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We are going to be okay.
In the center of the room is a table piled high with food and drinks. A fire burns brightly on the nearby hearth. A clean-shaven old man, looking about mid-60s, sits there smiling broadly, waving us over. He wears a long black robe and has long white hair and dark brown eyes.
His white eyebrows have grown long too, drooping slightly to the sides of his eyes, framing his face slightly. I remind myself not to stare, but he looks like the quintessential picture of a wizard to me.
Not a wizard my ass.
His weathered face splits into an enormous grin, that appeases some of my nerves.
“Welcome! Welcome to my humble abode. Please sit. Eat. You must be hungry from that long walk.” Sunder takes a seat beside him, so I follow his lead and awkwardly perch on the edge of one of the hard wooden chairs. Bobble sits anxiously by my feet, not moving or purring. I can tell he is on edge, too.
Don’t worry, Bobble. Sunder and I won’t let anything happen to you.
No one moves to share the feast, but my mouth waters. The aroma of strange spices and sweetness rises from the plates of roasted vegetables and chicken. The loaf of bread looks fresh and warm, with a big dollop of butter on the side. I mentally urge Sunder to eat, so that he can regain some strength in case we need to get the hell out of here in a hurry.
And, selfishly, to make sure that tasty food isn’t poisoned.
“You’ve come a long way to see me. You have questions. Please.” He beckons us to eat the food. I look sideways at Sunder. He nods and takes small portions of each dish. I feel relieved. I quickly, probably too eagerly, fill my plate.
I devour the fresh food. It’s such a pleasant reprieve from all the awful jerky he’s been shoving down my throat. Sunder has clearly failed to understand that my body runs on bread and sugar.
Sunder, however, barely touches the food, but I notice he takes a small, polite bite of each dish.
Not poisoned.
Good enough for me.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Wise One,” Sunder says in an oddly formal tone. I stiffen slightly, not realizing we are supposed to act refined or something. I’ve been shoving food into my body like it’s going out of style. My fault for not asking, I guess.
Yurghen nods, smiling again. “Please eat first. We can talk later.”
I continue, noticing that Yurghen is waiting patiently for us to eat. Halfway through my plate, I notice no one is speaking, and I am the only one still eating. Reluctantly, I put down my fork, signaling I am done. Internally, I wail.
“Now, why don’t you ask your questions?” Yurghen prompts Sunder.
“Last time we spoke, you hinted you could help me heal my soul. Is it true?” Sunder asks, going straight to the point. I stare at Yurghen’s eyes for some hint of anything, but he is completely unreadable. He seems affable enough.
“It is. For a price, of course.” Yurghen gives him a look that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. For a second the harmless, happy old man disappears, and something much older and cannier takes its place.
Shit.
It’s clear that he knows more than we realize. I watch as Sunder’s body tenses, sensing his unease deepen. My anxiety spikes at his reaction.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Despite the subtle shift, his voice doesn’t let on. Strong and bold, he asks, “How much to merge a shattered soul?”
“Depends on the soul,” Yurghen picks at something on his plate.
Sunder sighs. “Mine, then.”
“Dan’thiel of Valenfall. Quite the soul. There’s quite the soul price for that one,” Yurghen smiles.
My eyes bounce between them like a tennis match. I’m impressed at how Sunder is handling this. He sits calmly, refusing to be goaded by this old man. I look back at Yurghen, who is surveying Sunder with that same otherworldly glint in his eyes.
I bounce back to Sunder. He simply sits quietly for a moment and repeats, “How much?”
“It is not a price that can be paid in gold, Prince,” Yurghen replies.
