A Clash of Demons

by Aleks Canard

  ‘The scholars don’t take lightly to people interrupting their work,’ Altayr said as Strife Squad descended the loading ramp at a brisk pace. Dusk was taking its final bows as they began the short trek to the stairs. Valentine had been in this area before on a whirlwind tour of Xardiassant. He’d tried climbing the statues for a picture opportunity. Serena persuaded him to stand beside one instead. Then they’d swum in the bay. Valentine beamed at the memories.

  ‘If the files are sealed like you say, we won’t be interrupting anything. Besides, you’re a Conclave mage. I’m sure they’ll let you look at them.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Valentine took a cigarillo out then put it away. Air on Xardiassant was sweet enough already. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I left Dark’s Hide. This adventure is proving to be more entertaining than any romp, no matter how many participants it would’ve entailed. But it strikes me as odd that Nadira hasn’t seen fit to call and check on your progress. Or threaten to abduct me again.’

  ‘Well, if she had spies in Northfall, they’re all dead now. You do make a good point, though I think the solution bodes well for us.’

  ‘Then share it. Good tidings mean nothing if they are never voiced.’

  ‘Nadira will have spies in Blor’daeyn since it’s the closest metropolis to Xifaw. And she hinted at knowing Faedra was also interested in the mirror. If her spies had seen Faedra, they’d know.’

  ‘Which means Nadira would’ve called. Therefore, Faedra’s lying low, somewhere not on Zilvia,’ Valentine finished. ‘I like it.’

  ‘The other possibility is that Faedra has entered Zilvia undetected,’ Altayr said.

  ‘The dryads will find her. Then they’ll skewer her with arrows before she has time to cast even one spell.’

  ‘Dryads were zireans once, correct?’ Valentine said, rhetorically. ‘From what you’ve told me of them, dryads feel no fear. But zireans certainly do. And that means Gauthier can summon their nightmares to stalk the forest, send them running back to their city, leaving them free to search for as long as they want.’

  Trix said nothing. A crossroad demon wouldn’t be able to perform such a feat under normal circumstances. She had an inkling of how his powers were possible. And it made a nightmarish chill ice her spine. If that was what Faedra was playing at, then Gauthier could become a threat to the entire galaxy.

  Unlike most monsters, crossroad demons didn’t feast on flesh or marrow. They were closer to vampires in that they fed on people’s lives. Where a vampire would suck blood, a crossroad demon would vaporise you, leaving nothing but a skull behind. Somehow, they absorbed your energy. Science still wasn’t able to determine if people had souls. But if souls did exist, one thing was certain. Crossroad demons took them. They took it all.

  Strife Squad kept walking. They ascended the steps to the old monastery courtyard where Altayr summoned a scholar to show them to the sealed room. There was some reluctance on the scholar’s part. Altayr magically flared his eyes and lowered his voice. He no longer asked. He demanded.

  The scholar, a medcanol zirean, led them to the sealed room, which was built into a pre-existing cave within the mountains. Since magic scholars didn’t require any magical abilities, job vacancies were often filled by studious magic enthusiasts. Ddraeyg Mountain scholars had to pass rigorous written exams showing they understood magic theory before being allowed to intern. And while they could accept all different races, they were biased towards zireans.

  Altayr found the sealed file on demons, then the one about Gauthier Haunt Nadim. As the Ddraeyg scholars were primarily zirean, their filing system had him listed as Maldrodyn. The Bad Man.

  Being inside the sealed room felt like being back in the cathedral. All the files were stored in complex enchantments that warped space, much like the pub’s secret room which was bigger on the inside. The paper used for the files was magically altered to be fireproof, waterproof, tear proof, and to have the ink never fade.

  ‘I won’t touch them,’ Altayr said, staring at Maldrodyn’s folder.

  ‘Afraid the bad man will know, sorcerer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Valentine nodded. He believed that a true man could admit when he was afraid. And judging by what he had seen in the vault, Gauthier Nadim was a wise person of which to be fearful. Even Valentine found himself not wanting to touch the files.

  Trix grabbed them. Began flipping through. There were many illustrations. Artists’ renderings. Often depicting the silhouette of a man walking in front of a full moon. Ones that showed his face differed slightly, but they were unquestionably the same man.

  His face was old, yet his eyes brimmed with a young child’s wonder. His smirk contradicted both of those features. It was cunning. His lips thin like razors. Prominent cheek bones angled his long face into a pointed chin. The bridge of his nose was rounded, its tip hooked. Like he might’ve been a demonic bird underneath his skin.

  That wasn’t to say he looked evil. Far from it. If anything he looked like a troubadour. From what Trix had seen of the bad man’s face in person, this was unmistakably the same man. Part of the reason she wanted to come to Xardiassant was that she hoped it wasn’t him.

  Say it ain’t so, mama. Say that bad man isn’t the baddest of them all.

  No, sweet child of mine, he’s worse.

  Trix ascertained nothing of use from the rest of Gauthier’s file. He appeared to operate much like a standard crossroad demon, only his powers were greater. Far greater. What made Trix anxious was that he was actively involved in this conflict. And that shouldn’t have been possible. As a crossroad demon, he was merely supposed to liaise with the advocate on behalf of the summoner, to ensure their three wishes were fulfilled.

  ‘There’re no clues here on how to beat him.’

  ‘Perhaps he hasn’t been beaten, or when Gauthier turned the scholars mad with fear, he destroyed any useful files, leaving only enough behind to terrify any fools who delved into them again,’ Valentine said. He could’ve sworn the magical candlelight had grown dimmer as Trix flipped through the file. Like turning pages was directly proportional to brightness.

  Altayr: ‘What do we do now? You’re sure that Gauthier is the sorcerer you saw in the vault?’

  ‘I’m sure. Now…’ Trix put the files back. She instantly felt warmer. ‘…we go to Zilvia. We have no other option.’

  ‘And what of the small, insignificant matter of your banishment?’ Valentine said.

  ‘I’ll have to appeal to Blor’daeyn’s feudal lords. If I don’t, they could mobilise their army, not to mention prevent us from landing. And before you suggest it, no, we can’t skydive into the forest. We’d never make it through the trees. They’re too dense.’

  ‘I hate few things, but politics is one of them.’

  ‘By its very definition, it is considered an art and a science. Neither of those disciplines is exact. And one of them is given over to passion.’

  ‘No wonder the galaxy always seems so fucked.’

  ‘Come on,’ Trix said, watching the shadows. She thought she saw Gauthier sitting at the head of a long hall table, in the middle of the shelves. He was holding a skull in his hand. Looking at it as though he were about to deliver a monologue.

  The skull was black. With flecks of gold.

  A machina’s skull.

  Shelves behind him turned to a sprawling desert expanse where some stars were so bright they were visible during the day. It was Duskmere. The white sand turned red. Blood transformed the arid landscape into a quagmire of death. Gauthier turned towards her. He clenched his fingers together. The skull became dust.

  He smiled. Trix swallowed a scream.

  You’re scared because you don’t know what he really looks like, Trix reasoned. You don’t know what he is.

  I do know what he is, Trix thought, arguing with herself. He’s a demon.

  Strife Squad left the Ddraeyg Mountains’ scholars to their work. None disturbed them on their way out. They only wanted to
continue their research.

  As the trio descended the stone stairs, back to the ship, Trix saw something on the ridge which had not been there before. She almost didn’t believe it. Thought she was imagining things. After what she had seen in the sealed room, she hoped she was.

  On the ridge, near the Fox, was a travelling caravan. Bright colours covered its wooden exterior. Fanciful, looping lettering decorated the side.

  Eisenheim Angier The Worlds’ Greatest Illusionist.

  Trix’s medallion vibrated.

  2

  Strife Squad stood outside the caravan.

  The first thing Trix noticed was that the grass showed no signs of tracks. Its green and purple blades were only disturbed by the breeze. Sif scanned the Fox’s logs for any irregular activity nearby. Its scans hadn’t picked up anything. The caravan had appeared from nowhere.

  ‘This is made of magic,’ Altayr said. ‘Its energy is almost Uldarian. I think this might be a ship.’

  ‘There’s no disturbance to show that it landed,’ Trix said.

  ‘Well, since we’re here, why don’t we go inside? The door’s open,’ said Valentine, walking around the caravan’s exterior, knocking on the wood. To his eye, it was normal. Just like the ones from old photos on Earth.

  Valentine ascended the wooden steps before Trix could answer. Pushed aside a curtain. Trix looked at Altayr. Shrugged. They followed the poet inside. Sif couldn’t attain a decent reading. Between that, and Trix’s medallion, Altayr’s suspicions of magical construction were confirmed.

  It was bigger on the inside. A fine oak floor led to a polished wooden counter with a silver bell. A sign that read Please ring for assistance was pinned above it. Unlike the lettering outside, the typeface was utilitarian. Valentine leaned on the counter. Smacked the bell. Trix heard its ring echo for miles. Why was this place so big? How long did it go on?

  The machina considered vaulting the countertop to see when a strapping young man appeared behind it. There was no rush of air. The velvet red curtains behind him didn’t move. He simply materialised with no warning. Altayr was floored. That wasn’t possible. Not without a portal.

  A handsome man with blond hair, blue eyes, and a healthy fair complexion was standing before the trio. His suit was louder than a Nightshade rave. Purple and blue with windowpane print. Gold jewellery trimmed the buttons. A white cravat was tied around his neck. He smiled like a movie star.

  ‘Greetings, Altayr Van Eldric, Aleks Valentine, and, now by what name shall I call you? Let us stick with Trix of Zilvia. I believe it’s your preferred moniker.’

  ‘How do you know who we are?’ Trix said. Despite the power coming from the Illusionist, she felt no danger. This was not a man who meant them harm. Whether he intended to help remained to be seen.

  ‘That’s not difficult. Why in this day and age, it’s a wonder privacy still exists at all. In case the caravan didn’t give it away, my name is Eisenheim Angier.’

  ‘What make is this ship?’ said Valentine, trying to peer behind the velvet curtains. They were drawn too closely.

  ‘Oh, not one that you would know. But enough with the senseless questions. Why is it everyone wants to know the hows, whats, and wherefores, and none want to know why?’

  ‘Why are you here?’ Altayr said.

  ‘A much better question. I am here because I have a special talent for knowing what people want. And more often than not, I’m able to help them acquire it. For a trade, of course.’

  This made Trix wary. She knew another person who had a similar business model. His name was Noctius Saberil. And he wasn’t friendly. Well, not unless he was benefitting from it.

  At present, Trix could think of one other person who seemed to know what people wanted. She had seen him in the sealed room. Holding a machina skull. ‘You can’t be a crossroad demon. We didn’t summon you, and we’re far from any recognised crossroads.’

  ‘Childe, of course I’m not a demon. Angelic would be a better descriptor for this face than demonic.’

  ‘I’m probably older than you,’ Trix said.

  Eisenheim smiled. ‘That is quaint, but I can assure you that I am older, despite what my face might say. Now for the trade. I notice, Trix, that you favour a sword to a pistol. May I interest you in one of these melee weapons. I promise you that my goods are always of the highest quality.’

  A rack holding a sword, a battle-axe, and a spear appeared on the countertop. The sword looked like a guillotine blade crafted from adamant. Trix guessed it must have weighed a lot, unless it was enchanted with a feather charm. The battle-axe glowed softly. It was silver in colour, but the metal was unknown to her. Possibly mithril, though it lacked mithril’s typical blue tinge. Lastly, the spear was diamond tipped with an adamant head. Titanium formed the handle.

  ‘In order, they are known as the Royal Decree, the Wolf’s Bite, and the Guardians’ Favour. These fine weapons are as storied as they are well made. Their legends have spawned countless fables and when wielded in the right hands, they are more destructive than a nuclear warhead. I’ll give you any two of them for your sword.’

  ‘I’d no sooner trade my sword than I would shoot myself,’ said Trix.

  ‘A shame, but I thought you might say so,’ Eisenheim waved his hands and the weapons disappeared.

  ‘I call bullshit on your sales pitch,’ Valentine said, folding his arms. ‘If those weapons were as famous as you claim, I would’ve heard of them.’

  ‘You will. You have a similar fire to Cuthbert, though he was more refined.’

  Valentine was going to ask how Eisenheim knew he was related to Cuthbert Theroux, but he figured that was easy enough to find.

  ‘You knew Cuthbert?’

  ‘You assume you know to which Cuthbert I’m referring,’ Eisenheim said, moving swiftly to the next topic. ‘Since you showed no interest in the weapons, I won’t bother you with this.’ The Illusionist reached into his pocket and pulled out a spyglass. ‘This item shows many interesting things. Its previous owner found it most useful, even if he didn’t understand what it did until I told him.’

  Valentine thought he saw sadness flicker in the Illusionist’s eyes, if only for a second. He guessed that the previous client of whom Eisenheim spoke was a friend.

  ‘We don’t have time to waste trading illusionary goods,’ Trix said, turning on her heel to leave. This was one of the oddest experiences she’d ever had.

  ‘Unfortunately for you, Gauthier has all the time in the worlds.’

  ‘How do you know we’re looking for him?’ Trix said, coming back to the counter. Now the air prickled with energy. Valentine’s flesh buzzed. Altayr’s heart picked up the tempo.

  Trix held her resolute curiosity. Her steady breathing didn’t falter. This man, if he was a man, and his ship, seemed dreamlike.

  ‘As I said before, I have a knack for knowing what people want. What they desire. I mostly deal in material possessions, for I find retail therapy is the best value for money, or goods, in my case. But I have been known to trade information from time to time. When it suits me. I’m sure you can empathise, Trix, that neutrality is easier. But we weren’t made to be impartial. We were made to feel. And sometimes we can’t help but mess with things we shouldn’t.’

  ‘Tell us what you know about Gauthier.’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything I know about him. What does it say on the side of the caravan?’

  ‘The Worlds’ Greatest Illusionist,’ said Valentine.

  ‘Exactly. Greatest, not Most Charitable. I want something in return.’

  Trix pulled her pistol on Eisenheim. She didn’t trust him. For all she knew, he was Gauthier, and he had come just like Altayr said he would. When she fully extended her arm, she was stunned to see her Magnum Opus had become a rose. Her pistol was back on its mag panel, where it had been moments ago.

  ‘You’re too kind,’ Eisenheim said, taking the rose from Trix and smelling it. He fastened it to his lapel. ‘You know, on second thought, it clash
es.’

  Valentine eyed Eisenheim’s gaudy attire. ‘Yeah, wouldn’t want to overdo it.’

  ‘I’ll accept your ring,’ Eisenheim looked at Trix, ‘or the jeiun wraith powder that you have, sorcerer.’ He blew on the rose. Its petals turned into red butterflies. They flew out the door.

  Altayr took the powder from his pouch without a second thought. Tossed it to Eisenheim who caught it, then vanished it in his palm. ‘The payment is fair. Unlike Nadira Vega, I don’t put as much value on information.’

  ‘I do,’ Trix said. ‘So talk.’

  ‘Very well. Gauthier Nadim, as he likes to call himself, was once much like me. In fact the two of us have many similarities that I won’t discuss because they’re unnecessary, and you have indicated that your time is precious. He is, as you will have ascertained by now, a crossroad demon. Only a poor huntress would be oblivious to that fact. After eons, he has coerced someone into wishing for his freedom. Should this happen, ruin will become the world. Indeed, I believe his path to freedom has already seen its first steps.’

  ‘How do I challenge him?’ said Trix.

  ‘You can only challenge him at a crossroads, and a blood offering must be made. Then speak your challenge clearly. But, this will only work once his current summoner’s wishes have been fulfilled.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Crossroad demons can only be challenged over another’s soul. But be warned, childe, you cannot challenge for your own soul. Once you’ve struck an accord with a crossroad demon, they own you the minute your wishes are fulfilled, and your contract inked in blood. Unless, of course, someone challenges them. That is why their pacts are so damning. They are almost inescapable.’

  ‘But if someone has wished for his freedom, and their wishes need to be granted before I can challenge him, won’t he be able to disregard my challenge altogether?’

  ‘Not if you make the blood sacrifice at the precise moment. He won’t be free until he has taken the summoner’s soul. Only then will any wish pertaining to him take effect.’