The Succubus

by Megan Derr

  Tani

  "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" Tossing aside the letter, Kohar hastened to finish dressing. He bound his hair in a knot at the back of his head, securing it with a sharply pointed comb carved from jade. Then he went to the wardrobe and quickly pulled on leggings and a long-sleeved white shirt. Over this he drew a floor-length tunic split up the center in both front and back to about mid-thigh. It was dark blue, the edges meticulously embroidered with dark gray thread in a diamond pattern. A belt of supple black leather wrapped twice around his waist, and to this he attached his keys and various other things he would need throughout the course of the day.

  He sat down to draw on his knee-high boots, then retrieved his monocle and tucked it into a special pocket of his tunic. Then he snatched the letter up and raced off.

  "Where's Nerek?" he asked the first soldier he saw.

  "The-uh-the armory," the soldier replied.

  Kohar thanked him even as he started running again, bolting down the hall and shoving open the door that led to a set of stairs that spilled into the eastern ward. Swearing loudly at the biting cold, he took the stairs as quickly as he dared—and slipped, going down painfully and sliding the rest of the way, landing in a heap of pain and mortification at the bottom.

  "You dumbass!" came Nerek's familiar voice, and before Kohar could reply, he was being pulled to his feet, dusted off, and roughly checked over. "Are you all right?"

  "Fine, I'm fine," Kohar said, cheeks burning with shame, his back and right arm burning with agony. "Never mind me, I know who is behind this—well, not really, but sort of." Before Nerek could voice the scathing opinion painted on his face, he shoved the crumpled, snow-covered letter he still held into Nerek's chest. "My brother pissed someone off, someone he's scared of. I think that might be the source of our trouble."

  "Kohi?" Nerek said as he started reading, giving him a faintly amused look before all traces of it vanished as he continued reading. Then he grabbed Kohar's arm and dragged him across the ward, his spiked boots doing a much better job of handling the snow and ice than Kohar's ordinary ones.

  Once they were in the armory, and he'd shoved Kohar down onto a stool close to the fire, he pulled up a stool of his own and said, "You really think your brother is the reason my people are dying? What do my soldiers have to do with a bunch of monks?"

  "Nothing, and that is probably the point. Whoever this is, whatever is going on, they are hurting us—all of us—to get back at my brother. If I had to guess, I'd say I'm meant to watch the suffering before suffering myself. Something like that. It's how this sort of nonsense usually goes."

  Nerek quirked a brow. "How often do you and your brother piss people off?"

  "Not us," Kohar said. "My parents do—did, I mean, before the plague took them and the business. They were unusually ethical for merchants, and that somehow managed to make a lot of people angry, especially employees they caught doing untoward things. My siblings and I were jumped by footpads more than once while going about town."

  The humor on Nerek's face vanished. "I'm sorry. You never mentioned your family was dead. Just spoke about them being merchants and tavern owners."

  Kohar shrugged. "I don't like to talk about it. We were a family of six—nineteen if you include the relatives we actually talked to and cared about. Now there's just two of us."

  There was one of those awful, heavy silences, then Nerek reached out and cupped his cheek, the leather of his gloves warm and surprisingly soft. His green eyes were soft, full of more understanding and sympathy than Kohar could bear. "I'm sorry."

  "It was years ago," Kohar said, looking away. "But thank you. The point is, my brother seems to have inherited their knack for pissing people off."

  "Oh, I think it's more than him," Nerek muttered, but at Kohar's glare, only said, "I don't suppose there's any way to get more information?"

  Kohar shook his head. "No, unfortunately, not until he's able to reach us, and that will be far too late. Our original plan is still our best chance: I need to go to the library and do some research on how to hunt out a demon, while you try to roust out the rat."

  Nerek ran a hand down his face. "Fine. I wish we had more to work with, but I suppose any start is better than none. Have you told Bedros yet?"

  "No, I thought you needed to know first."

  "I'll tell him. You get to work on your research. And take something for all the bruises you just gave yourself."

  "Never fear, lord and master," Kohar replied, "I won't impede progress with my hobbling around the castle in abject misery."

  "That's not—" Nerek heaved a sighed. "Never mind." He stood and stormed off, calling out to a couple of soldiers to attend him.

  "What was that all about?" Kohar asked no one in particular. He stood more slowly, wincing at the bruises he could already feel forming, his back and right arm throbbing, stiff with pain. But he'd just have to endure, because healing tonics made him sleepy. Not to mention there weren't many left, and he needed the weather to clear up a bit before he could make more, since the kitchen staff hated when he commandeered any of their space to work, and he needed more than his work room for a project as large as tonics.

  He was nearly to the door when a soldier shyly approached, holding out a pair of boots that had been shined to within a thread of their life. Kohar had never understood how Nerek could look so scruffy all the time but saw to it everyone under his command never looked less than pristine. "Can I help you?"

  "Captain told me to give you these, and said you're to wear them, else he'll hunt you down and make you."

  "Make me, huh?" Kohar didn't know why that made him feel hot and squirmy, and he didn't have the time to figure it out, even if he wanted to. He knew an earnest threat when he heard it though. "I see. Thank you, Private." He sat on one of the benches by the door and with the private's help, removed his own boots and got the new ones on and laced up. They were soldier's boots, heavy and fur-lined, with the reinforced toe and the special ice-spikes already strapped into place. "He does know I'm not one of his soldiers, right?"

  The woman laughed. "Captain hands out orders to everyone. I'm pretty sure he'd order his own mother around if she was here."

  That, Kohar actually knew to not be true. Unlike Kohar's parents, who had loved and supported him his whole life—until they'd lost theirs, anyway—Nerek's father was a nonexistent figure in his life and his lifelong soldier mother saw his dull posting and lack of ambition as a monumental failure and personal affront. Nerek had never actually said, but Kohar's impression was that they hadn't spoken in years.

  Shunting aside errant thoughts of Nerek's worthless, unappreciative mother, Kohar rose and tested out the boots. "Thank you. Hopefully now I'll have better luck going up the stairs than I did coming down them."

  Smiling in understanding, the private replied, "If it makes you feel any better, he went tail over teakettle this morning helping the staff haul in firewood."

  "That makes me feel infinitely better, thank you. You're my favorite person in the whole world."

  She giggled, and with a parting evil grin, Kohar headed back out into the wretched cold. Thankfully, this time he traversed the stairs successfully, though not a stitch of him was left uncovered by the time he got inside again. Shaking off the snow, blowing on his poor fingers to get the feeling back in them—he really needed to find his missing gloves—he headed for the library.

  Unfortunately, the library had slim offerings. Many of the books in it were those Kohar had brought with him when he'd been assigned to Rehm Castle. He hadn't been overjoyed with the posting. Quite the opposite. He'd been hoping to go to one of the great libraries, or at least a place that offered more than a freezing castle, a village that spent half the year drinking beer and the other half drinking cider, with the odd mead thrown in for fun, and a relationship with the village on the other side of the border that would not amuse the throne. It was where they got the cider, along with apples, traded for beer and honey. The only thing they all loved mo
re than drinking was tumbling one another in the nearest haystack or barn, and gossiping about the whole mess when they all finally woke up.

  Unfortunately, for all he had a damned fine collection—many of the volumes gifts from his parents and sister—they were focused on history, runes, and rune scribing. He'd known what he wanted to do practically from the start, and so had never bothered with volumes that focused on high level magic and the sort of esoteric stuff his brother loved.

  What in the world had Taniel done that someone would go to this much trouble for revenge? For starters, the monastery where Taniel lived was at least two months away in good weather. But starting in late fall, successfully making it from one to the other was best described as a miracle. To also summon a demon, bind it to a chain spell, set it in rune wax, and pay someone to do the hard part?

  That wasn't just alarming sums of money, it was significant amounts of time, and if the culprit was caught alive, they were guaranteed to have their head separated from their body by way of a large axe.

  The first book he pulled down was a general bestiary of magical creatures. Simply understanding the way they were indexed took a year or two of intense study, never mind the cross referencing and copious footnotes and bibliographies. Flipping deftly through the pages, he quickly came to what he sought.

  Reading over the information provided told him nothing he did not already know, but it did tell him where to look for what he needed. Luckily, he had one of the five books listed that would address the matter. Returning the bestiary to its place, he pulled down the book it had referenced.

  There, that was everything he needed to know: how the demon was summoned, how it could be located, and how to banish it. That was the good news.

  The bad news was that he lacked all the components he needed to find and expel the damned thing. He might be able to make the inks for the finding, but the three he needed for the expelling required items he did not keep around because they were too dangerous, too expensive, or both. This was what he got for being a boring mage living in a valley full of drunks.

  The threatened headache throbbed at his temples, making him nauseous, making the world too sharp, too bright. Kohar gritted his teeth and ignored it as best he could. Headaches and bruised backsides would have to wait their turn; he had too much else to deal with right now.

  He waited for the ink to dry on his notes, leaning back in his seat and staring up at the ceiling. This entire mess was ruining his schedule. It would take him days to catch up on the work he'd hoped to accomplish. Madame Karen was going to kill him—slowly—for not having her spells finished on time. She was an infrequent client, but one who paid well. And she did not approve of anything being late. Even her children had all known full well to be born on time.

  She would just have to suffer, though. People were dying. Everything else could wait.

  Standing, he picked up his notes and rolled the scrap of paper up, securing it with a piece of string and tucking it beneath his tunic. Nerek was likely—

  He oofed as he crashed into something. Rubbing his nose, which throbbed painfully with the impact, Kohar glared up at whomever he'd run into—and his irritation promptly vanished. "My apologies, I should have looked where I was going."

  "Not at all," Solla replied. "The fault is entirely my own." He reached out to gently touch Kohar's face, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone, lingering a moment. "I accidentally snuck up on you. I wanted to see how your hunt for information was going."

  "Good, not great," Kohar replied, resisting an urge to rub his sore nose again. He hoped it wasn't bright red or anything. That was all he needed, to look like a great buffoon now that he was finally getting the sort of attention from Solla he'd always hoped for. "I need to speak with Nerek—"

  "Nerek this, Nerek that," Solla said. "You two spend more time talking about each other than anything else, even dead bodies."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  Solla touched his cheek again, fingers rough and cool. "It means, I'd rather talk about—"

  "Yourself, no doubt," Nerek cut in, voice at least as frigid as the weather. "Am I the only one getting any work done around here?"

  "Shut up before I smack you upside the head with one of my books," Kohar replied, nudging Solla out of the way and pulling out the scrap of paper he'd just tucked into his tunic. "Here, this is what I found, as I was just coming to tell you."

  Nerek looked over the list. "Is this supposed to mean something to me, other than a very expensive shopping list?"

  "Ugh, soldiers." Kohar snatched the list back and pointed. "It says right here! Locating! Expelling! I need these components for the inks I need to write these spells. I think I can manage the locating, but I definitely don't know how to come by the missing components for the expelling, so we'll have to figure out a way to trap the demon somewhere until I can get them. I'm still working on that part. But first I have to go into the village to get the missing components for the locating spell."

  "That's good timing, then, because I might have a lead on a culprit for us," Nerek said. His green eyes were hard as stone as he stared first at Solla and then Kohar. "It appears one of my soldiers is missing; apparently she often sneaks away to visit her sweetheart in the village. She's been doing it for months."

  No wonder Nerek was in such a foul mood. Nothing angered him like foolish disobedience. "I'm guessing she's still in the village?"

  "Yes. I was going to see if you wanted to come along, simply because you might see something I wouldn't. Now we can get your components as well."

  Kohar nodded. "Let me get my cloak."

  "Meet me in the courtyard." Glaring at them both one last time, Nerek turned sharply on his heel and stalked off.

  "I don't know how you put up with that all the time," Solla said.

  "Put up with what? Nerek? Being angry because people are dead?"

  "He's like that all the time, let's be honest here."

  Kohar frowned at him, the expectant look on his face, an unpleasant squirming in his gut. Because Nerek might be cranky and scruffy and bossy, but he was also kind, funny, and worked twice as hard as anyone else. He could be difficult to deal with at times, yes, but so could Kohar. So could Bedros. So could anyone who worked in a castle that spent more time covered in snow and ice than not. "I need to go, excuse me please."

  He hastened out of the library, tucking his notes away again, ignoring when Solla called after him. Hurrying to his room, he fetched his heavy, fur-trimmed wool cloak

  When he reached the courtyard a few minutes later, Nerek was still all but vibrating with anger.

  "You know, the last thing we need right now is you losing your temper," Kohar said as he mounted his horse, a white mare that had been his welcome gift from Bedros.

  Nerek jerkily shrugged his shoulders. "You are flirting and playing with my cousin while my people are dying. I'm allowed to be pissed off about it."

  "Now see here—" Kohar said, but Nerek was already riding off, leaving him to fume as he tried to catch up.

  It took several minutes, as Kohar's mare was meant for leisurely rides into the village on nice days, and Nerek rode a courser that shared a lot of attitude problems with its master.

  In the distance, smoke curled up from the chimneys of the village houses to be swiftly lost in the steadily falling snow. The ground cracked and crunched beneath them, a combination of snow, ice, and general muck from days of freezing cold and days of not-freezing cold, resulting in a wretched hazard.

  Being the only mage-in-residence, charged with maintaining the half-hearted wards created long before his time, creating tonics and potions for the residents, casting spells for Bedros, and more, he was kept busy enough he rarely had time to leave the castle save to forage for the ingredients needed to make his inks. It made his few trips into the village all the more enjoyable. Often he went alone, but more than once he had accompanied Nerek on shared errands.

  They were friends, after a fashion—if a man with whom h
e constantly argued, a man who drove him crazy, and whom he frequently wanted to throttle, could be considered a friend.

  Today, however, the air was filled with more tension than snow. Nerek was well and truly mad at him, something which had not happened since Kohar's arrival, when he hadn't been amused to be barked at by an unkempt soldier with a gross lack of manners, and Nerek had not been pleased to learn he was going to have to work with some soft, spoiled city boy.

  It had taken a few months for them to learn to cooperate, and even longer for it to not feel forced.

  Suddenly being back where they started left Kohar feeling far more miserable than he would have expected, and the awful silence dragged interminably on.

  There was also his damnable head, which only continued to throb and torment. Tired of the quiet, and desperate for distraction, Kohar asked, "So do you think this errant soldier is likely to be the rat?"

  Nerek shook his head. "No. She's young and stupid and obviously infatuated and lust-addled…" He shot Kohar a nasty glare. "But I cannot seem her being part of this. If she is, it's probably against her will—blackmail or some such. We'll know for certain soon enough."

  Kohar attempted to keep a rein on his own temper. "I am tired of you insinuating that I am putting a personal flirtation ahead of trying to save lives. I assure you I'm not. Your cousin simply has the worst possible timing in deciding to finally notice me."

  "Whatever," Nerek snapped. "I'm just tired of seeing him trying to paw you every time you're in the same room, especially when there are still dead bodies in it, like this morning."

  "Fair enough, but stop taking my head off for it, because I am not the one instigating the encount—"

  "But you are the one looking at him like a moon-addled milksop!" Nerek practically bellowed, cheeks flushed with anger. "Could you please save your flirtations for after my men stop dying?"

  "I have no control over your cousin, but I'll do my best to make him stop, since apparently you're incapable of speaking to him and instead have to blame me for everything," Kohar snarled right back.