by Rich Kroll

Created on: February 10, 2010

The Feast of Toes

"He's told you nothing?" the old sorcerer asked incredulously.

"Nothing."

"Nothing at all?"

"Well.  Nothing about the feast and why we're here.  I know about his involvement with . . ."

". . . with magic," the old man finished for her.  "This is not good.  Not good at all.  If he's up to what I suspect he's up to, we're both in trouble."

"We?"

"Yes, 'we', my dear.  Your husband has placed us both in a very precarious position.  Here.  Have something to eat," he told her offering one of the burgeoning plates of food to his companion.  Steam rose from the meat like wisps of fog from an evil marsh.

"No.  I couldn't.  Not another bite.  I don't see how you put it all away."

"I have to.  We all do.  That's why this is all so disconcerting.  It's unheard of for a magician to join the feast a day late.  How could he possibly fuel his endeavors?  It's a disadvantage that's unprecedented."

"I don't understand."

"It's very simple.  Conservation of energy.  Magic can twist the laws of physics, but it cannot break them.  Every time one of us exercises our abilities, it drains us of energy.  We can't draw more energy from the sun like a plant.  We have to get it from meat, vegetables, and drink like any other person.  While you can run around all day of a meal or two, a single spell could consume all of this," he explained holding up a platter stacked high with slices of venison.  "We eat until we are as fat as a dirigible, then we have at each other.  The last remaining sorcerer who can still cast is the winner."

"Why would anyone take the risk?"

"Why do men play sports?  Why do they climb mountains or dive to the depths of the ocean?  You might as well ask my why I live at all, as ask me why."

"But the danger. . . "

"Yes.  The danger.  That might just be more the reason why than the reason why not.  Can you imagine the thrill of being at risk for someone unaccustomed to the jeopardy of ordinary mortals?  I can befuddle an army with a single incantation or lift a wagon off my mangled body with the energy from this sandwich and heal myself to boot.  The hazards of a mundane life are but shadows to me.  But the feast.  That tests my metal," Emile Schoolboy expounded patting his bloated belly.

"You must not come again tomorrow," the old man insisted.  "It would be too dangerous. 

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