XENIXALA

  The next morning, the Great Spellmaster Xenixala of Xendor, Queen of Lightning, Slayer of Wyrms and inventor of the patent-pending ‘Xeni-Ointment’ for intimate hair removal, regarded the naked young man beside her. His ivory skin gently heaved as he slept, shoulders covered by his messy golden hair. He was cute, but not nearly as handsome as that Edwardius. Younger men never had any presence.

  The boy blinked and stirred. The charm spell had probably worn off by now. Charm spells weren’t strictly necessary for Xenixala to get what she wanted, but she did it all the same. Men were so much more compliant under a charm. It saved an awful lot of time and energy rebuffing their letching and cat-calling. After missing out on Edwardius the night before, she’d needed some kind of replacement to cheer herself up, and this young man had been most persistent. She’d tried to get Edwardius away from that damned pixie girlfriend of his but hadn’t been able to shake her. She clung to his arm like a barnacle. It was almost as if she knew Xenixala’s game.

  Xenixala had never suffered from a lack of attention from men. In fact, if she were to believe their compliments, she was the most beautiful creature on the planet. However, she was at the tail end of her one-hundred-and-thirties, and there was only so much magic one can do without making things more saggy in the long run.

  The boy opened his eyes and stared at her in mild confusion. He wiped the drool from his mouth and sat up slowly. ‘Where am I? Did we…?’

  Xenixala nodded. ‘Of course.’

  The young man smiled to himself with gentle satisfaction. Then he looked around the room with a furrowed brow. ‘Are we still at the inn?’

  ‘You generously rented us a room last night. In fact, you were quite adamant about it.’

  ‘Oh Gods, I can’t afford this. Father’s going to kill me!’

  Wordsworth sat on the bedside dresser, ruffling his pages in disapproval.

  ‘What?’ said Xenixala.

  ‘Aren’t you getting too old for this sort of thing?’ said Wordsworth.

  The boy's eyes became wide. ‘Is that a talking book?’

  Xenixala sighed. ‘He’s my book of spells. Haven't you ever seen a familiar before?’

  The boy shook his head without taking his eyes off Wordsworth.

  Xenixala yawned and stretched. ‘Our souls are linked, I made him from a part of my essence, yadda yadda. Isn’t it time you left?’

  The young man looked down at Xenixala’s exposed torso and licked his lips. ‘Perhaps we could…?’

  Xenixala got out of bed and rubbed her temples. ‘I’m not really in the mood.’ She needed some Elixir.

  The young man sidled over to her, putting his arms around her waist. ‘Are you sure you don’t want...’ But he started to choke. He dropped to the floor, clutching at his throat.

  ‘I said, I’m not in the mood.’ Xenixala picked up the boy’s scattered robes while he writhed in pain on the ground. She released her hold-spell from his neck and he made a deep intake of breath.

  ‘You witch!’ he spluttered.

  Xenixala threw his clothes on top of him. ‘Indeed I am. Now get out before I turn you into a toad.’

  The boy went paler than a vampire. He snatched up his garments and scurried out of the room.

  ‘Oh, Xeni,’ said Wordsworth, once they were alone.

  ‘I’ve got needs too, you know.’

  ‘But they’re such poor young chaps.’

  Xenixala snorted. ‘It’s nothing they haven't already done to all the “poor” maidens in town.’

  ‘It just seems so… unsavoury. Couldn’t you find someone more stimulating?’

  A grin crept onto her face. ‘Oh, he was stimulating all right.’ She thought again back to the mighty Edwardius. His broad shoulders and strong chin. How much sweeter a prize he would have been. All of a sudden, an emptiness filled her. As if her encounter had left her without something. She ignored the feeling and started to get dressed.

  Wordsworth stuck out his leather bookmark tongue in disgust. ‘I mean intellectual. The conversations you have with these boys are beyond banal.’

  ‘I’m not interested in their conversation.’ Xenixala went over to the mirror to rearrange her hair. She pushed back the irritating white streak under the black layers of her fringe.

  ‘Not to mention the power we absorb from the better male specimens.’

  It was true, and one of the main perks of being a witch. Wizards, however, lost power and Experience with sexual congress. It made them such shy and awkward little creatures, always terrified of being seduced. She smiled. ‘Elixirs give us more power than any man could.’

  Wordsworth licked his lips. ‘Speaking of which...’

  ‘You read my mind. Come on, let’s go and find an Adventurer’s Supply.’

  Xenixala left The Crow’s Wort Inn, having hastily dressed. In the fresh morning air, she proceeded to pace the town streets, her face and hands damp with sweat. She needed health potions and she needed them fast.

  The town of Gladmore was much like any other provincial town. Xenixala could remember when such places barely had a spot to hitch a horse. Now they were practically bursting with life. Every other person she passed seemed to be an adventurer of sorts. They were easy to spot due to their audaciously impractical armour and stony gaze.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Besides the recent influx of temporary populace, Gladmore was a rather unremarkable town. The roofs were layered with quaint little red tiles, the walls had a charming slant and the townsfolk had the heartwarming innocence that a city would have strangled and left for dead. It was an exact replica of every other town in the land.

  It wasn’t long before Xenixala arrived at a shop with the all-too-familiar logo hanging on a fresh wooden sign. A potion bottle on a shield. Green on black. Adventurer’s Supply.

  As she approached the door, Xenixala noticed a faint smell of freshly baked sweetloaf. This probably once used to be the town bakery, recently converted. There were more profits to be had in swords than food these days. Adventurers consumed mostly potions and supply rations, and stabbed more than they ate.

  The scent brought back a memory. She was back in Porkwarts School for Witches Not Wizards. Professor Mogg standing over her. The whole class staring.

  ‘Xenixala, was your spell supposed to create a sweetloaf? No, I asked for longbread. What did I warn you about failure? If you’re not the best, you are the worst. Pick another poison as your punishment. Let that be a reminder. The rest of the class will watch.’

  The doorbell tinkled as Xenixala entered. A tiny gnome poked his head out from behind the counter and smiled vacantly at her. Xenixala scowled back. She hated gnomes as much as pixies. There was something unsettling about the uncontrolled hair sprouting from every crevice of their little bodies. Not to mention the fact that they always drove such hard bargains. She was unsurprised to find one running an Adventurer’s Supply.

  Xenixala walked over to the counter, concealing her quivering palms behind Wordsworth, who remained dormant in her arms. The shop was dingy, with shelves full of wonderful items. Everything from jars of blood to huge iron maces. Behind the counter the more exotic items were hidden behind an enchanted force field. A metallic tang hung in the air, a side effect of all the anti-spell charms laced into the walls. Adventurer’s Supply owners were always so damned paranoid. Thief-classed adventurers really ruined everyone else’s fun.

  ‘Good day weary traveller, can I interest you in some wares?’ The gnome spoke in a jangly tone, swaying in rhythm to his chime. ‘Some armour perhaps? I’ve the finest swords in the land!’

  ‘Twelve Elixirs please,’ said Xenixala, her eyes twitching with anticipation. These would be freshly brewed. And when it came to Elixirs, the newer they were, the better.

  ‘Certainly traveller.’ The tiny gnome disappeared behind the counter, then returned with an armful of glass vials. He carefully laid them out on the counter.

  Xenixala picked one up, inspecting it in the light. The Elixir glistened its inviting green hue. She grinned. ‘How much?’

  ‘For you traveller, a bargain.’ The gnome dipped his quill, then scribbled onto a scrap of parchment. Adventurer’s Supply shopkeepers had a habit of writing a price down rather than saying it. Xenixala tapped her foot while she waited.

  ‘One hundred and forty-four gold pieces!?’ Xenixala exclaimed. ‘That’s nearly triple the value!’

  ‘That is the price traveller. We do not bargain.’

  ‘How about we say one hundred and twenty gold pieces?’

  ‘That is the price traveller. We do not bargain.’

  ‘One hundred and thirty?’

  ‘That is the price traveller. We do not bargain.’

  Xenixala groaned. ‘Fine, have it your way.’ She pulled out her purse and counted out her last gold pieces. ‘Oh hellfire, I’ve only got fifty pieces.’

  The gnome’s face remained impassive.

  Xenixala slammed down her coins. ‘How many can I get for this?’

  The gnome carefully slid three vials towards her.

  ‘That’s outrageous! It’s even more expensive!’

  The gnome nodded.

  Xenixala tried to remain calm. There wouldn't be anywhere else to buy Elixirs for miles around. ‘Deal,’ she said, grabbing the three little green bottles.

  ‘Stay safe on your travels adventurer!’ called out the shopkeeper in a cheery tone, as she turned and stormed out.

  Xenixala muttered as the door swung shut behind her.

  She scurried around behind the shop and trembled as she cracked the wax seal on one of her newly acquired Elixirs.

  The liquid rushed down her throat, sweet and bitter all at the same time. A power grew through her, starting in her chest, then making its way to her fingers and toes. She breathed in deeply, feeling the sparks tingle on her tongue. Her heart fluttered and she leant back against the shop wall.

  But as soon as the feeling arrived, it had gone. All that was left was the mild afterglow that would last for a few more hours. She blinked. Had the world always been so dull and lifeless? She needed another. Just one more.

  ‘That felt good,’ said Wordsworth beside her. They shared a knowing look.

  The second seal broke as easily as the first. But Xenixala barely tasted it this time, her mouth still numb from the sparks. The warmth grew faster than before. She closed her eyes and let it take her. Silence. No more voices. No more dark memories. The Elixir pushed them away.

  Then it was gone again.

  ‘If you are not the best, you are the worst.’

  Xenixala looked down at the final vial in her palm. The green liquid sloshed as she let it roll smoothly back and forth. She bit her lip.

  Wordsworth craned his spine up to look at her from the floor. ‘That’s our last one Xeni. You don’t have money for any more.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’

  ‘I’m just saying we should savour it, that’s all.’

  Xenixala smiled.

  Her tingling fingers pulled off the last seal with ease. She put the glass to her lips, threw her head back and let the happiness glide down her throat.

  Warmth. Bliss. Joy.

  Xenixala cast the three empty vials to the ground.

  Wordsworth hopped away from the shards of shattered glass. ‘I think we need a bit of income Xeni. Maybe we could pawn off some of our old...’

  ‘I’m not selling anything,’ Xenixala cut in with a scowl. The world span in an Elixir haze. She pushed back against the wall and slid to the floor. She closed her eyes and breathed deep.

  ‘Are you feeling alright?’ came a confident voice.

  A shadow loomed over her. Broad and twinkling.

  Xenixala winced up at him. ‘I’m fine Edwardius, I was just...’ she leapt to her feet and brushed down her robes, ‘taking a rest.’

  The paladin nodded. ‘Ah, very wise. One needs to be on top form before setting out on an adventure. It’s the best way to get the most Experience from your adversaries. “If one can’t progress from one’s battles, one can never progress in life.”’ He smiled with satisfaction at his quote, which Xenixala recognised as being from a half-witted motivational scroll. ‘Perhaps you have had a chance to reconsider our proposal? Are you sure you don’t want to join our quest to find The Chosen One, and defeat the Dark Master?’

  ‘As I said before, no. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.’ Xenixala started walking, but Wordsworth shuffled into her path.

  The book tilted his cover to look up at her, his pages folding into a pleading expression. ‘Come on Xeni,’ he hissed. ‘Perhaps we just go with them for a little bit?’

  ‘Why do you care?’ Xenixala whispered.

  ‘You said so yourself, we need some real Experience for a change!’ Wordsworth lowered his voice even further. ‘And besides, we can steal a few of their Elixirs.’

  Xenixala regarded the six-feet-of-handsome who smiled pleasantly at her. She had a strong feeling that she may be able to bed Edwardius. The power she could absorb from a paladin would be a fantastic high. All she had to do was get rid of his pathetic girlfriend.

  She could even bed The Chosen One and steal his power too, assuming he was a man. Not to mention the exciting quests he could take her on. Better than any she had ever seen. And if neither of these worked out, then a duel with him would be glorious. No one was really a challenge these days. She could be the best. She needed to be the best.

  ‘Alright, fine,’ Xenixala conceded, picking up her Sack of Clutching.

  Wordsworth jumped up and down with joy. His pages clomping together with each bounce.

  Edwardius beamed. ‘Excellent! We’re just about to set off, let’s make haste.’

  Xenixala sighed. ‘There had better be plenty of Elixirs on this damned adventure,’ she mumbled at Wordsworth.