“Nothing!” Warvyn’s nostrils flared as he roared and quickly stood up. The whole room shook from the thunder of his voice. He came down the flight of stairs from the dais in a single leap, cracking the marble floor when he landed. He strode over to the shaking demon and squatted, his enormous snout just inches from the demon’s face. The little demon had its eyes shut tightly while it begged for its life.
“Please! Please! I had to go ... bound by the spell. I had no choice. Had to go, I did! I went and waited, waited a very long time in the circle. Then he sent me back. No request, no bidding, no questions. Please! Please! Don’t hurt me, please!” The little demon was laying on the stone, prostrating itself before its evil lord, its scrawny hands over its bulbous head.
“Nonsense!” Warvyn said, standing erect and kicking the demon so hard that it lifted off the floor and flew to the bottom of the second terrace, rolling head over heels twice, and landing in a heap. The sound of bones snapping could be heard across the room.
The Warvyn arched his back and roared. “What kind of fool do you think I am? Nobody risks summoning a demon and asks for nothing.”
Warvyn slowly started down the stone stairs, circling the small broken mass on the floor. His massive weight shook the very foundation of the cavern.
“Master! Master, please! He asked nothing,” the injured demon whimpered, covering its face with its claws.
A rib poked through its side, and thick yellow ooze was dripping onto the floor, hissing where it hit. The demon struggled to gain its gangly feet and stood swaying before the Warvyn.
Warvyn raised one of his enormous clawed feet and prepared to splatter the lying demon’s brains across the floor. Mid-stomp, he froze, stopped his threatening approach and paced across the floor, deep in thought, talking out loud, “Why would a wizard risk all for no task or reward?”
The small demon opened an eye and stared at the Master demon.
The Warvyn spun around quickly and faced his informant. He put his face within inches of the demon and looked him in the eyes. “How were you called?”
“Chants of Bergornine. I heard him calling. He sang the song, the pretty song, and he drew the design of Many Rings. Pretty, pretty designs, each so perfect, each one. I had to come!”
“Bergornine?” Warvyn bellowed, his face reddening. “You lie! That song has been forgotten for centuries. It hasn’t been used since Ror. None know the song. Even I don’t remember the song!”
“He had the book, Lord. He had the Book of Rah’tok. Big book, cover made of tortured skins. It had the sign, the gold sign. It was Rah’tok’s sign, know it anywhere,” the demon said, a thin forced smile on his face—he knew this was good information. Master would be pleased.
“The Book? Liar!” Warvyn roared, backhanding the demon on its jaw. The miniature creature lifted from the ground, spun three times and folded in a heap to the floor, its head bent at an odd angle.
“I made the book burn myself when we ... we were forced to invaded Rynwaar, twelve-hundred years ago by the Dark Ones,” he said, pointing at the trembling mass of evil at his feet. “Myself!”
“It was the book, I swear it,” the demon gurgled, blood oozing out of its mouth.
Warvyn turned and walked back and forth from the steps to his throne. “But, I didn’t see its final destruction because I had to ... flee. Maybe it was saved… somehow…maybe…and if it is, then we must destroy it!”
The small demon weakly nodded, unable to lift its head.
“The book! Of course, that would explain a great many things. But how?” he asked, slamming his fist down on the throne.
“And if it was…” Warvyn whispered, a wicked smile creeping to his lips.
“Maybe we have an opportunity!” he said slyly, standing erect with a vile smile on his face, finger pointing into the air.
Then another emotion hit him that he was not expecting, fear. What if the Master would find out about the book? If she ever got hold of this book, then she would control the entire underworld. She could command them to do anything, he thought, remembering the war of Ror when the Dark Mages forced him to battle. He, Warvyn, would have to retrieve the book personally and bring it to the Underworld. It would be safe under his protection in Darkhalla. It was the only place he knew it would be safe.
“So, this mage was young you say?”
The imp demon nodded, afraid to look up.
Maybe… we have an apprentice who’s too nosy for his own good. An apprentice who knows not what he has found.”
The imp nodded vigorously.
“An apprentice locked away in the Keep for long years with no female companionship. A lonesome man…with longings.” Warvyn said, slapping his hands together and wringing them in delight.
“I think I know the perfect demon for a very…very special assignment. Bring me the half soul! Bring me Mica!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Now!”
Warvyn sat down laughing and howling to himself, playing with the tips of his enormous horns. They always itched when he had a devious idea.
He motioned for one of the servant girls to bring him his wine. She ran quickly to the dais and held out the tray. He grabbed a goblet of wine, the size of a pail, from the naked human woman bowed before him nervously, and guzzled it down, half dribbling it down his neck. He wondered if she were new. He didn’t recognize her. He crumpled the goblet in his hand and threw it over his shoulder where it clattered loudly, bouncing across the stone floor.
He grabbed the woman, knocking the tray from her hands, and pulled her to his lap. She looked down at the enormous bulge in his loincloth. A shear look of horror filled her face when she realized his evil intent just before her scream was extinguished. She struggled to get free, causing him to roar in delight. He could smell her fear.
“Dance!” he yelled at the others, while he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her down, having her.
The music started, and the heavily abused captives began to dance.
“The last dancer left standing dies,” he said.
He was feeling charitable; he had a vile, corrupt and ever so despicable…plan!
A Demon Ploy
Several demons later a lovely petite lady demon appeared, much to Bal’kor’s surprise. She was wearing only a very thin gauze shirt and billowy pants. Her eyes were pure black, matching her long wavy hair and her lips, blood red.
Bal’kor stared, his jaw wide open. He had not seen a female of such stunning beauty in any of his time at the Keep. He watched her breasts through the thin material, they gently moved up and down with each breath she took. Did demons actually breathe he wondered? A smile came to her face.
“Hello!” She purred like a kitten, stretching and arching her back to great effect.
Bal’kor’s head snapped up from his stare, “Wha ...? Who said that?” Bal’kor looked around the room, trying to locate the source of the voice.
“Why, I don’t see anyone in this room besides you and I.” the demon replied, looking around the room, pretending like it was searching for a long lost object of affection, laughing all the while.
“You can talk?” Bal’kor’s jaw dropped.
None of the other demons had made so much as a sound. He had no idea that they could talk. The book hadn’t said anything about talking. Actually, the book had not detailed too much of anything about demons other than how to summon them. Of course, he couldn’t read the tongue, only somehow he knew the right incantations and chants.
“Why, of course I can talk!” the demon replied, with a sly smile. “My name is Mica. I am here to serve you. How may I satisfy my new master’s most ardently concealed desires?”
Bal’kor’s eyes were glazed over as he spoke. “Hello, Mica! I’m Bal’kor,” he sputtered out before he realized how foolish it was. He shook his head, mad at himself for speaking before thinking. She must think him an idiot.
“But you…you already knew that. Didn’t you?” he winced, scratching his head, trying to recover gracefully. De
mons know everything, Bal’kor thought, she probably even knew what he was thinking.
She didn’t pay any attention to his awkwardness. “You’re a cute one. I haven’t had a cute master in a long time; I’m going to love serving you,” Mica crooned, licking her near perfect pouty lips.
Mica eyed him as he stood, shifting his weight from foot to foot. This assignment might not be too unpleasant she thought, although, dealing with humans was always unpleasant to some degree. Nonetheless, she had her assignment, she might as well make the best of it, and at least he wasn’t an ogre or troll. She might even earn some freedom time if she did a quick and thorough job; Warvyn had been very interested in this wizard. Mica smiled and batted her long eyelashes, wondering what was so special about him. He didn’t look like a mage of great import.
Bal’kor blushed. Nobody had ever called him cute. He stood and walked around her very slowly, viewing her from all angles. She just stood there watching him while he moved, making no move to cover or conceal her well formed physique.
“Where am I?” she asked, looking around the dormitory room, not having a clue to whence she had been summoned.
There had not been enough time for her to get briefed before her untimely departure from her home. Once the chanting had started, she had to appear, or the opportunity would have been lost and another imp or worse would have fought to take her place. The chanting was that powerful.
“You’re in the Wizard’s Keep, in the Winseer Mountains,” Bal’kor replied, not knowing if his answer made any sense.
He wondered how much demons knew about the world. He supposed that if they were summoned enough times, that they would slowly acquire an overview of the land and people.
“Hmm! Then you must be a wizard,” she replied, not looking surprised or concerned, but bowing very low.
Her eyes met the symbols on the floor and she felt the flush of euphoria fill her. It was so overpowering, it almost swept her away. She fought the urge to surrender and obey with every ounce of her will. Her body convulsed with orgasmic pleasure. All she had to do was look away, to resist and look away. Finally, she overcame the potency of the design and looked up at Bal’kor.
Bal’kor, oblivious to what she was going through, wondered if she knew what the Keep was, but decided not to volunteer too much information.
“Have you been here before?”
“No. Not that I can recall.” she said, shaking her head from side to side, still feeling the effects of the design. She felt lusty. She didn’t have a lot of control when she felt that way.
Mica looked down at the design on the floor again, but looked away just as the rush of energy hit her. She knew this design; she knew the limitations that controlled her. It was a very beautiful design, meant to pleasure and control. She would have to be clever to gain the advantage in this situation, she thought. She looked at Bal’kor again. He didn’t seem to be a wizard of sufficient magnitude to conjure a demon of her magnificence with this design.
“What do you want?” she asked, her body still trembling from the pleasures given her by the intricate design, “Do you want riches, beauty, dark magic, maybe companionship?”
“I really haven’t thought about it … much. Really! I’m just practicing my lessons,” he said, before he could catch himself.
Mica raised a brow. Curious, she thought to herself. “Why don’t you let me out of this circle? I promise not to leave.” She pointing to the designs on the floor, “I don’t have much room to move around. I can feel my legs cramping up. Please, I just need a little more room.”
Bal’kor’s brows moved up in surprise. “I’m not supposed to do that. The book says so. It says right here,” Bal’kor quickly flipped through several pages to one of the few he could read. “Under no circumstances allow the demon either free reign or freedom outside the controlling designs or catastrophic results may occur.”
“Well, I’m sure the book meant for you not to let a big, dangerous, ugly demon out,” she said softly. “But I’m not very big, nor very dangerous, and I’m not ugly! Besides, you can always send me back … if you want to, you know the words.”
Bal’kor didn’t really want to send her back.
“I don’t know how to let you out. I’m …. pretty new at this summoning stuff. Raising demons is not my specialty,” he added that final phrase at the last moment.
Bal’kor felt very stupid. Here he was, with a demon, a very pretty demon, and he didn’t know anything about controlling it ... her ... or anything. He turned his gaze to the floor.
“That’s alright,” she said, yawning, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry! I’m still a little asleep; I was resting when you summoned me. Hey! I know, I can teach you, help you through your lessons if you would like! It’s really quite simple. All you have to do is ask me to show you how! I can’t do it without your asking, so if you don’t want me to … that’s one of the rules.”
So, he asked.
She went on to explain how the circle and designs bound her to do what he wanted, how he could change them to allow her to follow him or move within a certain distance. How he could ward himself to make sure no harm could come to him.
She told him how she had to do everything he asked of her, whatever he desired, because he was the Master. She didn’t bother with the finer details, or the subtleties. She eventually convinced him that she could do very little harm to him and Bal’kor decided to expand her dominion.
Bal’kor went about the business of redrawing the forms in the right order, checking them with the Book to be sure they were correct, just as she said. He wrote all the details down in his little book, for future reference. When he was finished, he smudged the old designs and Mica was free… well, sort of free, she could follow him, had to stay within a stone’s throw, couldn’t hide and any attempt on her part to cause him, or anyone else physical harm meant instant banishment back to where she had come from.
“That is so much better,” Mica said, with relief in her voice. “Thank you!”
Mica walked around the room, looked out the window at the dark green forest below. She thought to herself while staring out the window. Such an ugly place, too open, too ... green and blue.
“What shall we do, Master? What is your heart’s desire? Do you want to sit and talk about something?” she asked, knowing he had many questions that she would answer ... if it suited her. Bal’kor was sitting on the edge of his bed. His first question surprised her.
“Are you real, or are you just an image?” Bal’kor asked, looking in her eyes, big dark eyes, which were black as night with no pupils.
“I’m as real as you are!” she replied, “Here, give me your hand.” She held out her hand to take his. Bal’kor began to reach, but changed his mind and pulled his hand back at the last moment.
“You’ll be alright, I promise!” she said, looking him straight in the eye. She knew she could do this because she had no intent of harming him … yet!
Bal’kor reached out his hand and she took it in hers. It felt warm. Bal’kor was surprised because he hadn’t expected warmth. Of course, he didn’t know exactly what he was expecting. Her skin was very smooth and soft. She had the smell of orchids about her.
“You feel so real. I thought demons were supposed to be spirits or ghosts or something.”
“We are. Well, kind of anyhow. We can make ourselves hard or soft or like smoke if we want to. Here, look.” She said, while pushing her hand through his stomach. All Bal’kor felt was a small chill.
“When we’re in spirit form, we cannot harm you physically and we cannot change forms while occupying the space of another form, other than air, water or rock.”
She pulled her hand back out and suggested, “Let’s go for a walk. I would like to see this place; it’s very serene and interesting. I have not been anyplace pleasant in a long time.”
She thought about that phrase, and it was true. Where she had come from was not a pleasant place. In fact, it was filled with an
ger, hurt and pain. Had she become so accustomed to them that she accepted them as normal? For her they were normal, for that was her reality now, and had been ever since she had lost half of her soul. She was paying the price for the power she had to have at any price. When she struck her bargain ages ago, she thought she had haggled and made a great deal. Oh, she did get the power and the magic, but it came at a horrible price. It didn’t turn out the way she had envisioned, but at least she hadn’t wagered her entire soul.
Bal’kor didn’t see any harm in taking a short walk, so they left the room and walked down the halls. The Keep was deserted because everybody was getting ready for the Closing, and although they walked for over fifteen minutes, they hadn’t bumped into another soul.
Secretly, Bal’kor was glad. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to explain Mica to one of the other Wizards had they run into one. They made chitchat about the Keep and about Bal’kor. After a while, they came to a door. Mica went to go out the door, but Bal’kor gently grabbed her by the arm.
“We can’t go there,” Bal’kor said, with determination in his voice.
“Why not?” Mica said, acting hurt. “What’s behind the door that is so secret? Where does it go?” Mica asked, turning her head and nodding toward the door.
“Nothing! ... Nowhere really,… it just goes outside. We aren’t allowed outside. It’s one of the rules of the Keep. We took oaths when we entered the Guild to stay within these walls unless asked to leave by the Keeper. So, I’d need permission from my Uncl ... the Keeper and he’s really busy right now getting ready for the Closing.”
“I could really use some sun,” Mica stated. “We don’t have to go far, just a couple feet until we’re in the sun. There’s no sun where I come from.”
She looked a Bal’kor with a pleading expression. “Please? There is no sun where I come from. Please, just for a little while?” she pleaded, fluttering her slightly oversized eyes.
“Surely a couple of feet can’t hurt! I don’t think you would get in trouble if you just went outside the door and didn’t actually leave the grounds of the Keep. Besides, I could protect you. I am under your command.”
The Third Sign Page 46
