Chapter 11: Calming down

"No, not like that! We most hunt down Hetar without any thought of revenge or hate. But with pity, pity for all those souls lost to his work and that of all his kindred." As I spoke it shone trough again, the Glory.

"Bury it!" Zarisha swore and threw me a dark look. "Should I not feel revenge? Towards him? Preposterous!"

"And, uh," I added of my own accord, "don't call me Master. Logarth is fine."

"And treat him with more respect," Quaila added, her nose quivering with annoyance.

"Oh, of course. Keeping secrets from him is very respectful, sure. But, I would rather argue with an inanimate object than you, so let's get to it. So Logarth, how can I, in a compassionate way, get my hands on dear Hetar's neck and gently and with deep, sincere regret choke him until his tongue swells up and his legs stop kicking?"

The Sword of Black Flame had felt somewhat lighter when I had put it into the makeshift sheath Zarisha had fashioned for me from the hide of some unfamiliar beast. Somewhat lighter, somehow less rusty, just like Quaila was somehow becoming more agile. She did not have to support herself on me anymore as we walked down the winding pathways of Neghast, but she did it all the same, now wearing some spare clothes and a veil that Zarisha had offered her. Was it the eerie bond between her and the Sword that did it? And what did the mystic mean by her comments that Quaila was hiding something from me? What did Zarisha see that I didn't?

I did not have time to consider any of this right now, because we were walking at a great pace through the maze of Neghast. Soon Quaila in truth needed my help to keep up with the wizard in front.

Zarisha was striding ahead on her short legs, holding aloft a scarf. The scarf fluttered wildly in some invisible wind, and we were apparently seeking the source of that wind from what she had told us before we left her workshop. The scarf had been Hetar's. Some sentimental token that Zarisha had been unable to part with even when hate had threatened to consume her. And now, through the use of a bath in which there was dissolved a special kind of powder that left an acrid stench, and through chanting a long incantation, it would take us directly to the creature who had poisoned her mind.

Zarisha was striding faster and faster by the minute, mumbling under her breath and cursing whenever she made a wrong turn, whisking past us in a whirl of angry robes, working herself into a rage. Even the stoic, dour people of the city stood back to let her pass. She was either a witch or a madwoman, and either way it was better to keep out of her path.

After of yet one of these times when she would double back, accompanied with a low scream of rage, I grabbed hold of her as she was about to pass Quaila and me. We were standing in an alley not too far from a huge, black dome of basalt which cast a threatening shadow on us.

"What?" She snarled at me.

"Not like this, Zarisha."

"Not like what? What do you know about magic, or anything."

"Not much," I admitted freely. "But I do know that you are not moving from here until you are angry no more."

She stared at me. Even through the veil I could read incomprehension on her face. That, and fury.

Her fist hit me square on the nose, a good punch from such a small woman. I reeled, colors flashed before my eyes, and then I had to lunge forward to position myself in front of the woman as Quaila was attacking Zarisha with clenched fists and rolled up sleeves.

"No! Stop! Ouch, stop!"

With an effort I managed to push them apart. "All right. Thank you. That's enough! Enough, I said!"

"I will make you die scre-"

"Shut up, you bi-"

"Calm down," I said with a voice that was nothing but calm. I cleared my throat and tried again, thinking back on how we did this at Keep Cador. "Calm down. Now, take a deep breath. Breathe out, in and ou-"

"Calm down!?" Zarisha whirled around to face me, the veil almost catching fire from the heat of her gaze. "You idiot boy! You don't know what you are talking about, much less-"