Demon Scroll

by Tim Niederriter

  Elaine approached their table. Melissa turned and greeted her. She waved a hand at a spare chair nearby, on Niu’s other side. Elaine took the seat and pulled an extra plate toward her. Melissa smiled. The local fish and scallops on the table tasted delicious.

  Melissa wondered if Elaine had seen them train earlier that day. She had been suspiciously absent from the yard. However, much of the palace had a view of where they trained.

  “Good job using your bane today,” said Elaine. “I saw that blast from a window.”

  “I wondered about that,” Melissa said. “Do you think I can repeat using a bane like that to attack?”

  “I suppose that's what you need,” said Elaine.

  “It’s better than nothing,” said Melissa. “And I was recruited as a war mage.”

  Elaine nodded.

  Niu raised her eyebrows.

  “It looked pretty strong to me.”

  Suya chewed thoughtfully, looking pensive.

  Hilos folded his hands and put his plate aside. He nodded to Elaine.

  “You, my lady, are quite perceptive of the needs of the students. Perhaps you will be a good teacher yourself one day.”

  “You are already,” said Melissa.

  Niu laughed.

  “Weren’t you at each other's throats yesterday?”

  “We worked some things out. “Melissa smiled.

  Elaine laughed.

  “You could say that,” she said.

  Melissa glanced at Kelt.

  “Do you make any progress on your technique?”

  Kelp nodded.

  “Not as much as yours.”

  “You’ve got a better concept for yours, though.”

  “I think whatever you did today is what I'm trying to do,” he said.

  “Agreed,” said Suya.

  Niu glanced at Melissa.

  “I think if we could all shoot that kind of attack we might be of real use to the governor in a battle.”

  “There's more to battle than shooting things,” said Melissa. “But I see your point.”

  “Real mages don't have to do battle with magic arrows,” said Elaine. “There are subtler ways than spears. They’re blunt instruments, metaphorically. Mages need to use power more thoughtfully to be truly a match for experienced opponents.”

  “You mean...” Melissa started.

  “I mean we need to get creative with our magic. I don't think my aunt will give you more sprites and banes to work with very soon if you don't demonstrate creativity.”

  “Creativity?” Tal said, as the only member the mage guard sitting at this table thanks to his sister.

  ‘Yes,” said Elaine. “Creativity is one of the most important aspects of becoming a mage. If you can't think a new idea into being, you can't send your sprites to execute on that plan. Practice is important, but originality can make your opponents thrown off, as my aunt says.”

  “I suppose we should train our minds as much as our sprites and banes,” Melissa said.

  Elaine nodded.

  “If you don't, you could quickly fall behind again.”

  Suya nodded, finally finishing her food. She put down her fork.

  “I think a sword is unnecessary for someone who already knows how to use one. We should be training our magic to do things our weapons can't do.”

  “Last I checked,” said Melissa, “my spear can't cut through the earth like that.”

  “Fair point,” said Suya. “Though the governor may want us to do more than simply smash things.”

  “What does creativity mean for each of?” asked Niu. “Should we all be learning to fly like Deckard Hadrian?”

  “Deckard is a special case,” said Elaine. “Very few mages can emulate feathers the way he does. I think its possible others could do it but I've never heard of anyone else who managed it in our current age.”

  “I read about Prince Geldingstar and he was supposedly a feather mage. The book I read last night mentioned him.”

  Niu glanced at her.

  “You got a new book?”

  Melissa flushed, unable to think of a cover for the theft.

  “Elaine lent me a book.” She shook her head. “We, uh, borrowed it from Lady Nasibron.”

  Niu glanced at Elaine. Elaine shrugged.

  “I borrowed a book from my aunt study. It's back now, so no need to tell her about it.”

  “You helped Melissa,” said Niu. “Can't you help the rest of us too?”

  Elaine nodded.

  “Sure,” she said. “I suppose I should have thought sooner. I can tutor each of you and we can help you become better mages, maybe even wizards, faster than my aunt can on her own. Besides, I need more practice myself.”

  Elaine glanced at Melissa. Melissa grinned at her.

  Deckard

  It wasn't often one saw a mural in a dungeon. Nevertheless, by the yellow light filtering through the barred windows with their iron shutters open, Deckard Hadrian traced the image on the wall opposite the cells. It wasn't a pleasant sight.

  Red and yellow paint, peeling with the ravages of time, portrayed the death of the fleet of Kanor on the other side of the bay. A victory for the forces of Tancuon meant spilling the blood of countless sailors and soldiers in the surf. Deckard remembered the battle well. His apprentice at the time had destroyed one of the Kanori fortress ships with a blast of wind and fire that set the neighboring ships, one from each side, ablaze. The red and orange at the top of the mural depicted the flames in fading shades of infernal color.

  Eighteen years had passed since he had been to the site himself. Deckard could cross the Bay of Charin under less peril from pirates and fishers than the average traveler. If he flew high enough, he could pretend he didn't feel the presence of the other creatures that dwelt beneath the dark waves.

  A curse on this place for reminding me of you, he thought, as he swept down the passage. How many of Kanor's warrior and leadership class had shriveled away in the cells of the palace? How many rotted here still, in body or in mind?

  After the terrible battle, Deckard wondered, but he neither knew, nor cared to find the answer. Too many lives of those he'd valued had been lost that day. No, the dungeon and it's prosaic inhabitants were not his mission for the moment. Deckard left the horrid mural behind, and descended a flight of steps to the dungeon's lower level.

  His eyes adjusted to a darker passages, lit only by cold blue-white bane lights in sconces on the wall every few yards. The air was damp, and a chill crept up his feet through the soles of his boots. These cells were occupied. Having spent time in his share of cells colder than these, Deckard kept himself from looking at them. He could be too sympathetic to the plight of prisoners and for now his destination lay further below.

  Someone spoke up ahead. A moment later an answering voice reached his ears. The first voice belonged to an older man, the second voice was younger judging by the speed and sense of verve. The second voice came from a woman

  "I don't care where you put her as long as it has magical security," said the woman. "I know we're short on them, but she requires it."

  "I understand, Lady Nattan, but we only have so many cells up to that standard."

  "It's not my whim. The governor and Lady Nasibron insist."

  "Understood. I will clear one of the lesser offenders and request an additional detail for him. Now, as for her..."

  Deckard turned the corner at the end of the cell block. He found Governor Lokoth's sword servant with her hands clapped on the arms of a second woman. She was the one Deckard had caught in the city and turned over to the guards. The foreign prisoner's hands were bound to each other from wrist to wrist. Her thick, yellowish hair was pushed up and back in a Najean knot. Mage bindings, Deckard recognized, could keep most magic users from drawing their commands in the air. He counted himself lucky for the number of times a captor of his thought that meant he was powerless. Most of those captors slept beneath the earth by now, whether they were mortal or demon. The palace interrogato
r, a weary older knight of the Imperial Order of Mercy, turned to Deckard as he approached.

  "Lord Hadrian, I was not told to expect you would follow up." He bowed his head.

  The sword servant, Suya Nattan, bowed as well. Deckard judged by her dark hair and pale, dominion features, similar to his own, she was also a northern transplant to Lowenrane. With Tandace Lokoth's household hailing from Well Country, that made sense.

  "Rest easy, both of you," he said. "I've not been fully informed, so please talk."

  "You know of the theft at the library in the city," said Suya. “A few vagabonds made off with scrolls, including this woman."

  Deckard nodded.

  “I apprehended her myself.”

  Suya pushed the yellow-haired woman forward with pressure on her arms.

  "The other two were men, but they escaped."

  "Escaped?" Deckard frowned. "You still haven’t found them?"

  "No. And they still have their stolen scrolls with them." Suya shook her head. "Forgive me, I don't know more."

  "I will help you find out the rest," said the interrogator. "Do you wish to assist me, Lord Hadrian?"

  "I'm not a torturer," said Deckard. "However, ask me before you do any permanent damage, and mind her tongue and face. Too many of your profession make mistakes that render answering impossible."

  "I can do my job, my lord."

  "I have no doubt, sir. Now, please excuse me." He made his way around the three others and continued toward the staircase going deeper into the dungeon.

  "My lord," asked the interrogator as he followed him. "Excuse me, but where are you going?"

  "I have other business below," said Deckard.

  "May I ask—"

  "You may not. To your task, sir knight." Deckard turned, moving his iron robe about him as easily as another man would a cloth garment. He strode away from the interrogator, then continued down the stairs. The man did not follow or protest further.

  Another few passages and another few stairways later, he reached the lowest point of the dungeon, some five levels beneath the ground. At a dead end in a hallway, across from an unlocked and vacant cell, he remembered the patterns in the rough stone barrier. This was the place. Beneath him lay the greatest world well of Lowenrane. He tapped the tiles with his shoes, trying to find the key path. After a few minutes of his odd dance, he hit the correct points in sequence.

  In the vacant cell nearby, the wall shifted with the sound of stone on stone. A path opened, making a rough-hewn stone passage leading down to the original cavern the palace had been built upon. The mix of pale and vivid light from free-flying sprites and banes gave him enough visibility to follow the tunnel to a place where it widened.

  Mystic spirits flitted and glided over the abyssal pit of shaped demon stone. Its walls ended at the very edge of the earth so the whole room seemed drawn to its near-infinite darkness.

  He beheld the world well of Lowenrane.

  "Long time," Deckard whispered. He approached the edge of the well, then glanced over it at the inky dark drop.

  Deckard Hadrian could fly the world over and still fear falling in a place like this one. He stepped away. Circling the pit, he sniffed the air. The place was clean, a bit damp, but he neither heard, nor saw, nor smelled any sign of a demon clambering up from the well. Rogues must remain below, said the law of Mother Mercy. She would brook no evil-doers walk the surface. No evil-doers not sanctioned by her rules at least, Deckard added mentally.

  "You were intent on finding this place," said Tandace Lokoth from the entrance.

  His gaze drifted to her.

  "Governor," he said. "I am a demon hunter first."

  "I am not surprised. I know you have your many missions and we mortals are rarely privy to them all, even those of us chosen by mercy to sit a throne."

  "Wise," said Deckard. "Though you're lucky I was not tasked with maintaining this place's secrecy."

  "You wouldn't kill an imperial governor of mercy."

  I have tried before, he thought absently.

  "Yes," he said.

  She nodded.

  “I trust you see all is as it should be?”

  “Indeed. I trust you a have told no one of this place unless necessary?”

  “You can.” Tandace Lokoth smiled in the light of the dancing spirit motes. “Perhaps we should return to the surface together, my lord.”

  “As you say.”

  He followed her out of the cavern, then through the dungeon to the palace above. At the surface, they parted.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I have questions that need answering in a different city.”

  “Leaving so soon after all the trouble I took to summon you here?”

  “I’ll be back to Soucot before dawn,” he said, nodding out the gates to the heavy arc of the rings cutting through the sky to circumscribe the world’s edge.

  “Can you fly to the city and return in such little time?” Tandace frowned.

  He chuckled.

  “You studied witchery, so you really ought to know. There are other ways one can reach that place.”

  The governor nodded.

  “Be at court tomorrow, Lord Hadrian.”

  “As you say.”

  He swept out the open gate of the palace, then descended the slope of the citadel into Soucot, making his way to one of the shrines that ringed the citadel’s walls at hundred-yard intervals. Passersby would say they saw the lord of winds stop before the shrine bordered by its twin arched blades and the circlet on the pedestal between them. They would say he vanished in the blink of an eye.

  Elaine

  Elaine relaxed the next day, taking some time to herself before beginning tutoring the hand of the governor personally. She went into the city, looking for supplies to help them train their sprites and banes. The five of them were powerful in potential but unforged at this moment. They could be useless in the end, or completely overpowering if she helped train them well.

  She took a route through the streets that brought her close to the docks. On her way, she passed the library and saw there were fewer guards around it than before. She approached briefly to ask if the scroll had been found. The librarian told her not otherwise, but that the rate it captured one of the thieves.

  “One of the thieves?” Elaine asked.

  The librarian laughed out of the open door and said, “It was a woman who came here from the from a foreign land. There were two others with her, a big man with a sword and a fat man who was also a local minstrel.”

  “A minstrel?”

  “Yes,” said the librarian. “And we have all the names, so the amount of time before we have them hunt them down is all that’s left to learn. Serves him right for stealing from the library.”

  “I suppose it does,” said Elaine. “What were their names?”

  “The big man was called Saben the woman who the captured is said to be from Naje. I can’t say her name right. The minstrel seems to be a local, but he’s also a ne'er-do-well.”

  “Saben.” Elaine frowned. “I think I met him.”

  The librarian shrugged her shoulders.

  “Perhaps you did,” she said, “but if you did you no doubt were lucky to get away without a scratch. He seemed a vicious brute. The guards had real trouble trying to trap him. He has some kind of magic, you see.”

  Elaine nodded. She felt numb. Saben had seemed a reasonable person when she met him. Quiet, when he talked to the other people, but he felt normal when he talked to her. She went on her way.

  She approached the docks and acquired a handcart with a supply of targets before she returned to the palace.

  Saben

  The city looked bleak to Saben from his hiding place by the docks. He cowered with Rond for a few days, taking his time to recover from the bruises and cuts acquired from his fall. Despite Hadrian setting Rond down carefully, both of them had still flown through a broken window. The battering by Hadrian, only underscored how weak Saben s
till knew himself to be.

  Saben and Rond stayed in their safe house, little more than a shack by the dockside. The docks themselves were swarming with activity, but no one thought to look in a ruined old hovel.

  Despite their safety relative to being outside, Saben quickly grew irritated with only going out at night to scrounge for food. He wasn't getting any stronger here.

  Rond on the other hand, seemed more in his element now, despite having lost some of his possessions in the fleeing from the inn. He still had his lute. He still had his voice, much to Saben's annoyance. He talked. Too much.

  Rond and Saben sat through the day, gradually smelling worse in the sweltering heat.

  Eventually, Saben had enough. He set out into the street in broad daylight. The moment he emerged from the hovel into the alleyway beside it, he turned and saw the skinny man watching him. The man wore spectacles, an affectation or a necessity for a few Tancuonese but near-completely unseen in the east.

  He approached, swaggering, and nodded to Saben.

  “I was wondering when you’d come out of there,” he said.

  “Who are you?” asked Saben.

  “My name is Deel,” he said. “I'm looking for someone with a useful set of skills.”

  “Skills,” said Saben, “like mine?”

  “Mercenaries with magic are uncommon,” said the man.

  “I expect they are aren't easy to find anywhere?”

  Deel nodded.

  “I suspect the city is not the problem here. It's the management of the nations and settlements of the whole land.”

  “Are you not from Tancuon?” asked Saben.

  “I am,” said the man. “Though further to the north.” He smiled.

  Saben frowned.

  “I asked what you wanted.”

  “I have a job for you,” said Deel.

  “What kind of job?”

  “I'll show you. No need for the minstrel to join us. He won’t be of much use here.”

  “I didn't say I was taking your job.”