The Last Philosopher

A sorcerer is never lost

Pinching off his cavernous nostrils, Lyeasrakardsul peered inside. Looking a lot like an aristocrat who had seen something unmentionable. The walls of the wide cave were blackened from the stinky fumes. And two spindly Knomes sat at a rickety wooden table. The furnishings were all worn, and had likely not been too fine to begin with.

This must be where furniture comes to die, the little absurdist in him thought.

In sharp contrast to the rest, a metal cube on top of the worktable shone with a high gleam. Someone spent a lot of time keeping it polished. The two administrators, a grey and a brown, appeared unaffected by the smell. Both wore rough-spun sacks, with holes cut for arms and head. Their short bodies and skinny appendages were typical of Knomes. As were their large eyes, noses, and pointy ears. However, the heads that were covered with hair were only common on the males. The heavy manes on these two were so prominent it might give someone follicle-challenged bouts of envy. Luckily, the old sorcerer already had more hair than he wanted.

"Could it be that all the administrators are men for our benefit?" he whispered as the grey one reached into his tool-belt and pulled out a gear.

At least the belts make them look a bit more dressed, his inner sorcerer thought trying hard to stay uninterested.

The taller Knome inspected the gear closely. Before attaching it to one of the many oiled rods in the cube. With the part in place, the brown one turned a crank on his side. Everything inside whizzed about at different speeds. The motion was smooth and made almost no sound. Only the shorter Knome straining to turn the handle was clearly audible.

It's Knome chess! His curiosity was unable to stifle itself as the cube came to a stop.

"Ah yes, the game of sabotage, the point is to make the cube jam for your opponent."

He watched as the brown Knome choose a much larger gear. But as the grey was turning his crank the Knome froze and his glassy eyes went wide. For a second he was annoyed, he wanted to see how it turned out. But then he realised the taller one was looking straight at him. Instinctively, he pulled back out of sight.

But there was no turning back now. So, he straightened himself up, as much as his back would allow. With his scrawny chest puffed out, and nose in the air, he attempted a regal look. Then he stepped into the cavern and cleared his throat. Both Knomes jumped in satisfying fear. The taller, and therefore older, came towards him. This was his first time eye-to-eye with a Knome. Or not eye-to-eye exactly, this one was about as tall as they got and it was looking up at him from chest level. A youngster would have to jump to bite a human in the knee.

"You are the senior administrator here?"

"Yes Master Lyeasrakardsul! Why does nice sorcerer visit dirty Knome cave?" The soulless eyes were creepy, like beads of brown glass.

"You know me?"

"We knows all sorcerers Master. Master lost?"

"Lost! A sorcerer is never lost! He always knows precisely where he is going!"

The little figure's body language became so anxiety-ridden, that even he felt a twinge of guilt.

"But now that you mention it, this is the Pentakl cavern, right?" He collapsed back into his normal, bad posture.

"Yes Master, is right cave."

Updated: 14.11.2023