“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“I was…” Fara began to say, then stopped. “Nevermind. Vallis and I are heading into Anceston. Did you need anything?”
Rys hid a frown. He suspected Fara was concerned about him.
That was good, but also a problem. The fox was useful, but the more she prodded and poked at him, the more trouble she might become. Trusting her wasn’t easy, especially until he regained more of his power.
Shoving his thoughts away, Rys answered her question, “Pick up some books on evocation if you find any.”
Fara raised an eyebrow. “Sure. We’ll see you tonight.”
After she left, Rys turned his mind elsewhere. No reason to worry about women he couldn’t control.
He had infernals to summon and an empire to build.
Chapter 10
A flash of red light filled the castle’s main hall. Rys walked over to a second summoning circle before the first ritual finished, as he knew it had succeeded. He’d never failed a ritual this simple.
A second flash followed the first.
Now that Rys had gotten some rest, he was able to easily harness the power of the castle. These summonings relied on the power slate that Rys had retrieved, rather than his own strength.
In the future, he’d look into more experiments with the castle’s power and using it with his own spells. But for now, using it for summoning was plenty useful.
“Where in tarnation are we?” a gruff voice asked as the shadows from the rituals disappeared.
Two groups of humanoids stood within separate ritual circles. Each circle was roughly fifty feet in diameter and continued to glow bright red. Unlike with Grigor, Rys didn’t trust these summons immediately.
After all, they were devils. The humanoid appearance was part of what gave devils their reputation as deceivers. Many species of devil could blend in with the mortal races, although there were countless others who couldn’t.
One group looked like albino dwarves. Beardless albino dwarves. They were known as the Ashen, and Rys struggled to imagine a situation where they blended in with an ordinary dwarf. Pale skin, red eyes, and no beard? Dwarves were a communal society that disliked those that didn’t fit in, and the Ashen offended every basic rule of dwarven appearance. They wore fireproof robes, rather than the workmanlike gear that Rys recognized.
The other group was something else entirely. In the Infernal Empire, the Malakin had been devils that took on the form of monks and priests. They specialized in stealth, spying, and assassination.
For whatever reason, the Malakin now wore loose-fitting black cloth across their entire body, leaving only their eyes visible. They appeared to have taken on a Pharosian form.
Rys scratched his head. While his summoning had succeeded, he felt that the results differed from expectations.
The Ashen had been slightly more dwarven in the past. And the Malakin were just strange.
Shaking his head, Rys responded to the confusion of the devils. “You’re in Harrium.”
The devils ceased their muttering and stared at Rys.
“And who the fuck are you to summon two groups of devils at once?” the voice from earlier asked. One of the Ashen. He wore a big flat cap over his head that covered his eyes.
“That kind of speaks for itself, doesn’t it?” Rys said. “The conditions of your summoning are built into the circle. I’m not wasting my time on separate contracts for you. Serve me unconditionally or go back to Hell.”
As if they had a choice. These were common devils, and although they were powerful compared to most mortals, they were far weaker than Rys. If he wanted to, he could bind every single one of them to his will in a heartbeat.
But people loved the illusion of choice. It built loyalty. So Rys gave it to them and figured he’d deal with any consequences if some of them refused—which he doubted would happen.
The devils muttered to each other in Low Devil. Infernals had a half-dozen different languages, and Rys spoke all of them. His translation gift remained dormant.
“How long?” the Ashen asked.
“Forever,” Rys said.
“Ah, one of those.” The Ashen stroked his beardless chin, which was notable because he was supposed to look like a dwarf. “Normally this is where I’d say ‘thanks, but no thanks’ as I’ve seen what happens with sorcerers like you too many times but… you’re different. I’ve only seen summoning circles like these when I visited the palace.”
“Which palace?” Rys asked.
The Ashen nodded slowly. “Right. Not many sorcerers would ask that question. You humans tend to think that Malusian is some sort of rebel. Who are you?”
“My name is Talarys.”
“Ah. Well then. We accept. I’m Margrim. Looking forward to working with you, boss.”
The other Ashen looked at their apparent leader, then murmured agreement. Rys looked over at the Malakin.
“And you? You’re Malakin, although you’re dressed differently than I expected.”
One of the black-swathed devils stepped forward and spoke in a horrendous Pharosian accent, “I am Tarasu. Your name is unfamiliar to me, but your power is great. We will serve. May we achieve many great things together.”
Tarasu? Rys blinked.
“How do you write that in Low Devil?” Rys asked.
A long pause. The Malakin looked at each other and muttered things.
Margrim chuckled. “You’re asking the wrong question, boss.”
Holding back his annoyance, Rys checked his connection to the Malakin. There he found the names of the devils he had summoned—not their true names, but the common names that he bound them to his will with.
“I’m happy to have you on board, Taras,” Rys said, using the devil’s actual name.
“Tarasu,” the devil corrected.
Rys narrowed his eyes. What even was wrong with the Malakin?
“I know what your name is. It’s Taras,” Rys said. “Now, you might feel a slight itch.”
The circles glowed bright red as he snapped his power in place around each devil. With the summoning finished, Rys introduced them to Grigor. Once the shock of Grigor’s presence wore off, the devils settled in fairly quickly.
“I take it you know what we’re good for?” Margrim asked as the Ashen claimed beds in their dormitory. Unlike demons, devils liked their creature comforts.
“Hellfire,” Rys said. “It’s why you’re called Ashen. You burn things.”
Margrim grinned, and his red eyes practically glowed. “Damn straight. We’re popular with every two-bit infernalist who wants to blow shit up and doesn’t want a bunch of demons raping and pillaging the neighborhood.” A ball of hellfire hovered in Margrim’s hand. “Count on me to get shit done.”
“You’ve been around for a while? It’s not often that a common devil’s been to Ariel’s palace,” Rys said.
“Eh, only a couple of centuries. Child’s play for you. But I’ve been to Harrium a few times. Heard a few things from devils who can’t keep their mouths shut. You’re a popular folktale among bigshots.”
“Two centuries is pretty old for Ashen. Most of those in my armies were younger than you,” Rys replied.
“Tell that to your demon prince. Guy’s got hair on his balls that’s older than most infernals.” Margrim chuckled before joining the rest of the Ashen, breaking up an argument about a corner bed.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Rys avoided using any more sorcery, wary of pushing himself too far until his body and mind adjusted to being awake again. The infernals began to create their own order, and Rys kept an eye on things.
Grigor didn’t need any help. He’d served under Rys for over 200 years. But it was nice to see that the experience had stuck with the big guy.
Dusk arrived and Vallis returned with Fara. The exhaustion on Vallis’s face caused Rys to leave her alone. He caught her in the makeshift cafeteria that had been set up.
Vallis glared at her blackened sausages and runny eggs.
Beside her, Fara settled on a sandwich that looked messy but probably tasted a lot better.
“I swear these imps could burn porridge,” Vallis muttered. Her gaze turned to Rys’s perfectly cooked meal of the same food. “Why does your meal look so great and mine like they dropped it in the fire?”
“Dunno,” Rys said, cutting into the food.
Fara rolled her eyes. “Well, at least we know that the imps aren’t as stupid as they act. They know which way their bread is buttered.”
Rys smirked. “You’re learning.”
Vallis began to carve the charcoal off her sausages. The inside was cooked through at least, and juices poured onto her plate every time she cut into the meat.
“So, how did yesterday go?” Rys asked.
“Really good and really bad,” Vallis said.
“Happy that I stopped you from going the day before, without guards?”
A grimace crossed her face, and she ceased her sausage butchery. Fara leaned against Vallis, her tails rubbing against the other woman’s back.
“Yeah. I am,” Vallis muttered. “Anceston has always been so safe. I grew up there and it’s one of the oldest settlements from when continental trade was established.”
“I don’t know much about the archipelago, but shouldn’t that make this place dangerous?” Rys asked. He took a bite of a sausage and considered how little he knew of the region. “What even happened to the locals here? I saw that some had horns, but that was it.”
“Those are demihumans,” Vallis said. “And those are the locals. They’re native here. They have horns, tails, wolf ears and the like. Tend to be really strong, too, and good at magic.”
“And they’re fine with all the continental settlers?” Rys asked.
“It’s complicated.” Vallis grimaced. “Especially as there isn’t one unified group of native people. They form what are called ‘dains,’ which is their term for tribe.”
“I can tell. My translation Gift translated ‘dain’ to ‘tribe.’ I’ll see if I can’t change that if it means something important,” Rys said. Only long experience with many languages allowed him to understand what was being said despite his Gift’s attempt to make his life easier.
Vallis continued, “These dains are split into two groups: the Ariadain and the Kinadain. The Ariadain are the humans that lived here originally. In Kavolara, their reactions have been a mixed bag. Around Anceston, they’ve worked with people from Gauron.”
“And the Kinadain?” Rys asked.
“They’re demihumans that live in the mountains. Some demihumans live elsewhere, but there’s some weird cultural thing I don’t really get even though I grew up here. The Kinadain live off hunting and are powerful warriors—they actually do almost all Labyrinth hunting and sell most artifacts in the region,” Vallis said. “That’s where things got a bit odd yesterday.”
“The Kinadain didn’t appreciate that you were selling artifacts?” Rys suggested.
Trying to break into a monopoly market was a dangerous idea. Especially if said monopoly happened to be powerful warriors. Rys might want to improve his defenses.
“I’m not sure. They took a keen interest in me and at least one of them pushed me out of a deal I nearly closed.” Vallis scowled. “The real problem are Compagnon.”
“Who?”
Vallis blinked. “The people my father owed money to and are trying to kill me?”
“You never told me who they are. Mind you, I never asked and don’t especially care,” Rys said. “Unless they’re dangerous.”
“They’re a merchant league from Gauron that is trying to take control of this part of Kavolara. They’re trying to crush all of their competitors by burning huge amounts of money, and then using force if that fails,” Vallis said. “The Lord-Mayor of Anceston has been keeping them at bay for years, but they’ve become more aggressive recently.”
“That’s because they think the new Lord-Mayor is weak,” Fara said. “The old one was forced out and his daughter stepped up in his place. Compagnon see that as their opportunity.”
“I take it that’s connected?” Rys asked.
Fara shrugged. “No way to know. Politics is complicated, and the Jarsil family has governed Anceston since before I arrived here. Maria Jarsil is young, but there’s nothing to suggest she’s controlled by Compagnon.”
“Let’s look into it,” Rys said. He turned to Vallis. “But let me get this straight: you owe a large amount of money to a merchant league that is trying to take over the region. They tried to kill you, using the debt as an excuse to eliminate a potential competitor. Now you’ve returned and are breaking into a highly lucrative market. Compagnon are furious.”
“That sums it up,” Vallis said. “I received a lot of interest when I turned up. Needed a good cover story for how I had a wagon full of artifacts. We might get some visitors.”
“That will draw some attention to us, but I think we’ll be fine. You see the devils here. They might look a little odd, but they can pass as human or similar to most people,” Rys said.
The next few weeks passed swiftly. Rys studied evocation. Vallis made trips to both Anceston and Port Mayfield to establish her new business. The Malakin protected her from the shadows, along with one or two of the Ashen that rode along with her whenever Fara couldn’t. New raids into the Labyrinth failed to find slates, but Orthrus became more confident about where the power conduits were.
Vallis wanted to hire mercenaries, but Rys knocked her back. If Compagnon had a bottomless supply of funds, any mercenaries could be easily bought.
But she kept an ear to the ground regardless. Rys understood Fara’s frustration with Vallis, but that was part of what it was like to raise and teach a subordinate.
The exterior of the manor was finished well before the interior. That kept any spies from realizing how it might be built. But it took over two weeks for the entire thing to be constructed and furnished. Longer still to move in and fix up minor details.
Little complaints about furnishings. Coats of paint missing from random walls. Adding tunnels for the imps to move around the manor. Hidden staircases to the sub-levels.
Finally, Rys had his mansion. He spent most of his time inside it now, rather than in the sub-levels. That meant a lot of time with Fara and Vallis. He bided his time until Orthrus became confident enough to find the power conduit, or the Malakin returned with a lead on Compagnon.
During one of his quiet days, Rys sat in his study. He had plans to turn this into something more impressive, but for now it simply contained a long sofa in the corner and several bookshelves. Without any paperwork to do, he lacked any reason to put a desk in the room. He expected that to change soon.
A bulbous red head poked out of a false floor in the corner. It blinked its massive solid black eyes at Rys, who glanced at it.
“Carriage approaching, bossboss,” the imp said. “Can we eat it?”
“No. And don’t eat the people inside it,” Rys said, aware of this trick question. “Tell Vallis and Fara to meet me in the foyer.”
“Got it, bossboss.” The imp vanished, replacing the false floor as he left.
Well, at least it wasn’t the word “boss” repeated five or six times over.
Imps struggled to understand hierarchy. To them, anybody who had authority over them was “boss,” so they tended to repeat the word to represent relative levels of status.
“What’s going on?” Vallis asked when they met in the foyer. “The imp didn’t tell us anything.”
“That,” Rys said, pointing through the windows at a large silver carriage approaching them.
The double door entrance was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows, and a fine brass trim ran around the edges. Rys had etched runes into the glass to turn them into one-way mirrors. The inhabitants could see out, but could not be seen from outside.
“That’s the Lord-Mayor’s carriage,” Vallis said, holding a hand over her eyes to block out the afternoon sun.
“An emiss
ary?” Rys asked.
“Unlikely. Anceston is a large town, although some people call it a city. There’s not enough for her to do to need emissaries,” Vallis said. “Most likely it’s just her and her bodyguard.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“If you anger her bodyguard, then yes,” Fara said.
That explained a lot about how Anceston had kept Compagnon at bay for years then. If not why Fara felt the new mayor was weak.
“We should meet her outside. The infernals should keep a low profile until we know what she’s like,” Rys said.
Vallis nodded and her arm moved. “I’ll let Grigor know with a sending.”
How convenient. Vallis was no mage, but Darus had said that almost any human could use evocation. That allowed Vallis to use sendings, and she could contact almost anybody instantly using them. Presumably that’s how Fara knew where she was on the first night he met them.
They stepped out onto the manor drive. A long gravel road led down the hill, although it quickly turned into a dirt road. The road formed a large circle in front of the manor, leaving plenty of room to park a carriage.
The Lord-Mayor’s carriage pulled up in front of them. Rys remembered that her name was Maria.
As with Vallis’s wagon, no horses pulled the mayor’s carriage. Rys spotted the same large metal contraption on its underbody, but there was no driver at the front. He was curious how it was steered.
The door opened and an attractive young woman stepped out onto a small set of steps that deployed itself from the carriage.
Cute, was Rys’s first thought. His next thought was that her tits were some of the largest natural ones he’d seen. Vallis had been impressive, but Maria’s chest looked genuinely painful to carry around.
She wore a simple black one piece dress made of thick cloth that covered her arms. Her clothes gave her an almost homely appearance, in contrast to her attractive curves and cherub-like face. Rys suspected she was intentionally underdressing.
Curly silver hair fell to her shoulders and nearly hid her slightly pointed ears. She clearly wasn’t human, because she had a large pair of black goat horns. Between her chest and the horns, he’d make a crude joke if he were a lesser man.
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