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That single thought stitched steadily through Reghar the Fang's mind like needle to cloth. But Terjal Rakmir hadn't managed to learn of the Fang's identity, and for that tiny comfort Reghar was most grateful. But the Fang had made a discovery of his own. He was resting in his bedchamber when he felt something prick at the flesh covering his ribs. Frantically he'd pulled up his robe and found his skin rippling as if a thing were moving beneath it. Then he'd felt the "something" enter his brain and ransack through his thoughts. And then it was gone. But with an aftertaste left behind. The aftertaste was now the source of his new anger. Terjal Rakmir had cheated him once again. The Master of Cloudreach would be lonely no more--for he was in love...and happy! So deliriously happy that the emotion had nearly stunned Reghar into catatonia. In that moment of discovery, Reghar's head was thrown back, his eyes turning inward and his eyelids blinking rapidly. Once his lucidity was finally recovered, Reghar's eyes had widened in rage. For years he'd taken some solace in believing the Master of Cloudreach would remain forever a lonely man--as lonely as the Fang himself. But now Terjal Rakmir had found love. And it was all Reghar's unwitting doing. For the existance of the direspawn had led Terjal to collaborate with Aiya Lindsmund--but how might he have known they harbored such feelings for each other? It seemed Reghar's plans were conspiring against him, that whatever he conjured Terjal would turn in his own favor. Reghar drove his fists hard against his thighs. But the cry of anguish which pushed through his tightened lips and gritted teeth was not from any physical pain. Betrayed again, Reghar thought miserably. Terjal betrayed me first by expulsion from Cloudreach and now because he needn't be lonely and unloved any longer. Yet here I am, keeping company with an ancient curmudgeon with delusions of grandeur! Now, remembering his earlier torment, the Fang began to tremble with renewed rage and hatred, juxtaposed with his old feelings of love and admiration for Terjal Rakmir. Yes, at one time Reghar had worshipped the Master of Cloudreach--would have done anything for the conjurer had he only asked, yet Terjal never had. Sometimes it seemed, to Reghar, as if Terjal barely noticed the young Fang. Yet Reghar knew that his teacher recognized the great potential within his pupil. "Perhaps if the Master of Cloudreach had indulged me," Reghar said aloud with a bitter satisfaction, "young Fehl Cuire would still be alive." "Who would still be alive?" came the familiar sardonic voice of his mage. Reghar swung his gaze toward the voice and the figure standing in the doorway. "That is none of your concern," he answered, his tone harsh, bitter. The Fang was still determined not to let the old man intimidate him--even though, he knew, such might be a futile exercise. Grafter the Ageless shrugged his thin shoulders as if he'd already lost interest in his own query. "Well then--might you explain your extreme...agitation?" Reghar knew he couldn't completely hide his emotions from Grafter--the old man's suspicions were already aroused. "Terjal now knows from where the direspawn originated. During White Rage's last encounter with his party, Terjal managed to snatch a tuft of fur--I felt it tear away from the beast as if it were being torn away from my own body." Grafter smiled, obviously pleased with this discovery. "Then we know they're coming--good! The Grip will be their final destination--one they shall not escape from. But," the old master's eyes narrowed as he lifted his long pointed chin, appraising Reghar, "that is not the true reason for your anger." Reghar ground his jaw. The old master was empathic enough to see through any shield--even the Fang's. He would have to think up a suitable lie--one that would validate the rawest of emotions: jealousy. "It is Terjal," the Fang answered peevishly. "I've found--sensed--that he is...in love. In love with Aiya Lindsmund." "And you are in love with...which of them?" Reghar's anger began to boil again--though more from Grafter's prodding questions than any intended insinuation. "Who do you think? Aiya, of course! I met her while studying at Cloudreach. I worshipped her, though we barely spoke to one another." "Ah, unrequited love--so heartbreaking." The sarcasm fairly oozed from Grafter's words. Reghar felt the tips of his fingers tingling, itching to encircle the old man's thin neck. Could an immortal die at another's hand? Reghar smiled inwardly with grim humor. "Now Terjal has taken her away from me and--" "Oh spare me the forced histrionics! I no longer care whether your feelings for Aiya are genuine. But I do believe your anger is genuine and once again you are letting emotion direct your energy." Grafter's amused expression seemed to melt into one of real concern. "Remember: anger is only effective when wielded as a weapon--and that requires enormous restraint and discipline. Fortunately, the passionate alliance between Terjal and Aiya will provide true opportunities for us. With the conjurers so ecstatically distracted in each other's presence, they will not be so alert to those surrounding them." "So that you might increase the conversion of this ally of yours: Arjas?" Reghar offered, nodding, his anger ebbing slightly. Grafter returned Reghar's nod with a slow, elegant dip of his chin. "And who knows what other possibilities might present themselves to diffuse Rakmir's rather eclectic assembly--especially the aquamancer?" Then the old master's face relaxed and his eyes seemed to stare beyond Reghar. "What of this emotion itself? Love, lust, obsession--it is all the same, mattering only in the degree to which the lover regards the object of his passion." And turn Terjal and Aiya's own emotions against themselves, Reghar thought as he regarded Grafter with his own slice of a smile. This idea compensates for the old man's petty paternalism. "While you are twisting this Arjas fellow to our side, I shall conjure another direspawn. The difference will be that Terjal and Aiya will supply it with the energy it requires to stay in this plane. The direspawn will draw upon the growing desires between those two, thus magnifying its own power." Then, grinning widely, added, "Terjal and Aiya will be the instrument of their own destruction." A crease of thought wrinkled Grafter's brow as he considered the Fang's proposal. Then nodding slightly, he said, "I will allow the creation of a new direspawn with the understanding that this summoning should in no way endanger White Rage." Grafter brought his stern gaze level with Reghar's own. "Should the matter come to the survival of one or the other, White Rage must prevail." Once again he's setting the rules, Reghar thought as a flush of indignation swarmed his face. And once again the old man is right. "Of course. I'm well aware of the rules of conjuration: Never sacrifice more for less." Then Reghar trained his own rigid glare upon the old master, adding, "But it is far easier to keep a direspawn here than to bring another from a different plane. Your advice, you see, is quite unneeded. I know what I am doing--despite your obvious misgivings." Grafter favored his pupil with a slightly sour half-smile. "My advice is not entirely born of any misgivings as to your...competence...in the ways of conjuring. It is merely the kind of prudent advice I would give to anyone. Even," he chuckled, "to Terjal Rakmir were he to stand before me now." Reghar resisted the urge to issue a terse reply. Once again he dangles his bait of sarcasm, the Fang thought bitterly. And once again I nearly make the expected grab for it. So Reghar gave the old master a stiff nod of compliance and brushed quickly past him. Reghar did not look over his shoulder as he opened the door of the chamber. He didn't wish to see the self-righteous smirk he knew the old man must be wearing upon his ancient, yet unlined, face. ### As he strode toward the summoning chamber, Reghar smelled the faint stench of humid rot congealing in the swamp beyond the stone walls. It seemed the odor could penetrate any surface, no matter how solid. Reghar forced his mind to turn away from analyzing the exact origin of the reek. With renewed purpose he began instead to figure the parameters involved in fetching the next direspawn. Reghar knew the new direspawn would need more components to entice it to this plane, for he would not be the source of the energy this time. And which of the conjurers, the Fang thought to himself, will be the lure for my new creature? Terjal or his new love, Aiya? But before he might ponder the possibilities, a random thought bludgeoned its way through this joyous speculation. Energy. There had been a marked decrease in White Rage's power once it had engaged Terjal's party in battle. Even though White Rage had feasted before the encounter with the conjurers, the beast's vigor had taken an abrupt downturn. "Despite their magics," Reghar spoke aloud, his progress toward the summoning chamber momentarily halted, "they should all have been flensed and roasted. Something--or someone--must be milking White Rage's energy for its own use, else enhancing the spell energy of the other." That last supposition hung before him as densely as the thickening air of the swamp. Suddenly Reghar turned on his heel and headed straight for his own bedchamber. The eagerness to fully answer his posed question spurred his feet to quicken their pace down the long hallway. A book, barely glanced at, given to him by Grafter upon the Fang's arrival to the Grip, would surely hold those answers. Once he'd unlocked and pushed open the plain wooden door to his room, dismay washed over him in a hot rush. The clutter of his room greeted him like a admonishing, wagging finger. His unmade bed, wedged in a corner, its coil of dirty sheets and blankets still making steady progress toward the floor. The heavy oak desk stuck in the opposite corner was bestrewn with books and papers. An upended quill pen had leaked black ink onto a piece of torn parchment, covering completely whatever had been written upon it. Scrolls lay everywhere like long, yellowed seashells scattered upon a shoreline. "And when would I have time for housecleaning?" the Fang muttered to himself as he savagely kicked scrolls, books and clothing from his path. "The old man requires me to spend every waking moment controlling the beast --" Suddenly the toe of his boot struck the metal-trimmed spine of a large tome which refused to budge even an inch from his path. Cursing bitterly Reghar made ready to swing his foot at the book once more when he realized that it was the very book he sought in this mess. "Ah there you are," he sang as he stooped to pick up the weighty tome. With its worn, leather-bound covers clutched to his chest Reghar strode over to his bed. Once perched upon its edge, he splayed the book open upon his knees. For nearly the full of an hour Reghar poured over the yellowed, dog-eared pages, his eyes devouring information like a man so starved he notices not the flavor of his food. Ah yes, the Fang thought as his mind scanned the words of a master conjurer long dead. I thought so! It is possible for someone to control the flow of magic and amplify it--whether or not the control is of their own volition. He tapped his chin pensively with a forefinger, considering. But which of them?" But it didn't really matter--for now, anyway. No, soon Terjal Rakmir would have yet another direspawn to grapple with--and Reghar would then discover the identity of the one controlling and amplifying the flow of magic. The possibilities for exploiting this discovery excited the Fang. And it was one other thing he could tuck away, something that he needn't share with Grafter. A power he might eventually use against the old master when the right time presented itself. Grafter the Ageless was empathic--but he was no mind-reader. With his curiosity now sated, Reghar turned his thoughts back to his new direspawn. A slow smile began to split the soft planes above his rounded jaw as he began to think of a name for his creation. It had to be befitting of Terjal's and Aiya's new-found love for each other--one that would imply an inevitable, looming consummation. A name of humiliation, embarrassment, ridicule. A name so undignified that its mere mention would drive the Master of Cloudreach into seclusion. If Terjal Rakmir where to know love, then that love would serve to destroy him and the object of his newly-born passion. Now Reghar's smile grew into a wide grin, torchlight glinting eerily off his straight, white teeth. He knew the name now. Oh, yes--such a fitting one. He spoke it aloud: "Creeping Lust."
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