Why Gahaziel Gave Up Saging (© Biswapriya Purkayastha)
Page 1 "More wine!" The former
sage Gahaziel smacked down the tankard on the rough wooden table, and wiped his
drooping grey moustache with the back of his hand. "More wine!" he bellowed.
"More wine, by the horns of Beelzebub!" A dowdy
serving wench dressed in a rough brown smock scurried over with a tall earthen
pitcher. As she poured the dark red fluid into the tankard, the ex-sage
focussed his bleary eyes on her nearest dangling breast, and finally made a
grab for it. But his coordination was off, and the serving wench had already
skipped smartly back by the time he raised his hand, so he ended up pawing the
air. Everyone sniggered. It didn’t
improve Gahaziel’s temper any. His heavy eyebrows crunched down over his
bloodshot eyes, and his nostrils flared alarmingly. We who knew him well were
aware that he had just attained the Second Highest Level of Drunken Rage. When
his flowing beard began to bristle, that was Top Level, and time for bystanders
to prepare to abandon ship. "What’s so
funny?" he rumbled, the words bouncing around inside his immense frame. "What’s
the goddamn joke?" "How’s the
wine, Gahaziel?" we asked, trying to head off his blowing his top. "Is it good?
Should we order more?" Several bronze coins rattled on the filthy table,
competing for the honour of buying Gahaziel more wine. It didn’t calm him down,
but did seem to put a lid on his fury. Balefully
muttering something under his breath, he took a mouthful of the wine and
swallowed. It was really terrible stuff even by inn standards, but Gahaziel was
far past the point of being able to taste anything. Glaring around the table,
he took off his peaked cap and swatted at a fly with it. "Someone
should burn this place down," he announced grandly. "In fact, someone should
burn down the whole blasted world. I’ll probably do it today if I feel like
it." We all
relaxed with an audible sigh. When Gahaziel began threatening ruin and
destruction, it meant he was not going to actually attempt any, so we
wouldn’t have violence on our hands. I glanced over my shoulder at the inn
door. The pair of huge men who had appeared there earlier, probably summoned by
the innkeeper, apparently picked up our relief. One even leaned against the
wall, laying down his staff on the floor at his side. I could
have told them that their muscles and staffs wouldn’t have stood a chance
against Gahaziel in full flow. In all the years I’ve known him, I have yet to
see anything which could. I looked
back at Gahaziel. He was gazing into the depths of his tankard with a puzzled
look, as though wondering where the wine had gone. Suddenly he jerked his head
up and glared into my eyes. "Holes!" he yelled. I jerked
back, as much out of shock as to evade the cloud of wine-smelling spittle.
"Holes, Gahaziel?" "That’s
what I said, didn’t I?" Gahaziel was leaning across the table, screaming into
my face. "Are you bloody deaf?" I’d go
deaf at this rate if he didn’t pipe down. "What holes, Gahaziel? Tell me about
the holes." "What
holes?" Gahaziel said, sitting back and crossing his heavily tattooed arms on
his chest. "Holes here and holes there, holes, holes everywhere. But what’s the
point of telling you lot. You wouldn’t know a hole if you fell into it." "Well, you
see," one of us said, "you’re a sage, and we’re just nobody. So of course you’d
know better about these things than we would." "I’m not a
sage," Gahaziel grumbled. "I’m an ex-sage, and don’t you forget it." He
looked speculatively at the window, outside which the rain fell in a freezing
downpour. Riding through the muddy tracks in that would be no fun at all, what
with the night coming on, as even he must have realised. "And it’s all because
of those holes to hell." We glanced
at each other, wondering if the alcohol had driven Gahaziel suddenly senile.
"Um – Gahaziel? Did you say holes to hell?" "Looks
like we’re stuck here till the damned rain stops." Gahaziel belched mightily
and reached for another tankard. "You might as well listen, then," he said. [ Continue to page 2 ] |