Hopping Mad

“Are you ready?”

“I was born ready.”

“It’s not going to be pretty.”

“It’s never pretty.”

“Neither are you.”

“Shut up, Gavriel.”

“As you wish, Vi.”

The duo was silent for a long moment.  A slight breeze wafted past, tugging lightly at the hem of Gavriel’s sorcerer’s robe and tugging a few stands loose from Vi’s swordswoman’s braid.  Gavriel breathed deeply, taking in what scraps of fresh air he could.

“Let’s do this.”

“Take no prisoners.”

“Show no mercy.”

Gavriel and Vi caught one another’s eye.  Purpose gleamed deep within and identical predatory smiles stole across their faces.  Then, with a whoop, they turned towards the fray.

“Shopping spree!”

The merchants of the Bazaar of the Bizarre were, needless to say, almost universally unprepared for their coming.

***

One pair of malevolent eyes tracked their progress.  One dark heart thudded with renewed vigor, pumping thick and viscous blood through cold and poisonous veins.  One dream of revenge stirred and rose from slumbering depths.  Yes.  Soon.  Soon would be the time.

***

“Saragoth’s gold spends so easily!”  Vi practically purred, changing two gold pieces for three silk scarves.

“Well, what do you expect?  It’s been shut up for years.  It never got to go out and have any fun.  You keep the poor little dears under lock and key for that long and someday they’re bound to bust out.  Just like a teenage girl.”  Gavriel smirked and flicked a coin at Vi.  It ricocheted off her brass bra and wedged itself in her cleavage.  Vi didn’t bother to fish it out.  The barswain could fetch his own tip, later.

“Bloody black wizards, what is it with isolation, hermitage and miserliness?”

“I think it’s in the job description.  Right next to ‘terrible fashion sense’ and ‘cliché interior décor.’”

Gavriel turned a highly critical eye to the selection of Ahr’manhi robes hanging in a nearby stall.  Seeing something he liked, Gavriel flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his robe and swept a hand through his hair in preparation for his next conquest.  Vi glanced up.

“Why on earth are you going over there?  Those Ahr’manhi robes are so last season.”

“The shop-boy isn’t.  Go spend our money somewhere else for awhile; I’ll meet you back at the inn for dinner.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Dear heart, there is very little you wouldn’t do, and very few people you wouldn’t do it to, so I think I’m quite safe on that count.”

Vi schooled her features into something approximating shocked and wronged innocence.  “Why, I never!”

“If you’re not careful, you never will again.  Scat!”

“My my, aren’t we catty today.”

“Bytche.”

“Quean.”

Gavriel strode off towards the Ahr’manhi shop, coinpurse in hand.  Vi shook her head and smiled.  The shopgirl assisting her looked bored.

“Will there be anything else, miss?”

“No, thank you.”

With that, Vi collected her purchases and moved off through the Bazaar to spend more of the derring duo’s well-gotten gains.

***

Words were spoken in the silent vaults of the Servant’s mind.  Instructions were given.  Plans, so carefully woven, began to move toward fruition.  The Servant began his preparations, spinning a web with which to ensnare those foolish enough to wander the bazaar unwary.

***

The Blushing Violent of Vyne, as the young lady was called behind her back, draped the gleaming chainmail experimentally across her left thigh.  Behind her, the young man in charge of sales gushed.

“You look divine.  That gleam suits you.  It’s even nicer than the purple lacquer.”

“Do you think so?”  Vi turned so that the mail caught the light.

“Oh, I know so.  Believe you me, honey.  Wear that and you’ll be invincible.”

“Enchanted?”  Vi glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Oh no.  You’re just that hot.”

Vi laughed.  It was a loud, high-pitched cascade of jollity that rose and fell in jagged peaks.  The young man blanched slightly.  Vi leveled a coquettish smile at him.

“If you’re not careful dearie, I’ll carry you out of here, rather than this chainmail.”

The young man stammered and took refuge in sorting an assortment of greaves.  Vi laughed again and went back to admiring the drape of chainmail across her thigh.  From behind her, a rumbling chuckle tumbled across her ears.

“Ain’t many people as can put Blayze in his place.  You’re quite a woman.”

Vi turned.  A man was standing behind her.  He was tall and broad-shouldered, with massive arms and a scorched and pitted leather apron protecting his clothes.

“I am.  And you’re quite a smith.  I assume this is your work?”

“You may.”  The smith rumbled in reply.  “The name’s Garth.  You’ve already met my son.”

“He’s a nice boy.”  Vi smiled.

“Oh yes, very nice when it suits him.”  Garth snorted.  “Can’t get him to do a damn thing around the forge, but he deals well with customers.”

“I’m sure he sells a lot of merch.  Especially to pretty ladies and prettier boys.”  Vi giggled.

“How did you know?”

“Oh believe me.  I know the type.  Put an Ahr’manhi robe on him and teach him to level a city with a single spell and you’ve got my partner.”

Garth laughed a bit uneasily.

“You’re quite a woman,” he repeated.

“I am.”

“So, you like that?”  Garth gestured towards the mail draped across her thigh.

“Oh yes.  It’s very nice.  Strong too.  I can feel it.”

“Oh that’s nothing.  I’ve got some pieces that would make that as look like an old cloth rag.  Tell you what, why don’t I show you.  I’m sure we can as find you something you will like.  I’ll even give you a discount, seeing as how you did me the favor of takin’ young Blayze down a peg.  Whaddaya say?”

“Why Gareth,” Vi fluttered her eyelashes.  “I’d be delighted.”

“Right this way, m’lady.  We’ll have you outfitted like no other in short order.”

Together they disappeared into the shadows of the blacksmith’s tent.

***

“Potions and philters!  Enchanted swords and mystic veils!  Rare gems and mystic unguents!”

It was not the merchant’s voice but his wares that caught Gavriel’s attention.  While the majority of the bits and bobs laid out and hung about the stall were patently fake, there were one or two items that looked genuine.  Or at least, to Gavriel’s practiced eye, they looked as if they should be genuine.  With magical items, it was often impossible to tell.

The sashes were clearly non-magical.  Those that were smelled distinctly of ill-set curses.  Second-hand leftovers of petty revenge.  Not worth his time.  Gavriel dismissed the collection of ‘enchanted’ knives, ignored the clearly painted ‘magic divination gems’ and went straight for a rather plain-looking charm on a leather thong.

“Ah, you have very good taste.  Very insightful, young man.”

A small man with oily hair and an oilier smile popped up out of nowhere.  Gavriel didn’t bat an eye.  Little toad had probably been crouching behind the stall façade.  It was an old trick, but it sometimes impressed the peasants.

“How much is this?”

Gavriel gestured diffidently towards the charm.

“Ah yes.  Very powerful charm.  Wards off many dark magics.  Guards against the Evil Eye, swamp witchery…”

The little man chattered on, listing all the wondrous and well-night miraculous properties contained in the tiny scrap of tarnished copper.  Gavriel hefted it experimentally.  It held a slightly greater weight than it appeared it should.  Still, it wasn’t really worth his time.

“Do you have anything else?  Something with a bit more…oomph?”

“You want oomph?  Oh yes.  Yes, yes.  I can provide the oomph.  You want a magic charm that makes you irresistible to the ladies?  We have.  You want a magic sword that can slay foe in single chop?  We have that.  Very powerful magics, very ancient secrets, we have.”

The merchant smiled slyly.  He pulled a small box from underneath the stall and set it on the makeshift counter.  One greasy hand opened the latch, an incredibly complex piece of warded artifice, while the merchant continued to speak.

“This, for example, is very rare piece.  Ancient Sulveran work, this.”

Gavrial quirked a skeptical eyebrow but leaned in close to see anyway.  Inside the box was a silver ring, so heavily tarnished as to appear black.  Something about it drew him closer.

“May I…?”

“Go ahead.  No funny business.  Box is enspelled to kill if you try.”

Gavriel reached out to touch the ring.  A blue spark snapped at his fingers as he did so.  He ignored the slight prick of pain.  A cheap trinket, poorly crafted.  Or was it?  What was that secondary resonance?  Gavriel’s face retained it’s rather indifferent mask.

“A minor protection charm.  It is old, though, and clearly worth something based on its antique value alone.  How much?”

The merchant named his price.  Gavriel counter-offered.  They haggled back and forth for several minutes, before the merchant slammed his fist on the counter.

“Is my final offer.  I throw in magic frog and you call it a deal.  Take it or leave it.”

Gavriel rolled his eyes and gestured to the small beast in its small cage.

“You don’t seriously expect me to believe that is a magical frog.”

“Of course frog is magical!  I am honest merchant.  I see the greatest magics in Vyne.”

The merchant appeared highly offended at Gavriel’s skepticism.  The little man turned away, ostensibly to tend to another customer.  Unfortunately, there were no other customers even remotely nearby.  Frowning, he turned back to Gavriel.

“Is good bargain.  You buy ring, I throw in magic frog and magic veil for your ladyfriend.”

Gavriel smiled coldly.

“What do you take me—“

A fiendish gleam appeared in his eyes and halted his tongue.  A slow smile crept across his lips.  The next words flowed from his mouth practically dripping sugared rose-oil.

“I mean, do you accept Ahr’manhan Sovereigns?  They are all I have on me, I’m afraid.”

The merchant grinned, and leaned in close.

“Of course!  I make you very good deal, my friend.”

***

Plans within plans moved in the dark.  Agreements were made.  Prices were paid.  Pawns and queens moved along their fated courses.  In the center of the web, a Dark prince smiled, as he moved towards his final revenge.

***

“Kiss it.  I dare you.”

Gavriel looked down at the frog in the little cage.  The warty little thing glared up at him.  Vi giggled again, nearly spilling her wine.  Nearly.  Vi of Vyne did not spill wine.  No swordswoman on her life would.  Fringe benefit of the profession.

“Kiss it and I’ll clean the room tomorrow.”

The duo’s suite at the Strangled Boy (a rather infamous inn not far from the intersection of the Street of Walkers and the Street of Scarlet Lanterns) was, to put it mildly, in shambles.  The wrack and ruin of a three days’ worth of shopping was strewn about like so much flotsam and jetsam washed up after a storm.  Scattered paper, knickknacks, bargains and treasures all vied for attention, often in loud and clashing colors.  It was a nightmare come true.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Gavriel slurred.

With too-careful movement, he set his wine bottle on a nearby chest.  Fumbling, he fiddled open the latch on the little cage.  The frog squirmed as he picked it up, but did not try to escape.  That was a first, but neither Gavriel nor Vi was sober enough to notice.

Gavriel swallowed.  He looked at the frog.  He looked at Vi.  He looked at the shambles the room was in.  He looked back to the frog and adjusted his grip.  Slowly, he brought it up to his face, closing his eyes at the last minute, unable to look the little beast in the eyes.

He kissed the frog.  Vi exploded in a fit of giggles, snorting like a madwoman in her cups.  Fireworks exploded in Gavriel’s vision and an exultant shout nearly deafened him.  Consequently, he didn’t hear Vi’s giggles, nor the latch click on the little frog cage.

“Swordlady’s tits, Gavriel!  I didn’t think you’d actually do it.  How were the lips of your prince?”

Gavriel’s body opened its eyes.

“Sweeter than wine.”  Gavriel’s voice quoted.  If the tone was a bit harsh, his speech patterns a bit off, well, it could easily be attributed to the wine, of which Vi had drunk no small portion.

Prince Alazar, last surviving noble of the long-lost Sulveran Empire smiled with Gavriel’s face.  The face was too pretty by half, and the body to weak and puling a thing, but possessing it free him of the bonds that had bound his magic.  All that needs doing is silencing the bimbo with the brass boobs.  Easy enough with the right spell.

Alazar smiled and interlaced his fingers, popping the stiffness from the joints.  Ripping the tongue out by its roots was always an interesting thing to watch.  Draw it long and lash it about the limbs, leave her to bleed out, immobilized, helpless…  It would be glorious.  He had been imprisoned far too long, locked in the body of that disgusting frog.  Now he was free.  Now he would take his revenge.  The world would burn for what it had done to him, and he would start with this pathetic, vapid creature in front of him.

“Whatever you say, Gav.”  Vi giggled again.  “I don’t think your prince liked the kiss as much as you did though.”

The frog in its cage was hopping madly, croaking for all it was worth.  Vi toppled over, giggling at it.  Alazar smiled with Gavriel’s face.

“No, I don’t think he did.”

The fingers of this body were well versed in the subtle movements required for spellcasting.  It would easy, so easy.  Alazar hid the mystic motions behind a pretense at fumbling for the wine bottle.  It came back so easily, felt so good to grasp for the tendrils of magic once more.  Alazar set the spell and turned to Vi, the trigger upon his tongue.

He didn’t get more than a syllable out of his mouth before Vi’s dagger slammed into his temple, pommel first.  As the world went dark, Alazar stared up in shock at Vi’s face.  She flipped her hair and snorted.

“Please.  As if Gavriel would ever quote from such an outdated ballad.  Wizards.  You all think you’re so terribly clever.”

***

The consciousness of Prince Alazar swam in darkness.  This was nothing new.  His spirit bided its time.  Soon enough, the body would awaken.  Soon enough, that bitch would pay.  She wouldn’t risk the body of her partner, and there was no way she could break the spell that bound his spirit within.  No, it would not hurt to bide awhile longer.  His revenge would just be all the sweeter.

***

“Oh dear, it must be absolutely killing you, looking like that.  Green never was your color.”

The frog puffed up at Vi, its eyes glaring redly.  Vi flicked it on the nose.  The frog let out a croak of protest.

“Don’t take that tone with me, mister.  It’s your own damn fault for buying some sort of weird demon frog.  Swordlady’s tits man!  You’re a sorcerer.  You should know better.”

The frog began to sulk.  It awkwardly turned in its little cage so its warty back was to Vi.

“Oh, darling, no.  That is not an improvement on the view.”

The frog leapt around, croaking madly and thrashing at the bars.  Vi giggled.  Behind her, Gavriel’s body was bound to the bed with black silk cords and gagged with a leather strap.  The body opened one eye a crack.  Vi’s attention remained on the frog.

With a flexion of muscles, Alazar slipped Gavriel’s hand from its bonds.  The remainder of the silk and leather was a simple matter to resolve.  Through it all, Vi continued to tease Gavriel unmercifully.

“Oh do hush up, Gav darling, if you’re not careful you might croak.”

Vi’s giggle was interrupted by the blast of white-hot flame that slammed into her back.  The frog squawked as the cage went fly in the wake of Vi’s tumbling passage.

Alazar rose to his feet amidst the scorched remains of the bed.  Smoke coiled about his hands and a cruel smile played about his lips.  He spat towards the pile of wreckage at the other end of the room.

“Bitch.”

The frog croaked angrily.  Alazar ignored it.  With a dismissive gesture he wiped the soot from his hands on Gavriel’s Ahr’manhi robe.

The little frog went berserk.  It threw itself at the bars of its cage.  It remained trapped, however, by the bars and the rubble.  Alazar laughed at it.

“Goodbye, my prince.”  He sneered as he stepped over the rubble towards the door.  “I don’t think I’ll be seeing you again anytime soon.”

“Think again.”

Vi’s voice drifted coolly across the room.  Alazar froze momentarily.  Vi continued speaking as he slowly turned to face her.  Vi stood amidst the rubble on the other side of the room, armor untarnished, face a bit smudged, sword in hand.  Alazar’s eyes narrowed.

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Survive my spell.”

“Oh sweetie, what sort of swordswoman would I be if I couldn’t take a little heat?”

“You should be dead.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not.”

“You will be.”

“Oh ye petty gods and goddesses!  Do you rehearse this overblown schlock or what?  You’re nearly as bad as Gavriel.  Oh, and just between you and me, that boy can murder the language like no other.  I’m surprised his tongue hasn’t turned purple.”

The frog choked itself on outrage.  Vi continued to chatter on.  Alazar grew steadily redder in the face.

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

Vi pause in mid-sentence.  She blinked at Alazar.

“I’m sorry.  Did you want to say something?”

“Why aren’t you dead?  Why did my spell have no effect?”

“Oh, I guess you just can’t sling fireballs around like you used to.  Maybe you should as Gav for some tips.  He certainly knows how to handle his balls.”

The frog turned a particularly unhealthy shade of yellow.  It made small pipping noises.  Both Vi and Alazar ignored the amphibian.

“Wht is it,” Alazar hissed, “a magic ring?  The armor?  Your bodice?  What turned aside my spell.”

“My bodice?”  Vi snorted.  “That turns heads, not spells.”

Vi tossed her hair over her shoulder and advanced on Alazar, sword in a defensive postion.  Alazar stood his ground.  Vi grinned predatorily.

“No, it’s the armor.  A very good friend I made at the market today sold it to me.  He’s the best in the business, and there’s not a spell you or any other two-bit wizard can sling that’ll hurt me.”

“Two-bit wizard?”  Alazar laughed.  “I assure you, I am no two-bit wizard.  And that armor is a defense, not a trump card.  You’re not going to hurt this body.  You care too much for its original owner, and if you kill me, well, he’s stuck as a frog forever.”

“I think you overestimate my regard for my partner.”

Vi steadily closed the distance between herself and Alazar.

“Gavreil’s assessment of his looks is a bit too generous, by any standard.  A couple of scars will do him good. Might even improve his looks a bit.  He could certainly use to be taken down a peg or two.  Arrogant little snot.”

“You’re bluffing.”  Alazar’s eyes flicked between Vi and the caged frog, which appeared to be having some sort of amphibious apoplexy.

“Am I?  Are you really willing to take that chance?”  Vi’s smile widened.

“No,” snapped Alazar.  “I don’t take unnecessary chances.”

Alazar’s hands flew into motion.  Words spilled from his lips and his eyes blazed.  A small sphere of nothingness appeared in his left hand.  With a smooth motion, he cast it towards Vi.  At the same instant, Vi pulled back her arm and threw her sword at him and dived out of the way od the incoming attack.

The sword spun end over end, flashing in the lantern light.  It sank into the wood of the wall with a thunk, pinning Gavriel’s Ahr’manhi robe (and consequently Alazar) to the wall.  Alazar’s attack narrowly missed striking Vi’s legs.

That, however, was as it was intended.  The small sphere struck the floor and instantly disintegrated the boards and timbers.  Vi landed against the edge, heavily, and scrambled for a handhold to keep herself from slipping into the bottomless pit that had blossomed into being beneath her.  Alazar sneered.

“Your armor protects you, not your surroundings.  Ways and means, wench, ways and means.  Ward yourself to the nine hells for all I care.  I can still kill you with a word.  And you, well, you’ve lost your sword.  How do you expect to kill me without a weapon?  You’re pathetic.  I can’t imagine how you or your pathetic partner ever managed to survive this long.”

Alazar smiled cruelly.  With his right hand he reached up to tug the sword free of the wall.  It didn’t budge.  Vi panted and grinned ferally.

“Who says I’m out of weapons, jackass?  I’ve got my trump card right here.”

Vi clutched the frog’s cage in her right hand as her left held her steady on the edge of the pit.  Alazar looked at her incredulously for a long moment before a deep, slow laugh spilled from his lips.

“You must be joking.”

“I never joke about weapons.”

With that, Vi hauled the cage in close and planted a firm and fulsome kiss on the frog’s lips.  It squawked in surprise.  Alazar hissed and tore himself free from the wall, shredding Gavriel’s robe as he did so.

“That was a mistake, magician.”

Vi’s voice roiled across the intervening space.  Alazar stared at her.  Loops of shadow spun around her in orbital rings.  Her eyes were two pits of utter darkness.  A psychic wind caught her hair and sent it dancing upwards, pulled free of her warriors braid.  Slowly, she advanced on him.

“First you trap me in that frogsbody.  Then you have the execrable taste to quote that insipid ballad.  You let Vi knock out my body and you don’t even have the decency to collapse gracefully.  You fell down like a sack of potatoes!  All the while, I was stuck in that hideous little prison of flesh, subject to VI’s deplorable sense of humor and your assault on my bodily dignity and wardrobe.  I had to watch it all!”

Vi’s voice hit a rather hysterical height.  Alazar stood, somewhat dumbfounded, at the torrent of rage, hatred and overblown language flowing towards him.  Vi’s body continued its inexorable advance, and Gavriel’s words continued unabated.

“But you didn’t stop there, oh no!  You stabbed my partner in the back.  With a cliché, no less.  And to top it all off, you committed the most heinous, perverse and unforgiveable desecration.  You ruined, absolutely ruined, my favorite Ahr’manhi robe.  And for that, you will die.  I will rip your soul screaming from your body and bind it in the darkest, coldest depths of the Abyss itself.”

Alazar found his tongue.

“You have got to be kidding.  A robe?  What the hell does a stupid robe matter?  It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?”  Vi’s body spat at him.  “It’s everything.  If you don’t have style, you don’t have jack shit.  You, sir, have no style, and in two seconds, you’ll have even less.”

Vi’s body raised its hands, guided by Gavriel’s cold and unyielding sorcerous purpose.  Alazar’s hands snapped into a defensive weave and arcane syllables tripped desperately off of his tongue.  Gavriel spoke with a voice as cold as the void and darkness consumed the room.

In the vasty silence that filled the space, it was possible Alazar screamed.  If he did, no one heard it.  No one heard anything further from that room that night.  When the darkness cleared, the room was filled with hundreds of splinters, dozens of chunks of plaster, two unconscious bodies and one very dead frog.

The maid very wisely did not knock on that particular door the next morning.

***

“What do you mean, I have to clean it all?”

“We had a deal, Vi darling, and I intend to hold you to it.”

“What deal?  I don’t remember any deal.”

“You weren’t that drunk.”

“I most certainly was.”

“Vi, you used me as a weapon, forced me to traipse about in that body of yours and left me to clean up what was left of the frog.  You can clean the suite or pay to have it done, but none of it is my concern.”

“’That body of mine’?”  Vi sputtered.  “I should charge you rent for its use, not to mention a surcharge for wear and tear.”

“Violet, my dear, if you do not drop this subject immediately, I will personally hex you six ways from Swordsday.  And believe you me, you would not appreciate having to trade in your brass bra for a copper codpiece!”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

The two stared daggers at one another across the breakfast table.  Vi looked away first, stabbing her fork into a large sausage.

“Fine.  Have it your way, frogface.”

“Thank you.”

Gavriel took a long sip of his tea.  A faint smile played about the corner of his lips.  His eyes were smiling as he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Vi to hear.

“Bytche.”

“Quean.”