Wednesday Excerpt, "Revenge"

“What can I do to be of service, Sire?”
Mandrean leaned forward. “I want to know what you have
found out about the staff for the Blue Sapphire. I charged you with
finding it some time ago. Having found its mate in the red staff it
should pose no problem for you.”
“That being such a simple task, I suppose you think I should
have found it by now?” Necromancer quipped. “But you fail to
remember that the only reason we located the red staff in the first
place was because an agent told me that Dirk Grithinshield had it
in Sartan. That was a stroke of luck. Such luck does not happen
twice. Surrender your quest.”
“Don’t be a fool. I could no more surrender my quest than I
could my right hand. The stick you made me does not give me full
access to the Blue Sapphire’s powers.”
“That stick,” Necromancer defended, “gives you nearly all the
ability of equally the most powerful magic in the world you could
possess. No one other than I could have made you that stick. Be
thankful for what you have been given.”
“But that still does not give me the power I need to defeat
Linvin Grithinshield.”
“The blue staff won’t either. It will only make your magic equal
to Grithinshield’s. Your magic will just cancel each other out. The
colors are opposites in the magical hierarchy. Did you not learn
that in your battle in the Valley of Broken Soldiers? A fight would
come down to your strength against his, your will against his and
your skill against his. If you could be honest with yourself for one
moment, you would admit that you will never be his equal there.”
Necromancer paused while Mandrean seethed. He returned to
antagonism after reading his master’s expressions. “Why keep
pressing the issue with the half-elf? What? Is that stomach wound
still hurting? If not for me, you would be a corpse.”
Mandrean erupted. “And you waited long enough to heal me. I
was nearly dead.” He dismissed the servants tending the fire and
swam to the edge of the bath near the wizard. “How long did you
wait? Hmm? How much of my blood did you let spill before you
saved my life? You waited as long as you could in hope that I was
dead, didn’t you? Any longer and my men would have thought you
didn’t want me to live. In fact, if I had not been awake to order you
to save me, I think you would have let me expire right then.”
Necromancer smiled with a wicked expression only he could
make. “Of course, I was eager for you to die.” Necromancer said it
in a deep, monotone voice. “It’s a shame you bleed so slowly. I
was nearly rid of you. As for that wound, even my magic cannot
heal another person. I could only repair some of the physical
damage Linvin inflicted. Your lack of permanent healing is
influenced more by your flimsy body.”
The words shook Mandrean to his roots. He maintained a front
of anger to cover his distress. “Oh no, Necromancer, you will
never be rid of me. I will make your life as horrible and demeaning
as I possibly can without end.”
Necromancer chuckled under his breath and knelt by his lord.
“You are wrong, and you know it,” he whispered. “I have all the
time that will ever be. And I have something you do not possess
despite all of your possessions. Patience.”
Deep inside Mandrean knew his wizard’s words to be true but
wouldn’t admit it even in his mind. He rose from the tub and
donned a robe. Still dripping wet, he approached his underling.
Mandrean bent down to bring his face directly in front of
Necromancer’s. “You say you’re patient, but you’re not. You want
me dead so badly it’s eating you up inside. I know you just as you
think you know me. You wanted Grithinshield to murder me. The
fact that he failed is tormenting you day after day.”
Necromancer looked away during the speech and then focused
on the emperor.
“The only thing tormenting me is your minute intellect.”