I N T E R L U D E

BAIT

Orias regarded the eye with a blank expression as he knelt in front of it. He moved his head from side to side, watching for any reaction. The eye blinked and followed him. It never left his face. He stood and took three steps back. It still followed him, its reptilian, vertical slit widening the further away he went. He scratched his shaven chin.

"How much further, master?" whimpered Absinthe from somewhere behind him. The girl was by far the whiniest apprentice he'd ever had, but he supposed that was to be expected from an eleven year old forcibly ripped from the arms of her parents due to her strong Etherik perception. She complimented his own strength in Physik, or she would if she survived to become a journeyman.

"No further unless I find the answer to this Riddle," Orias said rapidly. "I can assume any attempts on my part to damage or destroy the door would fail, for this is not a normal door. It appears to be made of some sort of magiometallic alloy forged in chaosfire, though the last is a deduction based on our ever ungracious host's prepensity for using that building method. That and doors don't usually have eyes."

"I want to go home..." mumbled Absinthe, which was not her real name. That was something like Laura or Lurine and Orias couldn't be bothered to remember it. Absinthe was a better name than Calculated Risk, or Bait.

"This is home now, girl. I burned your farm down when I took you. There's nothing left of your old life but charred remains and possibly a well-fed family of timber wolves."

Tears welled in the girl's eyes. "W-WHAT? B-BUT WHY?!"

"Why? Oh, I didn't really do that. There is a slim chance that someone who hated your family decided to take matters into their own hands, or incensed locals declared you a witch in absentia and held a trial by fire, but I highly doubt either of those things have occured in truth. I was merely attempting to send you into shock so you'd be quiet."

The girl was weeping openly, now and Orias regarded her with a frown. "My plan seems to have backfired. Apologies my dear apprentice. I am not good at dealing with children. Therefore, it is vital you grow up as fast as possible so I won't have to anymore."

Absinthe sniffed and readjusted her satchel so it rested on the tops of her crossed arms. Made of simple leather, it contained all the tools Orias thought he might need to delve further into the labyrinth. He could never be truly sure he had exactly the right thing. Surety was a luxury when dealing with the Chaos Wizard and his creations.

That last thought sparked an idea. Why was he sure this was a Riddle? Could it be that simple?

With a sigh, Orias raised a hand. He channeled pure Physik into his fingertips, taking the extra time to strengthen the strands by weaving them through his muscle and bone. He felt a tingle race up his arm as his heart rate increased, feeding his own blood into the magic. Heat began to build under his skin as muscles contracted, expanded, vibrated. When the energy was at its peak, Orias leaped forward.

With all his might, he poked the eye.

The construct let out a sound resembling an offended scoff, screwed its metal lids shut, rotated ninety degrees to the right, and allowed the door to open with a disused groan. At last, Orias beheld his next goal. A disused stone corridor, identical in every way to the last eighty-three he'd traversed to get here.

"I hate Chaos Wizards," proclaimed Orias, running his Physik-charged hand through his curly blonde locks. When he reached the crown of his head, he wheeled about, coming to rest in an aggressive stance with an accusatory finger pointed behind his apprentice. "But not as much as I hate assassins!"

Absinthe gazed blankly at her master before she dared to look behind her. The edge of a curved knife was mere inches from her face, frozen in the air after it had been thrown. The assassin, lurking in the nearby shadows and poised for a second throw, looked just as confused as she did.

Squeaking with delayed shock, Absinthe fell backwards and hit the floor with a thwump. The assassin's eyes followed her down before traveling to her master, a mixture of fear and wonder glinting within his almond-shaped orbs. "H-how did you know?" he asked incredulously with a thinly disguised Aihuan accent.

"Ha ha, your tactics became predictable after the fifth apprentice!" Orias' voice exhuded pride. The assassin overcame his shock, sheathed his throwing knife somewhere in his mottled green and gray ensemble and withdrew a longer blade from a cloth wrap. Ancient markings -- curses from the Codex Praetor -- ran in red down its length. They would pierce through any magical protection they touched.

Orias beckoned Absinthe to his side, and she scuttled across the floor to the relative safety he provided. "Perhaps you should stop trying to kill me," Orias suggested.

"Perhaps you should stop searching for that which cannot be found, " the assassin retorted.

"Cannot, you say?" Orias readied one of his staple spells.

"Not by you." The assassin charged, his steps a blur.

Orias cast his spell, Flamelance, and a bright beam of white hot fire surged from his palm. The assassin turned it with the flat of his wide blade, but the heat still burned him. He grimaced beneath his facemask. When the beam dissipated, the assassin sidestepped, swirling the blade around the top of his head before chopping it down on the diagonal. Orias redirected the strike with a hand swiftly turned to metal and couched his palm for another Flamelance. Off center and unbalanced, the assassin leaned back until his torso was almost parallel with the floor, allowing the spell to blaze harmlessly over him. He thrust out a foot, hoping to hook Orias by the back of the knee and carry him to the ground. He met nothing but air as Orias leaped forward, his hands wrapping around the assassin's wrist and throat as he carried his enemy downward.

"You're quite good at dodging my Flamelances," Orias taunted, allowing the assassin to ineffectually punch and slap at his magically hardened flesh with his unarmed hand. His sword arm was pinned, and likely broken. So was his windpipe. "But you fell into the same trap as your predecessors. You treated me like any other mage."

The assassin gagged and gurgled, eyes widening his fear as his neck began to sizzle and crack. Orias smiled down at him, the merciless smile of a killer. "Let's see if you can dodge this one, shall we?"

Moments later, Orias stood and brushed ash off of his robe. Absinthe lay huddled behind the satchel in a ball, the collar of her dress pulled up over her head.

"What are you doing?" Orias wondered allowed.

"I..." Absinthe stuttered. " I... I thought the magic in the bag would protect me. " She unfurled herself and rose unsteadily to her feet, deliberately averting her gaze from the charred mess strewn about the floor.

"Ah, yes, good thinking." Or at least it would have been if her assumption was correct. She has probably sensed the energies from the tools and assumed the bag was similarly treated. Little did she know Orias would never waste his valuable time and skills to cast protective enchantments on something mundane like a bag. Bags were like apprentices; if they broke, you merely got a new one.

"Now, come along. I suppose I'll give you some instruction before dinner. I may as well start treating you like my apprentice, since you survived this relatively unscathed." Orias clapped his hands together, dispelling his Physik energy, and began to the long trek back toward the surface with Absinthe in tow.

"You really mean it?" she asked, barely above a whisper. "You're going to treat me like an apprentice now?"

"Of course I mean it," said Orias, slightly nonplussed. "If you comport yourself well, I may even treat you like something valuable."