Sir Roland thought hard. This strange woman had set a very high price for her help, and Sir Roland wondered if it might be too high. Then again, he would never do great deeds again in his current state – he doubted he had the strength to don his armor, let alone walk around in it. And his sex life was totally shot – who would want to sleep with a scarecrow-like body like his? Besides, he thought, he might be able to find a way out of the service. There was always a way, after all. Most of all though, Roland thought of that elf. How that elf had tricked him, robbed him, and then sauntered away, without even a backwards glance. Roland’s need for revenge burned.
“I accept,” he said at last.
The woman smiled. “Excellent. Take my hand, Sir Roland.”
He rose from the bed, and grasped the hand she offered. She then led him to the mirror, waved her hand, and then they both stepped through it.
Sir Roland shivered as he stepped through the mirror, and found himself in a strange, round, richly-furnished room. The woman led him to one side, and picked up a rod about two feet long, made of translucent purple crystal. “Take hold,” she instructed. Sir Roland complied. “Now repeat after me. I-”
“I…” Roland repeated.
“Sir Roland-”
“Sir Roland-”
“swear to serve you-”
“swear to serve you-”
“for life.”
“for life.” Roland finished.
“Very good, ” the beautiful woman smiled. “Guards!”
Sir Roland turned, as the pair of large doors at the other end of the room were slowly opened, and a pair of muscular orcs walked in. “What?” he gasped.
“Guards, get our guest some clothing – a tunic or something,” the sorceress commanded.
“Wait,” Sir Roland interrupted, “who are you?”
“Amya, the sorceress,” came the beautiful woman’s reply. She grinned wickedly.
“No!” cried Sir Roland, at the same time mentally cursing himself for falling into such a simple trap, “I’ll never serve you!”
“You will,” laughed the sorceress, “you swore on the rod of binding.”
Sir Roland went pale.
“In fact,” added Amya, “you can start serving me by wanting to serve me. In fact, you want nothing more than to serve me, and you will do what you can to make me happy.”
Sir Roland felt her commands hammering at his mind. He resisted, of course, but the power of her voice, along with the oath he had sworn on the rod, compelled him. He wanted to serve her. He wanted to make her happy.
“Yes, mistress,” he said at last, in a voice of certainty. One of the orcs had returned, and handed him a tunic, which he put on. It was too big, and hung loosely on his emaciated frame.
Amya smiled. “Let’s start by planning your revenge, Sir Roland, my loyal servant. You won’t be much use to me like that.”
Amya sat down in a plush chair, and sipped wine as Sir Roland knelt before her. “I’ve been watching this elf, you know,” she began. Unconsciously, Sir Roland snarled. Amya smiled at the sight of it. “His name is Brian. You were his second victim, but the first that he chose.”
“He’ll regret it,” the Knight growled.
“He will,” the sorceress agreed. “Now I just need a plan.”
She pondered.