| SORCEROUS SIGNALS |
| Written by C.J. Carter-Stephenson / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti |
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| A Costly Wager |
Lothar Cadicorne, crown prince of Lamoria, an elvish kingdom in the northernmost forest of the land of
Horetia, had always had strong principles. He was honest, he was charitable and when he gave his word
about something, nothing in the world would induce him to break it, which was how he had come to be in
his current unfortunate situation.
It had all started a few days earlier when he was talking to some fellow travelers in the Broken Arrow inn
in the town of Wyverton. The conversation had somehow turned to his renowned skill with a bow and he
had ended up agreeing to a wager that would put it to the test. The terms of the bet were simple—which
was just as well, given his state of intoxication at the time—he was required to hit an apple suspended
from a tree branch at a distance of a thousand paces three times in a row. If he succeeded, he won his
own weight in gold; if he failed, he was required to journey into the depths of the underworld and
persuade the goddess Ereske to grant him the boon of a kiss.
Given the fact no living person had ever ventured into the underworld and lived to tell the tale, Lothar
wouldn’t have agreed to the wager if he hadn’t been supremely confident he would emerge victorious.
What followed would remain etched in his brain for the rest of his life. Ignoring the derisive comments of
the cluster of travelers who had bet against him, he had tottered across the common room towards the
winding staircase that would take him to his room, saying loudly, “Let us waste no more time with words.
I’ll just go and get my bow, and then we can start.”
“Not so fast,” one of the travelers—a wealthy merchant with shifty eyes and a bulbous nose—said, as
Lothar started up the steps. “Nine times out of ten Elvish weapons are magically enhanced. Can we be
sure your bow is any different? No, we can’t.”
“So what do you suggest?” Lothar asked, coming back down the staircase into the common room.
Raising his chubby hand, the merchant pointed to a sturdy longbow hung above the fireplace at the end
of the room. “What about that bow over there?” he suggested. “Use that and we’ll know you’re not
cheating.”
Lothar walked across to the bow and lifted it from its mountings, wishing his vision wasn’t quite so fuzzy
from the alcohol he had consumed. It looked like a decent enough weapon, though it was a little bigger
than he was used to. “Very well,” he said with a decisive nod. “This bow it is.”
As they moved out of the inn, his confidence had remained unabated. True, he was drunk, but not so
drunk his heightened elvish senses shouldn’t have enabled him to make the shot. So what went wrong?
Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was not a single one of his arrows found its mark. In fact,
they hadn’t even come close.
It made him sick just thinking about it. He’d been utterly humiliated in front of everyone. If only he hadn’
t drunk so many flagons of ale, it would have been a different story. Still, there was no use dwelling on
the past. He’d lost the wager and he would just have to live with it.
So here he was, riding an ill-tempered camel across the vast expanse of the Gorian desert towards the
infamous obsidian gateway to the land of the dead. His silver hair hung ragged around his narrow
shoulders and his flawless face glistened with perspiration. It had been an arduous journey and he was
starting to suffer from serious fatigue. Already, he had been traveling for the best part of a week and it
would take him at least another day to reach his destination.
Shifting in his saddle in a vain attempt to get comfortable, he surveyed the rolling dunes rising to either
side of him. The sun shimmered on the sand with such intensity he had to shelter his eyes with his hand.
As with so much of the desert, there were no visible landmarks to aid with navigation. Fortunately, he
didn’t have to rely on such things. He had his magic to guide him. If he hadn’t he would have been
hopelessly lost by now.
The rest of the journey seemed to take forever, but at last the obsidian gates came into view, standing
in stark isolation on the top of a sand dune like the last remnant of some ancient structure. There was
nothing to indicate they were a portal to another realm; looking through them, Lothar saw only desert.
Reining in his camel, he sat staring at them, thinking about what he had come here to do. Was he really
prepared to risk his life for the sake of keeping his word? Even as he asked himself this question, he
knew the answer was yes. If he didn’t go through with it, he’d never be able to look his people in the eye
again.
With a sigh, he started to dismount. His camel shuffled around unhelpfully, but he managed to make it
safely to the ground. Ordinarily he would have given the animal a piece of his mind, but on this occasion
he was too preoccupied with other things. Swallowing down his rising anxiety, he stepped boldly through
the gate.
As he did so, he was plunged into darkness. Then without warning, he found himself plummeting
downwards towards what he thought must be certain destruction. He braced himself for the impending
impact as his rate of descent increased, but it never came. Instead, he simply ceased to fall.
Taking a deep breath to steady his frayed nerves, he looked around him. He was standing in a vast
subterranean cavern, dimly lit by a subdued red light of uncertain origin. Stalactites dangled from the
lofty roof like gnarled fingers and there were a large number of openings in the walls.
As he was trying to decide which way to go, Lothar noticed a figure in a hooded brown robe slowly
moving across the cavern towards him. He peered nervously at this figure, trying to get a glimpse under
its hood, but no matter what angle he looked at it from, its face remained shrouded in shadow.
“Greetings Lothar Cadicorne,” the figure said in a masculine voice.
“Prince Lothar Cadicorne,” Lothar corrected him automatically.
The figure nodded and continued, “I am Aaron, guardian of the gateway to the realm of the dead. It isn’t
your time yet. What is your business here?”
Lothar thought for a moment, pondering how much to tell this Aaron. “I am here to see Ereske,” he
finally said, pleased his voice sounded steady.
“I would advise against that,” Aaron told him. “She doesn’t take kindly to visits from those who are still
alive.”
“Did I ask for your opinion?” Lothar didn’t bother to hide his impatience.
“No,” Aaron replied, “and I freely admit it wasn’t my place to give it. If it’s Ereske you seek, I will take you
to her, for such has been my duty since the dawn of time.” Not waiting to see whether Lothar would
follow him, he led the way across the cavern. A little overwhelmed by the speed with which things were
happening, Lothar scurried after him.
The journey into the underworld took them through a complex network of chambers and passageways.
Lothar tried to keep track of them at first, but it was hopeless and eventually he shifted his attention
elsewhere. It was then he noticed the hazy figures moving purposefully through the gloom around them.
He didn’t know what they were, but he knew they sent shivers down his spine. Veering off to the left, he
placed himself in front of one of them, hoping to get a better look at it. It vanished into thin air, but not
before he caught a glimpse of its face, which was twisted into an expression of indescribable agony. After
that, he avoided looking at them.
Presently, they rounded a sharp corner and Lothar found himself in what was easily the largest cavern so
far. At the centre of this cavern was an enormous palace fashioned out of solid ice. Lothar gazed at it in
wonder. With its multitude of narrow towers and tapering spires, it was like something from a dream.
There were more entrances than could possibly be necessary and the walls radiated fiery light.
Coming to a halt outside the nearest of the entrances, Aaron turned to face the wide-eyed Lothar. “We
have now reached the exact centre of the underworld,” he said solemnly. “The palace you see before you
is the home of the goddess Ereske and it here I must take my leave of you.”
“But this place is enormous!” Lothar protested. “How am I going to find her in there?”
Aaron’s shoulders shook slightly as though he were laughing to himself, but his voice remained level as
he answered, “You do not need to find her. If she is of a mind to grant you an audience, she’ll find you.”
“Can you at least tell me where this door leads?” Lothar enquired, determined to wring as much
information from his companion as possible.
“No I cannot,” Aaron replied, turning to leave.
“Why?” Lothar asked.
Aaron was silent for a moment, as if he was considering how to respond. “This is not a static place as
are the buildings of the world above,” he said at last. “The rooms here are constantly shifting position.
Ergo this door could lead anywhere.”
Lothar opened his mouth to say something else, but as Aaron was already walking swiftly away from
him, all he could do was brace himself for the worst and push open the door. He was expecting to see a
corridor or entrance hall, but instead he found himself staring into an enormous throne-room. He gazed
around him in amazement, having never before seen a room of such breath-taking splendor. The icy
walls were carved with a multitude of elaborate spiral designs and all around him there were animal
sculptures of such astounding realism he wouldn’t have been surprised to see them come to life.
He had just bent over a carved deer to marvel at the workmanship, when he noticed movement out of
the corner of his eye. He turned his head and felt his throat tighten as he realized he was looking at
Ereske. The goddess was sitting on a heap of cushions spread across the seat of a towering throne
made entirely of human bones. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders and she was wrapped in a
flowing cloak, adorned with a strange pattern that seemed to shift crazily with her every breath. As
Lothar’s eyes struggled to accustom themselves to this disconcerting garment, an alarming notion
planted itself in his head. He could not say why, but for some reason he was suddenly convinced the
design he was looking at was in fact an artful arrangement of dead souls. He shuddered convulsively at
the thought.
“What can I do for you, Lothar Cadicorne?” Ereske asked in a voice that seemed to reverberate through
every particle of his body.
“First let me say what an honor it is to be in the presence of the Queen of the Underworld...” Lothar
began, sweeping her a courtly bow.
“I asked you a question,” Ereske interrupted.
“A thousand apologies, my lady,” Lothar said hurriedly.
“I came to ask you for a boon.”
The goddess smiled at him in a way that was decidedly unpleasant. “I see,” she said. “Do you know you’
re the first elf in the history of the world to do that?”
“I don’t doubt it, but then I’m no ordinary elf,” Lothar told her, forgetting himself for a moment. “I’m a
crown prince.”
Ereske nodded absently. “I know that,” she assured him. “I also know about your many responsibilities,
which is why I must warn you to think carefully about what you’re asking. For elves, the price of a boon
is very high.”
Rising gracefully from her seat, she walked towards him. Lothar gasped as he realized that apart from
her cloak she was utterly naked. Perhaps not surprisingly given her divinity, she was a vision of beauty,
with a voluptuous body and thick hair the colour of sable. Feeling his cheeks warm, he dropped his gaze
to the floor and said quickly, “Perhaps I should tell you what I require before we speak of price.”
“It doesn’t matter what you require,” Ereske told him with another malevolent smile. “The price is always
the same.”
Lothar shuffled his feet, a sense of unease building up inside him. “Go on,” he said.
“If you want me to grant you a boon,” she said, running her fingertips across his cheek, “you must pay
me in years.”
“I don’t understand,” Lothar told her. His eyes had settled once more on the swirling pattern of her cloak
and he was finding it difficult to think straight.
“Then let me explain,” said Ereske, moving around to the side of him and bending to whisper in his ear.
“What I want is to siphon off a portion of your lifespan. An inconsequential portion, I hasten to add; so
inconsequential, you’ll hardly notice.”
“But why?” Lothar asked curiously. “Aren’t you immortal?”
Ereske laughed loudly. “Of course I’m immortal,” she confirmed. “The years I propose to take are not for
myself.”
“Then why do you want them?” Lothar asked, fighting desperately against the dizziness he was feeling
on account of her cloak.
“I’m afraid I don’t care to share that information,” Ereske said in a voice that forbore argument. “And in
any event, the time for questions is over. The price has been set. All that remains is for you to tell me
whether you accept.” She paused for a moment, seeming to relish the tension hanging in the air, then
asked softly, “Is your answer yes or no?”
Lothar stood routed to the spot, trying to ignore Ereske’s cloak and focus on coming to a decision. The
logical part of his brain was screaming out to him that the price she had named was too great, yet he felt
compelled to do whatever she wanted. He suspected afterwards his mind was being manipulated
somehow, but for whatever reason, he had become her obedient servant. It didn’t surprise him,
therefore, when he heard himself answering in the affirmative.
“Excellent,” Ereske said with a satisfied nod. “What is the boon you seek?”
“A kiss,” Lothar replied.
Ereske made a visible effort not to laugh again. “Is that all?” she asked, gently enfolding him in her
graceful arms. Lothar was so unsettled by the feel of her frosty breath spilling out onto his cheek, he
could only nod. “If a kiss is what you desire, then that’s what you’ll receive,” Ereske said softly. Her lips
parted and she drew him close to her, closing her eyes in anticipation.
As they came together, Lothar felt her enormous power pulsing through him. The secrets of the
universe were in that kiss and he found he had no alternative but to surrender himself utterly to the
influx of information. It was the most amazing experience of his life. He saw the mortal world stretched
out before him like a child’s toy; he felt the fabric of the underworld as Ereske felt it; he was even able to
send his consciousness up into the star-studded heavens. The strange thing was he didn’t envy Ereske
her omnipotence one iota. In fact, he couldn’t help wondering how she coped with it. He was sure
prolonged exposure to the sensations he was experiencing would drive him out of his mind.
The kiss ended as suddenly as it had begun. As Lothar struggled to regain his breath, he realized he was
no longer in the throne-room, but standing back outside the entrance to the underworld. He gazed at
the obsidian gates in astonishment, shielding his eyes from the blazing sun. Then, he noticed something
disquieting. He was stiff all over, as if he were moving his limbs for the first time after a long period of
confinement. He was also suffering from a multitude of aches and pains that seemed to have sprung up
out of nowhere, and were especially prevalent around his joints. He began kneading the areas, which
were the worst affected, but to no avail. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to ease the
knots of discomfort.
As he was rubbing his aching body, Lothar noticed something else. His movements were
uncharacteristically slow and laboured. Accustomed as he was to the lightning reflexes of his race, he
found this new rate of motion extremely frustrating. Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he abandoned his
ineffectual attempts at massage and looked around for his camel. To his alarm, he found his vision had
suffered a turn for the worse as well. Where once he would have been able to see for miles across the
rolling desert, he now had difficulty making out the nearest dune. He took a deep breath, struggling not
to give way to the panic rising within him. It was as if his body had been ravaged by some terrible illness.
Sighting his camel basking in the sun nearby, he made his way awkwardly over to it and lifted his leg over
its back. The simple act of mounting took all of his strength, because of his changed physical condition
and his camel’s stubborn refusal to co-operate, and by the end of it, he was literally gasping for air.
Lothar let out a troubled sigh as he goaded his camel into motion. There was only one explanation for
what he was experiencing. The inconsequential portion of his lifespan Ereske had mentioned was
obviously nothing of the sort. She’d robbed him of his youth and left him in the winter of existence. A
lone tear rolled down his cheek as he considered the implications of this. The only silver lining to this
darkest of clouds was the change seemed purely physical and his mental faculties remained intact.
***
Lothar’s return journey across the burning Gorian desert was a catalogue of trying incidents, all related
to his prematurely aged body. On one occasion, he found himself unable to straighten his back after
bending over to replenish his water supplies at an oasis; on another his bones began to ache so much
he had to stop for a lie down. He made it out, though, and even managed to suppress his tears of relief
as he rode away from the final dune.
Less than a day later, he was back in Wyverton, making his way wearily along the cobbled street towards
the Broken Arrow. It was still early when he arrived and the place was practically deserted. Pausing briefly
to secure his camel, he trudged inside and made his way to the common room, where he sank gratefully
into a seat and ordered himself a mug of ale.
As he was waiting for his drink to arrive, Lothar happened to glance in the direction of the fireplace. The
longbow which he had used to try and win his ill-advised wager was back on the wall. Walking over to it
on saddle-sore legs, he picked it up in his wrinkled hands, only to cry out in shock and let it clatter noisily
to the floor. Free from the befuddling effects of alcohol, his trained eye had immediately spotted that the
ridge for supporting notched arrows had been cunningly altered to throw them off course. The work was
very subtle, but looking at it now there not a shred of doubt in his mind nobody in the world, drunk or
sober, could shoot straight with it. He had been duped and because of it, he would never be the same
again. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like drinking the flagon of ale he had ordered. Probably he would never
drink again.
Horetia, had always had strong principles. He was honest, he was charitable and when he gave his word
about something, nothing in the world would induce him to break it, which was how he had come to be in
his current unfortunate situation.
It had all started a few days earlier when he was talking to some fellow travelers in the Broken Arrow inn
in the town of Wyverton. The conversation had somehow turned to his renowned skill with a bow and he
had ended up agreeing to a wager that would put it to the test. The terms of the bet were simple—which
was just as well, given his state of intoxication at the time—he was required to hit an apple suspended
from a tree branch at a distance of a thousand paces three times in a row. If he succeeded, he won his
own weight in gold; if he failed, he was required to journey into the depths of the underworld and
persuade the goddess Ereske to grant him the boon of a kiss.
Given the fact no living person had ever ventured into the underworld and lived to tell the tale, Lothar
wouldn’t have agreed to the wager if he hadn’t been supremely confident he would emerge victorious.
What followed would remain etched in his brain for the rest of his life. Ignoring the derisive comments of
the cluster of travelers who had bet against him, he had tottered across the common room towards the
winding staircase that would take him to his room, saying loudly, “Let us waste no more time with words.
I’ll just go and get my bow, and then we can start.”
“Not so fast,” one of the travelers—a wealthy merchant with shifty eyes and a bulbous nose—said, as
Lothar started up the steps. “Nine times out of ten Elvish weapons are magically enhanced. Can we be
sure your bow is any different? No, we can’t.”
“So what do you suggest?” Lothar asked, coming back down the staircase into the common room.
Raising his chubby hand, the merchant pointed to a sturdy longbow hung above the fireplace at the end
of the room. “What about that bow over there?” he suggested. “Use that and we’ll know you’re not
cheating.”
Lothar walked across to the bow and lifted it from its mountings, wishing his vision wasn’t quite so fuzzy
from the alcohol he had consumed. It looked like a decent enough weapon, though it was a little bigger
than he was used to. “Very well,” he said with a decisive nod. “This bow it is.”
As they moved out of the inn, his confidence had remained unabated. True, he was drunk, but not so
drunk his heightened elvish senses shouldn’t have enabled him to make the shot. So what went wrong?
Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was not a single one of his arrows found its mark. In fact,
they hadn’t even come close.
It made him sick just thinking about it. He’d been utterly humiliated in front of everyone. If only he hadn’
t drunk so many flagons of ale, it would have been a different story. Still, there was no use dwelling on
the past. He’d lost the wager and he would just have to live with it.
So here he was, riding an ill-tempered camel across the vast expanse of the Gorian desert towards the
infamous obsidian gateway to the land of the dead. His silver hair hung ragged around his narrow
shoulders and his flawless face glistened with perspiration. It had been an arduous journey and he was
starting to suffer from serious fatigue. Already, he had been traveling for the best part of a week and it
would take him at least another day to reach his destination.
Shifting in his saddle in a vain attempt to get comfortable, he surveyed the rolling dunes rising to either
side of him. The sun shimmered on the sand with such intensity he had to shelter his eyes with his hand.
As with so much of the desert, there were no visible landmarks to aid with navigation. Fortunately, he
didn’t have to rely on such things. He had his magic to guide him. If he hadn’t he would have been
hopelessly lost by now.
The rest of the journey seemed to take forever, but at last the obsidian gates came into view, standing
in stark isolation on the top of a sand dune like the last remnant of some ancient structure. There was
nothing to indicate they were a portal to another realm; looking through them, Lothar saw only desert.
Reining in his camel, he sat staring at them, thinking about what he had come here to do. Was he really
prepared to risk his life for the sake of keeping his word? Even as he asked himself this question, he
knew the answer was yes. If he didn’t go through with it, he’d never be able to look his people in the eye
again.
With a sigh, he started to dismount. His camel shuffled around unhelpfully, but he managed to make it
safely to the ground. Ordinarily he would have given the animal a piece of his mind, but on this occasion
he was too preoccupied with other things. Swallowing down his rising anxiety, he stepped boldly through
the gate.
As he did so, he was plunged into darkness. Then without warning, he found himself plummeting
downwards towards what he thought must be certain destruction. He braced himself for the impending
impact as his rate of descent increased, but it never came. Instead, he simply ceased to fall.
Taking a deep breath to steady his frayed nerves, he looked around him. He was standing in a vast
subterranean cavern, dimly lit by a subdued red light of uncertain origin. Stalactites dangled from the
lofty roof like gnarled fingers and there were a large number of openings in the walls.
As he was trying to decide which way to go, Lothar noticed a figure in a hooded brown robe slowly
moving across the cavern towards him. He peered nervously at this figure, trying to get a glimpse under
its hood, but no matter what angle he looked at it from, its face remained shrouded in shadow.
“Greetings Lothar Cadicorne,” the figure said in a masculine voice.
“Prince Lothar Cadicorne,” Lothar corrected him automatically.
The figure nodded and continued, “I am Aaron, guardian of the gateway to the realm of the dead. It isn’t
your time yet. What is your business here?”
Lothar thought for a moment, pondering how much to tell this Aaron. “I am here to see Ereske,” he
finally said, pleased his voice sounded steady.
“I would advise against that,” Aaron told him. “She doesn’t take kindly to visits from those who are still
alive.”
“Did I ask for your opinion?” Lothar didn’t bother to hide his impatience.
“No,” Aaron replied, “and I freely admit it wasn’t my place to give it. If it’s Ereske you seek, I will take you
to her, for such has been my duty since the dawn of time.” Not waiting to see whether Lothar would
follow him, he led the way across the cavern. A little overwhelmed by the speed with which things were
happening, Lothar scurried after him.
The journey into the underworld took them through a complex network of chambers and passageways.
Lothar tried to keep track of them at first, but it was hopeless and eventually he shifted his attention
elsewhere. It was then he noticed the hazy figures moving purposefully through the gloom around them.
He didn’t know what they were, but he knew they sent shivers down his spine. Veering off to the left, he
placed himself in front of one of them, hoping to get a better look at it. It vanished into thin air, but not
before he caught a glimpse of its face, which was twisted into an expression of indescribable agony. After
that, he avoided looking at them.
Presently, they rounded a sharp corner and Lothar found himself in what was easily the largest cavern so
far. At the centre of this cavern was an enormous palace fashioned out of solid ice. Lothar gazed at it in
wonder. With its multitude of narrow towers and tapering spires, it was like something from a dream.
There were more entrances than could possibly be necessary and the walls radiated fiery light.
Coming to a halt outside the nearest of the entrances, Aaron turned to face the wide-eyed Lothar. “We
have now reached the exact centre of the underworld,” he said solemnly. “The palace you see before you
is the home of the goddess Ereske and it here I must take my leave of you.”
“But this place is enormous!” Lothar protested. “How am I going to find her in there?”
Aaron’s shoulders shook slightly as though he were laughing to himself, but his voice remained level as
he answered, “You do not need to find her. If she is of a mind to grant you an audience, she’ll find you.”
“Can you at least tell me where this door leads?” Lothar enquired, determined to wring as much
information from his companion as possible.
“No I cannot,” Aaron replied, turning to leave.
“Why?” Lothar asked.
Aaron was silent for a moment, as if he was considering how to respond. “This is not a static place as
are the buildings of the world above,” he said at last. “The rooms here are constantly shifting position.
Ergo this door could lead anywhere.”
Lothar opened his mouth to say something else, but as Aaron was already walking swiftly away from
him, all he could do was brace himself for the worst and push open the door. He was expecting to see a
corridor or entrance hall, but instead he found himself staring into an enormous throne-room. He gazed
around him in amazement, having never before seen a room of such breath-taking splendor. The icy
walls were carved with a multitude of elaborate spiral designs and all around him there were animal
sculptures of such astounding realism he wouldn’t have been surprised to see them come to life.
He had just bent over a carved deer to marvel at the workmanship, when he noticed movement out of
the corner of his eye. He turned his head and felt his throat tighten as he realized he was looking at
Ereske. The goddess was sitting on a heap of cushions spread across the seat of a towering throne
made entirely of human bones. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders and she was wrapped in a
flowing cloak, adorned with a strange pattern that seemed to shift crazily with her every breath. As
Lothar’s eyes struggled to accustom themselves to this disconcerting garment, an alarming notion
planted itself in his head. He could not say why, but for some reason he was suddenly convinced the
design he was looking at was in fact an artful arrangement of dead souls. He shuddered convulsively at
the thought.
“What can I do for you, Lothar Cadicorne?” Ereske asked in a voice that seemed to reverberate through
every particle of his body.
“First let me say what an honor it is to be in the presence of the Queen of the Underworld...” Lothar
began, sweeping her a courtly bow.
“I asked you a question,” Ereske interrupted.
“A thousand apologies, my lady,” Lothar said hurriedly.
“I came to ask you for a boon.”
The goddess smiled at him in a way that was decidedly unpleasant. “I see,” she said. “Do you know you’
re the first elf in the history of the world to do that?”
“I don’t doubt it, but then I’m no ordinary elf,” Lothar told her, forgetting himself for a moment. “I’m a
crown prince.”
Ereske nodded absently. “I know that,” she assured him. “I also know about your many responsibilities,
which is why I must warn you to think carefully about what you’re asking. For elves, the price of a boon
is very high.”
Rising gracefully from her seat, she walked towards him. Lothar gasped as he realized that apart from
her cloak she was utterly naked. Perhaps not surprisingly given her divinity, she was a vision of beauty,
with a voluptuous body and thick hair the colour of sable. Feeling his cheeks warm, he dropped his gaze
to the floor and said quickly, “Perhaps I should tell you what I require before we speak of price.”
“It doesn’t matter what you require,” Ereske told him with another malevolent smile. “The price is always
the same.”
Lothar shuffled his feet, a sense of unease building up inside him. “Go on,” he said.
“If you want me to grant you a boon,” she said, running her fingertips across his cheek, “you must pay
me in years.”
“I don’t understand,” Lothar told her. His eyes had settled once more on the swirling pattern of her cloak
and he was finding it difficult to think straight.
“Then let me explain,” said Ereske, moving around to the side of him and bending to whisper in his ear.
“What I want is to siphon off a portion of your lifespan. An inconsequential portion, I hasten to add; so
inconsequential, you’ll hardly notice.”
“But why?” Lothar asked curiously. “Aren’t you immortal?”
Ereske laughed loudly. “Of course I’m immortal,” she confirmed. “The years I propose to take are not for
myself.”
“Then why do you want them?” Lothar asked, fighting desperately against the dizziness he was feeling
on account of her cloak.
“I’m afraid I don’t care to share that information,” Ereske said in a voice that forbore argument. “And in
any event, the time for questions is over. The price has been set. All that remains is for you to tell me
whether you accept.” She paused for a moment, seeming to relish the tension hanging in the air, then
asked softly, “Is your answer yes or no?”
Lothar stood routed to the spot, trying to ignore Ereske’s cloak and focus on coming to a decision. The
logical part of his brain was screaming out to him that the price she had named was too great, yet he felt
compelled to do whatever she wanted. He suspected afterwards his mind was being manipulated
somehow, but for whatever reason, he had become her obedient servant. It didn’t surprise him,
therefore, when he heard himself answering in the affirmative.
“Excellent,” Ereske said with a satisfied nod. “What is the boon you seek?”
“A kiss,” Lothar replied.
Ereske made a visible effort not to laugh again. “Is that all?” she asked, gently enfolding him in her
graceful arms. Lothar was so unsettled by the feel of her frosty breath spilling out onto his cheek, he
could only nod. “If a kiss is what you desire, then that’s what you’ll receive,” Ereske said softly. Her lips
parted and she drew him close to her, closing her eyes in anticipation.
As they came together, Lothar felt her enormous power pulsing through him. The secrets of the
universe were in that kiss and he found he had no alternative but to surrender himself utterly to the
influx of information. It was the most amazing experience of his life. He saw the mortal world stretched
out before him like a child’s toy; he felt the fabric of the underworld as Ereske felt it; he was even able to
send his consciousness up into the star-studded heavens. The strange thing was he didn’t envy Ereske
her omnipotence one iota. In fact, he couldn’t help wondering how she coped with it. He was sure
prolonged exposure to the sensations he was experiencing would drive him out of his mind.
The kiss ended as suddenly as it had begun. As Lothar struggled to regain his breath, he realized he was
no longer in the throne-room, but standing back outside the entrance to the underworld. He gazed at
the obsidian gates in astonishment, shielding his eyes from the blazing sun. Then, he noticed something
disquieting. He was stiff all over, as if he were moving his limbs for the first time after a long period of
confinement. He was also suffering from a multitude of aches and pains that seemed to have sprung up
out of nowhere, and were especially prevalent around his joints. He began kneading the areas, which
were the worst affected, but to no avail. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to ease the
knots of discomfort.
As he was rubbing his aching body, Lothar noticed something else. His movements were
uncharacteristically slow and laboured. Accustomed as he was to the lightning reflexes of his race, he
found this new rate of motion extremely frustrating. Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he abandoned his
ineffectual attempts at massage and looked around for his camel. To his alarm, he found his vision had
suffered a turn for the worse as well. Where once he would have been able to see for miles across the
rolling desert, he now had difficulty making out the nearest dune. He took a deep breath, struggling not
to give way to the panic rising within him. It was as if his body had been ravaged by some terrible illness.
Sighting his camel basking in the sun nearby, he made his way awkwardly over to it and lifted his leg over
its back. The simple act of mounting took all of his strength, because of his changed physical condition
and his camel’s stubborn refusal to co-operate, and by the end of it, he was literally gasping for air.
Lothar let out a troubled sigh as he goaded his camel into motion. There was only one explanation for
what he was experiencing. The inconsequential portion of his lifespan Ereske had mentioned was
obviously nothing of the sort. She’d robbed him of his youth and left him in the winter of existence. A
lone tear rolled down his cheek as he considered the implications of this. The only silver lining to this
darkest of clouds was the change seemed purely physical and his mental faculties remained intact.
***
Lothar’s return journey across the burning Gorian desert was a catalogue of trying incidents, all related
to his prematurely aged body. On one occasion, he found himself unable to straighten his back after
bending over to replenish his water supplies at an oasis; on another his bones began to ache so much
he had to stop for a lie down. He made it out, though, and even managed to suppress his tears of relief
as he rode away from the final dune.
Less than a day later, he was back in Wyverton, making his way wearily along the cobbled street towards
the Broken Arrow. It was still early when he arrived and the place was practically deserted. Pausing briefly
to secure his camel, he trudged inside and made his way to the common room, where he sank gratefully
into a seat and ordered himself a mug of ale.
As he was waiting for his drink to arrive, Lothar happened to glance in the direction of the fireplace. The
longbow which he had used to try and win his ill-advised wager was back on the wall. Walking over to it
on saddle-sore legs, he picked it up in his wrinkled hands, only to cry out in shock and let it clatter noisily
to the floor. Free from the befuddling effects of alcohol, his trained eye had immediately spotted that the
ridge for supporting notched arrows had been cunningly altered to throw them off course. The work was
very subtle, but looking at it now there not a shred of doubt in his mind nobody in the world, drunk or
sober, could shoot straight with it. He had been duped and because of it, he would never be the same
again. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like drinking the flagon of ale he had ordered. Probably he would never
drink again.
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