He found the demon’s somewhat vague memories of the massive pain of the transmutation spell. He told the demon it was Toliver’s attempts to get the information, that Toliver had been torturing it.
He then concocted a new memory for the demon. He wove a memory of him coming to the demon’s rescue. He painted a picture of him opening a gate into Toliver’s hold. He included as many of the sights, sounds, and smells he had learned from the demon’s own memories. He knew the more vivid and realistic the memories, the greater the chance the spell would hold.
He gave the demon new memories of Malicar casting a mighty spell to change the demon into human form. He was careful to disassociate it from the actual transformation spell. He didn’t want the demon remembering the real transformation. When he was done, he explained why he had cast the spell.
You see, he said mentally. This will allow you to move freely among humans. These mages, or barons as they call themselves, are planning an attack on your home world. As such, they protect their keeps with powerful spells. You’d be unable to force your way through. And the keep at which they all will be meeting soon is the toughest of them all. But with this disguise, you’ll be able to walk right in. I’ve arranged that you will be posing as a guard for Baron Toliver.
Good, the demon sent with such mental strength that Malicar’s brain recoiled slightly. I will inflict so much pain on this human it will die of it.
No, Malicar shot back. Not initially. If you do you will leave yourself open for retribution from the other barons. You must wait until you have as many of them in the room at once. They will not be suspecting you. Only a few will have any weapons of a magical nature. It will be like lambs in a wolf’s den.
Lambs in a wolf’s den? the demon asked.
Malicar painted the demon a mental picture.
Only I will not be so gentle. the demon replied.
“No, my friend, I do not believe you will,” Malicar answered, switching to speech.
So why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?
“Say it. You must get used to speaking.”
“Ssss,” the demon attempted.
“This is a difficulty I had not planned for. It has always been so easy to communicate with your kind, I never thought about the fact that you don’t form speech.”
You didn’t answer my question.
“True. I was distracted by this minor complication. As for your answer…” Malicar sent the demon a concocted mental image of his own run-in with the council of barons. In it they tortured him, killed his family, stole his possessions, and stole his land.
I see we share the same enemies.
“Yes, we do.” In the deep recesses of his mind, Malicar rejoiced at how well the domination had taken hold and how readily the demon believed everything he told it. “Now, you must get clothed and start to get used to your new form while I look for a spell that can help with this speech problem.”
Chapter Eight
“So, tell us, Esselles. What’s this we hear about Rashel asking you to go hunting next week?” Andor asked as he joined the other four cadets, polishing their weapons.
“A week and a half,” Esselles corrected, making room for his friend. “You know the most of it. She asked me to go the other day when we went to dinner.”
“Dinner, hunting, is this getting serious?” Randol asked.
“I hope so,” Esselles answered.
“Is our friend in love?” Flin asked.
“I guess so. I’ve never been in love before so how do I know when it hits?”
“Ask Randol,” Walket joked. “He has it happen all the time.”
“Ha, ha. So how are you going to get out of training to go on this hunting trip?” Randol asked.
“She’s going to take care of it. Falconer is going on the trip and she said she can convince him to let me come along.”
“She has that much pull?” Andor questioned.
“Yes,” Walket answered. “And if she doesn’t, her father does.”
“Is he in the military?” Randol asked.
“You can say that. He’s a high ranking officer,” Walket answered.
“Which one?” Esselles asked.
“You don’t think I’m gonna spill it that easily, do you? It’s too much fun knowing something that you don’t. You might be able to beat us all at our drinking game, but I’ve got you on this one.”
“So let me guess,” Esselles said.
“Okay,” Walket agreed. “But for each wrong guess, you’ve got to drink an entire mug the next time we go to Blindman’s Bluff. Hey, Randol, pass me that whetstone.”
Randol passed it to him.
“I guess I won’t be guessing too much,” Esselles said. “Not if I don’t want to become one of Drex’s practice dummies.”
“Did you see Pacus’ face last week?” Flin asked. “He was absolutely green. And Drex threw him around mercilessly. I thought for sure he was gonna puke.”
“So if you like the shade of green, feel free to start guessing,” Walket teased.
“You wait. I’ll take a couple guesses a week and eventually I’ll get it. There aren’t a whole lot of high ranking officers in the legions.”
“True. Only about four or five dozen. But that’s a lot of beers. If you do four each Sapinday, we’ll graduate first.” Walket tossed his polishing rag at him. “So, who’s your first guess?”
Esselles folded the rag while he thought about it. “She doesn’t look Uranthian, so I won’t guess any of the suregraves. Hmm. How about Captain Amaton?”
“Nope. That’s one,” Walket said, holding up a finger for emphasis.
*
Renamir stood at the edge of the fissure, waiting for the drawbridge to be lowered. As always, a bright light shone from the tallest tower.
He heard the rusty creaking of chains as the drawbridge lowered. At the same time, the portcullis was being raised. Standing in the gateway was a solitary figure, dressed in an Imperial guardsman uniform. He had flowing black hair and dark, western features.
“Good evening, sir,” he said as Renamir road across the drawbridge. “I am Esselles. Welcome to my lord’s castle.”
Renamir brought up his second sight and looked for a magical aura. If it was there, it was hidden extremely well.
“Come, bring your horse this way,” the guardsman said, indicating the inner courtyard. “You must be tired after your long journey.”
“Thank you,” Renamir said, handing him the reins. Is the master home?
“Yes, he is.”
“You must learn to ignore mental questions if you are going to pull this off,” Renamir admonished.
A look of anger washed across the demon’s face.
“But he’s doing extremely well for just a week, don’t you think?” Malicar asked, stepping out of the gatehouse.
“Extremely well. How did you get rid of the aura?”
“Yet another spell, complements of Manhindland. If I didn’t think they’d repossess the books, I’d thank them for their kind contribution to my library.”
“Kind?” Renamir mused, remembering the remains of the mage who had previously owned the tomes.
“I thought so. But enough of this chatter. We must begin the spell that links you two. It is going to have to be very delicate, but very resilient and that could take some doing. We still have two weeks before the conclave, but I want to work out any bugs ahead of time.”
“So I’ll be mentally attached to our friend here for two weeks?” Renamir asked as they crossed the courtyard.
“No. We’ll set it up and use one of my guards as a test to see if we can pull his memories through the link. Then I want you two to test the limits; see how far you can stretch the spell before it breaks.”
“We should also talk about this abduction,” Renamir said, following Malicar up the stairs to the castle proper. “Belgar and his associates have been tracking him. He hardly leaves the barracks except in the company of other legionnaires. It’s either
on a training expedition or to go drinking at this bar called the Blindman’s Bluff. They go there fairly often, and we think it is the best option so far, but what do we do about his friends? There are five of them that seem inseparable.”
“That does pose a problem. While I can set everything up ahead of time, the final connection of the spell will take at least half an hour. So we will need to get him away for that time. We could switch the demon right in, but I’d rather not send him in until the link is up.”
“I could coach him quite a lot,” Renamir suggested. “I’ve been in the bar with them quite often. I’ve got good mental images of their faces and names and even some of their personality.”
“That would help, but I’d like to try to find a means to isolate him. We don’t want to draw much attention to him,” Malicar said, pausing on the stairs. “I’d like to pull the switch as close to the conclave as possible. The more interaction he has with his friends in the legions, the more chance he has of being detected. Why did he have to get pulled into that recruit class?”
“I don’t think it is going to ruin your plans.”
“No. Nothing will ruin them,” Malicar said, staring straight into Renamir’s eyes. “One way or the other, I will see this through, even if you have to slay the baron yourself.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t like my chances against a castle full of guards, including the suregraves.”
“Then let’s make this switch work,” Malicar said, turning to go. “Come. We’ve got much work to do.”
*
The five legionnaires entered the bar on their usual excursion to Blindman’s Bluff. There were only a handful of other customers, scattered about the bar.
“So she did it?” Andor asked as they sat down at a table. “You lucky bastard.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Esselles agreed with a grin.
“I told you she had pull in the legions,” Walket said.
“Odalen?” Esselles asked.
“No,” Walket said with a laugh. “Not Captain Odalen. That’s number six. Hurry up with the pitcher,” he called to Randol. “He just got another one wrong. Care to go for number seven?”
“No. I know my limits.”
“You’d better,” Flin said. “If you don’t, Drex will teach them to you.”
“Don’t remind me. Six is more than enough. I’m going to be in for a long day tomorrow,” Esselles said.
“You deserve it,” Andor said. “How many recruits get to leave during training to go on a hunting trip with a beautiful woman?”
“Where exactly are you going?” Randol asked as he brought their pitcher to the table.
“Her friend has a hunting lodge west of Dussel,” Esselles answered as he took the pitcher from Randol’s hand. “I just found out today that we’ll be taking a transport wagon to get there.”
“You going to be riding all night?” Randol asked.
“All day and all night. Then we hunt for two days and head home the next. We’ll be gone for four days total. Do you think you guys will be able to handle it without me?”
“Well, we’ll need to find a new fifth for the competitive battles, but I think we can manage,” Andor said. “Sitas has been wanting to join us for some time. Maybe we’ll give him the chance.”
“We may miss your swordsmanship,” Randol said. “With you, Flin, and Andor up front, we don’t lose many of the battles. Sitas is a good strategist, but he’s nowhere near as good as you with a sword.”
“Hey, maybe now I won’t lose our trivia game next week,” Walket added with a smile.
“You know,” Andor said to Esselles. “You really are a lucky bastard. First, you get four days off, well only three really, to go on a hunting expedition with a beautiful woman. Then, a week later, you get the day off to work nobility duty at the baron conclave.”
“Hey,” Esselles objected. “It isn’t like you guys don’t all get the day off for the conclave as well.”
“Yeah, but we don’t get to wine and dine with the barons and the emperor,” Andor replied.
“I do,” Walket beamed. “Well, not with the emperor, but at least with some of his entourage.”
“Maybe I should have joined as a guard instead of a soldier,” Andor said.
“And waste that sword arm of yours? Esselles and I may not be able to fight as well as you, but we sure can look good standing at attention,” Walket said with a smile.
“Well, one of you two can,” Andor said with a smile. “I’ll let you argue which one is which.”
“Hey, watch it,” Flin exclaimed as a customer bumped in to him.
“Sorry,” the young boy said as he backed away from the table. He was young and his clothes, or lack of, suggested he lived in the street. He hurried out the door of the bar.
“Urchin,” Flin said to his retreating back.
“He doesn’t have a choice,” Esselles said.
“But he could be less clumsy.”
“Relax,” Walket said. “Here. Have a beer.”
“I was wondering when you were going to get around to pouring me one,” Flin said, accepting the beer.
“Sorry. It’s just Esselles owes so many.”
*
“That Esselles guy is heading up to Dussel,” the young boy said before even catching his breath.
Belgar looked over the young man; dirty, grimy, and malnourished.
“Day after tomorrow,” the boy continued. “Going on a huntin’ trip with some girl.”
“Excellent,” Belgar said, looking around the inn to make sure no one was within earshot. “Give me all the information you’ve got.”
“It’s gonna cost ya,” the kid demanded.
“Fine, fine.” Belgar slapped a few small coins into the boy’s hand. From his reaction, it was more money than the boy had expected. Belgar admonished himself for being too generous. “Now, tell me the details.”
The boy relayed the conversation he had overheard in the other bar. When he was done, he sat back, beaming with pride.
Belgar leaned back as well. His pride was tinged with greed. He knew this was valuable information. Much more valuable than the small coins he had wasted on the boy.
“Run along,” he said to the boy. “And let me know if anything changes.”
When his elation at the news faded, realization that he had to get the information to Malicar considerably changed his mood. If only Renamir were here, he thought. I’ve got to get this news to him, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to that place alone.
“Thorpe,” he called out to the bartender. “I need another beer.” When the bartender brought it over, Belgar asked, “I’ve got to get a message to Renamir. He’s a day and a half away. Any ideas who I could get to take it for me?”
“You want a courier or a magical means?” Thorpe asked, setting the beer down.
“I hadn’t thought of that. How expensive for the magic? And would I have to touch the stuff?”
“Touch the stuff?” Thorpe asked. “What the hell’s that mean? No. You’d just talk and they’d send it.”
“This is secret.”
“Believe me. They’re more trustworthy than any courier.”
“So how much?” Belgar asked, reaching under the table to check how many coins were in his pocket.
“About five or six gold.”
“So where do I go?”
After getting the directions, he rode straight there. It was a small shanty off Serpentine Street. From the looks of it, it was a drug house. The smell suggested it as well.
Two large, burly men leaned against either side of the doorway. One put his hand out as Belgar walked towards the door.
“I’m looking for Trenlin,” he told the man.
“What for?”
“I need a message sent.”
“Follow me,” he instructed.
Belgar followed him into the shanty. It was larger than it looked from the outside as it extended far in from the street. In a room to his right,
Belgar saw a half dozen people huddled around a large hookah. The aromatic scent of the smoke drew Belgar’s attention. He thought briefly about joining them when he was done sending the message.
“Wait here,” his escort said upon reaching a door at the end of the hallway. “Who should I say is calling?”
“Tell him, ‘Malicar sends his greetings.’”
A minute later, a half dressed woman came out of the room and shot Belgar an evil look.
“You can go in now,” his escort said, following the woman out.
Belgar entered a well-appointed office. Behind a large mahogany desk sat a man of medium build and dark complexion.
“So, you are from Malicar?” Trenlin asked.
“Yes. I need to contact him. Thorpe said you knew who he was and would be able to make the contact.”
“Oh, I know who he is all right. I’m just not so sure I want to contact him. His isn’t the most pleasant mind to link up to.”
“I can imagine that, but this is very important. He’ll make it worth your while. I can pay you three gold up front and Malicar will pay you much more when he hears the news I have.”
“If you are wrong, I’ll take the additional payment out of you.”
“Fair enough. But I know he’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
Trenlin opened a drawer to his right and pulled out a metal tripod formed by three small metal demons holding their hands aloft. He set it gently on the table and reached back into the drawer. Next he pulled out a crystalline sphere and very carefully placed it upon the hands of the demons.
Very faintly, he began to chant. His eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body tensed. He placed the first two fingers of each hand upon the sphere and a thumb on each of the two front demons of the tripod. His chanting grew slightly louder and the sphere, which had been clear, started to cloud up. Soon, thick clouds could be seen roiling within the crystal.
The vapors grew more violent and then took on a reddish tint from a deep fire that burnt in their midst. Trenlin’s head snapped up.
“Why do you contact me?” Trenlin asked in a voice that sounded as if two people spoke at once.
“I have important news,” Belgar said, swallowing hard. “It’s me. Belgar.”
Demonified (Hawkblood Chronicles Book 1) Page 9
