A fragment of his intellect moving with the owl, Agis was staggered when they entered the sorcerer’s mind. From the old man’s curt manner and constant frown, the noble had assumed he would find a stormy, harsh place as violent as the Athasian desert itself, with fiery flashes of anger and cold bolts of disdain shooting in every direction. Instead, it seemed more like a blissful oasis on a still night, its pool filled with blue waters and its perimeter surrounded by a forest of stalwart trees strong enough to withstand any wind. Agis was so surprised that he hesitated before sending his owl down to claim control of the place.
In that moment, the old man realized that his mind was being invaded. Suddenly, a thousand white shrikes appeared out of the trees and flew toward Agis’s owl. Each of the little birds screeched a tremendously loud and shrill warning call. The noble tucked the wings of his raptor and dropped toward the pool, but the shrikes attacked, tearing at the larger bird’s tailfeathers and pecking at its eyes.
Even as Agis prepared to change his probe to something less subtle and more powerful, the shrikes tore the owl. The noble glimpsed a beak and a handful of feathers settling over the oasis pond, then Agis found himself staring across the murky courtyard at his opponent.
The noble gasped several times, for the battle and the loss of the owl had cost him a considerable amount of energy. Nevertheless, though he doubted he could enter the sorcerer’s mind again, he had plenty of stamina left and there were as many ways to use the Way as there were men who walked the face of Athas. He would find another way to attack and try again.
“What’s the bidding, Caro?” Agis asked.
“Seventy-one gold.”
From across the courtyard, the old man’s sonorous voice called, “Seventy-five.”
“Eighty,” Agis replied automatically.
A murmur rustled through the courtyard. Mul gladiators could be had for eighty gold.
No response came from the other side of the courtyard. The slave girl regarded Agis with her icy blue eyes, then cast a glance in the old man’s direction.
“Are you finished bidding?” Radurak asked, directing his gaze to the old man.
“I withdraw my offer.”
To the astonishment of Agis, the voice had come from close at hand. Had Caro spoken? Agis looked down and saw that a pair of lips had formed in the dust at his feet. There was no nose or chin or face of any sort, just a mouth.
As the nobleman watched, the lips parted and said, “I withdraw my offer.”
Radurak’s brow sank in disappointment as he looked to Agis. “Did I hear you right?”
Planting his boot square in the mouth on the ground, the senator shook his head. The mouth tried to speak again, but all that emerged was a muffled garble. When it was clear that the sorcerer’s magical lips would not interrupt him again, Agis called, “I said eighty-five gold.”
“A bold maneuver,” Radurak said, smiling in relief. He turned back to the old man. “Can you match his bid?”
This time, the noble was ready to pay the sorcerer back in kind. He used the Way to create an invisible tunnel that ended directly in his opponent’s mouth. As the old man spoke, Agis silently mouthed the words he wanted to come from the other man’s lips.
“I do not have that much.” The voice was the old man’s, but the words were Agis’s. The noble was particularly proud of the way the voice cracked with disappointment.
“How unfortunate,” Radurak cooed sympathetically. He motioned Agis forward.
The old man started to protest, but again Agis put his own words into the sorcerer’s mouth. “Perhaps you would trust me for the rest-”
This brought a roar of laughter from everyone assembled beneath the bridge. The sorcerer scowled in Agis’s direction, but the noble ignored him and stepped forward, taking his purse off his belt. He found his fingers trembling with fatigue as he untied the knot. His contest with the sorcerer was taking its toll on his energies.
The slave-girl looked in his direction, an expression of contempt on her face. She mumbled something under her breath, then motioned for Agis to return to his place. “You’ll never lay a hand on me, spawn of a misbegotten mekillot!”
Agis’s foot struck an invisible obstacle, and he found himself sprawling face-first into the dust. He barely managed to tuck his heavy purse of gold away before his body struck the hard ground.
More than a few of his fellows made lewd comments suggesting Agis should wait until returning home to think about what he was going to do with his prize. The noble accepted the jibes with good-natured humor, then gathered himself up.
The sorcerer’s voice called, “I found a few more coins, Radurak. My bid is raised to ninety gold.” The old man glanced at Agis, gesturing at him as if motioning him away.
Agis stood, calling, “Ninety-five!”
The bid elicited a puzzled look from Radurak.
The elf frowned, then asked Agis, “Have you ever seen Ral and Guthay dance a two-time jig?”
“What are you talking about?” the noble demanded.
This time, the elf scowled angrily. “You should walk on your hands to Gulg.”
With a sinking heart, Agis realized the sorcerer had cast another enchantment on him. Whatever anyone said to him reached his ears in the form of utter nonsense. Judging from Radurak’s expressions, the reverse was also true.
The elf motioned Agis back to his place, then invited the sorcerer forward. When the noble did not obey immediately, two tall tribesmen stepped forward to enforce their chief’s order. Agis decided he would accomplish nothing by arguing in his present state-except, perhaps, starting a fight. He reluctantly retreated, then watched the old man shuffle forward.
As the sorcerer moved into the torch light, Agis saw the old man’s purse bulging beneath his tabard. A last desperate idea occurred to him. He slipped his empty hand beneath his cloak and imagined it disappearing from the end of his arm, calling on the Way to make it happen. A sharp pain sliced through his wrist, and then he felt nothing below the wrist.
The old man paused in front of Radurak, reaching beneath his tabard. Keeping the stump of his arm beneath his robe, Agis reached toward the sorcerer’s gold. Once again calling on the Way, he visualized his hand appearing beneath the old man’s cloak, clasped onto the purse. Suddenly he felt the heavy bag in his hand, just as if his hand were still attached to his own arm-save that there were many yards of numbness between his forearm and his fingers.
The sorcerer untied his purse strings. Agis jerked on the leather sack, at the same time ending the expenditure of psionic energy which kept his hand separated from his wrist. The feeling below his wrist returned to normal, and he now held a heavy sack of gold clenched in his fist.
As the purse was ripped from the sorcerer’s hand, the old man spun and pointed a thickset finger at Agis. “You’ll find that water from the black well tastes best,” he snarled.
Agis shrugged at the nonsensical words. Still holding the old man’s purse beneath his cloak, he raised his eyebrows at Radurak. Before the elf could respond, the sorcerer said something to him, pointing an accusing finger at the noble.
While the old man was turned away, Agis took the opportunity to stand body-to-body with Caro and slip the purse he had just stolen to the dwarf.
Of course, what the old man said made no sense to Agis, but he was counting on the legendary greed of elves to do his arguing for him. Since there was no gold in the old man’s hands, the noble hoped Radurak would dismiss him quickly.