at first. Now rest. Get your strength back. We have a great deal to do, and not much time to do it in."
Sardec strode through the city streets. Rena walked by his side. The ways through the old quarter were winding and full of people, out trying to buy what goods were available. As always there were hawkers everywhere selling everything from sweetmeats to scraps of clothing.
He tried to ignore the stares of the crowd, and the gawking of some of the local Terrarchs. He kept his face frozen in a mask of aristocratic arrogance. No one here was in any position to judge him. The blood of Dragon Lords flowed in his veins, and what he chose to do, and who he chose to be with, was his own business and no one else's. He told himself this, but on the inside he found it hard to believe. There were those out there who felt they had the right to judge him, and that they would do so. There would be gossip and tittle-tattle and all the usual feline nastiness of chattering society.
He felt suspended between two poles of emotion, happy that Rena was there and worried about the bite the ghoul had given him. Just her presence near him made him happy in a way he would never have believed was possible. He had a sense of closeness to another living being that he had never felt before. It had nothing to do with class or intelligence or education. It operated on a much more primal level. It was like being bound by a magical spell and he had no objection to it in the least. Her nearness allowed him, just for a moment, to forget about his worries.
Just for a moment. He knew now that he could die, and in a peculiarly horrible fashion. He had felt his mortality since Deep Achenar when he had lost his sword hand. He had known ever since then that he was lucky to be alive. It was a feeling that grew stronger after every battle. He was used to it. He was a soldier. But the bite, that was something else. It could do more than kill him. It could rob him of his pride, of his intelligence, perhaps of his very soul if the tales were true.
A small shriek from beside him drew him from his reverie. He had been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he had lost track of the world around him. He noticed that scraps of food were hitting the ground all around him. Most of them were hitting Rena then he saw their source.
A group of Terrarch officers sat at a cafe table. There were a good number of empty wine bottles on the table. Chunks of bread sat on a wicker basket. The Terrarchs’ faces were a little flushed. They were tearing up the bread and tossing it at Rena. Sardec walked between her and them. A bit of bread hit him in the face. He stared at the one who had thrown it.
"What exactly do you think you are doing, sir?" he asked. Something of his anger must have shown in his voice. The officer he glared at flinched under his gaze, then he realised what he had done and that just seemed to anger him more.
"We were feeding your monkey." Sardec felt his own face flush with anger, and perhaps a hint of shame.
Sardec looked from Rena then back to the officer. "I don't possess any monkeys, sir, and I don't think its fitting for Terrarch officers to behave like a pack of them."
One of the officer’s friends made a face. "Oh, the famous Lieutenant Sardec does not like us feeding his monkey. Perhaps he prefers to feed her himself. And I think we know what he likes to feed her."
Rena tugged his hand. "Come away," she whispered in his ear. "They are drunk. They don't know what they are saying."
"You have me at a disadvantage, sir," said Sardec. "You appear to know my name and I am unacquainted with yours."
"Come away," Rena whispered more urgently. Sardec knew she was right. He should just ignore these louts, but something in him was responding to their taunts. He had found a focus for his worries and his fears.
"It looks like the Lieutenant takes orders from his monkey," said the first speaker.
"I would say that was conduct unbefitting of a Terrarch officer," said the second drunk. Sardec reached out with his hook and snagged the officer's tunic. He pulled him off his chair so that they were standing face to face.
"I asked you for your name, sir, please be so kind as to tell me it." The drunks rose from their chairs. Hands went to the hilts of swords.
"Do you wish to fight me, Lieutenant," said the officer. "What will it be: hooks at dawn?"
That caused another roar of laughter from his friends.
"Was that a challenge?" Sardec asked calmly. Iciness had settled in his veins now. He was not going to be insulted by these oafs. He saw the officer he confronted swallow but he rallied and said: "I will not cross swords with a cripple."
"Perhaps you would prefer pistols?" Sardec suggested. His fury gave his voice a politeness and a calmness that he would never have suspected himself capable of. He was suddenly totally aware of his surroundings as he normally only was in combat. He saw the faces of the onlookers. The Terrarchs looked worried. The Kharadreans looked pleased to see this falling out among their conquerors. Rena was terrified. Despite the look on her face the words just slipped out. "Or are you afraid?"
That was a challenge to which there could be only one response from a Queen's Officer and everyone present knew it. The group of drunkards had gone quiet now, the seriousness of the situation suddenly impressed on them. The officer swallowed again. There was a trapped look in his eye. Sardec gave a small cold smile of triumph.
"Or are you afraid?" he repeated.
The officer shook his head. There was a look of panic in his eyes. He was wondering how this situation had sprung up on him so quickly. Sardec felt the same way, but the whirlwind of combat had left him experienced in dealing with that sensation. "Perhaps you would like to apologise to my companion," Sardec suggested, partially to humiliate his foe, partially to give him a way out.
"I will not apologise to a monkey," the officer blurted. Sardec slapped him. It was not a powerful blow, which made it all the more insulting. The mark of his hand blotched the other Terrarch's cheek. There was only one way that stain could be wiped off with honour.