The Sorcerer of Trabir didn't arrive in the night. He certainly didn't want to imitate any of the stories people told about him. His motivation wasn't to steal people as slaves or to practice magic to bring back the Black. He made sure the day was bright, and the Potentate's court had at least a two-day warning of his arrival.

As he walked into Spinel tower, he realized either two days wasn't enough to clean the ongoing party or the Potentate couldn't be bothered to care about the arrival of a man who leapt from campfire stories. Although the Sorcerer had experienced kindness from the tribes of the plains before, he'd never been outright dismissed when requesting an audience with a ruler, no matter if it was a lord, chieftain, governor, or king. The guards had simply laughed at him until he used his own magic to throw them aside and waltz through the doors with the drama he abhorred.

The tower was a jumbled mess of scattered belongings and overturned furniture, as if someone had thrown a wild party and forgotten to hire servants. As he entered the hall, his eyes were immediately drawn to a couple locked in a passionate embrace, their bodies pressed close together. The man was slowly removing the woman's top and didn't even glance at the interruption of the main door opening. It was as if the couple didn't care about their public display of affection.

It had been fifty years since the Sorcerer visited the Tiger Flame Tribe. They were open about relationships, but he hadn't expected this. Even the magical spirit in him, which was over five hundred years of magic and rage combined, was shocked by the displays of the Potentate's court. It churned within him with displeasure. He practically had to fight the magic to keep moving.

We should not be here, it intoned. This place is wrong. We should flee this place. Let the mortal affairs settle themselves.

Still, the Sorcerer had a mission. The boy had come to him desperately, and he had promised him he would approach the Potentate. The spirit had only agreed to the outing because it believed the Potentate had something it could use. It was just enough to let him come to this place. The Sorcerer walked past other couples on the stairs in varying states of undress until he reached the private chamber of the Potentate.

The man in question was lounged over a throne with two women in collars running their hands over his body. A woman at his feet smiled up at the man as she smoked a foul-smelling pipe. The tribe danced about the room with the warriors wearing their battle leathers and bearing their tattooed arms, declaring their number of kills, while the women wore wisps of dresses as they ground to the beat of drums.

A dozen women stood still behind the throne as if statues. Dressed in pristine white silk, they wore blank expressions, their collars pulsing with magic that the Sorcerer could sense. The youngest barely looked to be in her majority and her white hair and pale skin stuck out among the reddish-brown-skinned people and their dark locks.

"Potentate," the Sorcerer cleared his throat, but no one heard him, so he tried again. "Potentate Namur!"

When that made no one even look in his direction, the Sorcerer gritted his teeth. What was the point of being all-powerful if no one listened? The spirit within him growled with annoyance that they were being ignored. He raised and hand and silenced the music and brought and gust of wind through the room, finally drawing the Potentate's attention.

"Get out of here," the tribe leader waved his hand. "Play music."

The Sorcerer waved his hand, and the drummers froze. Then he approached the Potentate. The man gawked at him as the Sorcerer stared him down.

"Play music," the Potentate ordered again.

"You won't be using your powers while I'm here, Namur," the Sorcerer said. "You will grant me my request or I will take what I want. Since you ignored my missive, I'll give you one last chance."

"Last chance?" The Potentate laughed and his tribe parroted the sound like a fake echo. "Are you the fool who demanded I just give over my most prized possession?"

The Sorcerer considered smiting the man for his callous words. Still, he was bound by the same oaths of protection as the other immortals. They could not kill. The spirit was very clear on that. That didn't mean that the Sorcerer wouldn't make this man suffer. He would take exactly what he prized most.

"I thought I would ask first, for I am the Sorcerer of Trabir, the immortal host of the wrath of the elementals. I am not to be denied when I desire something. When things are not freely given, I take what is mine."

"What debt to I owe you, oh Sorcerer?" The Potentate held out his hands. "You have done nothing for me, so why would I help you? This is my land. The Sage is mine."

"No," the Sorcerer held up his hand. "She belongs to me."

The entire room froze around him. The magic was quickly draining from his body. He didn't have traditional limits on his powers, but he'd pay dearly for this display later. The spirit's madness would come in the night. He had to do his duty now.

You cannot interfere. You know the rules. These people are not your problem. You can do this one favor, but leave the rest. The Potentate is not your problem.

The Sorcerer wished he could free them all, but he'd been sent here with a specific purpose. The spirit would only allow so much. He approached the throne and the white-haired girl. Fire filled his hands, and he melted the collar from her neck without burning her skin. It clattered to the floor with a startling clang.

The girl immediately doubled over and started gasping for air. The Sorcerer wondered how long she'd been under the Potentate's powerful hypnosis. She was thin and her white hair was wild from growing so long without a cut.

"We have to go, Sage," he whispered. "I can't hold off the Potentate or his men forever. Can you walk?"

She looked up at him. Her eyes were a pale gray like he'd never seen before. She seemed to blink, and she bent her head slightly. Then she shivered and straightened.

"Who are you?" Her voice quivered like it hadn't been used in a long time.

"I'm here for you," he took her hand. "Take a breath and I'll lead you from this place."

"How long have I been like this?" She grabbed at her neck. "What did he—my family? My life... my tribe... oh winds of mothers. What happened?"

The Sorcerer knew that the Potentate had stolen years of her life. It would be easier to ease her into that truth. He should have stepped in sooner. If he'd realized that this self-proclaimed king of the plains was enslaving young women as hostages to keep their tribes in line—

The girl's predicament is tragic, but we can only free her today. Perhaps she will free you from my curse. She is powerful enough, according to her brother. That is the only reason you are here. We do not interfere in the matters of the mortal. We are above such things.

He tried to pull at his leash, but the spirit's decision was resolute. If he tried to push anymore, he would lose himself. He couldn't afford that. It was the price of his power. His curse. His burden. One he would never pass or wish on anyone else.

"I'm here to set you free," the Sorcerer said. "Come with me."

"Who are you?" She asked again.

"My name is the Sorcerer of Trabir," he helped her to her feet. "Your brother sent me to help you."

"My brother?" Sage frowned. "Is he all right? Is my clan—"

The Sorcerer understood her fears. She'd been the Potentate's prisoner for five years now. The cruel man had taken her prisoner so her clan would fall in line and bow to him. She'd had no contact with them for five years and she was supposed to be their spiritual leader.

"We'll be able to see them," he said. "In good time. Come with me, Sage."

She looked back at the Potentate. He could see the fear in her eyes as they darted from her kidnapper to the melted collar on the floor. In all his years, he'd never heard or read of any man doing what the Potentate had with the hypnotism gift.

Then she looked the Sorcerer straight in the eye with a steely gaze. "Take me away from this place."

"Of course, love," he waved his hand.

Instantaneously, they were transported to his castle, the strength of his magic a league away from the Charanican Plains. They appeared on the main living floor in the dining room. He waved his hand again, and a feast was laid out on the table, enough to feed a host. The girl sank into a chair and dug into a massive serving plate of fruits and vegetables.

The force of the magic forced him to grip the chair in front of him. Claws sprouted from his fingernails and dug into the wood. He didn't want to frighten the girl on her first day in his castle. Once her situation sunk in, he was sure she'd want to run from this place screaming. According to the stories, the Sorcerer of Trabir never did anything from the good of his heart. He was a monster who stole maidens away as slaves.

That was only half true.

But she could be the one, came the voice of the spirit. Don't you want to be free? Hasn't two hundred years been enough? You've already let the girl in. You're nearly there.

He tore his grip from the monster in his head. "This floor is yours. Do as you wish. I only ask that you not come upstairs. I have duties up there I must attend to. If you need anything, find Purvi. I will join you later."

The Sorcerer retreated from the room before she could say anything else. He could have magicked himself up the stairs, but he chose to run. When he reached the top, he threw open the doors to his suite and rushed inside. The spirit detached from his body and rocketed around off the walls. He could barely control the loose magic, but at least his claws retracted.

Part of him wanted to listen to the spirit, but he knew he couldn't give in. Magic had no consciousness. It only sought power. He wouldn't let it consume that poor Sage. The Sorcerer would just have to keep it contained until he could get rid of the girl.

Music helps me deeply connect with my characters. I love making playlists for character's moods. The Sorcerer is a duality balancing great power. I chose "The Devil Doesn't Bargain" by Alec Benjamin for this chapter because that's a bit of the Sorcerer sees himself. Here are the lyrics that speak most to The Sorcerer and his battle with the spirit of Trabir.

"He'll never be Prince Charming

He'll only do you harm again

I don't mean to meddle

But the devil doesn't settle

No, the devil doesn't bargain"

I hope you enjoyed this. The next chapter walks around Sage's head. I'd love to hear what you think might happen next.-- Eliana Hale