Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress

By Wesley Allison

Copyright © 2009 by Wesley M. Allison

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of
characters to actual people, living or dead is purely
coincidental.

The Ideal Magic was originally copyright ©
1996 by Wesley Allison, and was performed that year by the Brown
Junior High School Thespians.

Permission is hereby given to any school
theater organizations to perform this play without payment.

Cover art:© 2009
Dmitry Naumov
|
Dreamstime.com

Additional cover art by: Sade

First Edition

The greatest writer of all time

And any conspiracy theorists who think that
he is not responsible for his own works should be dragged out into
the street and be beaten like dogs.

(As Told by Eaglethorpe Buxton)

(And including in its entirety, The Ideal
Magic, a play in one act by Eaglethorpe Buxton)

Antriador is quite a beautiful city. Sitting
on the coast of South Lyrria, which is to say the southern coast of
that land that used to be the Kingdom of Lyrria but is now a
collection of highly competitive city-states, beside azure ocean
waves, surrounded by olive trees and vineyards, it is one of the
most delightful spots in the world. More important to me was its
reputation as a center of the arts, for I am famed adventurer and
story-teller Eaglethorpe Buxton. After having held-up all winter at
an Inn in Brest, which is to say the country up north, writing a
play-- a most wonderful play, if I do say so myself, I had come
south to Lyrria to produce it. Antriador boasts some sixty
playhouses, so I was able to find one that was appropriate, which
is to say tasteful enough and yet inexpensive enough for me to
lease.

Opening night was wonderful. The playhouse
was packed, the upper levels with nobles and wealthy merchants
along with their richly dressed wives or their scantily clad
mistresses, or sometimes both, and the lower house thronging with
commoners who paid two pennies for standing room. My play was a
success. Of course, there was never any doubt about that. The
actors all did their jobs well. The audience laughed in the right
places, sighed in the right places, and wept for joy in the right
place for it was after all, a comedy. “The Ideal Magic” was going
to secure the fame of Eaglethorpe Buxton, which is to say myself,
and make me rich at the same time.

When the stage lights had gone out, and the
audience had left the theater, and the stage hands were putting
away the sets, I walked down the street to the Singing Siren for a
pint. It was very late and most of the patrons had retired, which
is to say gone home if they were locals or gone to their rooms on
the second or third floor if they had taken rooms, but the Siren
stays open all night. That is not to say that it is a noted hot
spot. The Fairy Font, or the Reclining Dog, or even the Wicked
Wench are much livelier in the late hours. But the Siren does stay
open all night. This particular night, there were one or two people
lurking in the shadows-- doxies and cutpurses who had finished
their evening’s employment mostly. I didn’t know the barkeep, which
is not surprising, considering the turnover at such establishments.
I ordered a tankard of ale and took a seat in the center of the
room.

Suddenly the door burst open and a woman
strode into the tavern. She was striking. Tall. Blonde. Flashing
blue eyes. They were flashing-- literally flashing, which is really
not normal at all. Of course if her eyes hadn’t been flashing, I
wouldn’t have noticed them. There was all that bare skin to
distract me. She wore a leather outfit that was more of a harness
that an article of clothing. The lower portion was a sort of loose
leather skirt made of strips of material which, though hanging down
almost to her ankles, exposed most of her legs when she moved. The
upper portion was little more than pair of suspenders and two small
leather cups.

“Which of you low-lives is Eaglethorpe
Buxton?” she snarled.

I stood up and stepped toward her, at this
point still more aware of all the bare skin than either the
flashing eyes or the glowing wand in her hand.

“What would you have with him, my lovely
lady?” I asked.

“I am Myolaena Maetar, and I’m going to skin
him alive!” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“I, um, oh. Well, he was here a minute ago,”
said I. “You just missed him.”

“You are not him?” She pointed the wand at
me, its violet halo hanging just below my nose.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” said I. “I
am Ellwood Cyrene, hero and adventurer.”

I had been forced by the situation to think
on my feet. When I thought that a sorceress was going to kill me I
had, as you have no doubt surmised, substituted my own name, which
is to say Eaglethorpe Buxton with another name, which is to say
Ellwood Cyrene. I suppose that it is not surprising that this name
would pop into my head first, for Ellwood Cyrene is my greatest
friend and has traveled much of the world with me. He was in fact,
the inspiration for the first dozen or so of my stories. We have
faced countless dangers together and I have saved his life more
than once. Truth be told, he has saved mine more than once too… or
twice. Maybe thirty times.

“What are you thinking about,” asked the
sorceress.

“I’m thinking about Eaglethorpe Buxton…”

“Good.”

“… and I’m not thinking about Ellwood
Cyrene, because that is me, and I don’t sit around thinking about
myself, who is Ellwood Cyrene.”

“Ellwood the Queen?”

“No. Ellwood Cyrene.”

“No,” she said. “Ellwood the queen. That’s
what it means. Cyrene is an old elvish world for queen.”

“No, no, no,” said I. “Cyrene is a very
manly name, and so is Ellwood, which is good because Ellwood Cyrene
is a very manly man. He has done many great… um, which is to say, I
have had…um.”

“Yes, I have heard of you.” She lowered the
wand and stepped closer. “But you are acquainted with this
Eaglethorpe Buxton?”

“Oh, we are the best of friends. He has
saved my life on countless occasions and…”

“So if I killed you, it would cause him
pain?”

“We’ve had a bit of a falling out. No, we’re
not really that close anymore.”

“So why are you so intent on killing me...
my friend, which is to say Eaglethorpe Buxton?” I asked.

“I did not say I was going to kill him,” she
replied. “I said I was going to skin him alive.”

“Wouldn't that kill him?”

“Not right away.”

“But you said you were going to kill me,
that is to say Ellwood Cyrene, which is me.”

“No. I implied that I might kill you.”

“Well thank you for straitening that out,”
said I. “A hearty goodnight to you.”

I stepped past her and headed for the door,
leaving I might add an almost full tankard of ale sitting on the
table, and that is something I almost never do.

“Hold,” she said, and I felt an invisible
set of hands grasp me roughly by the shoulders and drag me back to
my seat. As I plopped down into sitting position, I could see the
glowing wand sweeping down to her side. “I'm not quite finished
with you.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Um, why not?”

“I need you to lead me to Eaglethorpe
Buxton.” She poured herself into my lap and placed her arms around
my shoulders. “I may have use for you as well, Ellwood Cyrene.”

“What could Ellwood Cyrene, which is to say
me, do for you?”

“You mean besides leading me to Eaglethorpe
Buxton?”

“Yes, besides that.”

“As I mentioned before, you are known to
me.”

“Not surprising,” said I. “Just as it is not
surprising that you have heard to my very good friend, which is to
say my former friend Eaglethorpe Buxton, who is probably way more
famous than Ellwood Cyrene... which is to say me.”

“Ellwood Cyrene,” she said, putting her ripe
mouth very close to my ear. “Warrior.”

“It is true,” said I. “I am a warrior.”

“Adventurer.”

“Yes.”

“Hero.”

“Indubitably.”

“Man's man.”

“Of course... what?”

“Always in the company of great men, but
eschewing the company of women.”

“Chewing a company of women?”

“Eschewing. It means to abstain or to keep
away from-- to shun or avoid.”

“Yes of course it does.”

“Not one single queen, noblewoman,
courtesan, tavern wench, or milkmaid has been heard to boast of
having quenched the fires of Ellwood Cyrene.”

“Campfires?”

“Fires of passion.”

“Well that can't be right,” said I. “I have
seen countless women throwing flirtations toward Ellwood Cyrene...
which is to say me.”

“Flirtations have been thrown, no doubt,”
she whispered. “After all, you are handsome, though not so much as
I had been led to expect. Flirtations have been thrown but none
have been caught.”

“That's pretty hard to believe,” said I,
truly puzzled.

“Indeed,” she purred into my ear. “It
presents something of a challenge to me.”

“I'm afraid I don't follow,” said I.

“I'm going to be the one to quench that
fire.”

“The campfire?”

“The fire of passion.”

“Okay,” said I. “Yes, that would be fine.
Sounds good.”

“You're surprisingly acquiescent,” said
she.

“If you have your mind made up on
something,” I replied, “who am I to stand in your way?”

“First though, you are going to lead me to
Eaglethorpe Buxton.”

“Couldn't you quench my fire first and then
I could lead you to Eaglehorn Humpton? I would be ever so much more
relaxed that way.”

“Eaglethorpe Buxton,” she corrected. “And
no. I don't want you relaxed. I want you focused. We find him
first. Only then will you receive your reward.”

We stepped outside of the Singing Siren and
headed up the winding stone street, the breaking waves of the ocean
far below down the hill to our left. I was at something of a loss
as to where to search for the famous story-teller and adventurer
Eaglethorpe Buxton, not the least of which was because he was me,
though I didn't say as much. I did know where I didn't want to
go.

“Why don't we go back to that sorry excuse
for a theater and look for him there,” said Myolaena Maetar.

“No, I don't want to go there,” said I.
“What I mean is that I don't think we would find him there.”