Lord Soth

Chapter 9

The elderly mage walked casually through the streets of Istar, his yellow and white robes flowing behind, swirling over the cobblestones.

Every once in a while he would glance into a store front or shop window looking at everything, but nothing in particular.

It was a strange feeling.

He had been empowered by the Kingpriest to read the minds of the people of Istar so that he could discern their evil thoughts. But, what was he to do about those evil thoughts after they'd been found out, and how was he to prevent them from becoming evil deeds?

On this subject the Kingpriest had been vague, leaving the matter up to the discretion of the individual mages.

Earlier in the day the mage had watched a business transaction being conducted in the marketplace on the city's west side. A fisherman from the coastal down of Cesena had brought baskets of fish to trade for grain, sugar, spice and other necessities of life. In this particular transaction he had exchanged twenty-four fish for two bushels of grain, a poor trade given that the fish were quite fresh-even packed in ice-while the quality of the grain was rather dubious. But grain at this time of year was hard to find, especially high quality grain, so the fisherman was forced to make the trade or else do without.

After the deal had been made and the two men shook hands, the mage read the minds of each. The grain dealer was obviously happy, but the fisherman was frustrated by the deal, knowing he had given up more than he'd received.

And then… something of an evil thought.

The fisherman wished that the grain dealer would be similarly cheated in another transaction later in the day.

As he'd watch the two men part, the mage considered the fisherman's thought.

Had it been evil?

At length, he decided it was not. It was simply wishing that the trader eventually got what he deserved. That had not been an evil thought, but rather, merely fair.

Now as he walked the streets of the industrial district, the mage stopped by the open window of a blacksmith's shop and watched the smith as he worked.

The interior of the shop glowed orange from the light of the fire burning hotly off in one corner. Judging by the several decorative swords leaning against the wall in a neat row, the smith was busy hammering out items to be hung in one of the halls within the Temple of the Kingpriest. The hilt ends of the swords were of an elaborate design and considering the amount of effort the smith was putting into the sword currently on the anvil, quite difficult to fashion.

The mage decided to read the smith's mind.

Little more there… Too much… A curve here… More… More …

The thoughts seemed to correspond with the blows of his hammer.

Again… Harder this time… More… Too much!

But in addition to the simple thoughts that went along with each blow, there was also an underlying current of anger. Anger against what or whom, the mage couldn't tell, but it was there just under the surface, ready to break through at any moment.

Too much work for so little pay… Flatter… Harder… Again …

Suddenly the sword the smith was working on cracked, sending pieces of hot metal flaring away like comets before sizzling against the damp stone floor of the shop.

More time and money gone… Too much work, even for the Kingpriest…

The smith lifted the broken sword away from the anvil and inspected the crack, and then its sharp, pointed tip.

Perhaps it's just sharp enough for the Kingpriest… Straight through the heart and a quick turn for good measure… The mage gasped at the wickedness of the thought. To kill the Kingpriest was unthinkable. The mage simply could not allow such evil thoughts to fester in the smith's mind. And there was only one sure way to put a stop to them.

The mage closed his eyes and began to mumble a string of unintelligible words and syllables.

And as he did so, the smith began to sway as if he were beginning to feel dizzy. The smith shook his head slightly and closed his eyes, but still continued to sway.

At last the mage fell silent.

The spell had been cast.

The smith fell forward still holding the sword in his hands.

The hilt hit the floor and the sharp point pierced his throat, choking off his breath… And putting an end to all his evil thoughts.