The Outworlder

chest—then laid on my stomach. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but after a while, something cold and wet touched my skin, rippling with magic.
Amma La was drawing spells on my back. Her movements were slow but practiced, and I realized they must’ve come up with this plan some time ago. What would they have done if I refused? I guess they could have forced me through magic or hypnosis; maybe that’s why Tayrel Kan was there? Or they could send someone else. Although, Myar Mal seemed adamant that they needed me specifically—“my language, culture, and mannerisms,” as he put it. What good they’d do me remained to be seen.
The stress of the day must’ve taken its toll, because at some point I fell asleep. I woke up when the sorceress urged me to roll onto my back. The bowl and brush rested on a table next to my cot, and the woman was now holding a glass bottle with a dropper.
“It will allow the vessár-ai to see what you see,” she explained, forcing my eye open and letting a few drops fall into it. It was unpleasant, and not only in the physical sense. The sharp burn of magic seemed to reach much deeper than the liquid itself, following the nerves and burrowing into my brain. Amma La repeated the procedure with the other eye and then switched liquids and poured some into my ears. In the end, my head felt like it was filled with thousands of insects ready to start crawling out of my mouth, my nose, my eyes.
Strangely though, I detected no trace of magic on my back.
“Are you sure those protective spells are working?” I asked. “I don’t feel anything.”
“They’re good spells,” she reassured. “You will be dizzy for a while, but the sooner you get up, the sooner you’ll get better.”
I didn’t exactly believe her, but I complied. Nausea hit me as soon as I shifted, but Amma La was right—it passed. She walked out of the chamber, gesturing for me to follow. I couldn’t help but steal a last curious glance at the motionless mass on the left cot. For a moment I got a strange feeling that things were not as they should be, but then I was struck by a wave of dizziness so strong I had to brace myself up on the cot.
“Are you coming?” asked the sorceress, sounding impatient. Hurriedly, I pulled my suit back on and rushed to join her.

Chapter 3
“You know, he’s not exactly my type.”
Laik Var’s mental defenses sprung up so fast Tayrel Kan nearly winced. Nevertheless, the vessár didn’t even bother turning around.
“I thought your type is anyone willing to buy you a fix,” he said instead.
Tayrel Kan smacked his lips in dismay. “You wound me, Vessár. I have standards, believe it or not.”
The only answer he got was a snort. Laik Var lifted his foot to resume his walk, but the sorcerer wasn’t finished.
“You don’t have to worry about the virtue of your golden boy.”
To that, Laik Var turned instantly, as if struck by a spell.
“I meant every word I said,” he barked. “You stay away from him, too.”
The sorcerer’s smirk widened. “You’re not curious about what I found?” he mocked and could clearly see the commander’s larynx moving as he swallowed the curse.
“Who sent you?” he asked instead.
Tayrel Kan spread his arms, his smile wide and dripping with insincerity. “A concern for my homeland.”
This time the Laik Var actually cursed and stepped away, but Tayrel Kan stopped him yet again.
“He’s loyal.” He paused, awaiting an answer, but the vessár refused to give him satisfaction. “You’re welcome.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why, can’t I just want to do my part in defending Dahls?”
The vessár barked out a short, mocking laugh. “You’re not that kind of guy.”
“Oh, now you’re gonna tell me what kind of guy I am? I can’t wait.”
Laik Var turned around and looked the sorcerer in the eyes. “Don’t pretend you’re suddenly overwhelmed with patriotic feelings. You don’t give a shit if any of us live or die. I’m actually surprised you even bothered coming, instead of rotting in some filthy hole, covered in sperm and vomit, so high you don’t care.”
For a moment Tayrel Kan was at a loss, his smirk all but disappearing.
“Wow, Vessár. That was… brutal,” he said finally, crossing his arms again. His smile returned, but it was an ugly, predatory grin that stretched his scars. “And strangely accurate. Almost makes me wonder if you ever went to such places yourself. You should come say hi one of these days; we could get to know each other better.”
Laik Var frowned in disgust, and the sorcerer barely stopped himself from laughing.
“You’re a degenerate. You should get your head checked.”
Tayrel Kan scoffed. “I think I’ve had enough therapy for a lifetime. Maybe if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be who I am now?”
“You’re the maker of your misery, Tayrel. If you want to drown it in ytanga, that’s your business, I don’t give a shit; but don’t use it to justify everything you did. And if Myar Mal wants to use you, against me or Aldait Han or whoever, then make sure you’re fucking useful, because he’s the only one willing to put up with you.”
The sorcerer’s eyes widened and after a split second so did his smile.
“Oh, so that’s what bothers you,” he purred, “my association with him. You should be grateful, really.”
Laik Var’s face turned red, and his lip curled up in an angry snarl. Tayrel Kan didn’t even have to read his mind to know he was right. But then the vessár realized what many people had before him: he couldn’t win this fight. So, he waved his hand, as if trying to drive off a particularly annoying fly, and growled, “I had enough of you, pest. Get out of my sight!”
This time Tayrel Kan let him go, but made sure to follow him with his most evil cackle.


Chapter 4
Defensive