Chapter 31
The Dark Sorceress Eringaff, high in the recesses of her castle, had both hands submerged in the bowl. She groped at the water of the Stracombe of seers, cursed it as she tried to physically invade the dream she had employed the tool to create. But as it was little known, even to the dark sorceress herself, that to pour the water from the Stracombe of the seers was harmless; but to attempt to reach into it while it was invoked could have disastrous results. Eringaff struggled in vain with strong, spastic jerks and pulls to free her hands from the bowl. She was held fast by the untried magic. Her vacuous eyes were wide, wild with anger. She shook violently from the sentry magic of the Stracombe, as did the foundation of her castle and miles of the cold, dark land surrounding it.
It was enough Essaa she drew on, yet just enough. "Galta duo!" (Release me!) she screeched. Slowly, as if submerged in thick glue rather than water, she pulled her hands from the Stracombe. The moment her hands were loosed, the magic of the bowl erupted. It surged violently. A deafening crack pierced the air. The concussion sent Eringaff sprawling backward onto the ground, flat on her back, raising a cloud of dust that had not been disturbed for perhaps decades. She sprang to her feet, scarlet faced with wild rage.
She screamed as she threw the bowl across the room and out the window to the rocks far below. "THE BOOK WILL BE MINE!!! MIAGAFF, THE FAKE!!!" She stormed out of the uppermost room of the castle. She sent the first being she came upon, a chambermaid, to summon her general and scribe. She invoked Essaa on the second person she encountered, an unfortunate chambermaid, and slammed her into the rocky wall, rendering her unconscious, all the time muttering to herself, "Miagaff, the fake!"
She made her way to her quarters, where in very short time there arrived the scribe Mobbliss and her First General, Mordak. "Come!" she commanded as she pushed her way past them. She led them out into the tall, narrow stone hallway. They strode down the dim corridor, around a corner, outside onto a large open area in the center of the castle.
The dark sorceress stood at the edge of the hundred yard wide platform of uneven solid rock that terminated to a vertical drop of as much distance as width. With both hands, she held Maraska Pon Durk horizontally to shoulder height and at arm's length. A moderate wind blew in her face. Her long, bluish-black hair whisked behind, and her purple dress waved gently, interrupted by sudden tight flaps when irregular gusts of wind occurred. The Dark Sorceress Eringaff invoked Essaa. The words hissed through clenched teeth. "Logostisus Stammet Storyops! Da rhutsh mass amt!" (Greater Fairy Storyops! I summon you now!) She held her position for many minutes.
A dot of light blinked into existence in the great distance. The fairy Storyops sped from the far end of the valley some miles away, a point of yellow-green light hugging the ground at impossible speed. It scaled the cliff not inches from the treacherous stony face. With a flash, the sickly yellow light changed into a two-foot tall greater fairy. He grinned a perpetual smile of many long, needle-shaped teeth. His feet kneaded the cold, dark stone with inch-long contorted claws.
The Scribe Mobbliss spoke to his queen when she relaxed her pose. "Dark sorceress," he whispered, for it was expected of him to advise of such things, "can we trust the greater fairy? They are not so loyal!"
"I have thought of this, Mobbliss." She spoke loud enough for the fairy standing before her to hear. He stood as still as a mime, legs bent, hands clenched at his chest, his eyes on the sorceress. He stared at her unblinking. She faced him and spoke with commanding authority and arrogant confidence. "A greater fairy is the only being that can out run a lesser fairy. It is Belemeriath that is the problem."
The fairy had a hoarse, raspy loud voice, weak even for his size. "Belemeriath!" Spittle ran from his teeth. "Heard of Belemeriath!" His angry eyes glowed a deep red. He wrung his black, scaly hands together. "Kill Belemeriath!"
"If you wish, then do so. But bring me the Book of Life!" she said.
"Yes!" he screeched. "The Book of Life! Yes!" With that, he flashed into light form, then sped away to the east.
"GET BACK HERE, YOU IDIOT!" Eringaff roared. Storyops reversed his direction at high speed, yet did not arc as he did so. He simply retraced his flight path. He flashed into fairy form and stood before Eringaff. "Wait until I tell you where you need to go, you moron!" She struck at the fairy with Maraska Pon Durk; he easily dodged the blow. She held her anger at bay. For now. For now.
"General!" she commanded his attention, not that she didn’t already have it. His always-formal salute went hand to chest. Her speech wavered in anger. "The Book travels now across the west of the Plains of the Great Beasts." She moved her face to within inches of his. She grabbed a good handful the general's cheek with an iron grip and pulled him close. As she dug her fingernails deeper in the man's face, her voice dropped to a whisper. "In four days the Book of Life will reach the mountains near Elfwood. Take threescore of your best and cause a diversion for this imbecile! You two work out the details!" She threw his head back as she released him; he snapped to attention. Blood ran down his neck from where she'd gouged his face. She looked at her handiwork and burst in to laughter. He knew better than to attempt to assess his injuries while in her presence and remained unmoving. Indeed, he was grateful for having survived the encounter, or perhaps that he was the same species now as he was when he'd arrived. She spun on her heels, still laughing, and licked the fresh blood from her fingertips as she strode away, leaving the general and the evil fairy to deal with one another.